The Third Paige

When The Unplanned Comes Together

Trusting thyself isn’t always popular. The Lone Ranger isn’t just a TV show you know? While it may be trendy, keeping up with The Joneses comes at a price some of us aren’t comfortable paying; a price much too steep for our taste. What’s trending won’t pay your way to Paradise.

In like fashion, trusting thyself may not always work to your good. To date, the only thing that hasn’t returned void in my forty plus years of living is the Word of God and even that . . . well I’ll save that for another blog.

What being true to thyself does proffer conversely, is originality and the ingenuity thereof. When he entered the NBA and even further along into his career, the late Kobe Bryant was derided for being a clumsy fit. While not always popular, he was always original. While not always markedly good, he remained true to the game — his own self-contrived convictions — and to nothing and nobody else.

He didn’t hang out with teammates — the in-crowd fell outside his narrative. He studied sharks to one-up his adversaries — swishing in excess of 400 shots per day apparently left much to be desired. Owing to his originality, he debased convention and made self-perception wildly popular and it worked recursively for his good. The profusion of acclaim he garnered on the hardwood made that truth self-evident.

In the following story, Paige Androne finds himself toeing the fine line between perception and reality. But how he splits the difference could be a matter of life and death.

Chapter One

The Paige After Next

Working in a factory with a college degree certainly wasn’t my vision upon graduating Summa Cum Laude from The University of Hiyer Lernin. For the average Joe, four years would have normally been more than ample measure to make some semblance of commitment. But my conventions were never in line with the standard way of doing things and I came to realize before my senior year as undergraduate even began that I’d be setting myself up for something eternally remorseful by pursuing my Master’s . . . and I was only doing that because I still yet didn’t have a sustainable plan after walking across the stage. Continuing my education was a convenient contrivance to bide me time in figuring out how I was going to contribute to the world being that the previous four years hadn’t been long enough to decide. Sixteen years of blood, sweat, and tears had wound me tight and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could fake it. I had lofty aspirations of grandeur, clad in the regalia of the upper class but fate has always held that non-negotiable veto power that even the most pragmatic of plans can’t curtail. Hoisting up a Master’s Degree sounded good but at my core, I knew I was done. Done and now without a tried-and-true plan.

So upon graduating and never being that guy who was too proud, when my childhood pal Mason made it known that there were a few slots open at the local factory not too far from the house, I applied and was subsequently hired. It wasn’t the kind of vocation I had in mind and it far removed me from the sophistication of scholarship that came with nearly graduating at the top of my class, but I really didn’t mind.

A short spell before acid-wash jeans and jelly shoes were all the rage, I crossed the rubicon as the Third Paige — Paige Lee Androne — the newest but no so improved incarnation of The Paige Patriarchy, a nod to the two Paiges that preceded me. The principled gallants that were my father Paige James and my grandfather Lester Paige, had already set the stage before me. Granddad started what dad left up to me to finish . . . to be something great.

Conceived to a tube-tied mother, it was clear that at least a few people didn’t want me here. But much like everything else I’ve fancied under duress, I planned to make the best of the reality show that’s been my life and in some proportion, pretend that I belong. When Navy literature would arrive in the mail back in high school in an effort to pledge my allegiance, I’d always casually dismiss the notion of following in my kindred’s footsteps. My dad served. His brother served. Granddad rose from the ranks of private to become a stellar Officer in The Army — a rare feat indeed. I wanted to forge my own path though. Something different. ANYTHING different. So I went to college.

Milestones to include the The Chancellor’s List and joining a fraternity all came together for my good but even the romanticism of that went awry. The sworn bearing of an intent collegian notwithstanding, when Chancellor Morgan secured that leather-padded degree into my hand on that breezy May afternoon — at that precise moment — the mask came off as I waywardly deviated from the glide path of college-to-corporate pipeline. I always fell more in line with the infrastructure of the lower class than I did the politics of the corporate brass. I went to college because I felt that I had nothing to lose, not necessarily because of anything in particular I felt that I would gain. I didn’t have a point of reference after walking across the stage. I openly concede to that now but for a few seasons, the dismay churned in confidence.

