“I was young and stupid and ran straight to his wife, telling her everything that happened, hoping she’d believe me. I sat there with her through her tears, I thought she would’ve understood.” May shook her head, disgusted. “But she could do to me what she couldn’t do to the other women her husband slept with. She beat me, badly, and I lost the baby.”
I listened intently as May continued.
“But it didn’t stop him from doing what he did. She tried to kick me out but he wouldn’t let it happen. He kept coming to me late at night, forcing himself on me, telling me he loved me . . . but he didn’t. That man knew no love. I only ended up running away from that place. I took all of her jewelry and sold it and took a train to South Carolina, where nobody knew my name. The mayor and his wife found me. I was beaten so badly, they thought I was going to die. That was when I lost my sight. I didn’t talk about it for a long time, even after I met my husband.” She stopped, and smiled. I could tell it was a sweet memory she thought of. “He didn’t care that I was blind and told me I was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and that God told him to love me and to make me his wife.
“Hope, we gotta go through the bad to get to the good. We gotta suffer to know pleasure, to appreciate it. I could no longer see. This man took my innocence, his wife killed the baby inside of me, and together, they took my sight. Shouldn’t I be angry? Shouldn’t I jump up and scream at the world, hate people who are only trying to be nice to me? No. Because even then, God still had a plan. If I hadn’t worked for the mayor, I wouldn’t never ran away to South Carolina and met my husband. Life has a funny way of correcting itself and only God knows its ways. But God wills us to keep pushing, even when we’re ready to give up. He keeps us strong, even when our own muscles fail us. You, Hope, you have a purpose. It might take awhile to realize what that purpose is, but it’s there, waiting for you to claim it.”
I was overwhelmed by her testimony, so similar to my own and yet so very different. I, too, held my deepest emotions inside, pushing them away so that I could make it through the day. I hadn’t truly broken down over losing my baby, over losing John and Faith, because I was afraid that if I had broken down, I wouldn’t get back up. I’d be too damaged to fix. I didn’t want to know the extent of my pain; I didn’t want to test it. I wanted to keep it buried deep inside, like May did. But even she said it’s best to let it out.
I looked at the old lady beside me. She was blinded, beaten, and mistreated, but even after all of that, she was still able to smile. She got back up and lived a beautiful life. Maybe I could too. And she was right; we were a lot alike, in many ways. She had said she sensed a spirit similar to her own when she met me, and it dawned on me. I felt the same thing. It was why I was so intrigued by her in the first place.
“Come to church on Sunday. You really need to hear the message that I have,” May said.
And just at the mention of church, it was as if everything she had said meant nothing now. I recoiled back into my shell, closing myself off because of an invitation to go to church. Too many memories surfaced of me being a little girl, crying every Sunday when Grandma took Faith to church, leaving me behind. Memories of me being hungry because Momma only had enough food to feed Faith before she went to church. Memories of praying that, one day, I’d be able to go to church like Faith. Thinking God hated me because I was a bad girl. Knowing Momma hated me . . . knowing she still did.
Nothing had really changed. I was still that sad little girl. “No, I . . . I don’t want to go to church,” I told her.
“I can hear the pain in your voice when you say it, child. Why?”
I hadn’t realized I’d stopped breathing until I gasped for air. My hands were hurting from clutching my chair so hard. I felt like I was going to explode. All of the hurt was going to ooze out of me. I couldn’t do it.
Just then, Dante came outside, saving me. I was never so thankful for his presence.
“May . . .” He stopped when he saw the pained expression on my face. “Is this a bad time?”
“No!” I almost shouted, standing up. I was relieved he came when he did because I didn’t want to have that conversation with May. “Hey, Dante, wanna go for a walk? I need to get some exercise.”
He frowned, not believing me, but I didn’t care. “Okay,” he finally said, and off we went before there could be any further discussion about church.
