by Pearl Cleage
"This meeting is over," she said finally, looking sternly from one frightened woman to another. "All of you get your things and get out. Go home and pray to God that you have not marked your children for life by exposing them to such lewd and lascivious things."
They just looked at her, less in defiance than in confusion. What the hell did lewd and lascivious mean?
"Go NOW!" Gerry's voice was an angry bellow.
As the women headed for the door, Joyce's voice rose sweetly above the confusion. "You can pick up extra condoms from my sister at the door," she said, pointing at me. I remembered I had the other bag full of supplies in the back next to Imani, who was still sleeping, blissfully unaware. I scrambled to break them out and press them into the outstretched hands of the rapidly dispersing Sewing Circus members.
"Tell your sister to hang in there," Tomika whispered as she accepted a strip of condoms from me. "This was right on time no matter what Miz Anderson says."
"Thanks," I said.
When the last woman had grabbed a handful of condoms and gone, Joyce smiled at Gerry like they were neighbors exchanging gossip over the back fence and began cleaning up the mess on the floor. I went to help.
Gerry was staring at Joyce like she was trying to determine our specific degree of insanity before making her next move. Joyce picked up the chopstick, pulled the hooded hot-dog off, and dropped it into the trash bag.
"I think it went well," she said to me as if we were alone in the room. I didn't know what to say, so I just nodded.
That was too much for Gerry, who turned on her heel and marched away. She turned at the door.
"This is the very last time you will have a chance to desecrate the house of God with such evil," she hissed. "I intend to see to it. Immediately!" She swept out with her threat still echoing behind her.
I braced myself for a bolt of lightning to strike me and Joyce down like the sinners we surely were, but apparently the Reverend Mrs. wasn't as tight with God as she thought or he was busy elsewhere because nothing happened.
Joyce grinned at me. "Did you see her face when she saw that hot dog with a condom on?"
I grinned back. "You have been a very bad girl." And we sat there in the middle of the remains of the evening and laughed until we cried. Imani looked at us like we were crazy, but what the hell? If you can't get hysterical in the face of the plague, when can you get hysterical?
Dear sister mitchell:
It is with deep regret that I must inform you that the goals and purposes of the Women's Sewing Circle organization, which currently meets under your stewardship on Wednesday nights, here at the church fellowship hall, are no longer in line with the overall goals and Christian purpose of the New Light Baptist Church. The shocking display which was witnessed on Wednesday last by my wife, Mrs. Anderson, during your meeting, had no place within a building dedicated to the glory of God. She was alarmed and appalled, as I am sure any woman of good conscience and high moral character would be.
Both Mrs. Anderson and I are aware of your long history in this community and we value your continued active membership at New Light. However, due to your unwillingness to bring the Women's Sewing Circle back to its original purpose (and its original name, which more accurately reflected the pursuit of activities befitting Christian women), I am hereby suspending your right to use the church facilities for any gathering without my explicit approval in writing. I am disbanding the Wednesday night women's group until it can be reshaped more in line with our overall goals of building and strengthening Christian men, women, and children. Mrs. Anderson will assume the directorship of the Sunday morning nursery, which we do feel is a valuable service to the many young mothers within our congregation and should continue.
Let me say in closing, Sister Mitchell, how sorry I am that we have been unable to find common ground on which to meet. I feel that you may be going through some difficult times in your personal life that may have affected your judgment in this and other matters. Your spirit may be tossed in turmoil from which you can find no solace. I urge you to seek your answers in our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, not in the foul and deviant solutions suggested by an evil and sinful world. The Lord can, and will, provide the peace you are seeking if you humble yourself to him and ask for his forgiveness. As your pastor, I would be happy, when my schedule clears, to meet with you for further counseling on the difficult matters which may have hardened your heart toward the healing powers of being joyfully washed in the blood of the lamb.
Yours in Christ,
Rev. Jonathan Anderson
Pastor, New Light Baptist Church it wasnt lik? Joyce had intended to keep the group connected to the church forever, but this sudden parting of the ways couldn't have come at a worse time. The Sewing Circus had only been meeting regularly for six months and it was already making a difference in these women's lives. Postponing meetings or trying to move to someplace new was bound to tamper with the delicate balance of things and probably result in a drop-off in active membership. Most of them didn't have cars and there were no buses, so getting around up here was definitely a consideration.
Joyce wasn't having it. "It's working so well," she said, ticking of f a list of recent positive signs, including the fact that Patrice had called after the session with the jumbos to say she had finally gotten her boyfriend to use a condom and even though he still didn't like it, she had felt so free knowing she wasn't going to get pregnant that her enthusiasm had, he said, made up for any decrease in sensation.
And just this morning, Aretha had come by with the news that she'd gotten her official letter of acceptance into the summer institute at Interlochen and that if she did well, there was a chance she might get the financial aid she needed to spend her whole senior year there. When she showed us the letter, her face was the sweetest mixture of triumph and terror. I knew what the look meant. She had just realized she didn't have to live and die in Lake County just because she was born there.
"I'll schedule a meeting, all right," Joyce said, folding the Rev's letter and putting it aside. "A meeting to tell them that me and the Sewing Circus are moving on."
