The First Lady

by Carl Weber

  “Yes, I understand. Please, if we could just move on,” I said. I was eager to get this over with, as I was becoming sick to my stomach.

  “Yes, certainly, Ms. Johnson,” she said as she picked up a paper gown and handed it to me. “Just put this on and I’ll be back in a few minutes. We need to get some blood and perform an ultrasound.”

  “Will I have to see it?” I said in a panic. “Will I have to see the baby?” There was no way I could see my baby on a monitor and hear its little heartbeat and still go through with the abortion.

  “No,” she assured me with a smile, though I swore I could see dollar signs in her eyes. She patted my hand in an attempt to calm me, once again making sure I didn’t run up out of there without leaving my $500. “I’ll be back in a few.”

  I proceeded to undress, removing the bulky gray sweat suit I had worn per their instructions. They suggested that I wear something warm because the recovery room would be chilly. I put on the paper gown, then hopped up on the examining table, feeling numb. A few minutes later, the nurse returned with another woman, who took a blood sample from my arm. She left the room; then the nurse asked me to lie back so she could perform an ultrasound. As she ran the cold instrument over my belly, I turned my head away from the monitor, not wanting even a glimpse of the life forming inside of me.

  The ultrasound was only a few minutes long, but the nurse didn’t speak a word. The room was completely silent. I thought about the tiny child that must be displayed on the screen, agonizing as I wondered what it would look like. Would it have T.K.'s eyes, my curls? These were questions a woman shouldn’t want answered as she’s lying on a table, preparing to abort her child, I thought. I felt my heart splitting in two.

  “Please keep the gown on, Ms. Johnson,” the nurse advised when she was finished and had covered my stomach again with the paper gown. “I’ll be right back after the doctor gets a look at the test.”

  “Okay,” I said, staring up at the ceiling to avoid looking at her. By the time I heard the door close, a puddle of tears had formed on the table.

  It’s not too late, I told myself. I can still get up and run out of here right now.

  I rose slowly to a sitting position, clutching the flimsy gown around me. Before I could swing my legs off the table and onto the floor to make a run for it, the door opened.

  “Ms. Johnson?” the nurse said, entering the room with a most puzzled look on her face. Gone were the dollar-sign eyes as she stared down into the open yellow folder. “I have some good news for you, I suppose.”

  “Excuse me?” I was as confused as she looked. What could possibly be considered good news in this chamber of death and broken promises?

  “Well, we’ve run the blood test, and we’ve read the ultrasound, and, Ms. Johnson, you’re not pregnant at all.”

  “What?” I jumped off the table, unable to contain myself. Elation at the thought that I didn’t need an abortion was mixed with a strange sense of loss that I was not carrying T.K.'s baby. “I’m not pregnant?”

  “That’s right, Ms. Johnson.”

  “But the pregnancy test, my periods, the morning sickness … I don’t understand.” I was bewildered.

  “Ms. Johnson, have you ever heard of what is called a false pregnancy?”

  “No,” I answered, unable to form a sentence.

  “Well, with a false pregnancy, your body thinks it’s pregnant. It goes through the motions and sometimes performs as if it’s pregnant, but in actuality, you’re not pregnant at all.” I stood frozen in silent shock, so the nurse continued. “Now, the doctor has written you a prescription for a medication that will shrink your uterus, which, we noticed on the ultrasound, has expanded just slightly. You might feel some cramping, and there will be some bleeding, but after a couple of weeks, you should be back to normal.”

  Still, I stood there silently. It was hard to process her instructions when I still couldn’t get my mind around the words you’re not pregnant.

  “Well, you can get dressed now, Ms. Johnson,” the nurse said, starting to look a little uncomfortable with my silence. “And there’s no charge today, but the fifty-dollar deposit is nonrefundable, as explained before, as it covers the cost of the test. You take care of yourself, Ms. Johnson, and have a good day.” She left without waiting for a reply, which was fine, because I was still mute.

