Selling My Soul

by Sherri L. Lewis

  “Where have you been? I’ve been calling you all day, and when I talked to your boss, she said you were no longer representing me.” He narrowed his eyes and clenched his teeth. “I thought we had an agreement, Ms. Michaels.”

  “So you’ve heard the news I take it?”

  “Why else would I be calling you? The phone has been ringing all day with people wanting my statement. What am I supposed to say?”

  I sank into the chair, looking up at black Jesus for an answer to Bishop’s question.

  “Ms. Michaels, we don’t have much time. Either you tell me what to say, or my next words to the press will be that I know the source of the letter sent to the Bishop’s council. And everything else that goes along with it. If I don’t know how to answer their questions about this, I’ll distract them with something equally as sensational.”

  “Could you stop talking for a minute so I can think? How am I supposed to come up with an answer with you threatening me?” I looked up at Martin Luther King, Jr. on the wall since black Jesus wasn’t helping me answer Bishop’s question.

  Bishop continued to talk. “I have to sell him out. Say that he should be punished brutally for his crimes against children. I’ll point out the fact that all his victims except one were sons of single mothers, often only children and with no older brother in the house. That he was a calculated predator who carefully studied his victims before striking. I’ll finish with the fact that he himself has never been married and that it’s been rumored that he’s involved in a series of homosexual relationships.”

  Bishop Walker was one sick individual. I must have had a disgusted look on my face because he stopped talking and looked at me. “What? Not good?”

  “Uhhh, noo,” I said with sarcastic exaggeration. “Of course not. How does that make you look?”

  “Oh.” He drummed his fingers on his desk. “I guess I see your point.”

  “Tell you what, Bishop. There’s no need for us to hold a press conference. You simply need to issue a general statement to the press with your answer to the new information. From what I understand, it will be released on the six o’clock news tonight. We should have a statement prepared in the next hour. I’m going to go home and work on it and I’ll fax or e-mail it to your new secretary.”

  “Are you sure that’s the best thing to do?”

  I stood and headed toward his office door. “I’m sure. I’ll be in touch in the next couple of hours.” At least my head could be clear if I were out of his presence. Being around him was making me sicker and sicker.

  Before I walked out his office door, I turned to ask, “Where did you say Ms. Turner was again? She was such a sweet lady.” I was really concerned about what might have happened to her.

  “She’s not at the bottom of the Potomac River if that’s what you’re worried about, Ms. Michaels.” Bishop Walker smiled like Lucifer. I hurried out of his office.

  It took me almost two hours to struggle through writing Bishop’s press statement. I kept imagining the little boy’s sad face, imagining the little pet graves and finally the one with the boy’s name on it. Imagining his mother’s face when she discovered the contents of the last grave. It was too tragic.

  And not one time did Bishop mention the little boy. All he thought about was himself and maintaining his ministry. He was just as guilty as Deacon Barnes and Pastor Hines. His hands were smeared with the blood of twenty-four boys, and he needed to pay.

  The more I wrote, the more I prayed. It was beyond me wanting to get out of my obligation to Bishop Walker. I wanted God to take him down. I quoted Psalm 37 over and over again in my head.

  Moms and Tiffany were still snoozing last I had checked on them. Tiffany must have been exhausted from being out in the street doing whatever she was doing and Moms just from being sick. Especially with the events of the last few days.

  My cell phone rang. I was tired of snatching it up and looking at the caller ID only for my heart to sink realizing it wasn’t Gabe. I let it ring a couple of times and finally looked at it. My heart jumped.

  “Gabe!” I exhaled all the tension I had carried all day wondering if he were on a plane to Johannesburg. “You called.”

  “Of course. Did you think I wouldn’t?”

  “I called you early this morning and left a message, and I’ve been waiting all day and you hadn’t called back, so I thought maybe you had already gotten on a plane or that maybe you weren’t going to call back or maybe you were still angry with me or—”

  “Trina.”

  “Yes?”