I looked at her and the question in my mind must have been written all over my face because she laughed and shook her head.
"I don't know where we're moving on to," she said, "but we are definitely on the move!"
I told you. Joyce is that kind of a gal. Inertia is death. Forward motion is everything.
3
I was an asshole at the grocery store today. I didn't feel like going, but I didn't want to stay home alone with Imani either. She's going through a phase where she doesn't want you to put her down. She doesn't cry. She just sort of mews and whimpers like a kitten or some other sweet, helpless little animal.
Joyce put her in the baby seat while she picked through some strawberries that had seen better days. The cart with the seat in it was right up next to Joyce, so it wasn't like Imani couldn't see her, but she started that mewing anyway and it was working my last nerve, so I said:
"This damn baby just wants to be held all the time!" "Don't you?" Joyce said, reached over, picked up imam, who was instantly quiet, and went on with what she was doing.
She's right. That's why I'm so evil. I had a brief flicker that she might have heard me masturbating downstairs, but that's crazy. The bed doesn't creak and I don't make much noise. I never was much of a screamer, even in my prime, and these days I mostly maintain a ladylike silence.
I'm just lonesome. I've even been thinking that when I get to San Francisco, I might be more open to the idea of having a woman lover. Wondering where do the titties go is only one small step from asking, "Which one gets to be the man?" one of the top ten most ignorant questions of all time. Besides, there is another possibility. What if both of them get to be the woman?
The funny thing is, the best sex I ever had was with a brother who really liked to kiss it. He wasn't like most of those Atlanta Negroes who act like oral sex means one way in their direction, period. This
brother would start at the navel, kiss his way down, and then linger. He'd kiss up one side and down the other. And you know how sometimes men will make the supreme sacrifice and kiss it a few times like they're doing you a favor, but they hold their breath the whole time? This brother would breathe. Sometimes he'd just bury his nose and inhale like my stuff really did smell sweet as honeysuckle, a claim he made on more than one occasion.
I knew women who gave up on men after they hit thirty and the pickings were looking kind of slim and the few unmarried, straight men around were all acting like they were God's gift. Once they found a girlfriend, they never went back. When you tried to ease up on asking them about the specifics, they would smile mysteriously and suggest that if you've figured out a way to fuck men and get off, women will be a breeze and a blessing.
But, of course, Imani isn't interested in all that. She's busy living out her role as the flesh-and-blood proof of all those scary statistics about crack babies and drug addicts and the wages of sin. Joyce isn't interested either since she said she hasn't even thought about having sex since Mitch died. So it's on me.
Maybe I can reprogram my body to channel all this sexual energy into physical fitness. Maybe my disposition will improve if I start walking a couple of miles a day and do some sit-ups or something. I don't know, though. The way I've been feeling lately, I'll wind up looking like Arnold Schwarzenegger by Christmas.
When we got home, I apologized to Joyce and she hugged me and got all teary. She started saying how important it is that we love Imani as much as we can since her real family could come and get her any time they want to and we know what kind of life that would be. Joyce said we have to help her build up some good memories in case she's got some more bad times coming.
Now I really felt like shit. Gerry's messing with the Sewing Circus and Imani is still not tied to Joyce by anything but love. I told Joyce she should legally adopt Imani so they couldn't ever take her back and she said she wants to, but it's really complicated because they still can't find Eartha and nobody knows the father. In the meantime, just the possibility of losing Imani makes Joyce very, very nervous. She's only been with us three weeks and she's already family. I asked Joyce what she would do if Mattie and Frank came to claim Imani.
"Head for the hills," Joyce said calmly.
"Okay," I said. "Just so we've got a plan."
4
Eddie took, me into Ludington yesterday. It's only forty miles or so, but I haven't been there since we were kids. He had to go check on a job he'd done a month ago and when he asked me if I wanted to ride, I jumped at the chance. Maybe some
of those stiff breezes coming in off Lake Michigan can blow away some of the bad vibes I've been carrying in spite of my best efforts.
"Joyce didn't put you up to this, did she?" I said, suddenly suspicious that this trip might be part of a coordinated effort.
Eddie shook his head. "No. Why would she?"
"I haven't been such good company lately."
"Really? What do you do when you're not being good company?"
I considered the question. "I snarl a lot." He nodded. "Well, she hasn't mentioned it to me." "I just didn't want you to feel like you had to do this." "Do what?" He guided the truck easily around a patch of road construction.
"Take me for a Sunday drive."
"It's Tuesday," he said.
"Six of one, half a dozen of the other." What was I talking about?
"Was that a snarl?"
He was teasing me and I liked it. "I warned you." "That's fair enough," he said. "I'll keep it in mind." I waited while he went in to check the deck he'd built behind a little house tucked way off the main road in an acre or so of the most amazing pine trees. Of course, they wanted a deck. I'm surprised they weren't living in a tree house.
"Everything holding up?" I said when he jumped back in beside me.
"Yep," he said. "You hungry?"
Was I?
"I've got some fruit," he said. "We could go down and sit by the lake if you want. The beach shouldn't be crowded this time of day."
