by Neta Jackson
I was startled by her matter-of-fact honesty. But I sensed nothing tense between us in her use of “you” and “we.” She was sharing with me. Pulling me into her circle. I raised an eyebrow. “Or vice versa.”
She laughed. “Guess it’s a good thing we’ve got the Holy Spirit. God may need to be the tiebreaker.” With another hug, she was gone.
But Debra’s comment brought my feelings into focus as I climbed into the Baxter minivan for the twelve short blocks home to Lunt Avenue. As much as I’d enjoyed the monthly services with New Morning this summer, even shared the excitement of possibly merging our two churches, I’d really wanted to be “just us” that morning, to soak up another Uptown worship service as I’d grown to know and love it in the past two years before we bid it good-bye. If I was honest with myself,my feelings were a tangled mess: anticipation mixed with loss, blessings mixed with uncomfortable change, trust in God’s direction mingled with fear of the unknown.
I took Willie Wonka for a walk along the lake that afternoon, praying aloud, confessing all my mixed feelings to God, and trying to ignore the weird glances I got from the walkers and bikers and baby-stroller pushers who passed us. “Yeah, Wonka. Notice that they all pass us.”
But by the time I pried myself out of Stu’s car in front of Florida’s house that evening, I felt better for having confessed it all to God and actually praying about the upcoming business meeting rather than stewing about the decision we had to make.
Florida must have gotten the word around, because we had a good turnout that night at Yada Yada. Ruth huffed into the house, proudly wearing a bubblegum pink maternity smock that looked straight out of the eighties—probably left over from one of her early pregnancies and kept hopefully in the back of her closet the past twenty years. I almost commented on it, but Delores took one look at her and started scolding. “Ruth, mi amiga, you are too thin. What are you eating? ”
“Thin, schmin!” Ruth patted her tummy under the pink bubblegum. “What do you think this is, my bed pillow? ”
“That’s not what I mean. Your face, your arms . . . how many pounds have you gained? ”
Ruth rolled her eyes. “How many ounces do you think these babies weigh at twenty weeks? Not even one pound. I’m fine. Not to worry. Ben worries enough for both of us.”
How Nony smuggled a cake into Florida’s kitchen when she also brought Hoshi was beyond me. But Nony lifted an eyebrow at me as if to say, Did you find her name? I grinned and patted the tote bag holding my Bible and water bottle.Did I ever.
Avis arrived alone. “Rochelle didn’t come this time? ” I asked.
Avis shook her head. “Dexter agreed to move out and get counseling. Rochelle seemed relieved to be able to go back home. She and Conny have to get back to something resembling a normal life, even with the marriage in trouble. Have to admit, so do we.” She allowed a wry smile. “It was getting a bit tense at home.”
I hadn’t realized Stu had overheard, but she cut in. “Did she change the locks? No? Avis, I’m telling you. Tell Peter to change those locks.”
By the time Chanda blew in, everyone else had arrived. “’Scuse my fancy coffee table,” Florida smirked, setting chips and salsa on an overturned packing box. “We gettin’ there; just ain’t there yet.”
Chanda loaded a paper plate with potato chips, complaining that she’d been in her new house longer than Flo and we hadn’t had a house blessing for her. “Well, just invite us, girl!” Florida said. “You can’t wait around for ever’body to be thinkin’ about you all the time. If you want somethin’ to happen, speak up! We’ll be there.”
My hand paused with a potato chip halfway to my mouth. Sheesh.Why couldn’t I “speak the obvious truth” as Florida had just done without a tinge of irritation or self-righteousness? She made it look so easy. Huh. Maybe that’s what the apostle Paul meant about “speaking the truth in love.” Not such a big deal, really.
Avis flopped open her big Bible. “Don’t sit down, sisters. In a minute, we’re going to bless this house from basement to attic. But if you’ve got your Bibles, turn to Psalm 127.” I dug my Bible out of my tote as she began to read: “‘Unless the Lord builds the house, its builders labor in vain. Unless the Lord watches over the city, the watchmen stand guard in vain.’”
“Jesus! Help us!” Florida said, shaking her head.