  “You still have no idea how much I love you. Do you?”

  “I’m trying. Really hard, Gabe. I promise I am. Can you . . . maybe come over . . . and talk?”

  “Of course. And I didn’t call because I forgot these stupid cell phones have to be charged. I’ve been carrying it in my pocket all day, waiting for you to call. I finally couldn’t wait to hear from you any longer and pulled it out to call you and realized it was dead. Forgive me. I don’t want you to think for a moment that I would have left you. It almost killed me to drive away from you last night.”

  “It almost killed me when you left. Don’t ever do that again.”

  He was silent for a second, then said, “That’s what you want? For me to never leave you again?”

  “Yes, Gabe,” I said. “That’s what I want.”

  “Well, all is right with the world then.” I could hear his smile through the phone. “I’ll be there shortly.”

  My heart felt light even as I faxed off the press statement to Bishop Walker. I hurried upstairs to get ready. I looked through my closet and realized that in spite of pigging out with Moms lately, all that would fit me were the altered suits and my new peach dress. I slipped it off the hanger. It was still clean since I had only worn it for an hour or so the night before. Besides, something told me Gabe would have on the same clothes as well.

  I jumped in the shower. I had already bathed earlier, but I needed to wash my hair real quick. I smiled when I felt it start to sponge back into my afro. I hopped out of the shower, towel dried my hair, then grabbed Tiffany’s blow dryer to finish it off. It was huge and nappy by the time I finished. I found a peach scarf that was close enough to the shade in my dress and tied it around my head to tame the afro a little.

  I slathered myself in a sweet-smelling, Mango shea butter and quickly got dressed. As I finished applying my make-up, I heard Moms’ voice. “Tree, where you at?”

  I walked down the hall to the guest room.

  When I entered the doorway, she said, “Well, now, I say. Look at you. I guess my son-in-law is on his way over?”

  I laughed. “Yes, Moms.”

  She jostled Tiffany who was still curled up under her, asleep. “Look, Tiffany. Check out your sister.”

  Tiffany opened her eyes and sat up, wiping her mouth. Her eyes widened when she saw me in the dress. “Ooohhh, you found it. It fits perfect. Sissy, you look beautiful.”

  “Thanks, Tiffany.” I spun around to model the dress. “You and Stacy are really good at this. You could start your own business.”

  Tiffany and Moms smiled at each other. Tiffany said, “That’s exactly what we plan to do. Design clothes and do hair and make-up. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do.”

  She looked back at me. “I guess I was afraid if I didn’t go to college and be all professional like you, you guys wouldn’t be proud of me. But it’s the only thing I’m good at and the only thing I like.”

  “Oh, Tiffy. We’d be proud of anything you did. You know we love you, baby girl. I mean, Tiffany.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You can call me baby girl. Just don’t treat me like one.”

  I wanted to say “then don’t act like one” but looking at Moms and Tiffany, it seemed like they’d had a great talk with some big breakthrough, so I didn’t want to mess it up with some nagging big sister comment.

  “Deal, Tiffany.”

  Moms rubbed Tiffany’s back. “Come on. Let’s get up and g
et dressed so we can go get something to eat. Your sister has company coming.”

  Tiffany looked up at me. “Who?”

  “Your brother-in-law.” Moms pushed her toward the edge of the bed. “Come on, I’ll tell you all about it over dinner.”

  I rolled my eyes and walked back down the hall toward my room. A few minutes later, Moms came in with the same dress she’d had on yesterday holding the capelana skirt in her hand. “Here, make me pretty.”

  “Moms, you’re wearing the same thing you had on yesterday?”

  “I’m trying to be an African queen like you, Tree.”

  I laughed and sat her on my bed. I took off her raggedy head scarf and rubbed the fine peach fuzz on her scalp.

  She grunted. “Don’t stop. That feels good.”

  I went to the bathroom to get the shea butter to give her scalp a massage. I put a small amount on her head, and then began rubbing and kneading her scalp.