After we turned the first corner, I stopped and bent over. I tried to fight the tears that threatened to come, but they took over, making my body convulse as I silently cried. I felt Dante’s hand on my shoulder, a friendly gesture I was sure, but I moved away, not wanting a man’s touch. I forced myself to straighten and wiped my tears away and kept walking like nothing ever happened. Dante followed closely behind, giving me enough space to vent silently. For that I was grateful.
After about five minutes of walking, I slowed, finally in control of my own emotions. I didn’t look at Dante but I knew he was still beside me. We were close to downtown; the houses had turned into buildings. The traffic was packed, cars zoomed by, blowing their horns and shouting at drivers ahead of them. People passed by on bikes and skateboards. A group of nuns smiled as they walked by.
“Do you know where we are?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said, matching my slowed pace. “Close to the church. It’s around the corner. You wanna go check it out? I know how to get inside when it’s closed.”
“No. I don’t do church. Ever,” I said. “I wish people would stop asking me. You know what I want to do? Go to a party, be young, have fun, and get it crackin’!” I turned to him, inspired and excited. “Do you know how to get us in a club?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t do that stuff. I stay home and read my Bible. God said—”
I moaned and kept walking. “You sound like Faith.”
“Who’s Faith?”
“My sister. She always quotin’ the Bible, too scared to go out and party. Square. And you remind me of Carlton from Fresh Prince.” I looked at his clothes. He always wore dress pants pulled a little too high over his stomach and his shirt was always tucked in. He walked like he had something stuck up his behind.
“I like to compare myself to David, because he was always after God’s own heart.”
I laughed. “No, you’re worse than Faith. And annoying.”
He ignored my comment. “I want to be a preacher.”
“Good for you,” I said sarcastically.
“Why are you so mean?” he asked, seemingly hurt.
“You ain’t seen mean. I used to beat up all the neighborhood kids . . . only because they would pick on me, but I still beat them up. I beat up they older sisters, cousins, aunties. Anyone who wanted it got it. I ain’t weak. I been through hell and back and I’m still strong. You try being homeless for almost a week.” I studied him, going over his soft, boyish features. He had a cute face and if he cut his hair and wore better clothes, he’d have actually been very attractive. He also seemed unconfident, innocent, and too trusting. I bet he was a virgin, too.
“You a virgin?”
His light cheeks blushed. “Um . . .”
I laughed. “You are! How old are you, Dante?”
“Eighteen.”
If I had been drinking water, I would’ve spit it out. “You’re eighteen and you’re a virgin? What did your momma do, keep you locked up?”
He blinked. “Actually, she did. I went to an all-boys Catholic school until she passed away a few years ago. I graduated early and came home.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah. I felt lost and started going to different churches in search of something, and I was left empty-handed each time. But then I went to Rising Faith and listened to Pastor May preach. It was like she was talking to me. I been at that church ever since, helping her out in any way I could.”
“May has a way of attracting people.” I smiled. “I love her already.”
“Yeah,” he agreed.
“So, what do yo
u do for fun if you don’t party?”
“Read my Bible.”
“Lame.” I laughed. “Why are you so lame? It should be a crime.”
“There are so many biblical references I could make due to that comment but I’ll let it slide.”
I snorted. “Good, because I was shaking in my boots.”
“Sarcasm is ugly on a girl.”
I stopped, dramatically gasping at his comment. I wanted to laugh but forced a straight face. “So now I’m ugly?”
“No!” He shunned himself. “No, that’s not what . . . I mean, I don’t think you’re, um . . . you’re—”
“Go ahead and say it. I have a big butt and a nice walk? You should see how I pick up men, how they drool and fall all over me.”
“I wasn’t gonna say you had a . . . big . . . bottom.”
“But you were thinking it.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“All men think about it,” I said as a matter of fact. “Go ahead and look at it. I’ll let you get away with it just this once.”
His eyes shifted, like he was trying to force himself to stare me straight in the eyes. “I will not sin.”
“How is that sinning?”
“Lust.”
