Amid the typical kitchen sounds-clanking dishes, hissing steam, voices talking over voices talking over turkey and mashed potatoes-the phone was ringing. Nobody heard it at first; they were preoccupied with getting the food on the table before 4:30, a completely unacceptable time to eat dinner unless it’s the last Thursday in November. Once they realized what the sound was, they squabbled over who was to answer it.

Hurrying over the phone, the head of the house, my grandmother, scoffed, glared at her daughters, and took the phone off the hook. “Hush up!” she shouted before putting the receiver to her ear. “Hello,” she all but barked in her unmistakable Chicago accent.

“Hello, this is Detective Maloney from the Chicago Police Department. I apologize for the inconvenience. I’m looking to talk to Mrs. Norma. Is she available?”

“Is everything alright?” Her voice was much softer now, with a touch of concern.

“I’d rather discuss this matter with Norma, ma’am.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to hold on a minute, sugar, she’s basting the turkey right now.”

“Again, I apologize, ma’am, but this is an urgent matter.”

At that, my grandmother turned around and covered the mouthpiece with her hand. “Vera, take over for Norma. Norma, phone for you.” At the sign of protest, she resorted back to her stern voice. “Don’t you argue with me, get over here now.”

My mother cautiously approached the old-fashioned telephone. Taking the receiver in her hand, she greeted the policeman on the other end. My grandmother watched as the worry flashed across her eyes. The same thing was going through both of their minds: the baby. Something happened to the baby.

At that time, a third of the way across the country, my father was carefully loading me onto a ferry so that we could join the rest of my family in Chicago. Aside from some slight “upset tummy,” I was a happy and healthy little girl.

Back on the other end, my mother was trying desperately not to believe what the firm Chicago policeman had just told her.

“He what? No, he was just here this morning. It must be someone else. No, that can’t be him. It can’t be him. It can’t be him.” Slowly, she sank to the floor, receiver still in hand, shaking her head as if she could shake away the truth of what she had just heard. All around the faces of her sisters and mother stared down at her.

“What happened?” she whispered.

After a few moments of silence on the other end, the man finally spoke.

“There was a driveby. Adrian was walking with a friend, Anthony Jackson, when the car drove by. Mr. Jackson ducked.” The man took a deep breath. This was never the kind of phone call he wanted to make. “When he stood up, your son did not.”

“Oh no, no no no. Not my baby, my baby. Oh no.” She just sat there, trying to deny the fact into nonexistence, her whole body convulsing. “No, no, it’s not him. My baby, oh, Adrian, my baby.”

“Ma’am?” The voice on the other end of the phone no longer seemed real. Nothing seemed real. She could still feel him kicking, all those years ago. She could still remember his handsome, smiling face. All she wanted was to hold her baby one more time.
“Ma’am? We’re going to need you to come down here and identify the body.”