by Donald Welch
No matter how much Grace berated him, Roland always backed off. He definitely could dominate her physically with his six-foot, 225-pound frame, but the confrontations never went beyond words, although Tisha had seen Grace pull a knife on him after he accused her of stealing five dollars from his pocket. Roland believed his sister was on the pipe. Maybe. But Tisha definitely knew she smoked weed, because she picked up the smell when Grace hugged her the first time they met. It was so strong, Tisha almost got a contact high.
In a strange sort of way, Grace was her hero. She stood up to Roland—something Tisha could never do.
But Grace wasn’t the only one who wondered why Tisha married Roland. She believed her friends thought the same thing, too, but Roland had come into her life at a time when she needed someone the most.
IT HAD BEEN a month after her father’s death, and Tisha was prepared to spend another long night at work. Hunched over her desk, she was determined to get to the bottom of the never-ending pile of paperwork. She loved her job—she was a social worker, which was rewarding but emotionally draining and time consuming. But anything was better than being at home by herself, where everywhere she looked there was a reminder of her beloved daddy.
“Ahem.” Someone stood at the doorway and cleared his throat to get her attention. “Miss Grant?” Tisha looked up and noticed her client, Roland Perkins, who needed social services for his mother, a victim of Alzheimer’s. As usual, Roland didn’t show up empty-handed. He clutched a bouquet of tulips, which he’d found out were Tisha’s favorite.
“Roland!” she exclaimed, pleased for the break from the paperwork. “How nice to see you. But we didn’t have an appointment today, did we?” Tisha glanced over at her calendar.
“Well, I thought I would surprise you. You’ve been so helpful to me and my family, and I wanted to take you out to dinner.”
Tisha was confused and delighted. Roland wasn’t much in the looks department, but he had a certain charm, and he was always so nice and respectful to her. She was tempted, but she didn’t want to mix business with pleasure.
“That’s awful kind of you, but—”
Roland cut her off. “Please, I insist. There’s a new French bistro in Center City, and I took the liberty of making a reservation for us. Please let me do this for you?”
After thinking for a moment, Tisha relented and accepted Roland’s invitation for dinner. “Okay, Roland, I’ll join you. But could you give me at least an hour to finish up some last-minute paperwork? Why don’t you go ahead, and I’ll join you for a drink in a while.”
“I don’t mind waiting,” Roland said with a twinkle in his eye. “I’ll be in the lobby until you finish.”
“Okay, fine. I shouldn’t be too long,” Tisha said with a weary smile.
As Roland turned to leave her office, Tisha watched him. She couldn’t help but laugh at herself. It had been so long since she’d had a date, let alone received flowers from a brotha. Something about Roland’s confidence and take-charge personality intrigued her. How dare he just assume she’d say yes and automatically make reservations for two? How did he know that she didn’t already have a man who might not like another man bringing her flowers and inviting her out to dinner? She had certainly never discussed her personal life with him, but she had to admit, he did pique her interest.
By the time Tisha finished and went downstairs to meet Roland, more than an hour had passed—almost two, in fact. Tisha felt awful. Surely he had left by now. She planned to call him to apologize. But when she stepped off the elevator, there sat Roland, smiling and patiently waiting.
“I’m so sorry, Roland,” Tisha said. “The paperwork on that case took much longer than I expected. I had no idea so much time had passed. Why didn’t you come back up to the office?”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind,” Roland assured her. “Besides, I called the restaurant and asked them to hold the reservation for a little longer.”
Midway through dinner, and about half a bottle of wine later, Tisha was relaxed enough that she had kicked off her pumps under the table. She felt more comfortable than ever before, and she and Roland were sitting a little closer together. The sound of her own laughter surprised her because it had been such a long time since she’d enjoyed herself like this. Sure, there were several nights out with the girls that were fun, but a woman has a different kind of laugh when she’s with a man. And this man made her laugh. He seemed interested in her life, where she came from, what her dreams and goals were. And he listened—something that she felt many men didn’t do, at least the ones she had dated. Usually it was only a matter of time before they were trying to get her in the sack. Tisha and Roland’s perfect night was interrupted by an apologetic manager who informed them that unfortunately they would have to end their evening because it was closing time.
