The Devil Made Me Do It

by Colette R. Harrell

  The morning was bright and calm, the air was clear, and the sound and smell of sizzling bacon drifted from the kitchen down the hall. Briggs stretched in his bedroom mirror and stared at the circles under his eyes.

  Bad call, he thought. I never should have let loneliness pick up that phone.

  He bent and slipped on his shoes. It was in the serenity of daylight that he could see the misguided confusion of his night. A new day—brand-new mercies.

  “Briggs . . . Briggs,” Mrs. Gregory called through his closed bedroom door.

  He opened the door. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “The telephone is for you, dear.”

  Briggs hadn’t heard the house phone ring. He picked up the extension. A loud voice bellowed. “Since when does a man need to be reminded to call and let someone know he’s doing all right?”

  Joyful, Briggs grinned. “Dad, how’re you doing?”

  Bishop Stokes’s voice thundered. “No, son, the question on the table is, how are you doing?”

  “Well, Dad, I won’t complain.” Briggs was used to his live out loud father and waited for his point.

  “That’s my favorite song, but as an answer, that’s not cutting it for me right now. Talk to me,” Bishop implored.

  Briggs sighed, knowing his father was like a grizzly on the scent of fresh meat. He never gave up, at least not without a fight. So how much do I tell him? “Dad, I believe I’m struggling with making the right choices in my life.”

  “Harrumph. Did I ever share with you my view on choices?”

  Briggs thought about it. “About making sure you prayed about them first?”

  “Well, yes, but more than that. Son, your choices make choices for you.”

  “Excuse me?” Briggs disliked appearing ignorant in front of his father, but he was not going to let pride get in the way of him finding out just what he should be doing. His father’s reputation was not all hype; he truly was a man who heard from God.

  “It’s like this. Let’s be real in this conversation.”

  “Yeah, Dad, be real.” Briggs went over, closed his door, and sat down.

  “Son, once you make a choice, the other choices are made for you. Visualize, if you can, a young girl choosing to be led into fornication by her young man. The feelings are there, the opportunity presents itself, and they go for it. All she chose was to be intimate with her special someone. Am I right?”

  Briggs leaned with his elbow on his knee, the phone clutched in his hand. “Yes, you’re right.”

  “Now come with me into the realm of the supernatural. Let’s see what happens after she makes that choice.”

  “I’m still with you,” Briggs said, slowly getting the picture.

  “Choices start lining up to meet with the choice she made. There is HIV trying to get a spot, unwanted pregnancy is there fighting for its chance, the choice of abandonment is jockeying for a place—because we know once a young man hits it, he sometimes quits it—then there’s . . .”

  Briggs stood excited. “Man, I get it! That’s an amazing analogy. She chose to lie down, but not what happens after she gets up. Those choices are now out of her hands, and her choice begets other choices.”

  Bishop Stokes caught his son’s excitement. “Exactly . . . No one chooses to have an STD. It chose them after they made an unwise decision. Nobody wants to be alone and pregnant at fourteen. Even if they chose the pregnancy, they didn’t choose to be left, which happens in most of these cases. See how this thing is going? You make a choice; then your choices make choices for you.”

  Briggs wanted to get the whole picture. “So what if I choose right?”

  “Well, let’s see. You choose to be obedient to God and follow His path, even though it’s lonely and a struggle . . .”

  “Uh-huh,” Briggs encouraged his father to go on.

  “As God sees you choosing Him, and He has already chosen you—what you loose on earth, is loosed in heaven. And what you bind on earth, gets bound in heaven. So healing is loosed, prosperity is loosed, new fruit is loosed, and son, love is loosed.”

  Briggs gave a shout. “That’s awesome, Dad, and it helped. Thanks.”

  “Well, I don’t know when I didn’t need my father’s guidance. I stayed before his wisdom right up until he left this earth. Never think that I’m too far away or you are too old to come to Daddy. Do you hear me, son?”

  “Yes, and I miss you, Dad. I’ve been so busy here, but I shouldn’t have let so much time go by without calling you and Mom. How is my Georgia Peach?” he asked as he placed his wallet in his pocket from the dresser.

