Sweet Potato Jones

by Jen Lowry

  Ray didn’t laugh, only kept that same smile on his face. “Hey, Maize. Ray.”

  Maize nodded and plopped back down on the bottom bunk. Bean was already asleep. I laughed softly. “What did you do to that one?”

  Maize gave his short, little laugh in return. “Daddy worn him out all day on the court. He was asleep by eight. I think we’ve figured out the fix for Bean.”

  “Maybe he don’t need any hyper pills, after all. He might need some ball playing and good ol’ exercise. Let’s make him a pro, Maize. You think?”

  Daddy huffed. “Sports ain’t the answer. I’ve been telling Maize about this since he’s been obsessed with the whole football fascination.”

  Ray’s interest was now piqued. “You play football?”

  Maize shot up from the bunk. “Want to. I’m going to be a freshman. I figure I’ll try out for the JV or something.”

  “You going to The Dream, right?” Ray looked at me, and I nodded. “I don’t see your uniforms hanging.” No closets here. He had already quickly done an inspection of our room and assessed the lone clothes bag beside the bunks.

  I gawked. “Uniforms? Daddy, you ain’t said one thing about uniforms. School’s on Monday!”

  Why did we always end up with last-minute disasters? The money we’d made this week was already spent.

  Daddy said, “Calm down, child. Calm down. I had to wait for the check anyway, and I didn’t want you to go about dreading the school, knowing about a uniform. We’ll go tomorrow, then.”

  He picked his head up, motioning to Ray. Come on now, and let’s go talk.

  I wasn’t ready for that yet. I’d postpone it if I could. “I love the uniform idea. Nobody will know.” I couldn’t sit down on the bunk, because there wasn’t a place to offer Ray to sit. I couldn’t even offer him something to drink. That was the way you were supposed to invite people into your home, judging by the way Mrs. Sunshine had treated me this morning.

  Ray frowned. “Know what?”

  I nudged my bag with my foot. “That’s me in the bag. And that’s Maize, and Bell, and Bean. Uniforms are safe. We ain’t never once been to a school that was safe for us, so we would always stand out like a sore thumb. Recycling the same clothes gets noticed, this day and age.”

  Bell giggled when Daddy stepped between us. “That’s enough in here. Sweet Potato, go on to bed. You got early-morning work ahead of you. One more day of it before the school week begins.”

  Ray said, “No, Mr. Jones. We wouldn’t hear of working on the Lord’s day. We are closed on Sunday. It’s church and eating, usually with the church, and more church after that. Just the way I like a day to go.”

  It was like I’d been slapped. “I won’t see …”

  You. I let it drop when Daddy gave me the hush-up eye, and I realized he was right. I was probably about to sound a little desperate.

  Daddy was already escorting Ray out the door. Ray turned to me and winked, not a care in the world. Not even a fear about walking up those tiny, creaking steps to his doom.

  “I’ll be here to pick you up at nine, Sweet Potato. Don’t worry about what is in that bag. We will stop by Momma’s before church service, if you need to.”

  Bell squealed, waking Bean up. Little moaning noises escaped from him. “Can I come? Can I go?”

  The last words I heard from Ray were, “Sure. All of you are welcome.”

  And I fell to my knees when the door slammed. “I’m thankful to have him, God. I’m welcoming them rays of light you are shining down on us. Thank you, Jesus.”

  I broke into our newly added prayer song, and the kids sang right along with me—even tired-out Bean, with a yawn on his lips.

  Maize was waiting to strike, like I’d expected. “What do you think Daddy’s up there doing to him? It’s been twenty-six minutes already. Just enough time to cut him up and grill us some Ray kebabs.”

  Bell giggled. “Them would be some good tasting Ray-babs, Sweet Potato. He’s mighty juicy.”

  I frowned. “You are too young to be calling boys juicy. Don’t let me hear that from you again. You hear me, girl?”

  She sighed, exasperated. “I’ve already had a boyfriend, remember?”