  Even after she exited the room, I stood frozen for some time, allowing her words to really sink in. When they finally did, I quickly got dressed. I think I even put my panties on inside out trying to rush out of there. I darted from the examination room and into the waiting room, where Sister Alison sat reading one of the pamphlets an abortion protestor had handed her on the way in.

  “Sister Alison! Sister Alison!” I shouted, not caring that every woman in the place was staring at me.

  “Monique, you changed your mind?” she questioned. “You’re going to keep the baby?”

  “No, Sister Alison. No. There is no baby,” I said with unbridled joy.

  “What?” The blank expression on her face was probably the same one I wore when the nurse gave me the news.

  “Something about a false pregnancy,” I said quickly as I grabbed her arm, unwilling to stay in that place a moment longer. “I’ll explain it to you on the way home. Let’s get out of here.”

  She scooped up her purse, and we headed out of the clinic. As I thought about this miraculous turn of events, all I could say to myself was that there definitely is a God. I was able to walk away without destroying T.K.'s life or condemning my own soul. And short of a $50 deposit, I still had the money that Trustee Black had given to me. Maybe I would go take that vacation in

  Jamaica after all, I thought, my heart feeling free. Who knows, now that I’m not pregnant, maybe I can talk the bishop into taking a trip to Jamaica with me. One thing’s for sure—Lisa Mae Jones better hold on to her man because Monique Johnson is about to make it her business to reclaim what’s hers.

  ALISON AND THE FIRST LADY

  I got out of my car and practically skipped over to Charlene’s gravesite. I was so happy, I was sure Charlene could feel the joy in my spirit the moment I set foot onto the grass. I couldn’t wait to share the good news with her.

  “Charlene, guess what? Girl, I don’t know what you and God been doing up there, but y’all certainly pulled off a miracle today.” I began to happily tell her of the turn of events. “I went down to that abortion clinic with Monique, and, girl, you not gonna believe this, but she didn’t have an abortion. Matter of fact, she wasn’t even pregnant.” I could feel my best friend’s smile. “Go ‘head on, girl. Pat yourself on the back, click your heels, and sing hallelujah one more time.”

  I knew Charlene was dancing. I could feel her energy, and the image created in my mind made me smile. “And, Charlene, get this. I ain’t never heard of this before, but the doctor said she had a false pregnancy.” I chuckled. “Seems she was so in love with the bishop that she talked her body into thinking she was having his baby.” The whole idea of a false pregnancy was so crazy that it made me laugh all over again.

  “I’m not gonna lie, though,” I said, becoming serious. “I am so relieved that she didn’t need an abortion. I know how you feel about protecting the bishop, but I have to tell you, it was weighing heavy on my soul to be telling that woman that abortion was a good choice. She might not be the right woman for your husband, in my opinion, but it was still hard to do.”

  I wasn’t sure what Charlene would have said in reply if she were able to talk to me. If she were in my shoes, I wonder if she would have stood strong and taken the woman to get an abortion? It had been almost impossible for me not to back down. A few times, I had almost gone to the cemetery to apologize to Charlene and tell her I was no longer able to help her find the right woman for the bishop. Then, in the waiting room with Monique, my conscience had almost got the best of me. If they hadn’t called her name when they did, I might have just dragged her out of there myself and told her everything. It wa
s only after she’d gone into the examining room with the nurse that I regained my strength to continue fulfilling the promises I’d made to Charlene.

  Shoot, I concluded, I had done worse things in my life than take someone to get an abortion, and I hadn’t been struck by lightning yet. People will do plenty of things that are out of character when it’s in the name of love. I loved my best friend, Charlene, enough to do what had to be done.

  “Now, I haven’t had a chance to tell you about everything else that’s been going on because I was so wrapped up in Monique being pregnant, but you’ll never believe what I’m about to tell you. Guess who’s drug-free these days? Mmm-hmm, you guessed it. Marlene. She’s looking real good, too, Charlene. She hasn’t made a total turnaround, but from what I can see, she’s well on her way. If she keeps on the path the bishop is laying for her, she’ll be fine. I’m sure of it. Bishop has Savannah helping him out with her, and Marlene’s staying at your house with the bishop.” I could sense Charlene’s uneasiness, so I waited quietly for my words to sink in.

