My Soul Cries Out

by Sherri L. Lewis

  “Monnie, Kevin’s gay.” She said it matter-of-factly, like she was saying “Kevin’s black,” or “Kevin’s a musician,” or “Kevin’s a nice guy.”

  I stared at her. “Why would you say something like that? Are you jealous? These men play the hit-it-and-quit-it game with you, but nobody ever asked you to marry them? That’s low, Alaysia.”

  She took a deep breath but didn’t say anything.

  “What would make you say something like that?”

  She shrugged and scrunched her eyebrows like she was trying to figure it out. She finally said, “Let me ask you one question. Has he ever pressured you to have sex?”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean anything. We’re Christians. We’re waiting ’til we get married. I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “Has he ever tried, though? Has it ever gotten so close one of you had to run away to keep it from happening? I’ve dated Christian guys before. Even a man imprisoned by your ‘no fornication’ rule will slip and get right up close to the edge. Have you guys ever gotten so close he had to walk it off or take a cold shower?”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean anything. Kevin respects me. He would never let it go that far.” My lip quivered. If Alaysia didn’t know anything else, she knew men.

  “I know this is hard for you to hear, Monnie, but . . . I don’t know how I know. I just know. He’s gay and you can’t marry him. If you do, I can’t stand there as your maid of honor and act like I agree with it.”

  “I’m going to marry Kevin, and I wouldn’t want you as my maid of honor if you begged. I don’t even want you as my friend. Get out, lose my number, lose my address, and lose my name.”

  That was Alaysia’s favorite speech whenever she kicked one of her many boyfriends to the curb. That’s how we ended six and a half years of friendship.

  God, was that your way of warning me?

  I didn’t bother to listen for His answer. I just rolled over, stuffed my face into the pillow, and cried myself to sleep, trying not to think of what might happen in church the next morning.

  3

  I felt numb the entire time I taught my Sunday school class. After the kids left, I lingered downstairs as long as I could. Would Kevin be there? If he was, what should I do? Put on my robe and sing in the choir, pretending nothing was wrong? Yeah, right. There was no way I could smile in his face, let alone sing, while Kevin-the-hypocrite directed the choir.

  After procrastinating as long as I could, I finally walked upstairs to the main floor of the church. Before I got in the sanctuary good, I knew Kevin hadn’t come. There was a stiffness in the air, an atmosphere not primed by anointed praise and worship. Love and Faith had never felt so dry.

  I sat down in the back. The sanctuary was expansive, with seats on the large main floor and balcony to seat eight thousand. It had all the trappings of a modern day mega church, including several large screens projecting the service, so the people in the back and balcony could see. Even with two services, we were packed to capacity.

  The singers on the praise team were half singing and half looking at each other like they were trying to figure out what to do. After they sang a couple more lifeless songs, Cynthia, who had taken over praise and worship for the morning, finally gave up.

  “Let’s give the Lord one last shout of praise as we take our seats.” She looked happy to hand the microphone to Elder Johnson.

  He read the scripture then Elder Banks led prayer. The ushers moved to take up an offering and the choir got up to sing. They struggled through an upbeat arrangement of “Jesus is Real.” Trey’s front row seat in the alto section was empty.

  I watched the choir and the congregation. If Kevin could fool me all this time, who else in here was gay? All of a sudden, everybody looked suspect. The way Deacon Bates clapped his hands was a little too cute. Elder Hampton seemed a little too skilled with the tambourine. The head usher seemed to switch when he walked to get the offering plate. And the way half the tenors did their little two-step? Made me think.

  Kevin probably wasn’t the only one undercover.

  I don’t know how Bishop Walker spotted me in the back, but halfway through the song, an usher tapped me on the shoulder and passed me a note written in big, agitated scrawl.

  Where’s Kevin?!!!!!!!

  Someone was upset. Kevin must not have even called. I looked up into the pulpit and gave an exaggerated shrug. Bishop frowned. I took the fact that he saw me all the way in the back before I even got up to give the announcements as a sign that God wanted me to talk to him. I jotted back a quick note.