Ruth begged off from the blessing tour, saying she’d pray blessings right where she sat. Avis got out her little bottle of anointing oil, and we started first in the living room, asking God to “build this house” and watch over the family within its walls. Avis anointed the doorways as we went from room to room—the kitchen, the dining room, the dark and damp basement where empty spaces sat next to the laundry tubs. Carla, playing with a doll in her first-floor bed room, watched wide-eyed as Avis anointed her bed, her toy shelf, her CD player, and her desk as Delores poured out her heart for God’s blessings in Spanish. The only words I recognized were “muchacha preciosa” —precious girl.
“Are the boys here? ” I whispered to Florida as she led the way upstairs.
She shook her head. “Carl took them to the park to play ball, to get them out of the way.” But her eyes twinkled. “Now that ain’t happened since I can’t remember when.”
We prayed a long time in the boys’ bedrooms—each room hardly bigger than Chanda’s new walk-in closet—then Florida unlocked a door and we crowded into the tiny “apartment” that made up the back half of the second floor: closet-sized kitchen, one room for living room and eating in, a small bedroom, and a tiny bath. Adele prayed that God would send “the right someone” to rent the apartment, and that it would be a blessing to whoever lived there.
As we all shuffled out, I noticed that Becky lingered, just standing there as if memorizing the four walls.
I hadn’t noticed when Nony slipped downstairs, but when we wiggled ourselves in a long line down the narrow staircase to the first floor, Nony and Ruth were already lighting candles on a gorgeous bakery cake sitting precariously on the upturned packing box.Adele launched the group into “Happy birthday to youuuu . . .” as fingers gleefully pointed to Hoshi, who was blushing beneath her fall of shiny black hair.
“Hey, look at that.” Yo-Yo pointed to the cake. “Is that your name in Japanese or somethin’, Hoshi? ” I did a double take. Sure enough, a Japanese character in mint green frosting graced the top of the cake—the same character I’d worked so hard to copy onto a card when I’d finally discovered the meaning of Hoshi’s name.Huh. So much for my surprise.
“Look, nothin’,” growled Adele. “Make a wish an’ blow ’em out, Hoshi, or we’re all gonna be eating wax with our frosting.”
Hoshi blew, Ruth cut, and Nony passed out mint green paper plates of raspberry-filled chocolate cake. I took out the card I’d made and showed off the front with its Japanese character, which looked somewhat like a leaping stick figure with a pigtail. “I thought I was so smart discovering how to write Hoshi’s name in kanji script, but it looks like Nonyameko beat me to it. How’d you find it, Nony”
She laughed. “Hoshi’s been teaching the boys bits of Japanese. I found a scrap of paper with ‘Hoshi’ written on it and that drawing. Decided to take a chance.”
Ruth rolled her eyes. “That could mean ‘quit bugging me, you little nudnik,’ for all you know.”
Hoshi burst out laughing, spraying cake crumbs everywhere. “No, no . . .”
I grinned. “Well, I’m sure Hoshi already knows the meaning of her name,which means ‘star’ in kanji script. In fact, her name is Star in Japanese, right, Hoshi? ”
“Star? Oh, so beautiful.” Edesa, her own dark eyes alight, gave Hoshi a hug. Hoshi, blushing big time, nodded.
I opened the card, showing the words to a scripture verse on the inside. “I found a verse in First Corinthians that I thought fit Hoshi very well. ‘The sun has one kind of splendor, the moon another and the stars another; and star differs from star in splendor.’ So, sisters, I’m going to pass this around,
and I want all of you to write a note of appreciation for how Hoshi’s splendor shines in our lives.”
I’d just started to pass the card around when a loud commotion at the back door caught our attention. Male voices, sharp and angry. “But I din’t do it, Dad! Why would I do that to our own house? ”
“Then who did? Why our garage? You better tell me, boy! ”
“I don’t know!”
“Like hell you don’t!”
Florida’s face got dark. She started to get up, but Carl burst into the room, one hand gripped tightly around Chris’s upper arm. A frightened Cedric, clutching a basketball, slipped quickly up the stairs.
“Carl! Whatever it is—”
Carl looked ready to explode. “If you don’t wanna hear it, Flo, you better go see for yourself.” He disappeared up the stairs pushing Chris ahead of him.