At nine and ten years old, before I could even spell Schwarzenegger, I vividly recall Uncle John making no bones about what side of the ledger he was on.

“You ain’t got to wur ‘bout it right now ‘cause you still kinda young yet but when you get old, you better go off to school boy and make sumthin’ out yuhself and get a degree . . . you’ll prolly need it.”

The high point of these conversations were when they were over and the only thing I ever took away from his spirit-induced ramble was a couple pieces of those soft peppermint puffs — the ones that melt in your mouth — and on occasion, a gusty whiff of that cherry pipe tobacco that would incense the entire house.

“It’s better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it boy . . . I’m tellin’ ya now,” he would assert.

Yes I had it but due to not yet being comfortable in my own skin, I was at a stalemate in determining what way I could best put it to use and make it work for me. My being an employee in a factory with a four year degree broke the cardinal rule. I may have been an accident but now that her baby was here, mom was driven to get some return on her investment that didn’t invoke shades of the journey her and dad had to take to make ends meet. College wasn’t supposed to produce common laborers. Dad never hardly cared for the misguided decision to thumb my nose at my degree either, but between the two, mom was the one who didn’t have a filter.

In the early stages, the unrest that ensued from my indecision was palpable. There almost seemed to be an ambiance of grief present when she spoke about it. She had really taken to heart my dispassion.

“Son, why did you even go to school if this was your idea of employment? Paige, you know that hurts me and your dad.”

By no means where mom and dad bougie, they just simply wanted more than grit and grime for their kids. They both had worked their fingers to the bone in the blue-collar trade and they yearned with no apologies that Sis and I would break that mold and become what they never could. Big Sis did. She hit the ground running the Monday after graduation and never looked back. She double-majored; Spanish and Communications. For her it paid off. She’s done well. But to a point, I’d always felt that she was their child of choice all along anyway. Just as long as her course of action ran parallel with their notion of idealism, in my mind what I did or didn’t do wasn’t too much worth its weight in gold. I was blessed, but didn’t feel too highly favored. With mom in particularly, her idea of cause and effect left little room for error. As a child, if I ever veered off course from the task at hand, she would make a pretty convincing argument about how I was never serious to begin with and how it was uniquely my doing that I didn’t reach my desired end. My coming out of college with honors and summarily casting away the enchantment of privilege by working alongside the grassroots contingent that only had high school diplomas, was unconscionable to her. In my older age, she doesn’t speak much about the imprudence of that time in my life anymore, but I know my mother, and I know that she will never forget it. I think she’s finally at peace with accepting what she doesn’t fully understand. Time heals most wounds.

Chapter Two

Mason Cordoza

Four Years Later Every year the company sent personnel from each department to Alaska for training. The parent company was located in the hinterland of Kodiak Island, home of the largest U.S. Coast Guard Base. Joining the workforce straight out of high school, my boy Mason had more than a few years with the company under his belt already and had been to the island several times, so the novelty of a getaway to Alaska was long gone but figuring I’d be better off for it I got acquainted, he recommended my participation this time and elected to take the trip with me to show me the ropes. He felt my advancement in the company hinged on it. A time or two before, he’d hint to how it would behoove me to get a little more involved and get my hands dirty by taking the trip but my interest in not being party to it never wavered.

One particular morning it wasn’t even a discussion. With coffee in hand, he sauntered over to my station.

“You’re going to Alaska this year homey. I already told the department head. You can thank me when we get back.”

Not being outside the confines of North Carolina for the better part of ten years hadn’t particularly done me any favors up to that point, so stepping outside my comfort zone for a change I figured wouldn’t kill me. I didn’t appeal the decision. When were set to deploy in a few weeks, I’d be ready.

Mason Cordoza. The first time laying eyes on Mason rallied the kind of awe normally reserved for personalities that struck me only in Marvel comic books because Lord only knows he resembled The Hulk. Fifth grade it was. He had just transferred from Hargrove Elementary. I’d never seen a ten-year old with the musculature of a full-grown gent with the gait to match. When he walked, there was no mistaking who the alpha male was. We bonded rather quickly. Guess being the only person in class—including Mrs. Raines—who could reason with him eye-level gravitated him into making my acquaintance, hence a kinship was forged. We were roughly the same height, give an inch or two. He was rangy but jacked to the hilt. I don’t recall anyone ever giving him any problems.

