Wrath

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  My pace slowed. “Whoa. You don’t believe in God?” If there was one thing I knew, it was we were all at different levels in our spiritual walk. I’d known Christians who couldn’t find Genesis in the Bible, and then I knew folks who thought they knew more scripture than the Lord. But no matter where each was, all believed in God. I’d come to think that was the black code, part of our DNA.

  It took a moment for Xavier to say, “I believed in Him.” After a pause and a breath, he added, “I believed in God so much when I was a child, I called out to Him all the time. But…” His shoulders slumped and then, in a voice I could hardly hear over the music that was Manhattan, he told me, “God never answered a single prayer.”

  His words made us both stop at the Columbus Circle intersection, where, for a moment, we just stared at each other. Xavier didn’t ask, so there wasn’t a question for me to answer. He just rounded the corner and, still holding on to his arm, I ignored the flutters I felt, and followed him.

  Now, we headed north on Central Park West about two miles away from where I lived on the corner of 100th. It would only take us about a half hour, if that long, to make it up to my place.

  This hadn’t been my plan. I’d expected to say good-bye to Xavier right in the place where I’d said hello. Expected to catch an Uber and head home alone.

  But we’d made that turn toward my condo, and even though I was nervous, I was willing. Because what he’d said about his childhood cries to God… Xavier needed to talk, and I wanted to listen.

  So I moved in rhythm with him, our stroll still slow, and inside, I prayed God would use me to help him. Xavier stayed silent, but I was not concerned. He’d speak soon.

  It wasn’t until we crossed Sixty-Fourth Street that I spoke words I hoped would let him know I was a safe place. I said, “I’ll give you two million pennies for your thoughts. Two million pennies for why you say God didn’t answer you.” I held my breath and prayed Xavier wouldn’t think I was making light of the burden I knew he carried by the words he’d spoken.

  His smile was faint, but still, it was there, and I exhaled. “The stakes have gotten higher,” he said, his voice light, though still serious.

  I nodded. “But only if you want to talk.”

  He stared straight ahead, his thoughts seemingly deep. Then, “When I was growing up in Mississippi, I spent so much time praying to God.”

  He paused for so long (almost two blocks) that I wondered if that was all he was going to say. But I didn’t dare ask more. His tone made me not want to press.

  Then he picked up as if he hadn’t stopped. “My childhood was filled with heartache, heartbreak, and loneliness.”

  When he paused, I felt—no, I needed to say, “I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head. “You didn’t have anything to do with the misery that was my life.” Now he looked at me. “You weren’t part of that past; you’re here now. And being here with you is a wonderful reminder of how far I’ve come.” When he paused and shook his head, I could tell he was remembering. “Just being in these streets, in this city, with a woman as beautiful and accomplished as you. Just working at one of the most prestigious firms. None of this seemed achievable or believable when I was growing up inside my grandmother’s house.”

  His grandmother. Was that why he hadn’t answered my question about his parents? “You were raised by your grandmother?”

  He gave me a joyless chuckle. “Raised would be a strong word. I lived in her house, that’s about all I can say. At first, my mom was there, too, but then…”

  This time, the silence stayed with us for about four blocks, until Xavier spoke again. “Once my mom left,” he continued as if he hadn’t paused for minutes, “my life… It was filled with all the things you’d imagine for a child who was somewhere he wasn’t wanted. But the physical abuse… even at six, seven, and eight… I could handle that.”

  I shuddered, and Xavier squeezed my arm as if he was assuring me.

  He continued, “I knew the pain, the scars of the beatings, would fade. That wasn’t why I prayed to God. I prayed to Him because of the other stuff.” His expression was almost like he’d talked himself into a trance. “Not having my mother, not being part of a family, not having that unit of love and protection. It was too much for a little boy. I missed out on a lot…” After a pause, he shook his head as if he was releasing himself from his hypnotic state. “Whew, it’s a lot to handle, right?”