  “Chile, you sho’ know how to treat your old mother.” She sat quietly, enjoying the pampering for a second, then said, “Me and Tiffany had a good talk. I told her that she and that friend of hers need to make a plan this time instead of a get rich quick scheme that’s gon’ be sure to fail. She said they would get some help at the local community college putting together a real business plan. I think they could do it, Tree. Don’t you?”

  “Um, hmm.” I put some shea butter on her neck and started massaging it.

  She bowed her head for a second to enjoy it, then said, “I want you to watch them close, okay? When they finish that business plan, you check it. If it looks good, you can give them her share of my insurance money to get started. She can have my house, and I can have my peace that she won’t ever end up on the street, long as she keep the taxes up. And she can drive that ol’ piece of car I got until it dies. Maybe by then, her business will be working and she’ll be able to get her own. You help her without babying her, okay?”

  She turned her neck and pointed to a spot I had apparently missed. “And I talked to her about the smoking and drinking. And the company she’s been keeping. I told her she better straighten herself out or I’d be coming back to haunt her.” She chuckled to herself.

  I let out a deep breath and stopped massaging my mother’s neck. “You’re determined to die, aren’t you?”

  She gently placed my hands back on her neck again. “Not determined, Tree. Just accepting. Making sure everything’s in order with my girls before I go. That’s all that matters to me now. I’m tired, Tree, baby.”

  I didn’t say anything else, but planned to have Gabe pray for her before he left later. I needed to milk the whole “son-in-law” thing for all it was worth.

  I finished her massage and tied the skirt around her head. “There you go, beautiful as ever.”

  Moms stood and reached up to me so I would bend for her to kiss my forehead. “Thank you, baby. Now you make things right with my son-in-law.” She patted both my cheeks. “If you need me and Tiffany to stay away for a long time, just send me a text message that says Vroom, vroom.”

  “Moms!” I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “What?”

  “You know I’m not gonna do that. Not until I’m married anyway.”

  “If you don’t test drive the car, how will you know how well it drives? Or if you even like the make and model?”

  “I guess it’s a matter of faith, Moms.”

  “Humph,” she grunted and walked out of my room.

  A few minutes later, I heard the doorbell ring. Both Moms and Tiffany sang out, “I’ll get it.”

  I hurried and put on a pair of earrings and slipped on a pair of sandals so I could go rescue Gabe from my mother and sister.

  By the time I got downstairs, they had already let Gabe in and had him sitting on the couch with a tall glass of ice water in his hand. He stood when I walked into the living room.

  Moms grabbed Tiffany by the arm and picked my keys up off the coffee table. “Let’s go, baby. We’ll see you later, Tree. Don’t forget to send me a text message if you need anything.” She winked and they left.

  Gabe pulled me into his arms and held me. “Ummm, you smell so good. What is that?” He pulled back and looked at my hair. “You fixed it.” We both laughed. He kept staring at me. “You’re more beautiful every time I see you.”

  I looked at him, now in khakis and a starched blue, button up shirt. “Hey, no fair. You changed clothes.”

  He laughed. “I figured you’d been back in America long enough to be offended by me wearing the same thing. Forgive me. These are the same pants, though.”

  We laughed and he pulled me into his arms again. He kissed my face all over, and then trailed down my neck. I had to make him stop before I did have to send my mother that text message.

  We both sat down on the couch. I took his hand. “I thought about everything you said about me yesterday. Even though it hurt, it was all true. And I had to face it. I spent the evening praying about it and I realized something.”

  “Yes?”

  “Remember what you asked me about Moms and my sister, and why they hate God so much? And then when you asked me why I’m the way I am.”

  He nodded. “Yes?”

  I let out a deep breath and squeezed his hand. “I need to tell you about my father.”

  Twenty-five

  Gabe sat forward to listen to what I had to say. He had asked about my father several times in the past year, and I had always avoided answering.