By the time sixth grade came around, I remember summoning up enough confidence to pick his brain on matters I felt would aid my own cause. Puberty was kicking in and I didn’t want to be the child left behind. That boy had enough swag for the whole class and I felt whatever feedback he lent me was ripe for the picking. While eating lunch one day in the cafeteria, the probe began.

“Yo Mase, what is it exactly that you do bro? You’re kind of ripped. You have a weight set at your house or something? How often you work out? I mean how you get like that?”

Now that I look back on it, he must have thought I was in bed with The FBI or something with my line of questioning. My curiosity was in full attack mode. With his index finger extended upward while he attempted unimpeded to choke down that mystery meat on a bun, he signaled to give him time to finish it off. It looked rather painful. After taking a sip of his milk, he filled me in.

“I don’t work out Paige . . . at least not with weights.”

“Bro come on! You’re cut like a diamond. I could strike a match off you.”

The resonance in his baritone suddenly hit different.

“No I’m serious. My mom can’t afford no weight set. I do good just to have clothes to wear to school man.”

Such degree of destitution should never be made light of and if this was a joke, it was definitely articulated in poor taste. There had to be a punchline somewhere because no way this was true. Barely have clothes? I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. I leaned slightly into him as if to get a better feel for the foreign language he was speaking. It totally went against everything I assumed I knew.

“You serious Mason?”

“Can I tell ya something?” he asked.

“Yea bro.”

“Don’t get it twisted Paige. I don’t look like what I’ve been through. I may look the picture of stability but my home life is anything but.”

He paused to chug what was remaining in his nearly-empty milk carton.

“I’m in shape because in the wintertime, my body heat is all I got. We don’t have heat at my house, so I do push-ups til either I sweat or get sleepy and then on nights where I’m lucky enough to fall asleep, the cold snaps me right back out of it and I start the process all over again. It’s routine for me to do two thousand push-ups a night in the heart of winter. If things don’t improve, by next year I’ll probably be up to three. Sit-ups, jumping jacks . . . anything that will raise my body temperature to tolerable when it’s 30 degrees outside, I do it.”

That explained why he would often be caught nodding in class at times. The poor boy couldn’t rest for freezing when he went home.

The year our class took a field trip to the State Fair, he had a single dollar in his pocket to pamper himself with; not even enough for a slice of pizza. None of the other students seemed to care but Dad had given me about $30 to splurge with so I broke Mase off with at least enough for food if not for being able to pleasure himself in any of the rides. But nobody—save me—ever knew a thing about his troubles and he and his mom never made their misfortune anyone else’s business. Back in those days, the world was a different place and it was common to go without. But The Struggle was real for Mase and his mom. Hell they turned it into an art form, yet both still came forth as pure gold.

To this day every now and again, he ribs me about my own hard-luck of days gone by:

“You remember how you used to stick tape on the arms of your glasses to keep them together?” he randomly reminds me when I least expect it. “I mean me and my mom were poor but your folks had money,” he adds before disbanding into laughter.

Its that kind of jest that has always driven me to madness—and he knows it. I never liked the way glasses alone made me look so I could have certainly done without the black duct tape dad used to plaster on them. Mason’s comedy lies in my grief. It’s the hand he plays to make me fold but it’s all in the name of well-disposed ribbing and I wouldn’t take anything for Mason for there were times when he understood me when no one else did. As far as loyalty went, one was all the other had.

Chapter Three

Devil’s Club

I was set to leave for Kodiak in a few days and I had been more than tempted to back out. But I figured that I’d probably suffer fortuities that I wouldn’t be able to re-broker if I did. Mase would probably feel some kind of way and there was no telling when the chance to advance myself would come back around again — assuming the company wouldn’t outright fire me for pulling back. The prospect of mom and pop finding out didn’t warm my heart either. Cousin Jerry was supposed to look after the house while I was gone which probably wouldn’t be that hard even for him given that most everything I owned of value would be in my carry-on. The year had definitely been a doozy and the pandemic had virtually put the whole world on pause but apparently to peeps who valued commerce over conscience, my flight was booked for Saturday morning, September 26th with a departure time of 11:37 a.m. from Wilmington International Airport.