  “She’s fine. We’re still on the road a lot, and she’s still the wind beneath my wings. God is my pilot, but she helps carry me in the direction He points. Speaking of wives, I haven’t seen yours lately. Is everything good down there with the two of you?”

  Briggs paused, startled by his father’s question. “When was the last time you were in town, Dad?”

  “Um, let’s see. You left about four and a half weeks ago?”

  Briggs grabbed his car keys. “Yes, sir.”

  “Let’s see, we were in Africa for two weeks, then Haiti a week, so we’ve been back around a week.”

  “Monica is not here yet, Dad. She’s joining me this weekend.” Briggs prayed he was telling the truth and Monica would show up.

  “Well, I don’t think it’s good for married couples to be far apart for too long, but if she’s moving there this weekend, then I guess you guys will be okay.”

  Briggs faltered. “Well, uh, she’s coming for the weekend, but not to stay.”

  “What? Why not, Briggs?” Bishop Stokes choked out.

  Briggs cringed at his father’s acrid tone. “She wants me to find a place as big as our house, Dad, and I just can’t see paying two house notes every month. So she’s being stubborn.”

  Bishop Stokes’s agitation escalated. “Son, I didn’t raise a fool. You’re a young man and she’s a young woman. As a man of the cloth, the most sanctimonious churchwoman in the world will throw her panties in your face like you’re Rick James if you give off any signs of weakness. And, boy, a man without his woman for this long a time will send up smoke signals Stevie Wonder could read.”

  “Dad!” Briggs said shocked by his father’s candor. Bishop had never been this open with him before.

  The bishop was on a roll. “Don’t ‘Dad’ me. Let me school you on something, young blood. I’m an old warrior. Been out on the battlefield a long time. When I first started preaching, I had to go out on the road a lot. I didn’t have a home church, but I was invited to speak at a lot of tent meetings, revivals, and church functions. Early in our marriage, your mother started out going with me. Later you were born. You were a little tyke, and your mama didn’t want to drag you around with us. There were a lot of days, and weeks, that I wasn’t home. Some towns where I went, they didn’t even have a spare bed for me. I slept on lumpy family-room couches, and others couldn’t do enough for me. I was invited to many homes for a home cooked meal. Some of the church widows, singles, and even married ladies wanted to feed me more than a plate of food. There were times when my body and my soul were tired and they hungered, but I can say that by the grace of God I never cheated on your mother. I can’t say that I was never tempted.”

  “I never knew,” Briggs said stunned at this revelation.

  “Wasn’t for the boy to know, it was for the man to understand.”

  Briggs had a determined stride as he walked over to the phone base. “I’ll do what I can to make godly choices, Dad. You’ve helped me this morning and not only as my bishop, but as my father.”

  “Thank you, son, I know your heart, and I’m sure you’ll do what’s best for everyone concerned. And that includes you. I’ll talk to you soon . . . and, son?”

  “Yes sir?”

  “Call your mama. She misses you.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The nervous shaking of the man�
�s leg accompanied the flicking of the Bic lighter in his dry, calloused hand. Discarded cigarette butts gathered at his feet in a small molten pile. Buses slowed, and then continued on as he failed to get on any of the steel coaches. The sign over his head hung worn and rusted. It read Bus Stop, DDOT (Detroit Department of Transportation). Buses passed as he sat waiting, eyes transfixed on the building directly across the street.

  Even the casual eye could take in his slow descent into an invisible class of people. He wore a sweat-stained T-shirt, dingy from multiple washings, with the sleeves ripped off to reveal his personal glory, a coiled serpent tattoo. Below his shirt, wrinkled khaki pants sagged like a delinquent teen’s rebellious salute to urban myth and decay. A pathetic visage.

  Roger leaned forward and mumbled a curse. He lit another cigarette and looked down into the crumbled pack. He had one left.

  “Esther, bring your big tail out here,” he slurred as he peered through the cheap generic smoke.

