by Pat Simmons
She had the last word as the restaurant pager trembled in my hand, signaling our table was ready. Navigating through the crowd, we approached the greeting station and turned in our pager.
A petite hostess led us to a dimly lit section, cozy for two, but too crowded for anymore. Scooting Mackenzie’s chair back, I helped her remove her coat before she took her seat.
Slipping off my coat, I laid both on my booth seat. When we finished the preliminaries, the hostess presented our menus and left.
I didn’t bother with my menu. I preferred feasting on Mackenzie. Evidently, she enjoyed her view because she ignored her menu as well. I intensified my stare. When a waitress magically appeared, we snapped out of it. Embarrassed, we fumbled with the tri-fold booklet and ordered.
The moment she left, we retreated back into our imaginary hideaway. When Mackenzie laid her hands on the table, I swallowed them up in my hands. They were so soft, her fingers long. She shrived, her lids briefly fluttered, and her expression softened at the touch. I was just as affected, but she didn’t need to be privy to all my feelings—yet. Our fingers intertwined and danced across the table.
When our food arrived, we were already sated. Mackenzie’s eyes were talking to me. Our hands, still connected, didn’t want to be disturbed. Somehow, I blessed our meal and Mackenzie said, “Amen.”
Sharing a final smile, we yielded to the aroma of oversized appetizers. Minutes later, our main course was set before us. We sampled each other’s dishes, teasing that the other had the better selection. Then we fought over the single serving of banana cheesecake topped with whip cream. I chuckled.
“What?”
“I don’t even like banana.”
“Right, Noel, you only let me have two bites.”
Mackenzie patted her stomach in satisfaction. When she leaned back, her sweater outfit outlined a slight pouch that wasn’t there before we ate. From her pouch up, I admired her assets to her curls. They defined her personality, energetic, sassy, and confident.
She opened her eyes and reached inside the small shopping bag that I had dismissed when I met her in the parking lot. She pulled out a box slightly bigger than a baseball. “For you.”
“Mackenzie, I didn’t get you anything. I mean, yet,” which was strictly negligence on my part. For the past ten years or so, my parents stressed that Christian Christmas was more than a commercial holiday for bargains. Most times, we briefly shopped on Christmas Eve.
“Ever heard of a surprise?” Mackenzie curved her lips into a smile. Mischief sparkled in her eyes before she winked. “Open it before I give it to some other guy.” Her eyes scanned the restaurant.
Shaking my head, I encircled her hand that held my treat. I brought the gift and her hands to my lips and blessed it with a kiss. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I hope you like it.”
The waitress appeared and fanned the bill between us. I whipped out my credit card to get rid of her.
“Open your gift, silly,” Mackenzie demanded. Her eyes sparkled with excitement on the verge of a massive explosion.
“Okay.” I had no shame ripping open the wrapping. A Rubik’s Cube coded with deaf signs was smothered inside a cushioned box. Twisting each side, I read the messages. I was speechless.
Mackenzie had shattered all components of my male pride. Humbled, I swallowed back any hint of mist in my eyes. “I don’t know what to say. I’m sure this wasn’t easy to find.”
A man appeared at our table, signing like a kindergartener who had only mastered three letters of the alphabet. With a straight face, Mackenzie and I stared at him.
Helping himself to one of our unused napkins, he fumbled inside of his jacket for a pen. Mackenzie saved him the hassle by pulling one out of her purse. He nodded his thanks.
The interloper scribbled, Are both of you deaf? When we didn’t answer, he hastily unfolded the napkin and wrote the same question bigger. When we still didn’t respond, he stormed away.
The only word I read from his lips was idiots. I usually ignored other people’s rudeness, but I wasn’t going to subject Mackenzie to it. Bracing my fists on the table to stand, Mackenzie shook her head, patting my hand to stop me.
“Why didn’t you answer him?”
“Because he’s an idiot,” she signed. “You read what he was asking just like I heard him.
