Every time Willie listened to one of Roy’s stories, he found them heart wrenching, and the pauses in between torturous.
“When you’re being choked you have to make a decision. Are you going to conserve energy or are you going to fight? Nine times out of ten you’re going to fight. Fight for that last breath, and the next one, and the next one. Or you scramble to choke what’s choking the life out you. That’s where I am now.”
“And where is that, Roy?” Willie knelt in front of him and patted his hand for support. “I thought you were turning your life around. I thought you were done with that life. I saw you stand right here and give that woman something.”
Roy went into a knapsack, which was the sum total of his personal effects. Willie could see a dog-eared Bible he had given Roy some time back to read in the shelter at night. He produced two sealed top liquid containers similar to the mini servings of creamer Willie used in his coffee.
“What is that?” Alexis asked, taking one from him to examine.
“My daily dose of medicine given to me at the clinic to step down off the horse,” Roy said.
“Heroin,” Willie explained, knowing Roy’s history with his drug of choice.
“Except, it was God that helped me get down. Some people take up to two years to recover. They make you take your dose at the clinic starting out, like a parent watching you eat your vegetables. After awhile, though, if you have consistently worked the program, and especially if you have a job, they hand you these to-go cups. I asked God one day, Reverend, to give me the strength to withstand my urges because there is someone like Mildred, the woman you saw me with, that needs this more than me. I’ve been storing them up. Then I just talk to people, describing that big monkey they are carrying around on their back, but can’t see. I let them see mine, you know—testify. I keep them away from the dope man by offering them my dose.”
What else could be in those cups, but another form of heroine—a less potent kind? Willie wondered if it were a drug at all. Maybe a placebo, Willie thought
“I can imagine it doesn’t make you very popular with the dope man,” Alexis said.
“Reverend, now you know, I’ve had my run-ins with him. I try to stay out of his direct line of fire.” Roy, seeing the look of horror on their faces explained, “He’s not going to keep me away from my mission.”
“These people out here only need to know they can go a day without being on that stuff, just a day. One day where they don’t have to hustle up the money for their next fix. They need just one day where they don’t have to sneak into the hood for the blow before going into work—just one day. The day they taste true freedom they are not only ready to choke the monkey they’ve been carrying, but body slam the darn thing too. They feel so free. If they want more, I offer them Jesus and an escort to the clinic to sign up for the treatment program. So no, Pastor Green, I haven’t left these streets. My ministry is five blocks between the alley down there and the clinic on A Street.”
“How long have you been out of recovery? I don’t understand. Don’t you ever feel like you need your dosage?” Alexis asked.
“I’m not choking yet. I guess I can hold my breath longer without panicking.” His grin was a testament.
“His foundation of faith is strong,” Willie said, swelling with pride. Stronger than he wanted to believe it could be. He thought Roy had to be cleaned up, off the streets, and formally trained to minister. Like Alexis pinpointed earlier, he was starting to see the error of trying to cram the arch of God’s influence inside a church house.
“It was this man,” Roy said, pointing at Willie. “He never looked down on me, never gave up on me. He gave me the Word, almost six months ago to the day.”
Willie just shook his head dismissing the notion. Roy has grown spiritually in ways he couldn’t have imagined were possible in such a short time. He thought how brave Roy was to remain in the trenches after his own deliverance. He wished he could see Roy in action, and wondered how Alexis planned to cover his amazing story.
Willie noticed that they had been talking rather than eating. He was sure his hotdog was getting cold. “Go ahead, Roy, eat.”
Roy wolfed down the first sausage in two gulps and licked the condiments from his fingers. It shamed Willie to see a man so hungry. He took several bites of the second one before Alexis inquired about what he had seen or heard on the street about the case.
“The block is hot, but not from any fire. If anything, that part of Lincoln Avenue has become a dead cell to the dealers now with new cops and fire officials piddling around, but not for long.” Roy patted his chest hard with the flat of his hand as if his last bite went down too fast. He succumbed to a coughing spell that seemed saturated with the city’s pollution.
“Are you okay?” Willie asked.
Roy flailed his right hand about, as if to signal something. “Do you think I can get something to drink?”
“Sure,” Both Willie and Alexis answered simultaneously.
“I can run back to the corner and get you a soda. Which kind do you want?” Alexis put down her pad and grabbed her change purse.
“I’d like to have one of those if you don’t mind,” Roy said in a raspy voice, pointing to Alexis’s energy drink she had sat down between them.
“Here, take a sip of my water, and we’ll all walk back down to Jacques’s to get you as many energizer drinks as you want,” Willie suggested, cracking the seal on his bottled water. He handed Roy the bottle to take a swig in exchange for his bag. Willie led the way to the sidewalk.
“You should get a commendation from the city for singlehandedly taking on the dealers on this block,” Alexis declared, giving Roy a pat on the back. “I was so discouraged coming up here wondering why our tax payer dollars pay police salaries so men can deal drugs blatantly in broad daylight.”
“You’d think they’d set up some type of sting operation to catch some of these guys in the act,” Willie said.
