On Zion's Hill

by Anna J. Small Roseboro

  But, that’s another matter for another time. As Dad says, Ken’s not missed out on anything he’s really needed, just what he’s really wanted. Right now it’s to get to shake hands with Jim Brown and tomorrow to hold hands with Angie. Tomorrow will be their last day.

  “Go on, Dad. What happened with Thia and her trip to New York? You make it sound like there’s more to the story.”

  “You bet there is. Well, your mama and me, we drive Thia to the airport in Pittsburgh and walk her all the way up to the gate. She made me and your mama wear our Sunday clothes. Thia probably flown lots of times in her dreams, but this her first real time on a plane. Your mama, she never flew on a plane but that one time when she came to see me when I was stationed in San Diego”

  “No, Dad. I didn’t know that. I never think about the fact that most people don’t fly as much as I have. Between the Air Force and basketball, I’ve probably logged 100,000 miles in the air! Go on, what happened with Thia? And yes, I’m watching for the flag man.”

  “Well, according to Thia, she was the last person to board and the only one sitting in first class!”

  “The only one? I can’t believe it.”

  “It’s true. The whole flight, the only ones in first class were Thia and the stewardess. Even when the plane stopped in Philly before heading up to La Guardia, all the other passengers just passed her by going back to coach. Thia say she looked back, and they was leaning over in the aisle looking up front at her. When she get off in New York, Thia say the stewardess ast her if she was famous or something. She musta thought Thia’s people reserved the whole section for her! Hey, is the flagman signaling us?

  “Yeah, I think so. Yep, turn left right here. That Thia. I bet she and Mama talked about that for weeks.”

  “And I had to hear it all. Looks like the parking people are squeezing us in like sardines.”

  “Must be a sold out crowd here to see Jim Brown play.”

  Once they are parked and reaching for their door handles, Ken tries a Thia, “Dad, we may as well plan to stay and see if we can shake Jim Brown’s hand. Otherwise we’ll just be sitting in traffic anyway.”

  “You might be right, Ken,” his dad concedes. “If the game don’t go on too long and it look like we can be home not long after midnight, let’s see if we can get down to the field and see your main man, Jim Brown.”

  Second Sunday

  16 -Decisions

  WELL, IT’S SUNDAY. THE LAST DAY and Angie’s thoughts are racing. Will Ken come? Do I really need to wear a girdle today? I wish I didn’t have to work right after service. I hope Ken can wait till I get off this evening. I hope there’s still some hot water.

  KEN WONDERS WHY HE IS SO ANXIOUS to get back to Zion’s Hill. Will Angie have time to see me after service? I forgot to press my dress slacks. Will Stella let Angie off in time for us to at least exchange addresses? I hope Angie remembers I’m going to get there early and save her a seat. I do hope that Thia doesn’t use all the hot water today.

  “NO GRAMMAMA. YOU’RE RIGHT,” Angie confirms. “Monday’s my day off, so it’s fine to stay over and get an early start tomorrow morning. That’ll give me time this evening to spend with my friends.” Her grandparents leave the dorm room early this last morning to be among the first seated for breakfast so they can be among the first admitted to the tabernacle when the ushers open the doors.

  Angie’s got the room to herself, and she’s in no hurry this morning. There’s no Children’s Church today. The youngsters attend the morning service with their parents this last day of camp meeting, and Stella doesn’t open the stand until after morning worship. She’ll probably close the stand around five or six since most folks will be heading home following their meal in the dining room. Few will want ice cream after the luscious turkey dinner and splendid peach cobbler Sister Mattie’s serving today.

  Angie stands holding the outfit she’s saved for today, patting herself on the back for remembering to take it out last night. She shakes it out, glad for the forgiving fabric as the remaining wrinkles relax and fall out.

  She’d already worn her two new outfits, so Angie decided on this dress that she’d worn for her sixteenth birthday party. It’s a soft pink and white uneven plaid with a wide shawl collar and three-quarter length sleeves that button just below the elbow. It’s not a baby, girly-girly pink, but a dusty rose that complements her dark complexion. The box pleats of the skirt hang smooth. Not like those drop waist dresses everybody’s wearing this year. “The box pleats don’t ride my butt and make it look big. I’m going to be looking good and grown-up, even in pink,” she says to the mirror on her grandparents’ side of the room.