  In second grade, she’d rushed home to tell us how some boy wrote her a “Do you like me? Yes or no” letter and she’d pushed him down into an anthill. I guessed to youngins that constituted a boyfriend-girlfriend kinda relationship. Me and my Ray, we were the Declaration of Independence. With him, maybe I could feel that freedom I longed for.

  Finally, the door creaked open, as if Daddy didn’t want to disturb us. Like we could have gotten any sleep with the FBI investigation going on up top. Bean had gone on to sleep after our prayers, but the rest of us were waiting impatiently for the verdict.

  He cleared his throat. “All right, go on to bed. We got church in the morning.”

  Bell clapped with a hallelujah. She loved church. And when I say the word “love,” I’m really putting it mildly. That was the only place in the world where she ever truly felt like she belonged. I had to admit there was something peaceful about sitting in a pew together, side by side, praising the Lord with a song coming from all of us in unison. Now, I had two other places where I had a peace that passed all understanding: Soul Food and walking beside Ray.

  Daddy grumbled, “Well, you got you some makings of a fine man, Sweet Potato. I see the two of you now. I get it. And I’ll let you be, for now. Just let me trust you, that’s all I’m saying about the birds and the—”

  I yelled out, “Uh-uh!”

  Bell was in the room, and there would be no talk like this. Maize made little bumblebee sounds, and I swatted him on the head with my pillow. The pest.

  “Thank you, Daddy, for believing in me.”

  He pulled the tan cover up to his chin and turned to me. “Why should I not, Sweet Potato Pie? You’ve always believed in me.”

  “You are right about that, Daddy. Through it all, I believe. For the most part.”

  But I’d always wondered about something. Was it the belief I had in him, or was it that I’d learned not to question him? Those were two completely different concepts I didn’t want to spend my energy on debating, but they were always there in the corners of my mind.

  We all settled down in our bunks. I held the flashlight out to Maize and waved the light to get his attention.

  I whispered, “Uniforms? Ain’t that great!”

  He smiled in the darkness. “At least that’s one good thing about this place.”

  “There’s more than just one thing, Maize. You’ve got to open your heart to it. Open your eyes tomorrow and really see the good. It’s staring right at you, Maize. I’m starting to take off them dark shades and see the world for clear skies. You can do that, too.”

  He turned to face the wall, but I felt the despair in every syllable he spoke. “Whatever, Sweet Potato. Whatever you say.”

  The morning saw us all rummaging through our bag for our Sunday finest. We all had one set apiece. That was all we needed. No one should go to church worrying about what you wore, no way. God was the one all clothed in shining white light. How could anybody compete with that?

  When I heard the knock on the door, I knew it was him. It was eight fifty-seven. Three minutes early. I was finishing up twirling Bell’s hair when Bean opened the door. He eyed Ray curiously and decided to give him an anaconda hug instead of a handshake. Gotta love that Bean for everything he was.

  Daddy picked up our family Bible off his cot, straightened his tie, and held out his hand for Ray to shake. He wouldn’t tell me any of what they’d discussed the night before, and I wasn’t fortunate enough to have some texting machine or cellphone to find out from Ray. And I wasn’t expecting to get that far in our conversing on the walk to the church, with the family all crowded around our heels, Bell holding on to Ray’s arm and Maize talking his ear off about what he needed to know about football at The Dream—the physical requirements
and such.

  It was another six minutes past Soul Food down the avenue to the Assembly Revival Church. This whole block was an inspiring walk, from the chain-link fence around The Home, to the taste of heaven that was Soul Food, to the whole divine kingdom of worshippers that would leave me changed forever. To the Lions Club center, where glasses could be passed along for free at the other end, making the corners a mighty place to help anyone in need. Four corners of freedom.

  The ladies streamed in with them fancy hats and those gold-beaded necklaces that looked like they weighed about twenty-five pounds, and that meant nothing more to the Lord than my straight, black skirt and white, button-up, high-collar shirt. We had them colors because at our last church we were all choir members, and the church bought everybody in the choir matching clothes. Me and Bell loved to look alike, and Maize looked so nice in his black-and-white striped tie. Bean, too. And Daddy didn’t own no coat, but he was a sharp man. Impressive by his stance, I tell you.

