by Ana Gibson
“Where'd you go?”
“Somewhere.”
He walks over to me. I look up at him. “What?”
“You know, you've been acting really different ever since you brought that little girl and the low-life she calls a father, in here. You got something going on with him?”
I laugh inwardly. Man wouldn't that be nice if I did.
“You've got to be kidding me.”
“You've got a thing for him, don't you?”
I do not have time for this bullshit today. But to mess with him, I ask, “If I did, what difference does it make to you? You already said you didn't want me. You got your sidepiece. I can't have mine?” And I laugh and roll my eyes. He nudges my hand with the hot coffee mug in it, causing the liquid to jump out on to me. I jerk back in pain from the burn.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“If I catch you cheating on me with anybody—“
“You know what Clayton, get out my face. I don't care about anything you have to say. You talk a lot of shit. I'm tired of your dumb ass. I've had it up to here with you,” I say, measuring my level of up to here to him. “If I wanted to cheat on you, I would have done it a long time ago. If I wanted someone else, I would have found him before I even thought about giving you a chance. You, sir, are not the cream of the crop. I hate to burst your bubble. You are not all that. Get your head out of your ass. I can do what I may as damn well please. You are not my father. You are not my master. You are nothing to me at this point. I am sick of you and your shit. Get out!”
“I'm not going anywhere.”
He steps to me. I put my mug down and step closer to him. He presses his pointer finger into my chest, but I smack it away. I'm not playing.
“You don't want to be with me?” He says it like it's surprising.
“For what? What do I need to be with you for? You have done nothing for me that would make me think I need to keep you here. Get out, Clayton. Just please go.”
He presses his finger into my chest again. This time I slap his hand and push him. He stumbles backward. “Go.”
He steps forward again and gets into my face, nose to nose. “I'm not going anywhere cause’ you don't mean it.”
I push him out of my face and smack him. He reaches for my hands as I wildly swing at him trying to get him away from me. He takes me up in restraint, shakes me back and forth, yelling at me about whatever it is he likes to yell about. Both of us in a screaming match, he drives me into a wall while my hands are still locked tight in the grip of his hands.
“Yell at me again and see if I don't do something. Your mouth gonna get you in trouble.”
“Get out of my face, Clayton. We're done. I am so over this. Get off of me.”
He presses me harder into the sheetrock. I lift my arm to bring his wrist to my mouth and bite him. His hand comes flying across my cheek.
“Bitch!” And I go flying across the room. “Are you crazy?” He checks the teeth marks on his wrist. I'm almost certain I broke the skin. Heavy breathing and all, I pick myself up off the floor and stand, swaying back and forth, ready to kick his ass if he charges at me one more time.
“Try me again, Clayton. I'm not playing. I told you to leave me alone.”
He grunts, his eyes bearing bullet holes in my head. He goes and reaches for my cup of coffee and then throws it at me. It misses, crashes into the wall. With the sofa lamp near me, I take hold of it and hold it up, ready to whip him upside his head if he wants to try anything else. We stand separated from each other. Our stares permanent.
“I told you to stop putting your hands on me,” my voice breaks. Suddenly, he walks away and retreats upstairs again.
I don't know what all has taken over me. He's absolutely right though. Ever since finding out about Devin and letting him in here, I have changed. That button is pushed.
Devin
The lunch shift is over, but I decide to stick around to help clean with the rest of the volunteers. I carry the dirty dishes to the sink. Pastor Vincent's on the phone with someone. Never notices me.
“Yeah, we're just finishing up here. Probably going to serve dinner tonight and then close up shop. You should stop by, ya know? Help your Uncle out for the holidays.”
I look up over to him and then back at the dishes.
“What's in it for you? Girl, my love. That's what,” he chuckles.
“So I'll see you about five this evening then? Alright baby girl. I'll see you soon,” he finishes and then hangs up. I drop my eyes back to the sink of dirty dishes, pretending as if not to hear anything he's said. He turns around finally.
“Oh Devin, I didn't even see you in here. You doing good?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why are you cleaning the dishes?”
“It's the least I can do.”
“You don't have to. It's all good.”
I rinse off the plate in hand. “No, it's okay. I want to. You've opened up your doors to me, so you know.”
“Well, if you insist.”
Then an uncomfortable silence falls upon us for a moment until he speaks again.
“So, tell me how you're really doing?”
That catches me off guard. “What do you mean?”
“How are you honestly doing?”
I shrug. “I'm okay I guess.”
“Just okay?”
I stop my chores and place my hands on the edges of the sink and sigh. “What do you want to know?”
“What you're honestly feeling. What's really going through your head?”
I turn around, my back against the sink now and thoughts wearing perfectly on my face. My lips twist to the side and eyes shoot to the floor before I look at him again.
“You know, I've never been the type to ask for much. Perhaps that's why I'm in the position I'm in,” I start. “You wanna know how I'm really feeling? To tell you the truth, I'm tired. Sick and tired. Feel like a failure. I'm angry, frustrated, ashamed—“
“Of what?”
