“I ain’t mad at you, ‘cause he is tha bomb,” DeAundra giggled. “But right now I need a little help here with this comprehension question.”
“Okay, DeAundra, I’m here.” I tried not to smile, but she was right about Stelson.
Together, Stelson and I served every student who came that evening. When the music started playing in the sanctuary, the students gathered their books and thanked us for the help. One of the students led us in prayer before, thanking God for the work I had been doing for them and also thanking God for Brother Brown’s help. Then the students headed back into the sanctuary. Stelson stayed behind to help me straighten up the classroom.
“Wow!” He took a deep breath. “Tutoring is nonstop action.”
“I know,” I said, putting the last chair back in place. “And thank you so much for coming to help. How did you know?”
“I heard you talking about the need for help the other day, and I decided to come lend a hand.” He shrugged.
“Thank you, Stelson. I really appreciate the help, and I’m sure the kids did, too.”
We picked up our things and walked down the corridors leading to the main entrance of the sanctuary. I stopped just shy of the main doors. “Well, thanks again for coming. You truly blessed me tonight.”
“Oh.” He caught on to my farewell motions. “I was planning to stay for church service.”
“Oh, okay.”
He raised an arm toward the sanctuary doors. “After you.”
For a moment, I’d forgotten what color Stelson was. In the classroom, he’d looked like an angel to me. But when I opened that main door and walked down the center aisle with Stelson Brown by my side, there was no mistaking his color. Heads turned; necks craned and almost broke trying to get a good look at him and figure out if the lack of space between us indicated that we had actually walked into church together. Their notions were confirmed when we sat down together and passed a smile.
I wanted to stand up and defend him—or myself—to the congregation. To explain that we knew each other only casually, that he had come to help with the tutoring program. I also wanted to tell them that he was raised in the Assemblies of God and already knew what we believed. He wasn’t some white guy off the streets who was doing some research project on African-American religion.
Furthermore, I certainly had enough sense not to fool around with some white man who might only be trying to use me the way they’d always used black women. But why do I need to tell them all that?
After the sermon, which I hardly paid attention to, Deacon Brower gave the benediction. I followed Stelson out of the sanctuary. He pushed the swinging door open and allowed me to pass before him.
“Hi, Sister Smith!”
I felt a hand on my shoulder and spun around. It was Shannon—Emily’s mom. I hadn’t noticed her during the service. “Hello.”
“Hey, who’s your guest?” She put her hand on Stelson’s arm, too.
“This is Stelson Brown. Stelson, this is Shannon.”
“Stelson Brown of Brown-Cooper! We did business with you all a few years ago. I know your name from the contracts.” She grabbed his hand with both of hers and shook so hard that her bangs fell from behind her ears.
“It’s a pleasure to finally be able to put a face with the name.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too, Shannon.”
“Sister Smith”—Shannon looked at me eagerly—”why don’t we all get together some time? Me, you, Stelson, and Paul.”
I don’t think so. “Hmmm…” I smiled like I didn’t understand English.
“Here…” She reached into her purse, pulled out a business card, and pressed it into my palm. “Call me. I think we’d have a great time.”
“Thanks,” I said.
And then she winked at me. What’s that supposed to mean? Like we’re in some secret interracial dating sorority? “Bye. Don’t you let her forget to call me, Stelson!”
Stelson had that same I-speak-no-English look on his face. Outside in the parking lot, he asked me if I knew Shannon well.
“No, not at all.”
“She’s certainly very friendly.”
“Too friendly,” I said under my breath.
Chapter 11
Testing time was always especially difficult on me when I taught school. It was always an all-week affair: getting the kids pumped up and mellowed out at the same time, making sure I’d signed all the oaths and sharpened enough pencils, fretting about how to hold the kids hostage until testing time concluded
My principal that year, Mr. Wright, had a campus-wide movie planned for the afternoon so the kids would have a chance to wind down and relax following the state assessment.
The film was a boring piece of historical fiction set in the early nineteenth century, about a boy and dog—a wannabe Old Yeller, if you ask me. We’d instructed the kids to remain quiet while we collected the testing materials and awaited dismissal instructions.
Ms. Logan, one of my team teachers from down the hall, called to check on me. “Hey, Miss Smith, how’s it going in your room?”
“Okay, I guess. I think I’m more restless than the kids are.”
“Aren’t you watching the movie?”
“No, not really.”
“Oh, I think this movie is so awesome. I would have loved to live back then. I mean, you didn’t have all the modern conveniences that we have today, but I can just imagine that things were so much simpler and less stressful, don’t you?”
“Miss Logan, if I was alive back then, I would have been a slave.” I put a touch of humor in my tone, but only because I had to work with her again next year.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she sincerely apologized. “I guess I just forgot. I am so sorry.”
Must be nice to be able to forget.
* * * * *
My foot dangled over the edge of the bed as I scoured the newspaper for interesting articles and worthwhile stories. With cereal bowl in hand, I carefully leaned over the headlines and read the usual: somebody done somebody wrong, somebody was on the loose, somebody was suing for whatever.