Nobody had picked up on it, but for awhile I hadn’t been myself. I’d been having a rash of dreams that I just couldn’t chalk up to mere happenstance. Since her passing in 2012, I never once dreamt of my grandmother. Every night for an entire year after she passed, I tried to invoke her presence any way I could when I slept, but she was gone forever.

But after being estranged for so long, I now found her timing eerie. Just when I was set to take off for Alaska, her spirit had become restless. In my dreams, for some reason I was always standing over her grave; there because she was speaking. It was something that I needed to know but I could never discern her tongue; her mumble was always just above a whisper. Right when her utterance became halfway intelligible, I always woke up.

Other nights when death was strong enough to keep her in the ground, it beats me how I got there, but I was inconspicuously present in the setting of an obscure hole-in-the-wall type of dwelling place situated in the uncharted space beyond human intelligence where any and every one I’ve ever had issue with were having the time of their lives; drinking, dancing, and being merry.

Everyone was dressed in red and it was always extremely hot in the building, everyone drenched in sweat but me. And A Man. His face was formless; sitting atop a mezzanine emceeing the crowd. It’s not until I awaken that I realize that I’d just left Hell. Whatever it may or may not have meant, I felt it appropriate to leave it to fate to decide.

Dwelling on what I didn’t understand, I felt was sure to give me away. In fact I think Mason kind of sensed that something was with me. He stopped by the house one evening after work. He normally gave me a heads up when he was subject to swing by but a few days before we set sail to Alaska, he came unannounced . . . not that it mattered. He wanted to know if everything was alright because I seemed a little distant at work that day. I assured him I was cool and that everything was copacetic.

Alaska was on the way and I made like my mind was clear. However it was anything but.

Friday September 25th

I scurried over to mom and dad’s before heading out west. Sis was over at the house as well so I had everybody right where I needed them to see me off. If I didn’t see them now, the opportunity wouldn’t come. I wouldn’t have time the next morning before I departed. I walked into the house and mom was cooking croakers; dad in the living room studying his Sunday School lesson.

“Hey boy,” mom said rinsing her hands of fish fry batter.

“Hey mom . . . Dad,” I responded.

Sis was in the back room yapping her gums with someone on the horn. I’d holler at her when she came out.

“You good and packed?”

“Yea as much as I’m gon be,” I answered.

Dad taking a break from his study, walked into the kitchen.

“What part of Alaska you going to again?”

“Kodiak . . . you heard of Kodiak bears ain’t ya?” I asked.

He nodded affirmatively to convey his understanding. “Yea I’ve heard of Kodiak. Ain’t a military base there or something?”

“Yea The Coast Guard.”

“You behave yourself over there.”

“Yea I got it Pops . . . easy day.”

“Love you boy, call when you land.”

“Ok. Will do.”

He retreated back into the living room to re-engage his focus on his lesson. Sis must have heard the banter from the back room. Amazing how she was always able to split her devotion between her own phone conversations and outside exchanges of others. I smelled that Rogue by Rihanna before she ever entered the kitchen.

“You aint gon yet knucklehead??” she asked positioning her left hand on her hip.

“Does it look like it?”

I was literally standing right in front of her but still evidently, she wasn’t convinced.

“I thought you said the 25th.”

“The 26th Antionette . . . I said nothing about Friday the 25th.”

She eased her hand off her hip and back to its resting state. “How long you gon be over there?”

“About three weeks.”

She proceeded towards me and hunched my side suggestively as she stepped near the door just to my left.

“Come outside for a minute.”

“I’ll be back ma . . . gonna step outside a minute.”

“Alright . . . fish’ll be ready when you get back in,” she assured me.

I stepped outside and sis was waiting for me by her Yukon, a stone’s throw away from the house.