  When I felt that Charlene would be receptive to hearing more, I continued. “Listen, Charlene. There’s no need to get your panties in a bunch. I don’t think there’s any hanky-panky going on, especially with Lisa Mae and Loretta creeping around in the shadows. Even if Lisa Mae thought the bishop and Marlene were getting close, she’d find a way to run interference.

  “I have to say, though, that Lisa Mae might have her hands full now that Monique is not pregnant. I think the only reason Monique didn’t put up a fight to get the bishop back was because of the pregnancy. But I can tell she still loves him, and now that she’s not worried about ruining his reputation with a baby, her claws just might come out. I’m sure she’s going to be putting a lot of pressure on the bishop in the weeks to come.

  “I think it’s time we step things up a bit with Lisa Mae. She might be able to handle Marlene and Savannah, but Monique is an entirely different situation.” I leaned over and touched the headstone. “I guess we’re going to have to give Lisa Mae the ‘by any means necessary’ lesson on ‘How to Keep a Man 101.’ I’ll make sure she gets the appropriate letter right away.”

  32

  BISHOP

  Savannah arrived at the house precisely at 8:00 a.m. and would rstay with Marlene until around dinnertime, just as she’d been doing several times a week for the past few weeks. One night she had even stayed until nearly midnight so that I could go to dinner with Lisa Mae and a few of the deacons from the church. She made the offer after Lisa stopped by once while Savannah was there. Lisa tried hard to conceal her feelings, but I knew she wasn’t happy that there was not one woman, but two women, in my house. Savannah sensed it, too, which was why she offered to stay with Marlene so I could have dinner with Lisa.

  I hadn’t seen much of Lisa Mae lately, because I was so busy juggling my duties at the church and my responsibilities to Marlene. But Lisa Mae told me she understood and was happy with the few moments we were able to spend together on the days I saw her at the church. I promised to make it up to her once Marlene was back on her feet, though there was no way to be sure when that might be. I did know, though, that her chances of recovery were even better now that Savannah was helping.

  A former drug addict myself, I knew how hard it was to resist your urges those first few weeks, and I also knew the steps Marlene needed to take toward recovery. While Savannah had no personal experience in the area, she brought to the table a warm spirit and a kind of connection with Marlene that only a woman could have, and it was genuine. Because Marlene had spent so many years on the streets, she knew a fake when she saw one, so it took someone as genuine and sincere as Savannah to be able to communicate with her. Savannah treated Marlene with respect and because of that, Marlene opened up to her without hesitation, giving Savannah a deeper insight into what she needed for a successful recovery. Not only had Savannah been helping me get Marlene through the beginning stages of her recovery, but she also was helping me to bring the word of God front and center into Marlene’s life during the process.

  This day, I returned home a little later than usual. The women had already eaten dinner and were now together in the living room. I watched appreciatively as Savannah and Marlene sat side by side, an open Bible between them.

  “Even though Psalms 23 is read at funerals,” Savannah said to Marlene after reciting the Scripture, “I think it should be read and believed by a person while that individual is alive on earth.”

  “Why?” Marlene asked curiously. “I mean, if he’s gonna lead me to ‘lie down in green pastures,’ I’d rather it be while I’m dead. To lie down, in that particular Scripture, doesn’t that mean death?”

  I was waiting for Savannah to look to me for assistance in explaining the verse to Marlene, but she didn’t. She just went right on to explain it as if she were teaching Wednesday evening Bible study. As a pastor, I must admit I was proud of my sheep. As a man, I was impressed.

  “You need to know that you don’t have to want for anything; God will provide all of your needs,” Savannah explained as she took Marlene’s hands into hers. “You don’t need crack.” She shook her hands for emphasis. “God is your rock.”

  Marlene nodded her head in agreement as she fought back tears. “Yes, I know that now.”

  “But I want you to believe it, Marlene.” I decided to jump in. “Believe that God will deliver you from this. He delivered me.”

  Savannah looked up and smiled at me as a single teardrop fell from Marlene’s eye. We made a wonderful team.