Nonetheless, my joy was intact. I went to my prayer closet for peace and direction. After praying and meditating, I revisited the Scriptures pertaining to prejudice. The passages kept calling me, as though they needed my care. “Lord, whatever You want me to know from these Scriptures, I pray that Your Spirit will reveal it to me so I can do Your will. Thank You for speaking to me so clearly and for chastising those You love. I love You, Father.”
Just as I prepared to leave the room, my phone rang, and I wondered who in their right mind would be calling me before noon on a Saturday. I rushed to answer it before whoever-this-is could get off the line.
“Hi, LaShondra. It’s Stelson.”
“Well, good morning, Mr. Brown.”
He laughed. “Good morning to you, too, Miss Smith. How are you?”
“Fine.” I flirted right along with him. “And how are you?”
“Fine as well. I was calling to invite you to church and dinner tonight. We have what we call Saturday Night Live at our church every other weekend. The youth department hosts it, trying to keep kids off the streets. I go whenever I can to help out.”
“Yeah, you told me a little about it the other night,” I recalled.
“I’ve signed up to serve hot dogs tonight, but we could go somewhere else afterward. Are you free?”
“Yes, I think I can do that.”
“And may I pick you up?” he asked with a hint of hope.
“Sure . . .“ I let the word out slowly.
My lazy morning came to an abrupt end with the formation of evening plans. I had to stop by the cleaner’s, do some grocery shopping, get my nails filled, oil changed, and get myself ready to go before six.
I hopped out of bed and threw on a pair of sweats with sneakers. My curls had completely fallen, but the wave left in my hair was enough to make it through the night. Besides, walk-in at my beauty shop was synonymous with live-
in—you could expect to live an entire day in the beauty shop without an appointment.
No, the present state of my hair would have to do. Unless I wash it and blow-dry it out, then flip it up with the blow brush... Why am I even worrying about this? After all, it was only Stelson.
Momma called and asked if I was going to come by for dinner Sunday. “Yes, Momma. You know I am.”
“Why don’t you come on over here tonight? We can make the sweet potatoes for tomorrow.”
“I can’t tonight.” I let the words glide casually across my tongue. “I’ve made some plans.”
“Oh, really? Where you going?”
Do I really have to answer this? “Momma, I’m going out to a church program.” She waited for further explanation, but I was in no hurry to give her one.
“All right,” she sighed. “All I’m tryin’ to do is look out for you. I’m your momma and that’s my job.” It must be nice to be able to pull rank like that at a moment’s notice.
“His name is Stelson Brown, okay?” I answered. “The people at my job can give you a good description of him, and I will leave his business card on my refrigerator—so if I’m not at the house by three tomorrow, you come look on my refrigerator, okay?”
“That’s much better,” she said. “You’re a single woman in a big city. I don’t care how tough or how smart you think you are, you need to let somebody know where you are. You ain’t got to be afraid of the devil, but you do need to know how to beat him at his own games.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Shondra,” she said, “have a nice time tonight.”
“Thank you, Momma. I will.”
Stelson’s church was probably thirty miles on the other side of Dallas. The long ride over in his champagne Toyota Sequoia was pleasant. The lights from the dashboard cast a cozy glow across our faces as we talked and listened to smooth jazz on the radio.
We skipped the small talk and landed right in the middle of an authentic conversation about college life. I told him about my experiences pledging Delta Sigma Theta. He told me about his experiences as a tutor, which had obviously prepared him for the challenge of tutoring the students at True Way.
We took seats on the third row of Stelson’s church. The building was spacious, with towering ceilings and wide aisles. Individual chairs instead of pews. It reminded me of a gymnasium more than anything else. And the atmosphere within was definitely one of a pep rally. Energy. Livelihood. Smiles everywhere.
Stelson and I received warm greetings from members seated near us. They seemed to know Brother Brown well, embracing him and asking him how things were going with the business.
“We’re blessed,” Stelson replied. Then he introduced me: “This is my friend LaShondra Smith.”
I watched them, waiting for the moment their faces said, she’s black. But before I could see it in a half-smile or a subtle hesitation, they were already shaking my hand and welcoming me into our Father’s house.
Taking in the breadth of the building, I realized that the congregation was a rainbow of colors, from the darkest ebony to the fairest ivory and everything in between. There were a few interracial couples with sandy-haired children, worshipping just like everybody else.
“Our God is a wonderful God; he lives…” I closed my eyes, forgot about the colors, and lifted my hands in worship, basking in the presence of the Lord, which poured out on each of us with no respect to color. “Come, let us worship the Lord in His great holiness.” The beat was a little different, but the words were the same. The Spirit was the same.
Well, I thought I knew what Saturday Night Live would be like, but I wasn’t prepared for what I witnessed. Those kids were on the verge of hip-hop dancing, and I thought for sure lightning was going to strike us all down. But between songs, teenagers of all shades took the stage and testified to what God had done for them and how they were gaining victories in their young lives; how they were standing up for Christ at school, with their athletic teams, and on their jobs; how they had won souls for Christ. It was inspiring, and I was so proud of my little brothers and sisters in Christ.