Tisha looked at her watch and couldn’t believe so much time had passed. Had they really been sitting there for almost four hours? “Where is everyone?” Tisha remarked when she noticed they were the last ones left in the restaurant. She and Roland laughed, and feeling somewhat embarrassed, they excused themselves and left the restaurant.
While waiting for the valet to bring their cars, Tisha shivered at the chill night air and wished she had not left her sweater in the car. Noticing her discomfort, Roland immediately pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. He pulled her close in an innocent but inviting embrace, and Tisha welcomed it. It felt good to have a man’s arms around her again. She thought for a moment as she tried to remember the last time this sort of thing happened or when she last felt like this. She couldn’t recall either. Both cars arrived at the same time, and Roland took care of the tab.
“I’ll follow you home to make sure you get there safely,” Roland offered.
“Oh, that’s all right. You don’t have to,” Tisha responded. “I’ll be fine, but thank you for offering.” True she’d had a lot of wine, but not enough to let a client and near stranger follow her home. Tisha smiled and hugged Roland tenderly before handing him his jacket. “Thank you, Roland, for a wonderful evening.”
Driving home, Tisha realized that even though it was almost midnight, for some reason, she didn’t feel tired at all. She even felt a little giddy. What was this feeling? she wondered. All the way home, she couldn’t stop thinking of Roland—and that mesmerizing look on his face when he gazed at her. How could such a nice gentleman still be single? Granted, he was no Boris Kodjoe, but he wasn’t Flavor Flav either.
Once she was settled in at home, she called Roland to let him know she’d made it back safely. Tisha joked, “Now you can turn your cell phone off.”
“It’s not my cell phone number that I gave you, but my home number,” Roland said.
That impressed Tisha even more—she knew he wasn’t a man playing games, and they ended up talking into the wee hours of the morning. That was totally out of the norm for Tisha Grant, behaving like some love-struck schoolgirl. She had to laugh.
It wasn’t long before they became romantically involved. During their first time making love, Roland explored every inch of her body. It had been such a long time since anyone had touched her like that. Sure, she had “maintenance dates” or “touch-ups” as Zenora called them, but they were just that—hookups. Just enough to keep her motor running and feed certain needs, but that was it. With Roland, it was different. It was one thing to give your body to a man, but it was another when you relinquished your mind to him. Roland was her Mr. Right. And Tisha’s life would never be the same.
When Tisha told Zenora she was dating one of her clients, Z told her not to bring any “sick puppies” home and to stop trying to cure the world. Tisha wished she had listened to her friend.
Roland began to show more undesirable traits—a sharp word here, a push or shove there—but the social worker in Tisha just tried to make things better or solve the problem. But there were some things and some people that couldn’t be fixed. Besides, Roland filled a need. Tisha was reeling from her f
ather’s death, and Roland’s strength, decisiveness, and take-charge nature had been comforting to her. At first.
Eventually Roland separated Tisha from all her friends and convinced her to quit her job. They got married and had a child together—a daughter, Kimmy—and he said he would take care of them both. Getting her hair done at Zenora’s was cut down, too. Roland said she didn’t need it. He didn’t even want her to wear makeup or perfume; he said it was for whores, and besides, she was a natural beauty. But out of the corner of her eye, Tisha caught Roland straining his neck to ogle the cheapest-looking women. He did a good job on her, she admitted to herself—he’d divided and conquered. But, she thought, I let him.
Yesterday afternoon, Roland had pulled up in front of his family’s home. Grace ran to the glass front door, and her big grin signaled that she was either drunk, high, or, less likely, simply glad to see them. She came out, and her attention went directly to Kimmy. “Dare go my sweet pooh bear. Come here to yo’ auntie Grace.”