To my surprise, Florida just stood in the middle of the bare floor, as if rooted to the spot, afraid to move. “Come on, girl.” Adele lifted her big frame off the straight chair she’d been sitting on. “I’ll go with you.”
“Me too,” I blurted. Meekly,Florida let herself be herded through the kitchen, out the back door, and down the rickety back steps. It was still light outside, only six o’clock, the pavement and alley still holding the heat from the day. The three of us rounded the corner of the one-car garage, badly in need of some paint, and stared at the garage door.
The letters BD had been splashed across the garage door in fresh, black spray paint, sitting above a scrawled six-pointed star and crossed pitchforks.
23
Alow moan rose to Florida’s lips from deep in her belly. “They found us, found my baby. Oh Jesus, noooo . . .” “Flo!” I grabbed her and held on, afraid she was going to fall to the ground.
“Lowlife gangbangers,” muttered Adele. “Cockroaches have more decency. Come on, Flo. Come on, baby, it’s all right.We’ll get that mess off your garage.” She circled Florida’s waist with her arm, and the two of us slowly walked her back to the house.
At the back door, Florida halted. “Maybe—maybe they not markin’ our house on purpose. Maybe some taggers jus’ picked our garage, randomlike. ’Cause I told Chris not to give our address to any of those gangbangers in our old neighborhood. Want him to get a fresh start, leave all those friends behind.”
Adele snorted. “Girl, you only moved a couple of miles. You would’ve had to move all the way to Lake Forest or maybe Canada to shake the dust of that neighborhood off your feet! These gangbangers, they’re everywhere. But come on; it’s not the end of the world. I’ve had my shop defaced at least three times since I opened up. It happens. You deal with it. You go on.”
Florida frowned in the glow of the dim yellow bulb above the back door. “I know. But, what if those BDs are leavin’ a message, like, ‘We know who lives here’? ”
That’s what I wanted to know. Was it just vandalism—or a threat?
Adele pulled open the screen door. “Maybe, maybe not. Chris said he didn’t do it; that’s one good thing. I believe him too. But doesn’t surprise me if his old friends know where he lives. Still don’t mean this won’t be a good change for y’all.” She waggled a finger in Flo’s face. “What you do know, Florida Hickman, is our God is bigger than all those gangbangers put together. Your family is under the blood of Jesus—an’ we just anointed all the doorposts in this house under God’s protection. Now you claim that, girl. You think the devil ain’t gonna fight back? He might try, but he’s not gonna get that child. Now, c’mon. These skeeters are eatin’ me up somethin’ fierce!”
Well, that was the second time in a month a family crisis erupted in the middle of our meeting. The others had pretty much guessed what the trouble was. But when we got back to the front room,Adele took over. “Don’t anybody leave, now, ’cause there ain’t anything we can do about that graffiti tonight—and we don’t want that ol’ devil to score any more points than he already got.”
Yo-Yo wagged her head. “I dunno. If this keeps up, I’m gonna think twice ’bout havin’ Yada Yada at my place. I’m too young to have a heart attack.” I don’t think she meant to be funny, but the tension broke and we all had a good laugh.
Then we prayed. Adele led us into a passionate prayer, putting Chris Hickman and all our children under the blood of Jesus. “No more!” she cried. “We gonna take back what that ol’ devil tryin’ to steal from us!”
After a while, we added prayers about Chanda’s mammogram and Becky’s job search.When Ruth heard us mention the schedule problem at the Bagel Bakery, she muttered, “Not to worry, young lady. You leave Mr. Hurwitz to me.”
As we finally left the Hickmans’ house, which had been blessed and battered in the same evening, Stu said, “If you need any help painting over those gang symbols, Flo, just let us know.”
Florida snorted. “’Preciate it. But I think Chris gonna be slinging a paintbrush tomorrow. Maybe paint the whole garage! Needed it, anyway—Jodi,wait!” She grabbed me. “Speakin’ of tomorrow, any way you could pick up Carla an’ take her to Bethune Elementary? Avis wants to do some testing since she comin’ into a new school, make sure she put in the right class. Test at ten, but I don’t get off work till three.”