  “Well, Marlene,” Savannah said, looking up at the clock on the kitchen wall. “It’s almost nine o’clock. I better get ready to head out. But before doing so, let’s close in prayer. Pastor, do you mind if I close?”

  “I don’t mind at all,” I stated. “Shall we join hands and bow our heads?” Savannah proceeded to say a nice little prayer that sealed our accomplishments with Marlene for the evening. It allowed us to touch on and agree on a successful and permanent recovery for Marlene.

  “Well, Sister Marlene,” Savannah said, rising, “you just keep on keeping on, and trust in God.”

  “I will, Sister Savannah,” Marlene said, rising and giving Savannah a hug. “I’m going to turn in too. I never knew how much all this praying could wear folks out.” We all chuckled. “But on a more serious note, it works. Prayer really works, and I’m living proof because I’m getter better and stronger each day,” Marlene said with conviction and pride.

  “Amen, my sister,” Savannah said, giving Marlene a high five. “Amen.”

  “Well, you drive home safely,” Marlene said before she exited the kitchen and went to her room to prepare for bed.

  “Sister Savannah, let me walk you to the door,” I said, leading the way.

  “Marlene really is making progress, isn’t she, Bishop?” Savannah asked as we walked to the door.

  “She certainly is, and you are a big part of that,” I said.

  “Oh, Bishop,” she said modestly, shooing her hand at me.

  “Seriously, Sister Savannah,” I said, looking into her eyes so that she’d know I was sincere. “You have a powerful anointing. It’s as though your every word is guided by God Himself.”

  “Well, Bishop, I do ask God to give me the proper words to speak, so my words are, in fact, guided by God. But I’m not in there working with Marlene alone, Bishop. The way you open up and your honesty … I mean, you are such a humble man, and I admire you so much for that.”

  As Savannah spoke, she looked up at me wondrously, and her eyes reflected her feelings. And for the first time, I noticed just how beautiful she was, not just on the inside, but on the outside too. I bet if she’d let down that bun she always wore, her hair would flow like Samson’s. I bet she was hiding a lot of things—things she would hopefully reveal through her own counseling with me—things that, once she could let go of them, would allow her to be an even more beautiful woman, if that were at all possible.

  Just look at he
r. If I weren’t seeing Lisa Mae, I swear I would consider—

  Before I could finish my thoughts, I felt Savannah’s lips press against mine. It was almost as if she were reading my mind and decided to thank me with a kiss for all of the wonderful compliments I had just given her in my head. Before I could even let the first kiss sink in, she immediately gave me a second peck on the cheek, then told me good night and slipped out the front door.

  I wiped my lips, still a little shocked. It was a nice, soft kiss. It was a good kiss; nothing like the passionate kisses that Monique and I had shared, or even the occasional kiss Lisa and I shared, for that matter, but nice nonetheless.

  The thought of Monique and the way she had kissed me, the way she had touched me, only made me miss her even more than I had. For the past few Sundays, I had been hoping to walk out and spot her somewhere in the church pews, but that never happened. Part of me regretted the decisions I’d made. I knew I had hurt Monique deeply when I started seeing Lisa Mae, and I had also hurt myself. I was enjoying the time I spent with Lisa Mae, and there was no doubt she was good for the church, but in the back of my mind—or maybe it was my heart—I had a nagging sense that I was missing something. I thought perhaps seeing Monique return to Sunday services would ease that feeling. Maybe it was just guilt over allowing one of my flock to believe she was unwelcome in my church. Or, if I was completely honest with myself, maybe I was second-guessing my decision to let Monique go. Perhaps I should have given our relationship a chance. It hurt to think I might never see her again, especially since she was still so often on my mind.

  As I turned around to shut off the lights and get ready for bed, the phone on the end table caught my eye. I thought about calling Monique. Part of me just wanted to hear her voice—a big part of me. But there was another part of me that just wanted to check up on her as the pastor of the church, to make sure she was okay both mentally and spiritually. Just because she was mad at me, it didn’t mean she had to be mad at God. I picked up the phone and dialed Monique’s number.