Grace was missing more teeth than the last time Tisha had seen her, and her fingertips were dark—burnt-like, which usually happened when someone was on the crack pipe. Maybe Roland is right, Tisha thought. She had enough experience as a social worker to recognize the physical signs of drug addiction.
Roland brushed right by his sister without greeting her and went into the house to see their mother.
“Tisha girl, you let me know if you ever want me to watch Kimmy for you. That’s if you gots somethin’ to do.”
A closer look at Grace revealed that her gums were as black as tar.
“Okay, thanks, Grace. I will,” Tisha lied.
Within a few minutes, Roland came from behind and snatched Kimmy from his sister’s arms. He was mad as ever. Not saying a word, he started the car and put it in drive. Grace was surprised and screamed at them all the way to the corner, “You need to bring yo’ punk ass around here more often to see yo’ mammy, bitch!”
Roland kept his eyes straight ahead while driving. Tisha was silent for the remainder of the ride home. Even Kimmy sensed the tension and was unusually quiet the entire time in her car seat. There had to be something deep in his past that Grace knew about. Why did she hate her brother so, and why did he avoid her as much as possible? There had to be more to explain their volatile relationship than just her drug addiction.
MELBA PERKINS had had little time for her kids. She was too busy running the streets to worry about what they were doing. She’d actually never wanted kids anyway—it was just something that happened. Anytime Melba could pawn them off on someone else, she did so. But of all her children, Roland was the one she at least paid some attention to because he was the spitting image of his father. Out of all her men—and there were plenty—Melba loved only Frank Owens, who was a no-good street hustler. Frank was shot and killed at a craps game, and Melba was never the same after that. So by the time Roland was twelve years old and Grace was eight, they were pretty much on their own. Their fifteen-year-old brother, Albert, was away, serving his second stint in juvenile lockup.
Roland started acting out in school, so Melba enrolled him in an after-school program at St. Michael’s, which was headed by the soft-spoken Brother Mills, a fortyish priest. Melba wasn’t religious or trying to save her son’s soul, but every time she got called in by a teacher or principal because of Roland’s wreaking havoc, it cost her money and time—two things she could not spare. When you ran street numbers, it was an all-day affair that needed one’s undivided attention.
Initially, Roland resented going to St. Michael’s, because to participate in the program, he also had to attend Mass on Sundays. But after a while the benefits presented themselves. Roland was able to play basketball and dodgeball with the other boys and get free cookies and juice. Sometimes Brother Mills would even take the boys to the movies. Roland started spending more time at the church. He liked the white priest, and he soon found out that Brother Mills liked him, too—a little too much.
Roland didn’t realize that Brother Mills was treating him a little differently from the other boys. Roland could do no wrong in Mills’s eyes. Some of the other boys started to resent Roland—especially Travis, a fourteen-year-old who never missed an opportunity to bully Roland whenever Brother Mills wasn’t around. Roland had no idea why Travis hated him so. It got to the point where he couldn’t take the abuse anymore, so he told Brother Mills, and soon after that Travis was nowhere to be found. At first, Roland was glad that Travis was gone, but after seeing Travis around the neighborhood looking lost and bewildered, Roland began to feel bad. Sometimes on the way to the church, he’d see Travis sitting alone across the street from it. After a while people started talking about Travis being “on that stuff” because he was acting strangely and was always dirty. Even Melba had noticed the change in him, warning her kids, “Y’all stay away from that crazy-ass fool, Travis. That boy done lost his damn mind.”
Brother Mills started buying Roland things like new Air Jordans and taking him to a Sixers game. After one game, it was so late that Brother Mills said it would be okay if Roland stayed with him at his apartment. He told Roland that he’d call his mother and tell her. Roland told him that there was no need to worry, because Melba probably wasn’t home anyway. Roland was so tired by the time they arrived at the apartment that all he wanted to do was sleep. He immediately parked himself on the sofa and prepared for bedtime. Brother Mills told him that his bed was big enough and that they could share it. It would be like they were on a camping trip. Besides, his only television was located in his bedroom, and Brother Mills said he had something to show Roland that would have to be their secret—that only special friends of his got to see it.