CHAPTER 16
I had made up my mind. Today would be the day. Sunday after worship, it would be déjà vu. I trailed a trio of ministers stuffed into black suits, who reminded me of the phrase, short, shorter, and shortest. We stopped at a thick, dark, wood door. A large brass-plate sign boldly identified it as the “Power Room.”
Years ago, I had crossed over the threshold of a “Power Room,” but as a confused, scared teenager, wondering what my future would be. I survived the explosion, but I was deaf, which at the time I felt as if I was dead.
Back then, the tongue talking experience was another life-alternating change. When God released his hold, my first word had been, Cool.
Today, I made myself comfortable in one of four chairs in a circle; the others joined me and grabbed my hands. A minister opened his Bible. He skimmed over the passage.
Looking at me, he began to recite, “‘For he that speaketh in an unknown tongue speaketh not unto men, but unto God. For no man understands him, howbeit in the spirit he speaketh mysteries.’ 1 Corinthians 14:2.
“Brother Noel, unless God allows us to interpret your tongues, then they are unknown. And we’ll know that this is a spiritual conversation between you and God. It’ll be mysterious to us, but plain English to the Lord.”
Nodding, we bowed to prayed, and within the hour my hands flew up by their own volition. My mind flashed an image of the Jesus as my tongue raced faster than NASCAR driver Jeff Gordon did in his DuPont Chevrolet in the Daytona 500. I had more witnesses.
As I thanked God for the affirmation, Pastor Coleman came in, waving a piece of paper. Through gazed eyes, I read the letterhead from Last Days Church of God. “Noel, this was faxed to us this morning.”
I scanned the words: I verify this soul was baptized September 14, 1992, and four witnesses heard the anointing of God spill from Noel Richardson’s mouth in other tongues.
“Brother Noel, I now have my record, and you have yours. Welcome to God’s Grace Church as a member.”
***
The news was too good to keep to myself. Unfortunately, I couldn’t reach Mackenzie. I had texted her twice. Frustrated because she hadn’t responded, I was a second away from sending another message when her message flashed on my BlackBerry.
Hi, Noel. I c u text me. I was on stage with the crew ready 2 break down the set. I’m sorry. Do u have something special u want to tell me?
She already knew. I sat up from lounging on my sofa, picking up the remote. I clicked off my TV. Maybe, where r u?
Leaving The Black Rep Theater. Hope 2 b home in about twenty minutes.
Call it selfish, call it loneliness, but I wanted to see her now. Feel up for a light meal?
Not tonight, Noel. I’m tired. I just got in my car now, so I’m signing off. Okay?
No, it wasn’t okay to me. I’ll meet u at ur house.
Clipping my phone on my belt, I slipped into my shoes. Walking into my bathroom, I freshened up, including brushing my teeth. I went to the hall closet for my hat and coat as I re-buttoned my shirt and stuffed it into my pants. I hurried out the door to my car, determined to beat Mackenzie home.
Of all the times, for once, she had beaten me. I took a chance standing outside Mackenzie’s front door close to midnight. With trepidation, I pushed the bell, praying Mackenzie was nearby and I hadn’t disturbed Mr. Norton who I had yet to meet.
Guilt pounded an upper cut to my chin when Mackenzie answered the door. Selfishness kicked me in the gut. Arrogance bit me in the leg. My body and soul ached when she saw me and her smile wasn’t forthcoming.
Mackenzie’s eyes drooped from tiredness. Her clothes proudly
wore patches of dirt. The curls were beyond a mess. A tear clung to her lashes.
“What’s wrong, baby?” I wiped the tear away and grabbed her hand.
She sighed. “News travels fast. I know Pastor Coleman received the witnesses’ report from the ministers today. I called and spoke with Minister Eddie earlier.
The Holy Ghost in me knows God’s power is accurate as mentioned in the Bible. The experience reaffirms every scripture. It’s sad when some people don’t want it, refuse to pray for it, and the preacher dismisses it. I want people to know for themselves that the Holy Ghost is more than tongues. It’s also the Anointing that breaks all yokes and strongholds. But I’m preaching to the choir.”
Suspicious, I nodded. There was something Mackenzie wasn’t telling me. “That sounds memorized. What’s really in your heart? I can handle your secrets.”