Roy chugged half a bottle to finally make his coughing subside. The next time he spoke his voice was surprisingly clear. “It’s a sting, all right. Quarterly they take the hoods off the street. Some of the runners even go to jail. They all come back though, thinking nothing can hold them, but in actuality behind closed doors the DA and police chief have a deal. The everyday junkie, or someone like me, is expendable, but the dealer has value to them. They want to find out who’s supplying them. It’s like chemical waste. They will allow the dealers to dump toxins into our waters to choke out the big fish.”
Their pace was relaxed, and they walked three astride. Willie had walked this street many times, but knew he’d never view it quite the same. When they spotted the neighborhood dealer man making his way back up the block with his boys on the opposite side, they didn’t duck and hide.
“Like clockwork, he and his boys are usually down by the church catching people off the subway who leave work early to get their fix before going home,” Roy explained, discretely pointing at the man in the knit cap. “Something must be going on down here.”
Alexis shook her head in shame. “If I could get permission, I’d blow the lid off of this whole operation.”
“Woe, one story at a time,” Willie said, stopping. “Is this an exposé on Roy or an exposé about the drug-infested neighborhood? Because the pretense you talked to us about was a story about Roy, the man.”
“It’s both. Am I just supposed to ignore what I’ve seen?” Alexis asked incredulously. Her gestures were inhibited by the pen, pad, and drink she carried in her hands.
“It’s the backdrop, not the focus.” Willie turned to face her. “Look, I know I can’t tell you how to do your job. All I know is that Roy is out here alone. I’ve tried, but he is not leaving these streets. I don’t want him to suffer repercussions on these streets for the story we put together.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. I work by a code of ethics that does say minimize harm,” she pondered. “I certainly don’t want anything to happen while he’s out he
re alone either.”
“I’m not alone, Reverend.” Roy’s giddy smile returned.
“I know, Roy, I see the Holy Spirit all up, down, and around you. He’s protected you for this long. We’ve got to find out from Ms. Montgomery here how you can get prepared for your close up.”
Willie knew how it felt to be a babe in ministry. New found faith, some would call wide-eyed optimism, often left people blinded to the tactics of the adversary. Roy was a definite target of the enemy. Willie made a mental note to pray his covering this week of consecration.
They resumed walking. Alexis began filling him in on the details of taping her show. Willie jumped in with his own suggestions for story angles and possible staging. Roy agreed to meet Alexis and her camera crew at noon the next day for taping. As they approached the intersection across from the church and Jacques’s convenience store, they couldn’t believe their eyes.
“Hallelujah,” Roy said, reading the sign in front of the church that read, “FEED THE STREETS,” and written underneath a span of days they were giving out their rations. The table was manned by Pastor Abe Townsend. Willie craned his neck to survey the volunteers, which he couldn’t identify from this distance. Roy quickly crossed the street with a wave of his hand.
“I guess we won’t have to worry about him eating this week,” Alexis said, holding up her peace offering of edibles that Roy ran off without.
“Obedience is better than sacrifice,” Willie uttered to himself.
“Uh, uh,uh, Pastor Willie, you are just judgmental today,” Alexis said in a patronizing tone. “Maybe Pastor Abe got the memo that God’s busting down the doors of ministry.”
“Somehow, I never had to advertise my missionary efforts though.”
“It’s a new day.” Alexis smirked. “I know why I’m cynical, but I don’t get you, Pastor Willie.”
He blew a puff of air, feeling obligated to explain. “When me and Pastor Townsend, there, met, we were in an arbitration room; might as well say a courtroom. Let me just say, his uncle and my former deacon might as well have had him sitting in his lap with his hand in his back, because Charley was definitely doing the talking for the both of them.”
“All that was missing was the stage, huh?”
Willie nodded his head once to let her know she had gotten the pun.
“So I guess you are not going over there with your fellow church folk,” Alexis said.
Willie checked his watch that read a quarter after two. Four hours had passed. “No, thank you. I got my own church to tend to.”
Just then, a mobile news van from another station pulled alongside the curb. Willie looked at Alexis and couldn’t resist pointing. “Here comes the puppet stage now. Look, Alexis, breaking news, you’d better go represent your station.”
“It’s my day off, remember?”
He laughed at her. “Tomorrow?”
“Twelve noon,” Alexis confirmed.
As the traffic light changed, they crossed the street and walked off to their respective cars without another word. Their chance meeting adjourned.
Chapter 11
A Battery of Tests
Vanessa’s best friend, First Lady Pat Rawls, gave Vanessa a litmus test some time ago to evaluate whether or not her relationship with her husband was in trouble. It wasn’t scripture or verse from the Bible, nor was it deep and philosophical like the theories in any of the counseling books Pat had kept from her college days. It was more of a basic rhyme of a rap song that Vanessa had been replaying in Pat’s Southern Belle drawl since yesterday. Money in the bank, gas in the tank, and never hesitate to tell each other what you think.
Her red flag was hoisted to half-staff. Willie’s unexpected morning romp to God knows where confirmed it. Vanessa was gone to a Trinity Conference planning meeting at a neighboring church after debating the entire morning about a proper tribute for her father at the church’s upcoming 50th anniversary. She wasn’t sure if Willie even made it in to church at all. They hadn’t connected all day.