  If her steroid-induced cousin Tony hadn’t warned him of a fatal beat down, he would have staked out one of her family members’ homes. And after the parking lot incident, where his only crime was trying to teach her how to be a real wife, he stayed away from Love Zion at all cost. Those church folk would surely send out an SOS if they saw him lurking around. Plus, he didn’t relish a Holy Roller beat down from church security. Come on, Esther, you owe me.

  So here he was, sitting across from her job. From there he would follow her home. He had a little raggedy car stashed around the corner. His drunken neighbor would never notice it was missing as long as he brought it back by nightfall.

  “You can’t hide from me forever, Esther,” he sang in a slurred voice.

  He sat there for hours, moving around the small bus shelter as the morning dragged into late afternoon.

  “Are you having a problem, sir?” a voice thundered at Roger.

  Roger jumped as he looked over at the Detroit police cruiser sitting slightly to his left. In his preoccupation, he hadn’t heard it pull up.

  Roger wiped sweat-drenched palms down the sides of his pants as he stood. “No, officer, just waiting for the bus.”

  The officer left the cruiser idling as he stalked over to Roger. He lifted and placed his large black boot on the bench next to him. “Well, according to one of the neighbors, you’ve let every bus pass you by for the last three hours.”

  Roger spluttered. “Uh, see . . . first, I was trying to decide if I should catch it, ’cause my girlfriend lives around the corner, and I was going to go back and get with her. We had this argument—”

  “What’s her address?” the officer demanded.

  Roger went still. “Huh?”

  “Her address? What’s your girlfriend’s address?” the officer repeated, tapping his foot in time to his question. The bench shook with the force of the taps.

  “She just moved in about a week ago. It’s the brick two-family flat.”

  “Nice save, but that describes the whole street,” he smirked. The officer looked up as a rumbling sound approached behind him. “Here’s your bus now,” he said.

  Roger convulsed. “No, that’s not the bus I was going to take. I catch the—”

  “You’re missing my point. So let me make it plain. You are making the good citizens of this neighborhood nervous. So, make like Spike Lee and get on the bus!” the officer ordered as he stretched out his brown muscled arm and halted the bus.

  Roger grimaced as he shoved his hand in his pocket and fingered his last crumpled dollar bill as a few loose coins jingled next to it.

  He got on the bus and slid money into the fare box; then he flopped down onto the seat. He planned to get off at the next stop and walk back.

  “Hey, hold up,” the officer hollered at the bus driver.

  The bus doors swung open with a hissing sound as the officer ran up the bus steps.

  “Don’t get off this bus until you are well out of this neighborhood. If I see you back this way, I’ll cite you for vagrancy. You got that?” he asked and took off his sunglasses and gave Roger a hard glare.

  Roger slumped back in the seat. “Yeah, everybody got that,” he replied as all the passengers looked back and forth between him and Detroit’s finest.

  “Then my job here is done. You folks have a good day,” the officer said as he slipped his sunglasses back on and tipped the brim of his hat to the crowd in general.

  “Doggone cops always tryin’ to be in a grown man’s bizness. You shoulda dropped that punk, son,” a surly youth slurred to Roger.

  Roger pulled a greasy baseball cap out of his back pocket and pulled it on his head, down past his hooded eyes. He then fell back into his seat determined to sleep. He figured he needed the rest because later on today he would have to walk all the way back to get the car he had stashed around the corner.

  The officer waited and watched as the bus rolled out of sight. Lawton Redding loved his job. He was raised on the streets of Detroit, and the ebb and flow of everyday urban life pumped in his veins. His commander always said he had a sixth sense about people. Lawton knew it was no sixth sense, but a discerning spirit operating. It was this gift, coupled with his belief and love of Jesus Christ, that kept him protected. There were times when his intuition told him that he stopped more crimes than his natural senses recognized.

  “That’s a bad one,” he whispered out loud as his eyes followed the bus. He surveyed all of his surroundings and caught sight of a fine-looking sister striding out of the building across the street. She was like he liked them—thick and delicious. His trained eye said a size fourteen or sixteen. The sway of her hips called out to him with a siren’s allure.