  Pulling her suitcase from under the cot, she flips back the top and plows down to the bottom for the firmer Playtex girdle she’s put off wearing all week. Today is different. She wants to look especially nice, and this girdle makes her feel like her clothes hang nicer. It’ll be hot in nylons, but women do not attend Sunday services bare-legged. So Angie gently removes a new pair of seamless stockings from the cellophane package, balls up the paper, and tosses it into the nearly full trash can.

  She adds a clean bra and a full slip that she’ll wear for added modesty. She then retrieves the straw hat she’d forgotten to take out last night. It’s a little schmushed but bounces back into shape fairly well. A friend at college had shown Angie how to decorate a simple hat with a chiffon scarf that complements the creamy shades in her dress. Of course, she’ll be wearing creamy white shoes, gloves, and a matching purse she’d borrowed from her mother.

  ”I’ll be totally put together,” she brags to the mirror as she dons the crinkly housecoat she’s worn all week and heads down the hall to begin her morning routine of washing, brushing, combing, and dressing.

  THIA IS IN THE BATHROOM before Ken gets up. That’s unusual; she usually waits till everyone’s up and out. She hates to be hurried when she’s doing her hair and putting on her make-up. She hadn’t asked him for a ride, so Melvin must be picking her up for service today.

  “Hey, Thia. Save me some hot water,” Ken hollers softly.

  “Just chill, Ken. I’m almost finished. You were snoring so loud when I got up I thought you’d be sleeping a little longer.”

  “I wasn’t asleep, and I wasn’t snoring,” Ken retorts as he rolls off his skinny bed. Rubbing his back, he gathers up the bedclothes to fold and store so the bedroom can return to its daytime role as kitchen, living room, and entry hall. He’d not slept much, but he is still eager to get up off the board and get up to the grounds.

  Knowing it’ll be awhile, Ken settles onto the kitchen banquette, recalling the evening with his step-dad as he waits for Thia to finish splashing around in the bathroom.

  “YOU’RE SURE DAY? We got time to go down to the field?”

  “Sure, Ken. Why not? It’s gonna be so crowded in the parking lot, we might as well use the time trying to get down on the field. Maybe Jim Brown will hang around a little while. I heard he likes talking to the fans. Especially young Negro college guys like you.”

  “Yuck!” Ken exclaims, dropping the mustardy wrappings from the hot dogs they’d scarfed during the game. “Hold up a minute, Dad. Let me dump this in the trash bin over there,” he calls, searching for a clean corner on one of the napkins. What a mess.

  “Hey, Dad. Wait up.” Scrambling down the wide stadium steps and passing his dad, Ken flutters with the same jittery excitement he’d felt when his Little League team had gotten to meet Satchel Paige all those years ago.

  Ken and his dad follow the crowd gathering around the ball players. “You look like you’re in as big a hurry as me.,” Ken teases.

  “Well. I sort of am. You got to meet Satchel Paige, didn’t you? You know I don’t have much time for this kinda stuff. I thought it would be a nice treat for us to see this game. But I didn’t think they’d finish so fast so we could maybe possibly have a chance to meet any of the players. Don’t they usually head right back to the locker room to shower and get on
home?”

  “Yeah, I believe they do. Usually. But they’re so stoked about winning this game, it looks like they’re staying to greet the fans. We’re almost there. You coming?”

  “Yeah. Right behind you. You see Jim Brown, yet?”

  “Yeah, he’s right over there. A lot of guys are bunching around him, but he’s tall enough. I can see him. Come on.” The two join the queue.

  IMPATIENT FOR THIA TO FINISH, Ken steps over to his little closet space, standing tall and proud for having shaken the hand of his hero, Jim Brown. What a blessing to have done so with the dad with whom he’d had such a strained relationship for so many years. But not last night.

  Mr. Smiley has been able to help line up workers to help them get the basement tiled next week. Dad was mellow. Ken was grateful. Maybe the family will really be moving out of the trailer into the basement at long last.