  I’ll meet you in your office after service.

  My legs shook as I walked up the aisle to do the announcements. I did them all the time and it usually never made me nervous, but today was different. The walk from the back of the church seemed so long. I could hear the whispers rising from the pews. When I got to the podium, I looked down at the paper and looked up at the congregation. Everyone’s eyes were asking me the same question Bishop had. Where’s Kevin?

  I cleared my throat and bumbled through the announcements and then kept my eyes focused straight ahead as I returned to my seat.

  I barely heard a word Bishop Walker preached. I could tell he was getting close to the end when his voice escalated higher and higher and the crowd got more pumped, until he reached the point. Some members were standing with their hands lifted. Others clapped and shouted out their encouragement. “You betta preach, Bishop.”

  He wiped his forehead and looked over at the organ. I saw him realize Greg was sitting there instead of Kevin. Everybody was itching for a good shout, but Bishop knew better than to take it there. Greg was all right on the keys, but he couldn’t handle himself on the Hammond. And he definitely couldn’t keep up with the shoutin’ music. Guess you don’t realize how much the minister of music is the backbone of the church until he’s not there.

  I watched Bishop switch from the shoutin’ place to a holy hush. “Let’s just humble ourselves before Him. Some of you need to lay prostrate before the Lord and let His presence fall on you. Lord, give us a fresh infilling. Baptize us anew.”

  Watching him direct the congregation’s emotions was like watching a conductor direct the Philharmonic orchestra. Bishop signaled for one of the elders to take over, nodded to me, and headed toward his office.

  His assistant signaled for me to wait outside while he changed out of his heavy robe and sweaty clothes.

  He opened the door. “Come on in, Monica.”

  God, I don’t feel like having this conversation.

  When I walked in, Bishop Walker was already sitting behind his big, mahogany desk. He motioned for me to sit down.

  “What’s going on? Kevin doesn’t show up, doesn’t call. You’re sitting in the back instead of in the choir stand where you belong. Is something wrong?”

  I stared at the pictures of Martin Luther King Jr. and black Jesus on the wall, wishing I could disappear. An over-whelming feeling of embarrassment washed over me. But I asked God that if it was His will for me to tell Bishop . . .

  “Monica?”

  “I caught Kevin cheating on me.”

  Bishop Walker leaned back in his chair and let out a low whistle. “Whoa, boy. I was afraid something like this would happen. The way them women gather around him . . . Women are always drawn to musicians. I told that boy to watch out for—”

  “I caught him with Trey.”

  Bishop Walker’s mouth hung open for a moment, then he put his face in his hands. He peered at me through his fingers, and then covered his face again, shaking his head.

  “Oh, Monica. Oh, Jesus. Oh, Monica. Oh, Jesus.” Finally he said, “I knew that boy coming back here was bad news.”

  All the air left my body. “You . . . knew?”

  I had no idea what he said next. His mouth moved and sound came out, but nothing registered in my brain.

  “You . . . knew?” I jumped out of my chair and started pacing. “You knew about him and Trey? You knew all al
ong?”

  “Monica, please calm down.”

  “Calm down? Calm down?” Get yourself together, Monica. Don’t disrespect your pastor. I made myself sit back in the chair.

  Bishop folded his hands together. “Back when Kevin and Trey were in high school, I suspected we had a bit of a . . . uh . . . a problem. When Trey left for college, Kevin dedicated himself to the Lord, and that was the end of that. I didn’t think—”

  “That was the end of that? What? It just went away? I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you knew.”

  “I didn’t know, Monica. I was . . . concerned. But when you joined the church and you and Kevin started spending so much time together, I thought maybe I was suspicious for no reason. When you got married, I didn’t think about it anymore.”

  We sat quiet for a few minutes. I waited for the comforting words. There was nothing better than having a true man of God in my life I could trust and depend on to help me through life’s difficulties.

  Bishop Walker rubbed his chin and stared off into space. “Why did he have to do this now?”