She shivered despite her thick sweater. Opening my wool coat, I swallowed her inside to keep her warm. “Talk to me, Mackenzie, talk.”
“The woman in me doesn’t want you to stop kissing me, or refrain from hugging me, or dismiss the desire in your eyes, or—”
“You’re right. I definitely can’t handle this secret.” I kissed her urgently, squeezing her tighter, ignoring a tap on my shoulders. One more kiss, God, then I’ll stop. Please, one more kiss.
A shove followed another jab until I blinked. It wasn’t God. It was her father—the resemblance verified it.
***
Everything happened so fast. One minute Mackenzie was in my arms, the next, the door slammed in my face. Her father’s presence was still a blur.
The following morning’s emails were full of apologies. Mackenzie was sorry she shared something she should’ve kept to herself about her desires. If they weren’t tamed, we could open a dangerous and powerful door. God help us, I prayed.
In at least two emails, I regretted for showing up late, not respecting her wishes, and not using restraint—at least some. Mackenzie explained her father’s reactions were based on the lateness of the hour. We both agreed that I did owe her father an apology.
We repented, prayed, and were back on track. On Tuesday, I left work early after being briefed on the forum, and other cases. I stopped by Sweetie Pie’s—voted St. Louis’ favorite soul food restaurant.
It was hard to resist Robbie Montgomery’s specialties so I ordered two to-go dinners of fried chicken wings, corn, macaroni and cheese, and a taste of peach cobbler. Prior to opening Sweetie Pies, she had performed with and cooked for Tina and the late Ike Turner.
When I arrived at Mackenzie’s school, I waited in the car and allowed the aroma of Robbie’s food to intoxicate me. More than once, I thought about tearing into the fried chicken. Mackenzie would never know.
A few minutes later, she walked out the doors and strutted down the steps. I climbed out my car into the freezing temperatures. Opening the passenger door, Mackenzie bypassed her car. Squinting, she got in with suspicion. After I closed her door and got in, she was waiting with folded arms.
“Didn’t I ban you from the premises?” she teased.
I winked, reached in the backseat, and offered her a Styrofoam container. When she sniffed Sweetie Pies’ trademark peach cobbler, she grinned.
“Oh, wait a minute. I’m not supposed to be here.”
Tightening her hold on the box, she conceded, “Okay, okay, okay. C’mon. I’m hungry.” She laid it on her lap. “Bless it for us.”
She shook her head when I opened my mouth. “No. Sign.”
Keeping my eyes connected with hers, I lifted my hands. Not as an interpreter, but as a woman I cared about, loved. “Lord, we thank You for everything we have. We ask that You bless our food and lives in Jesus’ Name.” When I finished, she signed, “Amen.”
We consumed our food, in silent, every crumb. After wiping her hands and dabbing her mouth, Mackenzie gathered our trash. She faced me with hesitation after tying the white plastic bag and setting it by her feet.
“Noel?” she said, toying with a napkin.
“Yeah, baby. What’s wrong?” I covered her hands. I really wanted to watch her lips.
“I know we’ve opened up a Pandora’s Box with that kiss the other night, but …”
I smirked, knowing what she was afraid to say. “You want another kiss?”
She nodded.
“I can do that, but Mackenzie, woman, you’ve got to help me because I am flesh and blood, and I will respond in it. I want to kiss you, too, baby, but just saying your name is temptation.
“You’re right.” She sighed and looked away.
I pulled her toward me and gave her the sweetest kiss my body could tolerate. Even the briefest contact was electrifying. Her lips were so soft. The kiss was sweet and too brief, but I didn’t want her students catching Miss Norton necking. “Will that hold ya?”
“It’ll do,” she tossed back.
I never laughed so much until I was with Mackenzie. We were fighting the same temptation. If it wasn’t for her quick wit sometimes, whew, only God knew what would happen. I re-directed my attention.
“Tell me about your fascination for theater. I want to understand your passion. I want you to know that I’m here for you.”
“I would love to have your support.”
“You don’t have to ask. You’ve got it.”