That’s when the ditty started in her head. Money in the bank. Vanessa didn’t have to worry about that. They were both on salary at Pleasant Harvest, and their modest lifestyle afforded them a few luxuries every now and again. Money had never been the source of their issues. They passed that test.
Vanessa was beginning to feel like it was all in her head until later when they did a tango. Neither of them went into any great detail about their day, preferring to dance around any accusation or insinuation that would disrupt their peaceful mood. After dinner, she left Willie unwinding from the day, on the couch mindlessly watching television.
She purposely left her hair loose after brushing it and put on her beige and peach silk camisole with lounging pants after dusting with perfumed powder. True to form, and even though she could tell he was tired and only working on a half a tank of gas, Willie tried to reeve his engine under the sheets. As if he could stay out all morning, with no explanation, and expect to get some at night. Besides, she was exhausted. After she gave him the snub, he rolled over without much fuss, and like a lumberjack cutting logs with a hacksaw, he snored.
Theirs was a communication problem. It always had been. It was made painfully apparent during the unification of their churches, a time when they failed to bring their ministry fiascos to the table. Willie found out about a time when the church finances were brought into question under her leadership by an auditing team, and she discovered that there was an all out revolt happening at his church because they were combining.
Vanessa would like to think those days of keeping secrets and not addressing issues were in the past. She had participated in this cycle of aloofness for too long. She had concerns she had not voiced to Willie. She was tired all the time and irritable. She thought of the other day when she had gotten sick in the pulpit. She plugged all these symptoms into WEB MD and self-diagnosed herself as pre-menopausal. If this was pre-menopause, she wanted no part of the real thing. Vanessa could not think of the last time she had been to the doctor, but knew she could not prolong a visit much longer.
Thoughts of bringing all of that to the forefront with Willie made for a fitful night’s sleep. She rose in the morning before Willie and sat up in the bed, praying and meditating. As if he could sense she was awake and waiting for him, he awakened shortly after.
“What’s up, baby?” Still groggy, he propped his head on his arm.
She turned her entire body toward him. “I need help.” Vanessa had not rehearsed what she was going to say, so the conversation drifted like tumbleweed from her preaching schedule and her sister’s wedding to the upcoming church anniversary and Trinity conference. She finally ended by saying, “It’s a bit much.”
“It is too much,” Willie agreed. “Tell me again why we are pushing Mt. Pleasant to be a part of this new conference thing? When we first met I thought you were anti-affiliation, especially with those ole’ boys’ club pastor’s leagues where they sit around and compare whose is bigger; ‘I’ve got more members. Oh yeah, well, my sanctuary seats more people.’ Then the one who wins gets crowned Bishop at the end. Now you-slash-we have been paying start-up dues for the past three years, and you are like one of the charter members of one of those very same clubs.”
Vanessa couldn’t believe Willie was being so snide. He of all people should know how she struggled as a woman pastor to be accepted and respected by her peers. She was one of just three women pastors in this entire conference. It was important to her that at least one of the females take on the leadership role and affect some of the guiding policies so that the conference didn’t end up like the glorified popularity contest that Willie proclaimed. Couldn’t he see she needed this?
“Churches in covenant with one another is a powerful thing. This conference follows a different model than many conferences out there. Besides the fact that this is a unique conference to the DC, Maryland, and Northern Virginia area. We plan to train leaders, provide grants for ministry projects, and be agents of change i
n our communities. We don’t plan to elect a bishop in the first year, but rather take nominations for the following year review. Everything works on a three-year cycle for the Holy Trinity. And before you say anything, as far as the election process goes, we use the biblical premise that a bishop is a pastor to pastors that have a ministry model to be studied. He’s not a mascot, and not necessarily the conference leader either.”
“Well, that’s on you,” Willie said with a yawn.
“Willie? C’mon, where is the support?” Vanessa threw her hands up on either side of her in questioning gesture before letting them drop hard on the mattress.
“You know I’ll sit up beside you like a good husband with a T-shirt that says I’m with her,” he said. “For real, I get it, and I understand that you will be preoccupied for a while.”
“Me, preoccupied, what about you? I’m doing all of this and still holding it down at Pleasant Harvest. You didn’t even show up for work yesterday,” she blurted out.
He exhaled loudly and sat up, and she shifted back in the bed to make space for his secrets and her insinuations. “Yesterday, I went with Alexis Montgomery, the reporter, to see Roy Jones, the homeless guy that I used to help at Harvest. She’s doing a story on him this week.”
Vanessa digested his explanation, swallowing back her own murky feelings. “I’d be suspicious of you and her if I didn’t know that you know, that I would break you down so fast and send your fifty-five year-old, mid-life crisis-having behind crying home to your momma.”
“You know I love it when you talk tough.” Willie winked at her seductively.
“Don’t make me smack you,” she replied. Nothing in her stance suggested she wouldn’t.
Willie reached for her hand that she allowed to lay limply in his. His smile was broad, handsome, and infuriating to her all at the same time. “Baby, she didn’t know where to find him, or what state of mind she’d find him in. She was prepared to walk all the way from Harvest to the DC line. She needed my help.”
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