The Exorsistah

by Claudia Mair Burney

  “I want to. Go ahead, X. Let’s just get the boots and go.”

  “But maybe I shouldn’t … I mean … you know … you’ve already given me so much.”

  He softened. “Look, X. Men have never given you a gift without strings—if they’ve given you any gifts at all. They’ve done a lot of taking. I really want you to have something you’ve dreamed of having for a long time. No strings. Just a grand gift—kind of like grace, only with stiletto heels. Really. I want you to have them.”

  I clutched the boots to me like no one was gonna take ’em now that I got ’em. “Okay.”

  After he paid for my dream come true, he took up all the shopping bags, suddenly looking very weary. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Emme. I’ve got a lot on my mind, and I need to get home to pray about some things.”

  “Yeah, Francis. I need to pray about a few things myself.”

  After a silent trip home, Francis went to pray. I went to my temporary room and dressed in my modest Victoria’s Secret pink pajamas. Poor Francis. He refused to let me show them to him, not even just peeking into the bag.

  I slept like an angel on his bed. At least until it was can’t-see-in-the-morning early when knocking at my door woke me. It was Mother Nicole. She let herself in. “Morning, sunshine!”

  I blinked at her. “It’s morning, all right. So early it’s still dark outside.”

  “It’s five-thirty, lovie.”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “Time to pray.”

  “Mother Nicole are you, like, taking prayer requests door-to-door in this house, or did you single me out?”

  “No, lovie. I’m not taking requests. Anything you want to talk to God about, you can tell Him yourself.”

  “The mornin’ office. It’s not just for nuns, huh?”

  “It’s for the priesthood of all believers.” I couldn’t believe how she glowed inside her black habit way before the crack of dawn. “You can consider yourself a neo monastic now.”

  She smiled, but it was lousy with sarcasm—one of those vicious, Catholic-school-teacher-nun smiles, from the kind of lady who hits you with rulers and makes your life miserable. I thought we were cool.

  I pulled the pillow over my head and moaned. “Why do I gotta get up so early, too?” I said, my words muffled by the pillow. I took it off. “I was gonna start working on praying the rosary when I woke up—after the sun came up,” I said, hoping she’d take the hint. She didn’t.

  “This wasn’t my idea. Francis said you’d probably want to join us. He seemed to think you had some things you needed to pray about this morning.”

  Francis had ratted me out. Maybe. Now I was embarrassed. What if she knew I wanted to kiss a brotha I just met Friday? I propped myself up on one arm.

  “It’s okay, lovie. Francis was upset. I think he needs you to do this. We’ll take it slow. I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

  “You overwhelmed me when you came here before dawn,” I said, trying to at least get to a sitting position.

  Again, that vicious nun smile. Okay, it really is gentle, but still!

  “Welcome to my world, lovie. I’m by nature a night person. Add to that I’m up with Miguel at night a lot caring for him. And yet …”

  “Aw, Mother Nicole!”

  “Now you go put on one of those pretty outfits Frankie bought you and meet me right outside this door in exactly ten minutes.”

  “So he’s gon’ be there, too?”

  She chuckled. “Misery loves company.”

  I pouted and slogged to the closet and grabbed an outfit. Got my unmentionables from the dresser drawer. I muttered my list of complaints all the way to the bathroom, accompanied by the sound of Mother Nicole’s laughter following me down the hall.

  Then I smiled. At least one of us wasn’t grumpy.

  As I approached the bathroom door, Francis popped out looking fresh as a black prince. He sho’ didn’t look like no pansy. He gave me an apologetic shrug and a shy smile. “Remember, Jesus said we need to pray always and not lose heart.”

  “Yeah, but He didn’t say we had to lose sleep,” I said.

  “Well, actually, in the Gospels, right before He was crucified—”

  “Shut up and get out of the bathroom.”

  “I guess you’re not a morning person.”

  “It ain’t mornin’ yet!”

  He stepped aside and let me in. I hoped the old folks had it right when they said prayer changes things, ’cause the first thing that needed to change?

  My attitude about morning prayer.