  Mr. Joe and Mrs. Sunshine were right where I was expecting them: in that choir vestibule, shining like bright twinkle lights. All the choir members were dressed in the fanciest white robes and were welcoming in the congregants with the radiant voices of those in harmony with the Lord. Bell could barely contain herself when she saw it all up there, and by the way that she moved in that red pew, she might as well have been up there with them. She didn’t miss a beat. Mrs. Sunshine pointed at us a time or two, leaning over some of the elders—to tell them about us, must have been. But I wasn’t the least bit ashamed, because I knew she wouldn’t introduce us as “them homeless folks.” All she would say is that there is Ray’s girl and those good people we got working for us now—something like that, I was sure.

  The Rev and First Lady were like a peaceful, warm wind blowing against my face. All the Word, hallelujahs, and hymns of praise somehow seemed to be heightened here, like they were on an electrical charge. Ray didn’t hold my hand or put his arm around me in the service. But just him sitting right there beside me, every now and then beating his hand down against his knee, rattling out a “Go ahead and tell it” or an “Amen,” told me that Ray was that way when it came to me and the Lord—letting it come fully without a care in the world. He was just Ray. And I loved that.

  The two hours of the service flew by. Ray stood up to testify during the final call. With my heart laid out on those red, velvet pews, I looked down at the carpet instead of up at him. He was dedicating his life to the Lord in the U.S. Army. He was going to be a chaplain assistant and preach the word of the Lord. The calling had been placed upon his heart for a long time, and he could not deny it any longer.

  As soon as the words came out of his mouth, that whole church was on him like beetles to a rose garden—praising the Lord, laying hands on him, and putting him right up there at that beautifully crafted, wooden pulpit so the whole place could worship the Lord in celebration of one of their own. And I couldn’t help the tears of joy streaming down my face. I was not ashamed to cry, because this time it was a mighty big thing. It meant that much.

  Mrs. Sunshine called us up to the front, next, and introduced us all as the newest members of her family. We were enlisted in the Patterson family, and I was proud to serve. Everybody welcomed us with open arms. Many of the faces I knew from Soul Food. Instead of the service ending, Mr. Joe hollered out for everybody to traipse on down to the restaurant, and if they could wait a minute, he would conjure up a Sunday after-service meal on the house in honor of his boy’s Army celebration testimony. Everybody seemed to warm up to that idea super quick, because we were all traveling down the sidewalk for the walk to Soul Food, clapping and singing like we were in our own little, Christian-soldier parade.

  They didn’t flip that open sign. We were closed for business that day. Mrs. Sunshine blared the gospel music on the old radio, and when our song finally hit, Bell let it out in front of all them strangers, and what a let-out it was.

  The place became deathly silent, and Bell stood up on the booth and wailed out that song about the harvest. Since it was the first time she’d heard it with the music, she had no other way but to go with it. And I knew God truly blessed this place, because it allowed my Bell to ring and shine brass like she had always deserved. The choir director was right fast to our table, and when Daddy told them the whole lot of us could sing, they shooed us up front on that purple-and-white checker-tiled floor—right in the middle, to Mrs. Sunshine’s beckoning.

  She whipped that finger out at me. “You didn’t let on to us that you could sing, Sweet Potato.”

  This was apparently a no-no in her book, because I knew how much singing meant to that woman. But my voice was always something I kept to myself. The sudden attention was uncomfortable, like the thought of lice crawling on you when there really weren’t none.

  I shrugged. “Not much. It’s not good, really.”

  Daddy sighed. “She don’t see nothing she does as good, but she is good, people, I’m telling you.”

  Pastor applauded and said, “Go ahead, child. Let your family sing us something.”

