Sweet Potato Jones

by Jen Lowry

  All the short way there, I was repeatedly thanking Jesus for this, all of this. The walk in the early morning, right before the sun decided to wake up and show itself. The way I could feel him right there waiting for me, even though I was a tad bit early.

  He was there, like I predicted. Maybe I could believe the feelings starting to form. Maybe it wasn’t all too bad. Daddy recognized I was good people. Ray had to realize I was good people, if he could confess his love to me in front of the Lord last night. I did feel the Lord was there. And here. And right now. Welcome home, Lord. It’s about time you showed up.

  Ray smiled at me through the window, and I wanted to reach out my hand and put it up to the glass, touching those violet letters. He didn’t open the door just yet and let his hand come right on up and touch my fingertips with his. Even with thick glass between us, a current of emotion coursed through me.

  He had a knockout smile that made me want to jump for joy. “Are you mine?”

  The “her” changed to “mine.” I loved that.

  I returned his smile and couldn’t help but notice the way he stepped back again. He must have felt me shining. He was a ray of sunshine to me, warming me to the very part of my soul that had been popsicle-frozen for so long. Thawing out was so wonderful I wanted to curl up my toes.

  When I stepped through the door, he was standing like a pillar, not backing down or backing away. I loved that, too.

  I whispered, “Always yours,” and I watched as his eyes closed for a second.

  Mrs. Sunshine was right there, breaking up our exchange. “Come on. To me, now. Come on.”

  She waved at me from the counter. I pulled my apron on and looked back at Ray. He winked at me, and I couldn’t help but beam to see him with that apron turned right side out. He was wearing it—and proud, by the way he kept pressing it down firmly with his hand.

  He followed my gaze. “You noticed, huh?”

  Mrs. Sunshine clapped out a beat. “Come on, come here.”

  I was trying my hardest to read the moment. Her voice wasn’t resonating disappointment. But it was a no-nonsense kinda tone that made me either want to take two steps in the opposite direction or hide behind Ray.

  Her strong arm came around my waist and tugged. I couldn’t help but look over my shoulder as she dragged me through the swinging, silver doors. Ray was only laughing and shaking his head, sauntering to pick up his gray bucket. I wasn’t amused one bit.

  Mr. Joe was pouring that something-special-about-that-batter pancake mix onto the oversized griddle when we pushed through.

  “Hold up, wait a minute! Don’t mess with my flow, woman.” He frowned. “Sweet Potato, what you doing back here in my personal space? Y’all women are gonna drive me mad up in here.”

  Mrs. Sunshine shushed him. “Go on back to what you know best and leave me to what I do.”

  We went out the back door and stepped right into a living room. When Ray said it was like an extension of the restaurant, he wasn’t kidding. It was as I imagined it to be—perfect.

  My eyes went right to an enormous, framed picture of Jesus hanging over the dark green, leather couch. The picture showed the disciples on the storm-tossed boat and Jesus stretching out his arms over the sea. Mrs. Sunshine followed my gaze.

  “That’s a right massive work of art right there, and one of my special moments with Jesus, if I must tell the truth. And I must.”

  I wondered what the story was—why it mattered so much she’d let that picture take up about ninety percent of her wall space.

  “Okay, I’ll wind up with Jesus, throw it back to where this was supposed to start, then hit it out of the park with Jesus again. In that order. Sit on down. Coffee?”

  “No, thank you.”

  She sat me down on the couch and went to the little kitchen. I found it kind of comical that there was a kitchen beside the actual kitchen. She leaned against the counter as she poured herself a large cup. She stirred in three packs of sugar and two helpings of vanilla cream before coming back to me.