“Great.” Mackenzie wrapped her coat around her, not bothering to slide her arms through the sleeves, snatched her purse, and raced from my car. I rolled my eyes, swiped my coat off the backseat, and gave chase. I yelled for her to wait. “What’s going on, Mackenzie?”
“Follow me,” she said, getting in her car.
That wasn’t an easy request, considering I would’ve failed a driving test under her instructions. Leaving the city, I trailed her to Kirkwood’s Civic Center, a suburb twenty minutes away. I recognized the name Stages of St. Louis, also a nonprofit organization that received grant money. Beyond that, I knew very little about it.
Once inside back stage, she flipped on lights, revealing an abandoned playroom where toys were left to their own devices. “This is a trash collector’s nightmare.” Mackenzie extended her hand and I clasped it as we maneuvered around one trap after another.
Tapping her arm, she faced me. “Why do you do this? When I met you, you were helping out at The Black Rep, then the Uppity Theatre, now Stages. Why so many places?”
She guided me to a grayish stone bench and I questioned its sturdiness. I balanced my weight to protect Mackenzie in case the thing collapsed.
“Noel, each theatre house offers something different to their audiences.” She swept her hand from left to right, introducing me to worn furniture that my grandparents might have owned. Dull and colorful outfits hung from misplaced knobs in the wall. They appeared clean, but definitely outdated.
“Stages of St. Louis attract a community with limited exposure to the arts. A few years ago, they started a fundraising campaign to raise money for a new theatre.”
I could relate to their efforts of matching donor contributions, writing grants for government funds, and hosting endless fundraisers.
“A theatre company’s budget determines how many plays they can perform, and how elaborate the costumes and scenes are. Money determines if the company can afford to build a replica of a 1920s neighborhood or rent props, or”—she paused and pointed to a two-sided wall in the corner at least fifteen feet high...“construct a collage that can be used for multiple scenes. Some of the bigger theatres can afford to build several separate backgrounds. Here at Stages, one wall may have to be used for up to four scenes. Remember, I told you I enjoy attending auctions?”
Nodding, I smirked, too fascinated by all this to ask questions. At the same time, I was reminded how different our worlds were. Her happiness was too contagious for me to dwell on negative thoughts. “How could I forget?”
She continued. “Years ago, I was an assistant on a small project. We had to find a pair of vintage wood chairs. We shopped at Goodwill and other
secondhand stores—nothing. Finally, we hit some estate sales and—bingo. We got there right before the pre-viewing ended. The deceased was a packrat. The ninety-year-old woman had things she saved from her parents and grandparents.
“There was a lot of old expensive stuff. Most of the people came for the jewelry. I sat dumbfounded as people in the audience raised their hands, holding white cards with a number on it, or nodded. The bid spotter acknowledged them by pointing his finger. I was really getting into it.”
God, she’s beautiful. You created a good thing when you made her, I thought.
Mackenzie was nonstop. “To make a long story short, we bought a set of chairs for one-hundred and twenty-five dollars.” She lifted her chin in triumph.
“Can’t you bid online like eBay?”
“Too boring. Now, to change the subject. Remember when I told you I liked Dancing with the Stars? Guess where that addiction came from?”
“I have no idea, but why should I stop you now from telling me?” My nostrils flared in amusement as I inhaled her perfume. I laughed. At times, she couldn’t contain the youthful energy within her. This was another side of her I wouldn’t change.
“I’m always spellbound when theatres put on musicals. It takes hard work to learn sophisticated steps and group coordination. When I first saw Dancing with the Stars, I thought, wow, I would love to be in that, but I’m not a professional dancer or a star.” She pouted.
“That all depends, God created the stars to shine.” My hand reached for her chin to draw her closer. “Baby, there’s nothing dull about you. That’s why I fell in love with you.”
As we were about to share a kiss, the poorly constructed bench gave way. We fell into a pile of clothes. Mackenzie looked at me before her head fell back. When she started laughing, I joined her.
“Oops, I forgot to tell you, this is my project I hadn’t finished.”
CHAPTER 17