  It wasn’t until he glanced down at me that I realized I’d been holding my breath. But I breathed when he smiled, though it came from his lips alone. The rest of him was shrouded in sadness, all the way down to his soul.

  Even with the dysfunction of my parents’ marriage, I’d never doubted their love for me. I couldn’t imagine what life had been like for Xavier. Before, all I’d wanted to do was listen; now all I wanted to do was hold him.

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” I said, giving him the only thing I had.

  Again, he squeezed me, giving me reassurance, as if he wanted to make sure I was all right. “That’s why I’ve struggled to let people in. I’ve always been afraid of connections and consequences. Afraid that I’d be the one to end up with a broken heart.”

  To this point, all the things we had in common had been fun to uncover. But it was sad to discover that Xavier and I were similar in this way, too. It sounded like he was just like me, in his thirties, yet he hadn’t made any real connection to anyone because of his childhood. This time, when he turned to me, his smile went all the way to his eyes. “All that matters is I’ve achieved what my child’s mind’s eye could never conceive. Couldn’t see a time when something as simple as taking a walk in the best city in the world would make me happy. But I’ve walked these streets before and have always enjoyed New York; the difference now, though… is you.”

  His words always moved me. Tonight, though, it was his emotions that were touching me.

  I didn’t think about the fact that we’d only had two dinners and one kiss when I stopped walking and then, with a little tug of his arm, made Xavier turn toward me. This time, I was the one who closed the small distance between us, sealing that space so there was barely room for air. This time, I was the one who cupped my hand behind his head, and, with our eyes locked, I was the one who eased him closer. I closed my eyes just a moment before we connected. Our second kiss, right across the street from the Museum of Natural History.

  Just like an hour or so ago, my heart quickened as our kiss went on and on and on. Even as cars crawled by and honked, we kissed. Even as a couple of teenagers giggled and clapped as they passed, we kissed. We kissed until we had to stop because we needed to breathe.

  When we stepped back, I understood that inkling I’d had when we’d made that turn onto Central Park West. Because something had shifted. When I reached for his hand, Xavier entwined his fingers with mine. Holding his hand felt far more intimate than how we’d connected before.

  We stayed that way as we continued our stroll, and now, Xavier really opened up. Told me more about his younger days. On Ninety-Sixth Street, we sat on a bench and he talked some more. We stayed that way until the traffic thinned and fewer pedestrians passed by. We stayed and talked as windows darkened and the music of the city quieted to a softer beat.

  It was after midnight when he escorted me to my door and left me at the threshold with a hug and a kiss. And I left him with a promise of an even better tomorrow.

  9 Xavier

  I shot up in bed, my sheets soaked with sweat. But after a few deep breaths, I lay back down. Another nightmare, the third in the last week.

  Raising my head, I glanced at the clock. Just two hours between now and the ringing of the alarm. This, I couldn’t afford, especially since I was now working on what looked to be another huge civil rights case, this time against one of the city’s biggest cable companies.

  For minutes, I stared at the ceiling, and when my eyes wouldn’t close, I pushed myself up. A breeze wafted through my window, and
I looked out into the blue-black sky of the night.

  I was exhausted, the result of fighting demons inside dreams. In all the years since I’d escaped Mississippi, I hadn’t been haunted like this. Yeah, I had dreams, but nothing I couldn’t roll out of bed and forget. Nothing that came night after night with images so vivid, I awakened with the scent of Mississippi hay in my nostrils.

  At least I knew where this was coming from—Chastity. Not that I blamed her. It was our connection that made her so inquisitive and led to her asking questions that no woman had asked before. And because she already had my heart, I gave her the key to those memories. So when she asked me a question yesterday over lunch, I answered:

  “What was it about your grandmother? Why did you have that kind of relationship with her?”

  My response was measured when I said, “She didn’t want me there. That’s the beginning and the end. But she kept me because I came with a check. I guess I have to be grateful to her for two things: one, she was so strict and heavy-handed that she kept me out of the streets. And two, she watched Oprah, and my hearing Oprah’s voice every day after school taught me education was the way out. She’d made it out of Mississippi and so would I.”