“You can’t look at my butt without lusting?”
His cheeks blushed. He was so light, he actually blushed. It was the cutest thing about him.
“Fine,” I said, walking again, making sure that I twitched. I heard him sigh behind me as he caught up.
He kept his eyes straight ahead . . . on Jesus, I reckoned.
Chapter 11
I fell into a nice routine. Every day I’d go over to May’s house and help her out. I’d playfully argue with Dante after his checker game with May, and after he left, I’d do more cleaning and cooking and then watch TV while May napped. Once Norma got to the house, I’d help her kids with their homework and head back to my motel.
One day, May was sitting on the porch when I arrived. She knew I was there before I even said anything. There was something joyous in her expression.
“Hey, Mrs. May. How’s your back feeling today?” I asked, rubbing her shoulder and taking a seat.
“Can’t complain,” she said, smiling. Today, she didn’t wear her shades. I studied her beautiful gray eyes. I’d wondered if they’d always been gray or if that was an effect of the beating she suffered. “I was thinking, you’ve been paying to stay in that motel for nearly a month. At that rate, you’ll spend all of that money. Why won’t you come live here at least until you’re eighteen? You shouldn’t be living on your own. We can get you back in school, too.”
I sat back in my seat, feeling loved. Extremely loved. But the feelings of being loved never lasted long for me. Life had a way of messing that up and laughing in my face. I was afraid to get too attached to May, Norma, the kids, and even the Bible-hugging Dante. But the more time I spent with all of them, the more I loved them. They were like family and I would bathe in my happiness until the devil tried to snatch it. But there was one thing. I couldn’t go to school and help May out as much as I wanted to, so I lied.
“Okay, I want to, but I dropped out of school,” I told her, waiting for her to say that I couldn’t stay unless I was in school.
May frowned and then nodded. “I won’t press your education if it’s your personal choice not to go, but I strongly encourage you to reconsider.”
“Okay,” I said. “Can I still stay here?”
May smiled. “Of course.”
“Thank you, May! I’m so grateful.”
“Don’t thank me, thank God.”
I hesitated, but knew it would bring her happiness to say it. I would do anything to make May happy. “Thank you, God!”
Later that morning, Dante came strutting down the street with three cans of paint and a bag full of brushes. I stood on the porch with folded arms, intrigued. When he saw me, he smiled. He always smiled.
“What’s that?” I asked him.
“Paint.”
“Duh, I mean what’s it for?”
“The house,” he said. “Wanna help me paint it?”
“The whole house?” I asked in disbelief.
“No just half of it,” he said sarcastically, making me laugh. I was rubbing off on him.
“Sure.”
We started on the front of the house. Dante grabbed an old boom box from the shed and turned the radio to a gospel station. Every now and then, I’d turn it to a hip hop station just to make him mad. Most of the time we just painted in silence; but every now and then, Dante would ask me about my life, and I’d always find a way to change the subject. Eventually, he got fed up.
“Why don’t you ever talk about your past?”
“Because I don’t like to bring it up. Why focus on the past when you can be creating a future?” I asked, stroking my brush against the house in a smooth rhythm.
“I bet it’s because you used to be ratchet,” he said.
I immediately stopped painting. “Where did you learn that word?”
“Some YouTube video,” he said.
“Goofball. So, tell me more about yourself, Dante.”
I learned that Dante was an only child. His mother was wealthy and sent him away to school at six. She remarried a few years later to a white man who had two children who were also sent away to school. Dante said he wasn’t able to come home on holidays and would go at most a year without seeing his mother. His summers were great. When he got the chance to come home, his mother would take him to different parts of the world. He said his favorite place he’d visited was Israel. Once he started talking about the biblical places he’d seen, I grew bored and tuned him out.
He picked back up with telling me about his passion in music. Said he was singing before he learned how to talk. When I asked him to sing, however, he shied up and began painting silently. He told me that the day he’d sing would be the day I opened up about my past. I guessed I’d never hear him sing.