“Yea what up?”

“Don’t say anything but mom has been hurting in her chest the last week or so. She thinks it’s just a pulled muscle but I’m not taking any chances.”

My sister knew me well. Where family was concerned, news of this magnitude was never met with calm. She secured both my shoulders with her hands yanking me slightly ajar before I even had the chance to retort.

“Don’t worry about nothing. You go to Alaska and do what you have to do. I got it.”

Sis and I spoke the same language and I do believe that I was cut from her vein just as much as mom and dad’s so any time she was adamant about leaving nothing to chance, I was never wrong in knowing where it would ultimately lead.

“I couldn’t get no appointment before you left because everyone is booked up but I finally got one for Monday the 28th in Chapel Hill. I’m not taking her to anyone around here. You go out west and take care of business. I’ll keep you posted.”

The alarm of what I’d just heard took awhile to register and I needed something to steady the pulse of my mind but the gravity of the moment was just too much to temper in short order so I already knew that anxiety was going to be the unseen passenger on the flight when I boarded the next day.

I always had a penchant for trying to fight God’s battles but in my older age I’m learning to lean, so I allowed this one to fall squarely in his lap.

Sis was getting ready to head home and I was about to do the same. I walked back into the house to make my recess official.

“Ma I’m getting ready to get on out of here, go on to the house and take a load off before that long flight tomorrow. Dad . . . I’m outta here.” So he wouldn’t have to completely break rank from his position on the sofa, I stuck my head around the corner of the kitchen to bid him goodbye.

Still feeling short on time, I hopped into my Chevy and make a beeline to the house. My stuff all packed, all I had to do before I boarded the plane was SLEEP. It was a little past seven and I was dog tired and I planned on making the best out of the last night in MY bed. As it turned out, if I ever got any rest, it would be in Alaska.

Gramps came back. And this visit left nothing open for interpretation. Tonight was different. As I stood at the foot of her grave, her message was clearer than a Carolina sky blue and she only said it once before I was jarred awake:

“Take care of your mother.”

The hell could that have meant? And why now? Take care of her from Alaska? I never knew five words could be so heavy but they weighed mightily on my heart.

Chapter Four

Remission

October 8th Our stay in Kodiak was getting down to the short rows and the time was soon nigh for Mase and I to fly back across the water. We’d been there for about two weeks and the lay of the land was my honor. I didn’t know what to expect upon arriving but Alaska was quite alright.

The mood took a turn for Mase though . . . as it did myself. He was feeling a bit conflicted because mom’s diagnosis was Breast Cancer. Sis notified me as soon as the report came back. The pain in her chest was a huge blood clot tied to the cancer. He felt responsible for my being away from the family. He rejected any attempts of conciliation otherwise.

“Paige you wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for me. Brother I do apologize with all my heart.”

I understood his empathy but no one knew this would happen. Mom herself insisted nothing about my routine change. She would hear nothing of my coming home. It wouldn’t make any sense. It was a chore trying to channel uncompromised focus on the task at hand but I did have a task. We were there for business and we were expected to brief management on the operation once we returned back home to North Carolina so the burden I had to bear was less than enviable.

A couple days before we were set to leave Kodiak, I called a taxi to take me over to the souvenir shop. Mason was busy playing pool in the lobby of the hotel and I wanted to get the family some keepsakes before we headed back. I surely didn’t foresee myself coming back to Bear Country any time soon. The taxi scooped me up and on the way to the shop, the route took us through a forest.

From the highway, the vegetation appeared askew; never seen such an arrangement. Little prickly spines all over the stems and leaves of the greenery. The driver read my mind.

“Devil’s Club,” she said.

“Huh?”

“The plant,” she said more emphatically the second time, “it’s called Devil’s Club.”

“What the heck is devil’s club?” I asked.

She laughed heartily while essentially repeating herself for a third time.

“It’s a plant young man. Good for medicinal purposes . . . arthritis, digestive issues, cancer.”

“Cancer? Really?”

“Yes Sir, there’s a lady here who harvests the bark, dehydrates it, and brews it as a tea right out of her own home. It’s good stuff. I had real bad arthritis years back. Drank her tea for maybe a month or so, ain’t hurt since.”