  I frowned. “What do you mean, now?”

  He shook himself. “Nothing. We’ll have to work through this. I’ll counsel the two of you once, twice a week—as often as you need. We can make this work.” He lowered his voice. “I trust that you understand discretion is of the utmost importance. You wouldn’t want everyone to know what’s going on in your home.” He stroked his goatee. “No, we’ll work through this ourselves. Don’t worry, Monica. I have faith that you and Kevin will be just fine.”

  He looked like Bishop Walker, but it couldn’t possibly be him.

  “What do you mean, we’ll be just fine? You actually think I’m going to stay with him? Maybe you didn’t hear me right. I caught my husband cheating on me. With a MAN.” I didn’t mean to pound my fist on the arm of the chair. I counted to ten inside my head.

  “Monica, I know things look bad right now, but you’ve got to trust me and trust God. He’s going to see us through this. God is not a God of divorce.”

  “Yeah, but He’s not a God of adulterous marriages either, especially when homosexuality is involved.”

  Bishop Walker winced when I said the “H” word. “Monica, you’re going to have to trust me. All things work together for the good of them who—”

  “Are you serious? Are you really quoting scripture at me? Are you really telling me I’m supposed to stay married to a man who sleeps with men?”

  “Lower your voice, young lady.” He looked at his door as if he was concerned that someone was lingering outside. He went into his authoritative preacher tone. “I’m just saying we need to handle this situation prayerfully and according to the Word of God and not your emotions. If you would only—”

  “Thank you for listening, Bishop Walker. Have a good day.” I jumped out of my seat and stormed out of his office.

  I should’ve gone out the back entrance because I was ambushed the second I stepped into the sanctuary.

  “Good morning, Sister Day. Where’s your husband this morning? We sho’ missed him in the service.” Mother Wallace planted a juicy kiss on my cheek.

  “He’s a little under the weather. Lord willing, he’ll be back next Sunday. I better go so I can check on him.” I kissed her back and tried to rush by the seeming hundreds of other people who wanted to know where Kevin was.

  A group of choir members were gathered in their usual gossip spot in the parking lot. I pulled my coat around me tighter to block out the biting January wind and tried to breeze past them.

  No such luck.

  “Hey, Monica. What happened to Kevin today?” one asked.

  “He’s sick. Very sick. I stopped in for a minute, but I’ve got to get home to him.” If they would just leave me alone. I couldn’t hold the tears much longer.

  “We should stop by to pray for him. Let him know we’re thinking about him.”

  “NO!” Calm down, Monica. “I mean, he’s really sick and probably shouldn’t have company right now.”

  “All the more reason for us to stop by.”

  Okay, see, I didn’t want to have to lie in the church parking lot, but... “To tell you the truth, he picked up a bad stomach bug. He’s got bad diarrhea and is throwing up all over the place. He can’t sit still five minutes and he’s running to the bathroom again. I told him about eating at that Mexican restaurant.” I scrunched up my face. “Mexican the second time around is not a pleasant thing.”

  The grossed out looks on their faces told me I wouldn’t have to worry about anyone dropping by.

  As I drove out of the parking lot, I couldn’t get Bishop Walker’s words out of my mind. What happened in there? Did he hear me say Trey? Did he think I said Tracey or Faye? How could he possibly expect to brush this under the rug like it wasn’t a big deal? And what did he mean when he said “Why would he do this now?” It was hard to keep from jumping to conclusions.

  Everyone talked about how the church growth exploded when Kevin became the minister of music. Two years after he took over, they expanded to two services and then moved into a much bigger, much better building.

  If this got out, obviously Kevin would be sat down as the minister of music. Service this morning showed the effect that would have on the church. Plus, the choir was in the process of preparing to record an album. Everyone said Kevin was going to be the next Kirk Franklin.

  Let alone the scandal it would cause. Church folk were fickle. Any little thing and they’d go looking for a reason to leave. I couldn’t imagine what this could do to Love and Faith Christian Center, especially with us in the middle of a building project. We were about to build a 15,000-seat auditorium. If this kinda thing got out . . .