  Daddy wouldn’t say no to the preacher man, so he pushed us all forward and lined us up. We sang what Daddy said was always Momma’s favorite, “Amazing Grace.” He always said that we could honor her memory by singing it, so I went along with it. But we gave Bell all the solo parts. The rest of us sang the backup, until I was needed to hit the high notes with her. The whole time I sang, I looked straight at Ray, hoping I wouldn’t embarrass him none in front of this special congregation of people that he’d been raised in the Spirit with. But the way he looked back at me let me know there was no shame there, only pride. He was glowing love for me in front of this whole place, and I especially loved that.

  Mrs. Sunshine was wiping them streaming kinda tears, the kind that seem to have no end.

  She whispered to me, “God has given your family a gift, child. He’s given you gifts, and you don’t even let them out. God wants you to shine, baby. We gonna make it to where you shine bright.”

  Ray held out his hand to me. I took it and smiled at them both. “That’s all I seem to want to do since we found this place.”

  The First Lady put her arms around Bell and the rest of us individually and told us how we were now members of the Assembly Choir if we so chose to be. Daddy wouldn’t say no to a First Lady, and when she said God had chosen that for us, and we had to walk His way, Daddy accepted the call. So we all followed suit, nodded, and found out that our dress would be taken care of week after week, because the black pants, skirts, and white shirts applied to this church, too. On occasion, we’d get to wear matching, fancied-up choir robes. God was good! All the time. He had clothed us, and there it was again for my apron to testify.

  Later that afternoon, when the dinner had been all devoured, Mrs. Sunshine offered to take me on into town to pick up the uniforms and supplies we needed for school. Daddy stayed behind to help Mr. Joe and Ray clean up the place, with the kids in full-swing clean-up mode, too. I’d never had this kinda time with a lady, and even though it was only a Wal-Mart run, it sure felt like we were going someplace fancy.

  Ray had printed up the different grade-level lists of required supplies, and they were each a page long. I didn’t know how I was going to buy all them expensive three-ring binders with all them dividers. They could be like five dollars apiece. And then the uniforms, too. Lordy, no!

  Mrs. Sunshine pulled out a church envelope and handed it to me as she hummed “Amazing Grace.”

  “What’s this?” I peeked inside, and it was a big ol’ wad of greenbacks.

  “After that performance at Soul Food, the church members felt the Spirit hit them to give us up a collection. They’ve all had kids or grandkids going to The Dream and know about the uniforms and the likes of all you’d need, so they all wanted to help out.”

  Mrs. Sunshine turned on the radio, still humming. She must have worked better with the background noise of the Lord’s words. I could
fully understand that about her, even if other things about her didn’t make sense—like how she could take me in and see me for more than I really was. That was still the biggest mystery of them all.

  “We can’t take no money from strangers.” It took enough of the world’s resources to eat and sleep and go to a doctor, let alone to buy glue sticks and uniforms.

  “Strangers? Strangers? That hurts me, Sweet Potato. I ain’t no stranger to you. Them are my people back there. We take care of our kind.”

  She frowned, glancing at the rearview mirror, and turning into some heavy traffic a little too sharply. She spit out a couple of improper words, which surprised me. She wasn’t the type I would have pegged for road rage. People have a way of surprising me every day.

  “You are my sister in Christ, child. You are my son’s future. You are our hope. You ain’t no stranger to me. You are after my own heart. Now, you will take the good deeds of others and use them for good doings. You can’t not accept this gift of love. If the Spirit moves, then you must obey.”

  She shook her head matter-of-factly. Something else I’d come to recognize in Mrs. Sunshine was that she meant what she said. I loved that and vowed I’d try to be more like her, at least in that sense.

  “It’s hard for us in schools due to the fact of how much Daddy moves us around, Mrs. Sunshine. This here money could be all for nothing, and then those uniforms would be all worn out for no more use.”

  I folded the money and set it down in the console tray. Like the seats, the console of the pearl Escalade was fancy leather. Mrs. Sunshine also didn’t seem the type to have such a nice ride. This car must have been parked behind the house, because it would have probably never survived out in the open street.

  “The Dream is different. You know that practically every single person who goes to that school either joins the military or goes on to college. I’m not talking about a little bit of them. The success rate is phenomenal, because everyone there believes in the dream.”