  I’d dressed in a pair of black button-fly Levi’s knockoffs Francis bought me. My royal-blue patterned silk tunic, with an empire waist and three-quarter-length sleeves, had an unmistakably feminine vibe. It even had little black pearl buttons at the cuffs. Although it was new, it had a vintage feel about it. I hadn’t worn anything so pretty in a long time, and it helped shake me outta my salty mood. I smiled, thinking of Francis—despite how early it was—because of his thoughtfulness. At least I hoped that’s why I was smiling.

  The three of us gathered inside All Souls Church, where Father Miguel waited. Had he lit the candles? Or did they stay lit all the time? It was weird, because some were lit and some weren’t. Must be a Catholic thing.

  I don’t know what I was expectin’, but it wasn’t as strange as I’d imagined. Father Rivera kicked us off by praying and kinda chanting what sounded like words from one of the psalms.

  “O Lord, open my lips.”

  Mother Nicole and Francis responded, “And my mouth will proclaim your praise,” as Francis handed me a prayer book opened to the correct page. From there I followed Francis’s lead.

  After a few more call-and-response prayers, I started getting the hang of it. It was kinda like the Pentecostal church. Preacher sings something. You sing it after him. Father Miguel led us, and we responded for a while. Then we got to the Our Father and the Glory Be. I knew those from my rosary lesson. We sang a completely unfamiliar hymn. At Kiki’s church—the one she recommended I go to, that is—we had been stuck on “I Could Sing of Your Love Forever” forever. Maybe she went via bilocation. She never said.

  I sang along with the three of them as best I could. Next Mother Nicole read a Scripture, or rather, kinda chanted it like Father Miguel had done.

  All my life I heard that you’re supposed to make up your prayers right on the spot. Ones written out for you weren’t as good, but those Liturgy of Hours prayers in that book sho’ did feel good to me, even if they weren’t spontaneous. I could see why people prayed them seven times a day. Their souls had to be as full as the people’s who made extemporaneous prayers to God.

  When we finished, it seemed like the time had passed too quickly. My mind didn’t even wander off—well, it did at first, but only because I was nervous and didn’t want to mess up. I definitely didn’t fall asleep!

  Mother Nicole ended the session with interceding for other people and finally added the benediction, “May the Lord bless us and keep us from all harm; and may He lead us to eternal life.”

  Amen to that!

  By now I felt good and awake, and all holy and righteous to boot. And hungry. We headed over to the house and were greeted by Penny Pop’s food. Sistah was throwin’ down in the kitchen, again, bacon sizzling. Mother Nicole and Father Rivera took off. Francis came in the kitchen and sat down with me, but he didn’t eat.

  “Fasting?” I teased.

  “It sorta defeats the purpose if you tell people.”

  “Why you tryna fast? Is this about …”

  “It’s not about last night, Emme. It’s about Mass. I’m about to go to church.”

  “You gotta fast for church?”

  “A lot of people fast before communion.”

  “I thought you said you weren’t Catholic. How you gon’ take communion?”

  “I’m not. Yet. I want to have the discipline down, so it won’t be as hard later.”

  Yeah. Mr. Discipline. Mr. I-Can-Feel-What-Y
ou-Feel-Too.

  “You’re not salty with me for wanting a disciplined spiritual life, are you?”

  “Naw,” I said. Penny Pop set a plate in front of me. She wasn’t talkin’ smack today. Must’ve been too early for her.

  “I think what you need to focus on is that discipline doesn’t mean ‘lacking in desire.’”

  “I ain’t ask you about your desires,” I said.

  He sighed. “Are you coming to Mass? It’s not Santeria!”

  “I’ll check it out. What time does it start?”

  “Nine thirty. Want to go for a jog after you eat?”

  I stopped midway from putting a hot, greasy, porky piece of bacon in my mouth and looked at him, incredulous.

  “Of course,” he said. “I told you we were gonna get you in top physical form.”

  “You don’t like my form?”

  He tried to suppress a grin. “Just because you’re fine doesn’t mean you’re in shape. We’re not running for you to lose weight. I want you to increase your cardio strength and endurance.”