I eventually headed back inside to clean up and then headed back to the motel to get all of my belongings. May was waiting for me when I returned. She handed me a key and guided me upstairs to the first room that was always locked. She stood aside and allowed me to unlock it.
“This room ain’t been used in years,” she said, choking on her own words. “My youngest daughter used to stay here and help me out until she passed away ten years ago.”
“How?” I put the key in the lock, but didn’t open it.
“Car accident.” Her words were final. I could tell she didn’t want to discuss it further. We were alike in so many ways.
I nodded and opened the door. It was a beautiful room with different shades of blue. There was a queen-sized bed, two nightstands, and a small TV that sat on top of a large dresser. I walked in the room, instantly feeling grateful. I turned around to thank May, but she was already gone. I decided to unpack all of my clothes and lie in bed, and watched TV until I fell asleep.
Dante barged into my room that next morning, tears covering his face. I heard a lot of commotion below us. I sat up abruptly. Before I could even ask, Dante rushed to my side.
“It’s Pastor May.”
Two hours later, I sat beside Norma and Dante at the hospital waiting for the news. The doctor hadn’t told us much. They only thing I knew was that Dante had come over like he did every morning to play checkers, and found May passed out on the porch, unresponsive. He immediately called the ambulance and waited for them to come. He then remembered that I was upstairs and came to get me. They wouldn’t allow us to ride to the hospital with May, so we had to call Norma to come get us.
None of us really said a word to each other. What was there to say? May was an old woman, eighty-five to be exact, and could pass away at any moment. None of us were prepared for it. We’d deny the possibility until the doctor told us otherwise. But it was obvious that the thought was what was keeping us quiet.
I looked over at Norma, who clutched the chair so violently I was afraid s
he’d break her hand. Dante leaned forward in his chair, both hands joined together in a fist, his head hung low and his legs shaking. It felt weird to be mourning over a woman I barely came to know, but May was more than a woman. She offered me a new life that I was forever indebted to. Even though I hadn’t known her long, I loved her. Now would’ve been a good time to pray, but I couldn’t bring myself to pray to a God who’d never seemed present before. Why start now? So instead, I envisioned May walking up to us, smiling, saying she fainted due to dehydration and was okay to leave.
Eventually, the doctor came, wearing his blue scrubs and a cap to cover his hair. He smiled when he saw us. I was hoping it was a good sign. “Who is Ms. Norma Baker?”
Norma stood. “I’m Norma.”
“Hi, I’m Dr. Manning.”
“Is she okay?” I asked, standing up, cutting the doctor off from what he was going to say.
“She’s resting now, but she’ll be okay. She had a minor stroke. We ran an MRI and her brain is functioning properly. There is no damage that we can see. We’ll keep her for a few days to run some more tests.”
“Thank God!” Norma said, hugging Dante.
I walked up to the doctor. “Can we see her?”
“Yes, family can see her. Are you family?”
I stepped back slightly. No, I wasn’t family. Disappointment stretched across my face.
“Yes, she’s family,” Norma said. “We all are.”
The doctor nodded. “One at a time please.”
I turned to Norma to show my gratification. Norma nodded, letting me know that she understood. She walked off with the doctor to see May.
Twenty minutes later, I stood before May, unsure of what to say to a sleeping woman. I pulled a chair up and sat next to her, taking her hand in mine. I hadn’t realized I’d been crying until I felt the tears soak through my shirt.
“Momma May . . . that’s what Norma said all your grandchildren call you. I think I’ll start calling you Momma May too. You’re more of a mother than my own momma.” I sighed, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. “I don’t think I ever thanked you for giving me a place to live, for giving me a new life. I know I’ve only been around for a few months, but I feel like it’s been years. I think I owe you by telling you the truth. I know you can’t hear me, but I’m going to practice telling you now, so that when you wake up, it’ll be easier.”
Under the Peach Tree Page 10