The church kitchen was buzzing with children after the service. Stelson and other workers busied themselves squirting ketchup and mustard on hot dogs and passing out Dixie cups of juice. As handsome as Stelson already was, he looked even more attractive in an apron. I asked if I could help, but he assured me that they had it under control.
I watched and waited at the back table, smiling as parents walked by to pick up their children. The skeptical part of me started up again, looking, searching for what had to be wrong with Stelson. There had to be something, no matter how tiny it might be.
I did a little self-talk. I can accept him just as he is, as good as he is, white as he is; he might not be black, but he is my brother in Christ.
After all the kids had been served, Stelson courteously asked if he should stay to clean up, but the other helpers gave him the green light to go ahead and leave. “I see you’ve got a guest.” One of the older black ladies smiled at him. Her silvery gray hair was the only testament to her age.
“Are you sure, Sister Milford?”
“Oh, we’ve got it. You go on ‘head with your lady friend.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed. “I’ll see you all next time.”
It was dark when we left the building, but the night was still young. Stelson took me to a posh restaurant that I’d only read about in the society section of the newspaper. For a ritzy place, it seemed to have a pretty casual atmosphere—jeans, boots, and sweaters. No blacks, but it wasn’t the first time I’d been somewhere and been the only African-American in the house.
We approached the podium together, and Stelson did all the talking, telling the waiter that we needed a table for two in the nonsmoking section. “Brown,” he said.
The waiter, a white man in his mid-twenties, looked at us both as if we were there to steal something. I knew that look, but I guess Stelson didn’t, because he smiled on back to the waiting area. “This place is great. You’re gonna love it. The owner is one of my clients.”
A cute elderly couple got on the waiting list after us, followed by a young pair. Stelson and I laughed that their parents had probably dropped them off. We watched them, amused at their obvious nervousness.
“Did you enjoy yourself at church tonight?” Stelson asked.
“Oh, I had a great time in the Lord. Thanks for inviting me.”
“Thanks for coming. It was nice having someone by my side for once.”
“You never bring women to church?” I was a little puzzled.
“Usually after I bless the food that first time, I scare them off.” He laughed softly.
I laughed, probably too loudly for that restaurant. “So is that your screening device?”
“Pretty much,” he said. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I don’t do it to scare women off. But I really don’t feel led to start at spiritual square one with anybody, you know? I know my weaknesses, and I know I’m liable to get off course at any given time. I need somebody who can run with me. Somebody who can stand with me. I like a down- to-earth woman. But I need a Christian woman.”
“Harris, your table is ready,” the waiter called. The teenagers across from us rose and were met by a waitress who then led them to their seats.
“Didn’t they come in after us?” Stelson asked me.
“Yeah.”
“Hmm…” Stelson shrugged. “Maybe they’re sitting in the smoking section.”
The elderly couple had long been seated. And when two more couples came in after us and were seated within the twenty-five minutes that we’d been waiting, I told Stelson I was going to ask the waiter for an explanation.
“Excuse me.” I placed my hand firmly on the edge of the podium. “We’ve been waiting for a table for nearly thirty minutes, and several couples who came after us have already been seated. How much longer before you have a table ready for Brown?”
“Hmm.” The man ran his fing
er along the list of names. I looked down at the list and saw for myself that Brown was visible, while the names above it and the three names after it had been crossed off.
“We do have a seat for Mr. Brown, but I’m having a hard time finding one for you.”
“What?” I raised my voice. “Let me speak to your manager.”
“I’m sorry. He’s not available.” The waiter took off his badge, but not before I read his name.
“Look, Aaron, get somebody else over here. Now!”
He seemed a bit flustered, now that I knew his name. “That won’t be necessary. I can get you a seat—”
“What’s going on?” Stelson walked up behind me.
“Aaron here won’t seat us because I’m black,” I almost screamed.
“Mr. Brown, th-that’s not true,” Aaron stammered. “I told her that—”
“Is Mr. Maxwell here tonight?” Stelson asked.
“Mr. Maxwell?”
“Yes. Victor Maxwell—the man who owns this restaurant. I know him very well.”
“No, no.” Out pops the sweat above Aaron’s lip. “Mr. Maxwell isn’t here tonight. Look, I’m sure this was just a misunderstanding.”
“No, I understood you very well.” I nodded my head. Then I turned to Stelson and said, “I don’t want to eat here.”
“Okay,” he said, “we don’t have to.” Then he said to Aaron, “Mr. Maxwell will be in touch with you.”
Stelson matched my pace, and we reached the car in record time. My heart pounding, my face hot with anger. I wished I could have known this was going to happen—I would have had a barrage of defensive terminology waiting on the tip of my tongue. But just like that night when I froze at the movie theater with Judith’s boyfriend, I left.
I felt small, like a child among adults. I was mad at the waiter, but I was also mad at myself for leaving. Isn’t that what he wanted me to do?
Stelson opened the passenger’s door for me, and I climbed inside, grabbing the door handle and closing it before he had a chance to. I watched him walk to his side, brow creased in thought. He got in and started the engine. “You still hungry?”
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