  “Thiaaaaa! Come on. People are waiting.”

  “Take a chill pill, Ken. I told you five minutes ago, I’m almost done.”

  “Almost’s not good enough. Come out now. You can finish primping out here.”

  “I’m not primping. I’m just putting on a little make-up. You don’t have enough light out there, and my hand held mirror is too small. Melvin’s coming, and I want to look good!”

  “So, you and Melvin have made up.”

  “Yes,” she replies, emerging from the toilet, her nightgown trailing over arms clutched around her model’s make-up kit, bag of rollers, comb and brush.

  “Well, it’s about time!”

  “It’s all yours! What’s the big hurry anyway? You just going up to the campgrounds. You been up there almost every day this week.”

  “Yes, I’m going. I want to be there early. Dad’s pooped after last night. He’s going to sleep in this morning. One of Mother’s prayer partners is gonna pick her up. Don’t know which one. I don’t really care since I’ll have the car and don’t have to worry about bringing her right home after service.”

  “How come you wanna stay up there after service? It’s gonna be a zoo up there with everybody packing up and trying to hit the road.”

  “That’s why I wanna be there. I may only have time to spend with Angie in service today. She’ll have to go to work right afterwards. This may be last time I’ll see her.”

  “And…” Thia tries to tease more confidence out of Ken. She’s noticed a difference in her brother this week. “So you really believe she’s the one?” The sister and brother stand in the tight hallway for just a moment longer.

  “I don’t really know, Thia. She may be. I like her. We get along okay. Thankfully she’s not interested in a serious relationship right now, though. That’s okay with me. I don’t have anything to offer a girl right now anyway.”

  “How’re you gonna stay in touch? You gonna write?”

  “Yeah, I’d like to stay in touch. I don’t mind writing letters.”

  “Yeah, I remember all the letters you wrote us when you were stationed in the Philippines. My friends were surprised how often we heard from you. Nobody else’s brothers sent home so many letters.”

  “Well, in a way, it was no big deal. I was excited to go overseas, but it did get lonely. The job I had didn’t allow much free time. Even when I got back to the States and was stationed in New England, things were pretty tense with the Cuban missile crisis and all. You know President Kennedy put a hold on discharges. I didn’t think I’d get out in time to start classes last fall.”

  “Really, Ken? You never said.”

  “No, that was confidential. I worked in Special Services, and we weren’t allowed to write home about anything having to do with national security.”

  “Ken, I thought you were in a hurry. You standing out here talking like you got all day,” Thia throws back as she saunters back down the short hall to her sleeping space.

  “You’re right. I better get going,” Ken says, grabbing his kit bag and clean underwear.

  “Thiaaaa! The water’s cold!”

  THE DINING ROOM WILL BE CROWDED this morning, so Angie decides to eat in her room. She scrapes the last of the peanut butter onto the five saltines left in the little picnic basket. These and some tea will be breakfast for today. She plugs in the coil and drops it into the cup she filled with water before leaving the bathroom. Impatient for the water to boil, Angie sets the crackers on a napkin, sits on the side of the cot, and pulls out her Bible.

  Opening to the Scripture passage Doctor Jamieson preached from last night, she begins reading and ponders the portions of the message on forgiveness that convicted her. She admits, “I should have stayed after the altar call and asked for special prayer.” In avoidance mode, Angie justified not doing so because Stella expected her to be on duty as soon as the service was over. Angie’d dashed out, squashing the Holy Spirit’s prompting that surely would have had her on her knees sobbing at the altar.

  “If I’m a Christian, why can’t I forget Carlie for calling me a skank? She’s supposed to be my best friend. Why can’t I forget the way David came on to me? He’s president of our youth group and should know better. Calling me a frigid snow queen just because I told him ‘No!’ I say I’ve forgiven them, but every time they come to my mind, I get all uptight.”

  The message had really gotten to her. Made her rethink her growth as a Christian.

  “Why can’t I forgive myself for drinking some of that vodka before school just because Gwen dared me? Why have I been so judgmental about Randy and reluctant to believe he’s having a change of heart? Why can’t I forgive myself for not being a more consistent Christian? Dr. Jamieson says Christians are supposed to forgive and move on, living the Golden Rule.”