  I’d told Chastity the truth about Oprah, but I’d left out the whole truth about my family. Because if I told Chastity that, there would be no way she’d stay. No woman would want to be with a man who started life that way.

  No matter what I said, though, it wasn’t enough. Chastity’s questions continued. It wasn’t curiosity alone; she wanted to help even after I reminded her nothing could be done about the past. But she did what no other woman had cared enough to do—she continued to press, getting me to talk about all that I’d repressed.

  We’d just met thirteen days ago, yet she knew me well because she felt me the same way I felt her. So after our date tonight, when she asked, I wanted to answer. “You didn’t enjoy the play?” she asked when we slid into a cab in front of the West Village theater.

  “No, I did,” I told her quickly. “It’s just that there were parts that reminded me of some pretty bad times.”

  “Oh,” she said. Then she took my hand. “I understand if you don’t want to talk about her, but it might help if you share a little about your grandmother. Maybe get rid of some of what you’ve been holding inside.”

  As the cab made its way uptown, I wondered if I could do this. It was because of our connection that she knew I hadn’t told everything, but could I really talk to her about all I hadn’t shared?

  Looking down to where she held my hand, I felt all of her care and concern. Chastity was a safe place. So I began…

  December 3, 1997

  I trotted down the steps of the school bus, turned to wave, but like always, there was no one looking out for me. Or maybe it was that the bus windows were too dingy for me to see anything.

  That was what I preferred to think, though I didn’t have friends. Yeah, Richard talked to me sometimes, but that was it. It was impossible to have friends with the way Gran corralled me.

  I walked toward the house, kicking up dirt where grass was supposed to be. At least Gran didn’t have an old car, a beat-up sofa, or a toilet sitting in front of her house like just about everyone else’s did in this neighborhood.

  The four steps creaked and cried as I climbed them to the front door, but when I pushed it, the door didn’t budge. I tried again, this time jiggling the knob. I moaned. Gran always left the door open when she was home. That meant if I went around to the back, her car wouldn’t be there.

  I blew out a long breath and then bounced down onto the steps, which cried out once again. Certainly, I was old enough to have a key. But Gran never made any part of my life easy. So I zipped up the Members Only jacket I’d gotten from the Salvation Army, then cupped my hand over my eyes to glance at the sky. I hoped it wouldn’t rain like the last time Gran left me out here. Today, the sun beamed, but like everything else in my life, there was no certainty in what I saw. I trusted no one and nothing. Not even a bright sun in the sky.

  My stomach growled, bringing my attention back to my current situation, and I pulled out my textbook from my favorite class—Civics—so I’d have something else to focus on. But before I opened the book, I heard the sound of metal scraping along the asphalt. Once again, I shielded my eyes to see the approaching car, even though I knew who was inside before she came into view. I watched Aunt Virginia screech her fourteen-year-old more-rust-than-paint Impala to a stop. It took her about five minutes to gather herself, then slide out and amble up the path.

  Aunt Virginia may have been Gran’s sister, but having the same parents was where any similarity ended. The biggest difference—she was kind.

  “How you doin’, little man?” she asked in a tone I never heard from my grandmother.

  “I’m fine, ma’am.”

  When she reached the top step, she let out a long breath as if she’d just run a mile, then she did something that no one—except for my mama—ever did. Aunt Virginia hugged me.

  “You sure are gettin’ big, little man.” She turned to the door, unlocked it, and I followed her inside. “Now, Gertrude told me to let you in, but to tell you not to touch nothin’.”

  “I won’t.”

  She paused, glanced into the living room to her right and then to the kitchen on her left. “Well, you gotta eat.”

  “I’m not hungry,” I said, even though any second my stomach would protest again. But I’d gone without food before.

  Aunt Virginia sucked her teeth, waved her hand, and turned to the kitchen. “You gonna eat somethin’.” She opened the refrigerator and then turned to the cabinets. “Even if I just make you a sandwich.”