I shrugged. “Sure.Was going to start working on my classroom this week anyway.What time should I pick her up? ”
I TOOK DENNY TO WORK the next morning so I could keep the car, which had definite advantages. Besides picking up Carla, I could load all my school supplies and take them to school in one trip. And later I could shop for Amanda’s school supplies—Oh Lord, is she really starting her junior year? —though I didn’t dare get any school clothes without her along. That much I knew.
I was tempted to drive through the alley behind Florida’s house to see if those menacing gang symbols had been painted over yet, but I stuck to business and picked up Carla, who was wearing new jeans and a pink “Girl Power” T-shirt, and drove straight to Bethune Elementary. I glanced over my shoulder into the second seat of the Caravan. “Do you know why our school is called Mary McLeod Bethune Elementary School? ” No answer. But I chatted away, telling the story about the teacher who ran a school for little girls from the railroad camps in Florida, about her motto over the doorway that said ENTER TO LEARN on the outside and DEPART TO SERVE on the inside, and the college that eventually grew out of that little school.
Carla said nothing until I pulled into the parking lot.Then, “My school was a lot bigger than this dinky school.” I did my best not to roll my eyes and simply herded her into the office and turned her over to Ms. Ivy, the secretary.
As I unlocked the door to my classroom, I was startled to see that my storage cabinet had been removed and replaced with another row of desks. I groaned. “Oh Lord, I forgot about all the additional students. What am I going to do? ” Had to admit my immediate concern was where I was going to store all my supplies, not how I was going to teach a classroom of thirty-one kids.
Place these children in My care, Jodi. The Voice in my Spirit didn’t seem as concerned about where I put my store of construction paper, pencils, and scissors.
I grinned inwardly,my frustration knocked down a few notches. “OK, Lord, here we go.” I didn’t have my class list yet, but I walked up and down the rows of empty desks, touching each one, praying for the girl or boy who would sit there in one short week. As I touched the desk where Hakim Porter used to sit, I paused. Something was different—what? And then I knew.
The jagged scar he’d scratched into the desktop last year had been sanded off.
Unbidden,my eyes felt wet. Hakim was truly gone from my life.
TO MY SURPRISE, the week sped by quickly, in spite of two professional development days sponsored by the school district and a teachers’ institute for Bethune Elementary. Avis—whom I had to start calling “Mrs. Douglass” again—handed out our class lists at the end of the institute day on Friday, and I ran my finger down the long list of names.Did I have time to look up all their name meanings and do a
Welcome Bulletin Board for this new crop of students, as I’d done last year?
Abrianna Jones . . . Adam Smith . . . Bowie Garcia . . . Carla Hickman . . .
I blinked. Wait a minute. Carla’s supposed to be in fourth grade. I sidled up to the group of teachers crowding around Avis, who was trying to field half a dozen earth-shaking questions. “What happened to the copy machine in the teachers’ lounge? We can’t all use the one in the office.” “Why do teachers have to supervise the lunchroom? I thought we were going to get parent volunteers this year!” “I was supposed to get new marker boards, but the old ones are still in my room! They’re impossible!”
The crowd thinned. Avis finally turned to me. “Jodi, you have a question? ”
“Um, just a misprint, I think. Carla Hickman. She’s on my class list, but she’s supposed to be in fourth grade.”
Avis massaged her temples. “I’m sorry, Jodi. I should have called you. Carla’s test results were too low for fourth grade. I recom mended she repeat third grade, especially since she’s starting a new school.None of the other children will know she’s repeating. It’s an ideal situation to help her catch up.”
“But—”
“And when I had a conference with the Hickmans, Florida requested that Carla be put in your class. At least she’ll know her teacher as she starts a new school.”
“Oh.” Huh.Wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Carla could be a little snit! That’s the last thing I needed—a troublemaker in class whose mother was one of my best friends. Sheesh!What if I had to discipline her or send home a note from school?
On the other hand, I was touched that Florida asked for me to be Carla’s teacher. That said a lot about our friendship. Maybe it would work out . . .
I picked up the mail when I got home, rifling through the stack as I let Willie Wonka out into the backyard. Not sure why I bothered. Since the advent of e-mail, nobody wrote letters any more. Like today: Dominick’s ad, water bill, L. L. Bean catalog, Mr. Coupon, a reminder from Uptown about the business meeting this Sunday, a letter for Josh—