  “Jesus woke on up, you see, and those fishermen were a mess. They were in hysterics, crying and all, saying what in the world was wrong with Jesus—how could he be asleep in a storm like this? I think of them crab-fishing shows where the boat is a rocking and the waves are crashing onto the decks, and those deckhands look like they are about to disappear into the abyss. That’s what I see Simon Peter like, with John shaking in his big, fishermen boots. Anyway, I’m dragging. Sorry. Look at Jesus. Look at the expression on his face, the peace in his eyes. He says, ‘Why are you so afraid? How is it you have no faith?’ And then they still were so confused, those blind men, questioning who was Jesus to have even the sea obey his command? If I was on that boat, I’d have me a party up on top, knowing my Savior had my back even in the roughest of weather.”

  She watched me and must have known I needed another connection. “So, I know that Jesus takes my storms for me. He is my pillow where I rest my head, and no matter what else comes, I’ve got the protection of my Savior. No matter your storm, Sweet Potato—and I mean life’s storms, not just the rain, baby. I mean poverty, disillusionment, heartache, homelessness, Momma gone. Jesus restores us if we only have faith. So, I have faith.”

  I whispered, afraid that she might swallow me up whole like Jonah and the whale if I spoke too loudly. She was that big of a woman—not big physically, but big in life. She made me feel, and that was something new about me in Newport News. Never would I have thought I would change, or I could change. That I could believe in something. My insides were shaking like a leaf in a storm, but with this place and these people around me, maybe this would be my foundation to start something. To be something real and substantial. So, I said it and meant it. For the first time in a long time, I felt my spirit stirring up in a mighty way.

  “I have faith, too.”

  “I know you do, child. And my boy, he has faith in you. He told me all about the goings-on between the two of you, and I’m mighty pleased.” She patted my arm.

  “Pleased your son loves a temporal?” I couldn’t understand this woman from beginning to end.

  She laughed, throwing her head back. “A temporal? What is that?”

  “Me.”

  She’d done me the favor of extra explaining; I could go on, I guessed.

  “Temporal means to have a migratory position on this planet. We live in The Home twenty weeks. Daddy either decides to give it a go and we try to establish, or we move right on to the next ‘let’s point our finger on a map and go there.’ He’s already told me about wanting to move forward again. It’s temporary. There’s not one thing about me that’s permanent. There is nothing about me that’s worthy of Ray, if you want to know the truth of it.”

  She frowned, sighing heavily against my arm. “You are so wrong about that, honey. You have the permanent spirit of the Lord shining within you. You are a strong, rooted woman on this planet, because God deemed you so to be. Ray loves you, and I know it. Question on the table right now is do you love him?”

  She slapped the coffee table like a judge pounding a gavel.

  She pulled back, looked at me square, and answered for me. “I know the answer to that, too. Okay, my conversation about you is over. Now I’m finishing it up with Jesus.”

  It was my turn to sigh heavily. That wasn’t so bad after all. But I could tell she didn’t believe me about our way of life. Probably because she had never met anybody like our family. But I had never met anybody like hers, either. Maybe theirs could be the beacon calling us home.

  “Ray walked in with that apron turned around, and I knew right then he was no able to testify.” She finished the rest of her coffee and reached for a Kleenex. So, it might turn into one of those kinds of moments.

  “Why was he ashamed to wear it before?”

  “He wasn’t ashamed, honey, no. Ray has never once been ashamed about the workings and sayings of the Lord. He’s a good boy, a good Christian warrio
r. The Spirit speaks to me about others, and that was what it spoke to me about my own son. And I might not have known the magnitude of it until your family came along, but I do now. And now, he knows.”

  She dabbed her eyes, and I turned away, standing up to go look at their family pictures on the mantelpiece. That was one thing we never did—have pictures made. Daddy had one portrait of us taken at the fire department.

  “Well, why did he wear it backward? I don’t get it.”

  I picked up a picture of Ray when he was probably around the age of twelve, around the time she would have given him his apron

  “If somebody stops me in Soul Food, I can sing my praises to the Lord, and they will know what I speak is true. I am a walking testament to the Word. We all are. And I’m not afraid to share the gift he bestowed upon me. Those words we bear are sacred. Think of Ray’s words. Funny how God doesn’t reveal everything all at once. Sometimes it’s seven years in the making.”