As Roland lay on the bed, Brother Mills put in a videotape. Roland thought that they’d be watching a kung fu movie or maybe the new Eddie Murphy movie, Beverly Hills Cop. Instead, there were kids, some younger than him, doing all sorts of sexual things with adults. Roland didn’t know why Mills wanted him to see this. Could it be his way of teaching Roland about the birds and the bees? It was all too confusing to him at the time, but he’d soon find out why. For now, he was too tired to care.
Brother Mills liked children. He’d start off with a pat on the shoulder, which would progress to a quick hug or embrace, each one longer than the last. Roland didn’t mind. He trusted Brother Mills, who was like a father to him, and being with Brother Mills—and all it entailed—was better than being at home.
Grace resented Roland getting the opportunity to be away from home as much as he did. She wanted to go to St. Michael’s, too. She’d noticed a change in Roland. When he did come home, he’d have new sneakers or a new baseball jersey. He seemed always to have money, which he’d share with her sometimes.
After dropping off Roland at school one morning, Brother Mills saw Grace. Roland told him that she was his little sister. Brother Mills commented on how cute she was. “Why don’t you bring her over to play sometimes?” Mills asked.
“She’ll just get in the way,” Roland replied.
One day, after school, Melba, Roland, and Grace were having dinner together. It was a rare occurrence, and even though dinner was a frozen pizza and Kool-Aid, it was dinner nonetheless. “Take Grace with you over to the church gym when you go tonight,” Melba ordered.
“Huh?” Roland asked, “Why?”
“Because I said so, that’s why,” Melba said, slapping him in the mouth. “I ask the questions around here, not you.
“And besides,” Melba added, “Brother Mills said it was okay.”
WHEN BROTHER MILLS opened the door of his apartment, the first thing Grace noticed was that he was wearing his priest’s collar. Brother Mills greeted her warmly with a long hug as Roland watched. He told her how pretty she was and offered her some milk and cookies. Grace looked at Roland for permission, and he nodded his head that it was okay. It wasn’t long before Grace was ready to leave. Brother Mills gave her a blond-haired doll to play with as he and Roland played a Nintendo game
on the television. She was bored and ready to go, and when she told Roland, he said they would leave in a minute, but that she had to go to the bathroom before they left.
“I don’t have to go,” she said.
“Go anyway,” her brother demanded.
When Grace finished in the bathroom, Roland was nowhere to be found.
“Where’s my brother?” she asked Mills.
“Oh, he had to run an errand for me. I’ll make sure you get home,” Brother Mills said with a strange expression on his face, which made Grace feel uneasy.
Brother Mills told Grace to follow him into his bedroom because he had something to show her.
“I don’t want to,” Grace said.
“I thought you were a good girl, Grace,” Brother Mills said. “And good girls do what adults tell them to. Do you want me to tell your mother that you were disobedient? Besides, Roland likes spending time in my bedroom.”
Not wanting to risk Melba’s wrath, Grace reluctantly followed Brother Mills.
Once in the room, Brother Mills asked Grace for a hug.
“But you already hugged me when I got here,” Grace said, looking around.
“Grace, God wants you to listen to me and do what I say,” said Brother Mills. He reached for her hand and pulled her onto his lap.
Grace was scared and confused and started to cry.
“Now, hush, Grace,” Brother Mills whispered as his hand traveled up Grace’s skirt. “God doesn’t like little girls who cry, and you are making God unhappy and sad.”
Grace tried not to cry, because she didn’t want God to get mad at her.
That’s all she remembered until she woke up. Brother Mills was washing her with a soapy towel. There was blood on the bed, and her school uniform was spread out on a chair. Now fully awake, she felt a sharp pain “down there.” She thought to herself, Wait until I tell Roland what Brother Mills did to me. He’ll kick his ass—church man or not!