  That was the devil talking to me. Bishop Walker would never think like that. His foremost concern was probably what this would do to Kevin. Losing his position in the music department would destroy Kevin. It meant everything to him. Was his whole life. Yeah, Bishop Walker was thinking about Kevin.

  But where did that leave me?

  4

  I decided to go home for a while so I wouldn’t have to answer Trina’s questions about what happened at church. When I pulled into the garage, I was glad to see Kevin’s car wasn’t there. When I got into the house, I didn’t even have time to take my boots off to give my aching feet some relief before the doorbell rang.

  “Monnie, it’s me. Open the door.”

  He must have been parked down the street in the cul-de-sac, waiting for me to get home.

  “I don’t want to see you, Kevin. Go away, move to France, die. I don’t care. Just leave me alone.”

  “Monica, please. I need to talk to you.”

  “I don’t want to hear a word you have to say.”

  I guess he remembered he had a key because I heard him turn it in the lock. Before he could open the door good, I crashed a vase against the wall, barely missing his head.

  “Not this again. Please, just let me talk to you.” I could hear the tears in his voice.

  I allowed him to open the door without throwing anything else. A part of me wanted to hear what he had to say. I needed him to help me understand. The rest of me still wanted to see his blood flow.

  Kevin walked into the foyer slowly, acting like he was afraid he would have to dodge more airborne objects. He looked a mess. His eyes were swollen and puffy, like he hadn’t slept since he left. He had on some wrinkled jeans and a not-so-white T-shirt. His comb twists were matted to his head.

  “Did you sleep in the park with the homeless people?” I asked.

  He tried to smile but tears flowed instead. For the first time, it occurred to me that this might actually be hurting him, too. His eyes were filled with more pain than I imagined any human could keep inside.

  “When I was ten, a deacon from the church molested me.”

  “Save it for Oprah, Kevin.” I didn’t want to get sucked into feeling sorry for him. I was the victim here, and I wasn’t trying to share that spot.
/>   I couldn’t take the look in his eyes, though. He needed me to listen. Needed someone to hear what he’d obviously been carrying around for years.

  The pang in my heart made me realize love didn’t have a switch attached to it that I could turn on and off, no matter how much I was hurting. If I could, I’d turn my love for Kevin to the “off” position and kick him out the door.

  But I couldn’t. In direct opposition to my mind, my heart still loved him. Even though I was mad enough to douse him in gasoline and strike a match and flick it at him, seeing his face—his eyes—did something to me. I never felt so conflicted in my life.

  He stepped closer.

  I frowned. “My God, Kevin! Have you bathed since the last time I saw you?”

  He smiled that crooked, little-boy grin I had fallen in love with. I hated him for doing that.

  “Naw. I guess I’m a little on the tart side.”

  “Have you eaten?”

  He shook his head.

  “Well, go bathe and I’ll fix something.”

  He started crying, his whole body heaving. I knew he was grateful I wasn’t kicking him out, or cursing him out, or throwing things at him. Grateful that in spite of the fact that he’d hurt me deeper than hurt should hurt, I still cared.

  “Thanks, Monnie.”

  I nodded and made a “you stink” face, stepping aside so he could go upstairs.

  I wished this were a regular day. I wished he’d just come home from packing up the instruments and chilling with the band while I cooked Sunday dinner. I wished we were going to eat together then snuggle up on the couch and watch TV, or talk, or just fall asleep.

  But it wasn’t, and we weren’t.

  When he came back down, I had heated up some leftover lasagna and garlic bread. I went upstairs to change out of my wool suit and boots while he ate. He must have been starving because by the time I got back, he had finished eating and sat at the table, staring at the wall.

  “Hey.” He gave me a weak smile

  “Hey.” I didn’t smile back. Seeing him clean, dressed, and normal put the hardness back into my heart. I really needed to pack up some more clothes and head back to Trina’s. I decided to give him no more than ten minutes for whatever explanation he thought would help this situation.