"Not on Tuesday," I said, and he laughed. I did, too. I didn't care if it was a plot to improve my disposition. It was working like a charm.
5
When eddie said he had fruit, that wasn't the whole story. He had a picnic basket full of green grapes and golden ripe bananas, two perfect mangoes, a carton of strawberries, a couple of different kinds of cheese, and the best loaf of homemade pumpernickel bread I'd ever tasted. He also had a blanket for us to sit on and a bottle of some blend of exotic juices that made you feel tropical even in the decidedly midwestern environs of Ludington, Michigan.
"What if I hadn't been home to accept your invitation?" I said, glad that I was, but never content to leave well enough alone.
"I'd still have to eat lunch," he said. "I just wouldn't be doing it in such good company."
"You eat this good all the time?"
He grinned and handed me a plump strawberry, which I popped into my mouth by way of thanks. "Don't you?"
I had an instant mental picture of my regular eating habits. I've been trying to eat better since I got diagnosed, but I spent years surviving on fast food and an occasional salad. I ate on the run so often, I had to consciously slow down when somebody took me out to dinner or I'd be ordering dessert before they finished the salad.
"No," I said. "I really don't."
"Why not?" He looked like he really wanted to know.
"Not enough time?" I said, sounding uncertain even to myself.
"Oh," he said, spreading some kind of soft cheese on a small piece of pumpernickel and passing it to me like I'd asked for it.
After we finished eating, we just sat there for a while,
looking at the lake, watching the gulls, talking a little bit, but mostly just sitting there together. It was a lovely afternoon, and by the time we started back, I felt like I'd found a friend for life. Better late than never.
6
Aretha came by looking for Joyce, but had to settle for me and Imani. Joyce was trying to scout out a central place for the Sewing Circus to have their next meeting. Other than the church, there weren't many options.
"Do you want to wait for her?" I said. Imani was asleep and I was up for some company.
"Thanks," she said, and accepted my offer of a cup of peppermint tea.
"So are you ready for your trip to Interlochen?" I said, setting out the honey and two spoons.
"Yeah," she said, shaking her head no at the same time.
"I can't believe it."
"Why? Joyce said your portfolio is really good." Aretha ducked her head and blushed with pride. It made her look even younger. "She did?" "She sure did."
"Well, that's what she keeps telling me and I know that's why they accepted me, but I guess I don't believe it yet." She sipped her tea and added another swirl of honey. "I wish my mom and dad could be here to see me," she said. "They'd be proud of you," I said. She nodded and stirred her tea. "How soon do you have to go?"
"Ten days," she said, brightening again. "They said we don't have to bring anything except our clothes. They give you all the stuff you need when you get there."
"That's great," I said. "I'm sure it's going to be a great experience for you."
"Thanks," she said. "Are you really a hairdresser?"
"I used to be."
"What are you now?"
I loved the directness of the question. I wished my answer could have been more straightforward, but this was a kid. I didn't need to discuss my health with her.
"I'm in transition," I said. "I'm moving to San Francisco to consider my options."
She grinned. "That sounds real cool."
I laughed.
"How long have you been wearing your hair short like that?"
I ran my hand over my hair, glad I had learned to cut it myself without taking chunks out of the back. The secret is to get a mirror you can hang around your neck like harmonica players do so you have both hands free.
"Five or six years," I said.
"For real?"
"Honest to God. Why does that surprise you?"
"I don't know," she said. "I just never saw anybody up close with their hair that short. You like it?"
"I love it," I said. "No fuss, no muss, no fuzz, no scuzz."
She giggled at that. "Well, you got the face for it, I guess."
"What does that mean?"
"You know. You got a nice face."
"Everybody's got a nice face," I said. "Most of the time you just can't see it under all that bad hair."
She considered this. "Weren't you scared? What if you did it and didn't like it?"
"What's the worst that can happen? It'll grow back."
"It'd be one less thing to worry about, that's for sure."
I looked at her smooth brown face. She had beautiful
skin and big dark eyes. If anybody had the face for this hairstyle, Aretha did. She'd probably never had a good haircut in her life. A thought occurred to me.
"I'll tell you what," I said. "When you get ready to go to school, I'll cut your hair for you."
"That short?" She looked intrigued, but a little doubtful.
"Doesn't have to be this short," I said. "I'll style it any way you want. Something easy to keep so you won't be up there worrying about your hair when you're supposed to be contemplating the colors of the sunset."
"Would you really?" Her face begged me not to tease her and I heard the sound of Joyce's car outside.
"You'd be doing me a favor," I said. "I don't want to get rusty sitting around here all summer like a lady of leisure and lose my skills."
"Okay," she said. "Thanks."
"You're welcome," I said. "And don't rule out cutting it short. You've got the face for it."
The smile she gave me was all the proof I needed.
7
One Or tn? good things about meditating is that it helps you spot your own bullshit much faster. The bad thing is, sometimes a little harmless bullshit is quite a pleasant diversion from what are invariably the much harsher realities of a bullshit-free existence. Maybe harsh is too strong a word. How about barren?