  She blew her nose and wrapped her comforting arms around me. It was a motherly hug, and the scent of her perfume filled my senses. Special-like.

  “He’s trusted the Lord. He’s waited to hear the direction. The morning brought you in, the Spirit spoke to him and told him you were the way he should go. He would be able to provide and care for you, and no matter what he says, I know that gets to the heart of it. Now he’s dedicating his life to the service of the Lord in Joe’s military. And those enemies will have no chance against my Ray because he will hide himself in the Lord and be saved.”

  I heard the words. I understood them, but I couldn’t understand how I fit into it.

  “I know what I feel for your son. I’ve never in my life even dared to look at a boy, but when I saw Ray, I knew.”

  She grabbed my hand and led me toward the door to the other kitchen. “I knew the second your Daddy pulled out that picture of your family and your eyes were staring back at me from that gloss.”

  My eyes. There it was again. I’d asked Ray, and he said he saw that he was there. He knew my love for him for real. What had Mrs. Sunshine seen there?

  I was enthralled by this revelation. “What did you see?”

  “I saw the peace of Jesus, child. Faith in the unseen, belief even in the darkest of places. I saw a hope in you that you probably didn’t even know you had, and that was enough for me.”

  I sighed with a prayer on my lips. “Thank God the Spirit does the talking around here.”

  She swung open the door to the heat of the kitchen, and the smell of frying bacon brought me back from one world to the other. I could get lost here and never want to venture out in the storms of life again.

  Mr. Joe fumed and waved his spatula. “Got enough of that woman talk? Ready for work, are we?”

  Mrs. Sunshine waved her Kleenex at him. “One break in the last twenty years. I think I deserve it!”

  He winked at her. “You sure do, baby. Ray, come on in here and flip these jacks, and let me take your momma around there for another break.”

  I giggled, and Mrs. Sunshine pushed me through the door before kissing on Mr. Joe. Ray was holding an order ticket in his hand, talking to the customers, and showing off his apron. I got it now. He couldn’t wear it until he could confess it with a full understanding of his calling, and he seemed ready to spread the good news.

  Two older men who seemed to only come here for the corner checkers game called out to me. “Jones, coffee?”

  Ray handed me the pad. “I see you survived the lion’s den.”

  I smiled. “She’s a sweet, old cat. What do you mean?”

  He laughed. “Don’t let her hear you say ‘old’ in a sentence about her. She might show you a claw or two. Is my fate going to be about the same?”

  “What? Your momma gonna grill you, too?”

  He shook his head. “No, your daddy. Remember? I have plans tonight.”

  I bit my lip. Lordy, no! I’d forgotten all about the rendezvous on the roof at nine-oh-seven. “Verdict’s not out yet.”

  “The Lord has told us, ‘I am the Lord, the God of all mankind. Is anything too hard for me?’” He winked at me before grabbing his bucket again. “I trust in the Lord, remember?”

  I replied, “Since you were twelve. I got it.”

  “I’m glad. Now get to work, Sweet Potato Jones. And don’t be ashamed to wear that name. It is the one I love, after all.”

  He wasn’t being quiet today, and some of the customers heard the word “love” and my name. I pulled off my nametag, took my purple, Bic pen from deep down in my apron, scrawled “Sweet Potato” on top of the “Jones” in my best handwriting, and stuck it back on.

  Mrs. Sunshine clapped in victory. “Joe, she’s got her name back! She is no longer MIA.”

  I yelled back, surprising her. “I never knew I was lost!”

  She laughed. “That’s my girl! Welcome home, Sweet Potato.”

  “Glad to be home, Mrs. Sunshine.”

  And the rest of the day went like they all seemed to—too doggone fast for my liking.

  This time there was no bag to carry. Our hands found each other as soon as he closed the door behind us. Ray draped his arm around my waist, bringing me up close to him. My heart quickened with each second. This was a dream, but my eyes were wide open.