  As she looked up, he caught her eyes and smiled. She looked back with surprise and shyness. He shook his head to himself and remembered his last girlfriend who never believed he really cared for her. Her insecurities eventually took their toll, and he took his leave.

  It had been a year since he had been in a relationship, and he promised himself he would pray before he engaged himself again. This sister was fine, but her eyes said she didn’t know her worth. This time he was passing her, and all her potential drama, by.

  Lawton leaned down, swung into his squad car, and slowly pulled off. As he looked in his rearview mirror, the sister who had just been in his thoughts stumbled down the steps and fell. He could hear her exclamation of pain through his open car window.

  He backed up, got out of his car, and jogged over to her. She was sitting upright on the ground holding her bleeding knee.

  “You okay? Let me look at that for you,” he said.

  “Ouch, my knee. Guess I wasn’t looking where I was stepping.” Esther’s earlier embarrassment faded as the pain intensified.

  “Can you bend it?”

  “I don’t know. It hurts,” Esther covered and protected her knee from inspection.

  “I know it hurts. I’m trying to see how badly it’s injured. Please try to bend it.” Lawton worked to get Esther to remove her hands.

  Esther pushed his hands away. “Stop, I see the blue uniform. Where’s the white one?”

  Lawton rocked back on his heels. “Excuse me?”

  “I said it hurts! Therefore, I’m not trying to bend it back and forth. Right now, I’m trying to sit here and catch my breath. Go play doctor somewhere else,” Esther said, exasperated with the effort it took to converse.

  “Whoa, you’re a little feisty when you’re in pain, aren’t cha?” he said reassessing his first impression. “Can I help you up now?”

  “No, no. Just leave me. I’ll get up in a minute. You run along now,” Esther said sweetly using her fingers to imitate walking away.

  “Excuse me? Run along? You want to pat me on my head now?”

  “See, you are a clever boy,” Esther retorted, then looked convicted.

  Lawton sat on the concrete steps in silence.

  “Look, this ground is hard, and my knee is throbbing. Okay, I may need help getting up. Please . . .” Esther sa
id in a small low voice.

  Lawton spoke without moving. “Pardon?”

  “Please help me up, Officer Redding, right?”

  He stepped back and scanned her up and down. “Do we know each other?” He bent over and in one swoop, brought her to her feet. Esther grunted in pain. “Hold on to me. I think we should go to the emergency room and get this checked out.”

  Esther nodded as they headed to his squad car. “A couple of weeks back, right up the street, you gave me a warning for a rolling stop.” She paused near the door of his cruiser. “Hey, thanks for giving me a break then, and help now. Uh-uh, don’t seat me in the back.”

  Lawton had opened the door to the back of the squad car. “I’m glad I was able to help. And, sorry, all civilians must ride in the back.”

  Esther tapped him to stop. “Stop flexing your cop muscles. I’m not riding in the back of your car like a common criminal. Okay, here’s what we can do. You help me to my car, and I promise to go to my doctor’s office.”

  Lawton slid Esther to an upright semistanding position. “You’re tripping. What’s the big deal?”

  Esther leaned on him for support. “Number one, as a black female, I’m not going to the back of anything, especially not a squad car. Jesus ain’t in that, and neither am I.” Esther shoved the car door closed with her hip.

  “You’re funny,” Lawton laughed as he helped Esther to her car. He lifted her and placed her in the driver’s seat.

  “Dog, man, you got muscles,” Esther spoke before thinking, then chagrined, she moaned, “Sorry, must be the pain talking.”

  “I like its conversation,” Lawton said, and then realizing Esther was probably embarrassed, he changed the subject. “Nice car. I do remember you.”

  “Not exactly flattering, you remembering my car but not me. No matter, maybe, I’ll let you ride in the backseat of it sometime.” Esther grinned in a cheeky manner.

  “You’re both very distinctive.” Before standing up, Lawton gently fastened her seat belt, tapped her nose affectionately, then shut her door and hummed as he walked away.