  I had worked hard in my previous church to overcome issues and baggage from the past. Whenever it came time to deal with all the emotions surrounding my father, I never could push past the pain. It was like it was buried too deep to get to. And too painful and huge every time I dug it up and tried to deal with it. So I left it buried. Keeping it hidden down in my soul had worked until this moment. Staring into Gabe’s earnest eyes, I knew I needed to do whatever I had to in order to get over it. Otherwise I’d lose him, or we would never be able to have a healthy marriage. Feeling his hand rubbing mine, I knew that’s what I wanted. More than I had ever realized.

  I set my jaw and delved into my explanation, determined to do whatever it took to heal my heart and have a future with Gabe.

  “My dad . . .” I let out a deep breath. This was harder than I thought. I decided to spit it all out and try to make sense of it afterward. “My parents were never married. I honestly think my mother was one of many women my father was seeing when she got pregnant with me. When they realized I was on the way, he tried to settle down and make a family with her. I think we did okay for a while—I even have some pictures I salvaged from Moms’s burning parties. The three of us at the park, or at the beach looking happy like a family should. Until Tiffany was born. Then I think the whole family thing got old to him. They started arguing and fighting all the time. He actually hit my mother a few times, but when she hit him back with a cast iron skillet, I think he got the idea that wasn’t the right thing to do. He started drinking all the time and coming home at all hours of the night drunk.”

  Gabe squeezed my hand. “That’s why it was so upsetting for you both when Tiffany did it, yes?”

  I nodded and continued, not wanting to lose the momentum I had tapped into. “So he left us. Just disappeared one day and never came back. Moms had it real hard after that. She worked two and three jobs for as long as I could remember. Hard work too. Like factory and assembly line stuff where she would come home tired and sore. Then cleaning people’s houses on the days she was supposed to be off.

  “She tried to contact him all the time, to help out when times got real bad, but we could never find him. So she finally gave up, and he became as good as dead to us. Sometimes she had boyfriends after that, but none of them were any good either. Plus, I think she never got over my father. She really loved him.”

  Gabe listened intently, squeezing my hand and rubbing my back every once in awhile.

  “And she didn’t mean to, but in her bitterness, Moms taught us girls
some bad things about men. Never depend on a man, never trust a man, never let a man do anything for you. A man will always break your heart and so on and so on. That’s why I am the way I am . . .” I stopped myself, “That’s why I was the way I was with you. And why, like you said, I have trouble realizing how much you love me and letting you love me. I know I have to work hard at unlearning all those messages. You’ll be patient with me, yes?”

  He smiled at me imitating his speech and leaned over to kiss my forehead. “Of course. Thanks for explaining these things to me, Trina. It makes things make much more sense. And it will help me to be patient and love you all the more to overcome those messages running around in your head.” He frowned. “But that still doesn’t explain why your mother and sister hate God so much.”

  “There’s more.” I leaned back against the couch and sighed. “One day, we were sitting around the table having breakfast on a Sunday morning, and we looked up at the television and there was my father. In a robe, on a stage, behind a podium . . . preaching. We all sat watching the whole program with our mouths open, unable to believe what we were seeing. At the end, they gave all the church information and it turns out that he’s the pastor at this huge mega church in Florida. At the very end of the program, they flash this picture with my father and . . . ‘the first family’ . . . as the caption said.”

  Gabe’s eyes widened.

  I nodded. “Turns out me and Tiffany have a brother and sister we’ve never met. And a stepmother as well. They looked so happy and so . . . prosperous. My mother lost it, screaming about how we were really the first family. She called the number on the screen demanding to speak to him. He finally called back later that evening. She never really told me and Tiffany the particulars of their conversation. All she said was that he was happy with his new life and wanted to forget his real first family. He offered to send regular money to take care of us, but Moms said she didn’t need his hush money or his guilt offering and refused. Being teenagers, of course, we wanted the money, but Moms said, ‘Never let a man pay you like some whore.’ She made us promise never to accept money from a man we weren’t married to.”