  “I gotta pray first thing in the morning, jog, and go to Mass, all before noon?”

  “I’ll let you wear my sweats so you won’t get your flower clothes messed up.”

  “Aren’t you generous,” I quipped.

  “You thought so last night.”

  That kiss that didn’t happen flashed in my mind. “Not as much as you think I did.”

  He harrumphed. Brotha knew exactly what I meant.

  That exercising thing? I could tell that was gonna be a trip. Francis disappeared into his old—my temporary—bedroom and promptly came back with a pair of his sweats and a T-shirt.

  I held them up to get a good look at them. “Think I’ll look as good in your clothes as you do?”

  That dimple of his peeked at me. “Stop flirting.”

  “What are you doing, bro’? Buying me clothes. Letting me wear yours. Keep it up and I’m gonna end up being your girlfriend. Or you’ll be mine. But you can’t wear my diva boots. I don’t care how big a transvestite you become.”

  “Cut it out, X, I ain’t about to be your girlfriend. And yes, I know what option that leaves, but we won’t get into that. Right, Chiara?”

  “Right,” I said.

  He hesitated, which told me he wanted to say more about, but wouldn’t let himself. And that was probably a good thing.

  A real good thing.

  We started off walking briskly about fifty paces, then jogged fifty more feet, alternating between the two until I built up my endurance enough to jog continuously. We ran a quarter of a mile, then power walked the same distance.

  Jogging actually felt good. I wasn’t in as good a shape as I wished I were, but I wasn’t in as bad shape as I thought I was, either. I think Francis was surprised that I kept up with him.

  I worked up a good sweat. Mr. Gorgeous looked like he could easily go another ten miles. And man, did he look good!

  When we stopped, he wouldn’t let me leave until I stretched, citing that my muscles would thank me for the cooldown later. I didn’t want to stretch. I wanted to indulge my muscles in what they immediately wanted to do—cease and desist all exercising.

  Francis watched over me to make sure I did the stretches correctly. It wasn’t like I never exercised before. I thought he could cut me some slack.

  Okay, I knew he was trying to be a good trainer, but he was starting to get on my nerves. After that tiny little hug we shared at the mall, he was avoiding me like I had bird flu. And now, when we finally did interact, he went into “trainer” mode. Yoda Boy must have thought he was some wise sage, so much older than me. I knew he was just as young as me, and in a few seriously glaring ways, just as unsure about life.

  I started feelin’ a little salty with him for real. Like maybe I needed to push him off his high and mighty throne. So, I made a big production out of stretching one of my long legs with the grace and agility of a ballet dancer under his intense watchfulness.

  Yeah. Let’s see how “professional” he’d act now. I could sense by his getting fidgety that he was feelin’ me. Yep, he was a man like all the rest of them.

  Shoot. Things flipped on me. When he couldn’t hide his appreciative gaze, though he tried to, that started making me uncomfortable, and more than a little warm all over. When I started that madness, I hadn’t considered how men looking at me made me feel creepy in general. But now I felt—I dunno, something was mixed in with that discomfort. Something womanly, ’cause he sho’ wasn’t looking at me like I was a little girl. I might be lean, but I knew I had legs for days.

  From that stretch I flowed into the splits. I must’ve blown his mind, ’cause that boy started blinking his eyelids like he was a Viewmaster.

  I liked the attention. A lot. Then something clicked in my mind. All of a sudden, thoughts of having some kind of feminine power over him consumed me, followed by a flurry of, like, thoughts. I needed a parental advisory sticker slapped on my forehead—my brain was definitely featuring adult content.

  I tried to push the thoughts away and ignore what they were doing to my body, but they kept coming back like a mosquito buzzing around my face. Now I felt all paranoid, thinking that every move I made was eliciting some kind of lewd response from him, whether or not it was actually happening. Unrelenting R-rated thoughts assaulted me, until I couldn’t handle it anymore.

  I got up from the ground. Shame burned so deeply within me I couldn’t look at Francis. Those weren’t the kind of thoughts I entertained. Most of the time the very thought of—well, being with a guy scared me!