  The water is bubbling, so Angie adds the tea bag and watches. The tea bag oozes stringy streams of bronze and then swirls of darker brown when Angie withdraws the heater coil. Picking up the cup, watching the brown take over as the dominant color, Angie begins to understand last night’s sermon.

  Doctor Jamieson told them that forgiveness comes from God, through the power of Holy Spirit. According to the Scripture, Christians are to forgive others as they have been forgiven by God. The Holy Spirit is a gift from God and also a gentleman. He does not force Himself on anyone. Each must invite and then allow this paraclete and companion to infuse one’s thinking and guide one’s behavior.

  Then, and only then do Christians have the strength to forgive those who mistreat them, who hurt their feelings, who take advantage of what they perceive is weakness, but really is meekness. Angie really likes the image the preacher gave to describe meekness.

  Meekness, he had said, is the power to do, but the discipline not to. It’s like a race horse that has the power to overwhelm his rider but submits to being guided and controlled by a bridle. The horse does not forget what it can do; it simply chooses not to. It’s not a weaker animal because it surrenders control; it’s just an obedient one.

  Angie gets that part. She’s supposed to obey the teaching of the Bible and the prompting of the Holy Spirit. “I do that…sometimes. I just can’t seem to forget when others hurt my feelings or really, hurt my pride. Doctor Jamieson says I shouldn’t be worrying about forgetting. That’s what I forget to remember. Instead, he says we’re to forgive and move on, treating others the way we’d like to be treated.”

  Angie’s been resisting that, not wanting to look like a pushover. But during the sermon, she learned that she should be giving others another chance if they seek it. The preacher also cautioned that Christians should be wise as serpents, gentle as doves. One can be forgiving without being a doormat. It’s not weak to forgive, he promised. It’s Christ-like. It’s not wrong to remember; it’s human. The key to growing as a Christian, he’d taught, is to act with love.

  “Well,” Angie thinks as she finishes off the peanut butter crackers and tea, “that’s more than a notion. I guess I have to be like this tea. When I get into hot water, I’ve got to let the Holy Spirit ooze through me until I can infuse the situation with love. />
  “Sounds a little weird when I think about it that way, but that may be the message for me today. Just as my tea cooled down with time, the color did not change. Maybe when I step back from the situations that upset me so much, I’ll cool down. I don’t cease being a Christian just because I can’t do everything the Bible says right now. I’m just not there yet.

  “Okay”, she prays before putting away her breakfast fixings, “I guess I have to forgive myself for feeling spiteful and rely more often on the promptings of the Holy Spirit to help me be more forgiving and not worry about forgetting.”

  Angie shakes the crumbs into the trash can, being careful not to sprinkle them on the floor. She just wipes the cup dry with the corner of the towel and puts the cup and coil back into the picnic basket. She has about fifteen minutes to get dressed and out on the grounds where she can be on the lookout for Ken.

  She stoops over to pull on her brand new sheer brown stockings. Then stops. ……..Before hooking the first nylon to the garter dangling from her girdle, Angie just lets it fall. “I’d better pray…now.” She drops to her knees next to the skimpy low cot and pours out her heart to the Lord. She confesses her confusion, her half-hearted forgiving, and gives thanks for her newfound understandings. She remains a few moments, and then stands. Relieved. Restored. Refreshed. Resolved.

  In a twinkling, the weight of guilt lifts from her heart. She rises lighter in spirit and finishes getting dressed, unconsciously humming that old hymn, “I Am a Child of God.” The scripture, the reflections, the prayer, and the song energize her, ready her to meet the day. She can hardly wait to see Ken and discover how things went with him and his dad at the Cleveland Browns football game.

  Girdled and dressed, combed and powdered, shod and gloved, Angie leaves the dorm room, checks the lock, settles her purse on her arm, and then strides down the hallway feeling pretty good about herself. “I’m so glad I don’t have to be in church at a physical altar just to talk to God. God is a Spirit, and I can talk to Him wherever I happen to be.”