“Myself.” My voice breaks. “I don't come from much, and that's apparent. I've got a child I can't really look after, but I'm trying every day.”
He nods and lets me finish.
“I try to remember God but it gets harder each day cause’ sometimes I don't see where he is. And often I wonder is he just playing with me? Does he really care like people say he do, cause’ I've got to be honest with you, it sure don't feel like it.”
He takes a step closer to me and shakes his head. “I don't think that's true—“
“Maybe not for you, but the way my life looking right now, I beg to differ.”
Pastor Vincent gets quiet, listening to me share my woes.
“Do you have faith at all?” He questions.
“Most of the time I ask what's the point.”
“Well to me, you haven't counted yourself out yet. For whatever reason, you've found the strength, the courage to keep going in spite of.”
“Yeah, well that's because of my child.”
“You don't find that to be a coincidence?”
I look down at myself.
“She was given to you for a reason. Perhaps God knew that without her, you'd try to end it all too soon?”
Only God himself knew what I was thinking to do last night and here comes this man alluding to the fact.
“Having her made things a lot harder for me. I hate that this is all that I have to give to her.”
Pastor Vincent comes over and places a hand on my shoulder and continues.
“Look at where you are right now,” he says. “It's warm. You've been fed. You have a bed to sleep in right now. Your little girl is happy. You've got clothes on…clean clothes, my man. What does that tell you?”
I shrug, head hanging low while a few tears drop from my eyes.
“That's God looking out for you because he cares.”
And while all of that might be somewhat true, still, there are other things I'm still lacking in. So I go on
to debate him.
“I need a job. I need money and a place to stay. I wanna be able to take my little girl places. Clothe her, bathe her, feed her every day and not have to worry about where it's going to come from. Where is God in that?”
“Every time she eats, He's there. He supplied that. Every time she takes a bath, or gets clothes, or is able to sleep comfortably, He is right there, supplying that very need. It may not look how you think it ought to look, but He’s always there, and your prayers are answered.”
“Well, she needs a mother.” Shoot, that's a mouthful all by itself.
“What happened to her mother?”
I shake my head and wipe my face just as another person walks in, to gather myself before they can see me.
“I don't want to talk about it.”
He says no more and pats my shoulder again. “Follow me.”
And so I do. He leads me through the hallways towards steps that lead upstairs until we get to his office, secluded from the other parts of the church. He opens the door and motions for me to go in first.
“Have a seat.”
I grab a chair from in front of the desk and cautiously take a seat. Hands folded in my lap and eyes still glistening with sadness, I sit, waiting for him to do what he's gotta do.
“Is there anything else you want to get off your chest?”
I shake my head.
“Tell me about her mother.”
“Ain't nothing to really tell. We're not together anymore. I took Logan because she wasn't able to care for her.”
“What do you mean?”
“Drugs. That's what.”
He nods as if he understands.
“Have you tried family?”
“I'm an only child. Don't know any other family members.”
“I see. So you've been alone for quite some time, huh?”
“Pretty much.”
Pastor nods again, eyes searing straight into me. The room falls silent except for the wall clock ticking. Then he goes on to ask, “You want a job?”
“Absolutely. But with my past, it's kind of hard for anyone to feel comfortable enough to hire me.”
“Do you want a job?”
“I just told you, yes, but my background is—“
“That's not what I asked.” Him cutting me off leaves me puzzled.
“If you want, you can volunteer here for a little—“
“With all due respect, I honestly need money.”
“Let me finish.”
I hush myself quickly.
“You can volunteer here until I help you find a job. The volunteering is basically your ticket to stay—you know, have a roof over your head until you can get your own. That's all I ask.”
I think about it for a moment. “Guaranteed job if I volunteer?”
He laughs. “I said I will help you get one, but we've got some work to do first before we get to that point. Son, listen, I know what you're feeling, and that's why I want to help you. You just stay being who you are. Do what you need to do, and by that I mean, stay out of trouble of course. Keep loving on that baby girl of yours. Help out when you can around here. I've got some people who can train you in some areas where you need some tightening up, and we can get you started on a job search. What were you doing before all of this happened?”
“I was hustling really. Then when my girl got pregnant, I sold drugs. Stole from a store. Went to jail for a year. After that, ended up with a janitor gig for two years then got fired a couple months ago. So I really have no experience, sir. That's why any job will do at this point.”
He nods at me. “Devin, let me ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
“Who are you?”
For a moment, I sit here and think about it. To be quite honest, I've never had anyone ever ask me that. Not my mom. Not my dad. No friends. Not even Mia. All I've ever known is how much of someone else I am. I've been told that I'm going to be like a lot of people—people like my dad or thugs or a nigga that won't make it far, but I was never told I could simply just be myself. Every comparison has always been a bad one. And so, the majority of my life, I've always made it my dream to never be anything like them. I've always wanted to be something, sure, but outside of avoiding being a bad person, I don't know what I look like, let alone who I really am. I don't know who that Devin is.