  Since this was her idea, I couldn’t get in trouble with Gran, so I slid into one of the chairs around the kitchen table. Aunt Virginia mumbled as she pulled out the bread, then the peanut butter and jelly.

  “Don’t make no kinda sense the way she treats you, little man.”

  I stayed quiet, knowing I wasn’t expected to speak.

  “I keep tryin’ to talk to her. But she won’t listen to me. Always tells me she’s the oldest and to stay out of grown folks’ business. Hmph.”

  She kept on, mumbling about how Gertrude should be ashamed of herself, treating me like all of this was my fault.

  “And then to not let your mama come back here…”

  “My mama can’t come back?” I asked.

  She faced me, and it must’ve been the shock on my face that made her say, “Don’t listen to me, I’m just talkin’ ’bout nothin’.”

  Because she’d put the sandwich in front of me, I didn’t ask her anything more, even though that question resounded in me. Why wouldn’t Gran let my mama come back? All I said, though, was “Thank you,” before I took a bite so big almost half of the sandwich was gone.

  Aunt Virginia returned with a glass of milk, and then she stood with her hands punched into her hips. I began to chew slower as she stared at me.

  “You certainly are your daddy’s twin.”

  Every question I had about my mama was put on pause as I placed the other half of my sandwich down. No one, not even Mama, ever mentioned my father. When it was just Mama and me, I didn’t care. Then, after Mama left, I didn’t want to ask Gran.

  Courage rose inside of me. “You know my daddy?”

  Aunt Virginia nodded. “Everybody knows your daddy.” Then she chuckled before she added, “Everybody ’cept for you.” She tilted her head. “But you know what? It’s time you know. How old are you now, little man? Sixteen, seventeen?”

  “I’m twelve, ma’am.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Well, still, you need to know your daddy. I keep telling Gertrude to stop all this foolishness.”

  Whatever she was saying about Gran, I didn’t care. All I wanted to know now was, “Who’s my daddy?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “Bobby Washington.”

  Two words—a lifetime of information. But it was only a name. I needed mor
e: What did he look like? Why didn’t he come see me? And now, I wondered… would he come and get me since Mama couldn’t come here?

  I chose one question to ask. “Do you know where he lives?”

  She laughed. “He got as far away from here as he could ’cause your grandmother was so mad, she could have chewed up nails and spit out a barbed-wire fence. He could’ve stayed, though—Gertrude would’ve got over it. But he decided to move on, headed to New York.”

  New York. All I knew about New York was what I’d learned in school: the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building, the World Trade Center. And I also knew that New York was far away. But the question that came out was “Gran didn’t like my daddy?”

  “Gran loved your daddy, boy. She’d loved him for a long time. But after you came out of your mama looking all caramel like Bobby, with his thick eyebrows and those lips, he didn’t even try to deny it.”

  My mind was like one of those calculators my math teacher showed us how to use. Only I wasn’t adding up numbers. Yeah, I was only twelve, but I knew how babies were made. And that meant my daddy couldn’t be my daddy if he was Gran’s man.

  “Bobby always had a thing for your mama,” Aunt Virginia went on to explain. She shook her head. “I tried to warn Gertrude, told her to keep Bobby away from your mama, but she wouldn’t listen, and it turned into a big mess. Your mama had one story, and Bobby had another, but all of it added up to you being born and looking just like your daddy.” She stared at me for a long while again. “I believed your mama and everyone else in Sumner did, too, because we all knew Bobby Washington and his past. But your grandmother didn’t believe her own child.” Aunt Virginia sucked her teeth like whatever had gone down still bothered her. “And she’s still punishing your mama.” This time, as she shook her head, she grabbed her bag. “Finish up your sandwich, then don’t touch nothin’ in here. I don’t want to hear Gertrude’s mouth.” She hugged me. “Take care, little man.”

  She was so casual the way she kissed my head, then waddled out the door as if she hadn’t just rocked my world. As if she hadn’t just explained why I lived inside a house of hate.