  “Did you forget something?” He stared down at me, and I swore it wasn’t just the sun that could shine in his eyes, but the moon, too.

  “You put your arm around me.” I couldn’t help but feel the wonder in everything.

  “Is that okay? I know we’ve worked all day. I don’t stink or anything, do I?” He sniffed his underarms.

  I closed my eyes. No. His cologne was still as present as ever. “Can I tell you something you’ll just have to believe?”

  He put his arm back around me, and we started walking again, faster than I would have liked. He wouldn’t want Daddy out on the front stoop, pacing as he waited.

  “I will tell you this now, Sweet Potato, and this is the truth: I believe every word that comes from you, because I have this feeling you don’t lie. It’s almost like you can’t lie. You are like a fresh new way of looking at the world, and I love it.”

  “I’ve never had a boyfriend. Not a crush. Not a like. Not a … a … boy, period.”

  Ray squinted. “I said I would believe anything you say, but that one is hard to take in. No one?”

  He squeezed me, and I melted right into his side.

  “Just you.” My Ray.

  We reached the chain-link fence, and his arm dropped. “I’ll make you proud of me, Sweet Potato. And I promise you I’ll always do what is right by you. I love you.”

  Daddy wasn’t at the gate, but he was standing under the bug light right there at the entrance, waiting. I would have to wait for another night to confess my feelings to Ray.

  Daddy said, “Hey, how was work? You are looking right rested up, Sweet Potato.”

  He didn’t know that being at Soul Food was the easiest thing I’d ever had to do in my life.

  “Good evening, sir.”

  Ray reached out to shake Daddy’s hand, and I could tell Daddy wasn’t convinced yet, like a big, old question mark at the end of the million-dollar question: Are you going to hurt my daughter or not? Because I’ve got something for you, if you are.

  “Be nice, Daddy.”

  Please, Lord. Let Daddy be the man that I know he is. Don’t disappoint me now, Daddy. Don’t run now, Ray. Have faith, Sweet Potato. There. I’d made all the prayers that needed to be made.

  I wished I would have asked Ray if he’d ever set foot in The Home before. I figured that he hadn’t. Most people hadn’t. Why would they?

  On the grand tour, we passed the kitchen and the first-floor rooms, which were for the “ins and outs.” Our rooms were on the second floor, along with most of the other families with children. We were what they called the “hopeful transitionals,” the ones they could try to remediate—like we were some schoo
l assignment or sustainable housing project.

  We didn’t speak during the jaunt through The Home. I couldn’t look at him, either. I couldn’t imagine the thoughts running through his mind. I thought I’d spoken all the prayers I needed to make, but I forgot the most important one. Don’t let Ray pity me after this, Lord—and again, for good measure, don’t let him run.

  We reached our door, and my heart flailed around in my chest like a ping-pong ball knocking against paddles. A plain, white door, no violet lettering, no golden words of wisdom. Just a number on it, like at one of those roadside motels—a crooked, scratched, brass number seven, that was us.

  They were in their bunks when I came in. Daddy had already conversed with them about me having a boy over. I was sure the whole lot of them was going to dive right into this mess with all they had, like U.S. Olympic swimmers. Bell was the first to jump off her bunk. She eyed Ray curiously. He smiled at her, she smiled back, and I knew it was love at first sight for her, too. She held out her hand like I’d guessed she’d seen in some old movie.

  She curtsied. “I’m Bell Pepper Jones. Nice to meet you.”

  He turned to me inquisitively at the sound of her voice. People did that. It was the same with his voice. That sing-song quality was rare.

  “Ray Patterson. Charmed, my dear.” He bowed low to her, and she giggled.

  Maize came up to him—couldn’t stand the thought of him being so big and tall, I was sure. “I’m Sweet Potato’s brother.”

  I sighed. “It’s okay, Maize. He won’t laugh. Ray, this is Maize.”