  Francis stepped up to me. He didn’t call me X, thank goodness. It would have had a different, more sinister meaning this time. “Emme, are you okay?”

  Having him so close and hearing his voice caused a jolt of lust to surge through me, as if I’d been hit with an electric charge. It was so discomforting I yelled at him without meaning to. “Why?”

  “I know what’s happening.”

  Aw, heck-e-naw!

  “Don’t say anything to me, Francis. Leave me alone!”

  “It’s an attack.”

  “What kind of attack?”

  “It’s demonic. They don’t want you to do the work.”

  “I ain’t say I was doin’ no work.”

  “I know you went to see Jamilla.”

  Now I was really annoyed. “How did you know that?”

  “I’m not stupid, Chiara. I know you’re gonna help because … I can feel it. Like I can feel what’s happening to us now.”

  I put my hand up to stop him from coming any closer. “Stay away from me, a’ight?”

  He froze, but he had that same look on his face he did when he felt the evil presence come into the Walgreens.

  I was even more embarrassed now. Could he pick up on all the bad things I was feeling and thinking about him? I couldn’t bear the thought of that. I started backing away from him.

  “Emme, hold up! We can pray through this.”

  But before he could say anything else, I was out.

  I didn’t go to Mass. Mother Nicole found me about around noon, in the fetal position in the middle of Francis’s bed. She knocked on the door, and when I didn’t answer she announced she was coming in and did just that. She sat on the bed, being quiet with me for a while, rubbing my back and praying. She kept her prayers simple and true to what you’d imagine a nun would do. She prayed right from the Psalms.

  “Have mercy on me, O God, in Your faithful love, in Your great tenderness wipe away my offenses; wash me from guilt, purify me from my sin. For I am well aware of my offenses, my sin is constantly in my mind.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, but tears slipped through just the same. Mother Nicole went on, as I sniffled and wept, “Purify me with hyssop till I am clean, wash me till I’m whiter than snow. Let me hear sounds of joy and gladness, and the bones You have crushed will dance.”

  God knows I didn’t feel like I ever wanted to dance again—or stretch for that matter! I
longed to feel the joy and gladness Mother Nicole spoke about, but I only felt disgust in myself, and sadness. I choked back another sob.

  Mother Nicole held and comforted me, until I calmed enough for her to get some conversation out of me. “Tell me,” she said.

  “M-Mother Nicole, I’m a bad person. I had the most evil thoughts.”

  “What kind of thoughts, lovie?”

  “Nasty ones about me and Francis.”

  “Tell me about them.”

  I couldn’t even say the words.

  She took my face in her hands and made me look at her. “Emme. You are a young woman, and he is a young man. You’re spending a lot of time with him, and it’s obvious that the two of you are attracted to each other. It’s natural that a thought would cross your mind now and then.”

  “It was a lot more than a thought.”

  She pushed my hair back from my face. “I know it was, Emme. Francis told me all about it.”

  Okay. I so didn’t wanna hear that, even though I knew he probably told her something or she wouldn’t have been here. Still, a fresh wave of tears welled in my eyes.

  Mother Nicole kept talking to me. “You were attacked, lovie, by the enemy of your soul and all God’s people. Both of you were.”

  I shook my head. “No, it was me, Mama Nick.”

  “Listen, Emme, I need to talk to you some more about the work. I know everything is happening very quickly, but there are things we should have warned you about. Things you must be aware of if you’re going to do any kind of deliverance work.”

  She reached into the pocket of her habit. There were surprise pockets that I didn’t think would be there, and she pulled a tissue out from one for me to wipe my face and blow my nose with. When I got myself a little more together, she went on. “Frankie suspects you were harassed by demons when you were a small child. Is this true?”

  “Yeah.” She didn’t think I was crazy. I thanked God for that.

  She probed gently. “What usually happened when they came to you?”

  “They would try to choke me or attack me in my sleep, pinning me to the bed so I couldn’t move. I think they wanted to get inside of me, but my mama protected me and covered me with her prayers. She taught me to use the name of Jesus defensively against them. As soon as I’d see them after that, I’d call on Jesus’ name and they’d flee.”