“Pastor Vincent, I can't even answer that honestly, cause’ I don't know.”
“And you know what, that's okay. I'm going to help you figure that out. Just stay connected to me. That's it.”
I think I can do that.
Faith
Tonight, I agreed to help Uncle Vincent with the Holidays for the Homeless program. It's a good way to get my mind off of Clayton and put it on something that actually matters. Not only that, I still have yet to find Devin and Logan. I just pray that they're somewhere safe and keeping in good spirits.
I get to the church and hurry inside going directly to the multipurpose room. As I enter, my attitude softens. Uncle Vincent stands over near a group of homeless, having joyful conversation. He looks up to me at the entrance and waves from afar.
“Hey, Unc!” I glide my way over to him, excited.
“Hey, baby. Glad you could make it. You ready to get your hands dirty?”
“Yeah, I'm ready.”
He takes my coat and pushes me gently by the shoulders out of the multipurpose room.
“Let's go put your coat in my office then we'll go back to work.”
I smile and agree as we make our way upstairs to his office.
“I've been meaning to call you. You've been on my mind. Everything good? How's Clay?”
Uncle Vincent is my best friend. I can tell him anything, never feeling judged or like an outcast. However, still, as he asks me these questions, I know for certain that God has been in his ear. I don't want to say anything that will catch him off guard, so I keep it surface. If it gets to that point, then we'll wade in those waters but for now, I'm in a good mood, and I don't want to spoil it for either of us.
“I've been alright. Clay, that's whole other story.”
“How's the wedding planning and all that?”
I click my tongue trying to find a way to answer that.
“We're…we're making it, I guess. The planning, I haven't done much lately. Just too many other obligations to worry about. Besides, I'm doing it all myself, so I need the break.”
“Well does he do anything?”
There goes that sarcasm.
“Nothing but worry about himself and criticizing my every good deed.”
“Hmm, sounds like some reevaluation needs to happen huh?”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
“I'm just saying, doesn't sound like you're very happy with him.”
“He has his days.” He definitely has his days, and most of them involve me getting chewed up and spit out. Can't believe I'm actually trying to find an ounce of compassion for him right now after he done threw hot coffee at me.
“Reality and denial can't exist together.”
“I know. I'm just trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. Doesn't everyone have some good in them?” I ask knowing full well he knows as well as I do that we ain't no good match.
We reach his office. I hang my coat on the back of the door and take a seat in front of his desk.
“Unc, let me ask you something.”
“Go ahead.”
“What would be your reason to marry someone?”
The way he stops everything and gets quiet, I can tell he's thinking of really good reasons—perhaps my late aunt and all of her wonderfulness. Patiently, I wait for an answer in hopes that maybe I could be overreacting. Nah I doubt it.
“Well, your aunt was a perfect example. And what I mean by that is, she was so full of love. Her heart was pure and kind. We shared a lot of the same spiritual attributes, which drew me in with her.”
“Like what?”
“Well, she loved people.
She served humanity like Christ did, to the best of her ability, which is another reason why I'm doing what I'm doing. It's like she's still alive when I serve in this capacity. And oh man, how she loved me beyond my flaws. There's no way I could have asked for anyone better than her. She was everything to me. Man, I miss that woman.”
I miss her too.
His eyes light up as he shares his memory lane of yesteryear. A big part of me tries to suffocate the envy that rises within knowing my own relationship reflects not even an ounce of what he describes. But I smile anyway.
“Why you ask me that?”
“Oh, I just wanted to know if I were on the right track.”
The train and the tracks have derailed and fallen to its death a long time ago.
“Well Faith, I can tell you this. When you've found the right one, there's no questioning about the path you're on with that person. Your life ends up turning around for the better and for the most part, you become a better person because of it. You'll know. It makes itself obvious.”
I nod, soaking in his truth and wisdom and rise from my chair, thinking on that fact.
“Now let's go help these people, shall we?”
Devin
Dinner is taking place now, and I take it upon myself to go and help Mrs. Mason serve the plates to all those in line. With Christmas music playing in the background and the hired community Santa makes his rounds, all seems fun and fair. As I stand behind the buffet tables placing the fixings on people’s plates, I briefly look up only to find Pastor Vincent and Faith walking in together. We connect eyes for a second until I look away.
“Devin?” She calls out to me. My lips turn up into a half smile.
“Hey, Faith.”
“What are you doing here? I've been looking for you. Where's Logan?”
“She's over with the other kids,” I point with tongs in one hand and a half-fixed plate in the other.
“Are you okay?”
I get ready to answer, but Pastor Vincent makes his way over, interrupting the both of us.
“Devin, this is my niece, Faith. Faith, this is our new volunteer, Devin.”