“How can I get my hands on some?” I asked.

“On the way back, I’ll take you by her place.”

It’s all coming together for me now.

The Dream: Take Care of Your Mother. The hole-in-the-wall, folk resplendent in Hell rocking the night away: Devil’s Club.

God works in wondrous ways and au contraire to his misgivings, if not for Mase’s forward thinking, I wouldn’t even have been in a position to possibly save my mother’s life and in the process experience a Metanoia all my own.

Dad used to always say, “Man’s extremity is God’s opportunity son.” And he was right!

I felt that this Devil’s Club was just what the doctor ordered; I knew it was. A couple months back, I heard a man on television say that God is always doing about 10,000 different things in our lives while we may only be aware of a few. And how sweet he is because I never suspected that he and his Angels would work behind the scenes on my behalf like this.

The taxi lady zipped me by the herbalist’s home but stayed in the car. When I entered, it was as if she knew already of my purpose. She had some stashed on the counter. Even if I had gone in to purchase something else, I couldn’t have missed it. She schooled me on the efficacy of the craft and I was resolutely sold that I had been sent to Alaska for reasons much greater than professional advancement. God had been showing me who he was the entire time.

I bought every bag she had; made her blush.

“Well I’ll be,” she said while chuckling, “no one ever bought that many before. You come back now you hear?”

I wouldn’t be back but I thank God for that lady. Mase and I flew back home and I had no time to burn. Mom was scheduled to start undergoing chemo soon and we didn’t want her going through that. Sis and I started her on a rigid diet along with the tea and prayed for the best.

The follow-up before her first chemo session the doctor had no explanation but the tumor had shrunk significantly in just that short of a time frame. I couldn’t go inside with her due to the pandemic restrictions but dad was allowed to. Dad said the doctor wanted to suspend treatment of chemo until her next consultation because he wasn’t too sure of what was going on. But Dad and I knew. And mom knew. He said the doc had never seen such a rapid change in a case of such an aggressive form of cancer.

Over the course of the next few consultations, the doc made his determination. There were no traces of cancer in Mom’s body.

Will God Do It? Yes he will. Chemo sure didn’t. I think from that point on, mom started looking at her son differently. She hugged me when the doctor announced her cancer free. At that point, I think she was beginning to feel that she was getting some return on her investment. I didn’t do anything with my degree but because of the decision not to, I was in a position to help give her so much more . . . a new lease on life and a new mission.

I won’t take credit for mom being here but I know unreservedly that I was a cog in her wheel of fortune. God placed me where he wanted me to be and used me as he saw fit. His Glory can be made manifest in a suit and tie behind a desk or on a 110 degree assembly line in distressed wranglers. I’ve never seen it discriminate.

Mom’s seventy years old and still kicking, spunky as ever. Dad can hardly keep up now. Sis is Department Chair for the Criminal Justice Technology Program at the college. Mason made supervisor and I was promoted to lead.

On weekends we get together and grill out . . . burgers, ribs, gator meat, chuck-eye steaks. Pretty much anything you can eat, me and that boy has had on that grill at some point or another. But this weekend I’m feeling kind of meh and I have a taste for something different. Just want to watch TV and kick back; don’t really feel like chugging beer today. If I was a betting man, I’d say my dad is probably watching In The Heat Of The Night and mom is probably cooking. I’m heading over there. If I’m lucky, she’ll be frying up some croakers.

Proverbs 14:12 - There is a way that appears to be right, but in the end it leads to death.

Don’t kill your reality by giving life to others’ perceptions. And don’t kill your perception by giving life to their reality.

The rules are FAKE . . . DO YOU!

P.S. Genius Turner as I have forestated, just as we may be aware of only a pittance of what God is really doing behind the scenes, when one talks, when one walks, one never knows just how transcendent his sway really is and one never knows who’s watching. You have inspired me in ways I never felt compelled to explore and for that I Thank Ya! God used you and he used Paige . . . and rest easy knowing that the message is Clear. Peace And Blessings Brother!!!