Boaz Brown

by Stimpson, Michelle

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You got the calling card I gave you?”

  “Yes, sir.” I stood leaning against my door, the tip of one tennis shoe resting on the other. “Well, I guess that’s everything.”

  We were all waiting for Momma to break down, but she didn’t. She wiped her chest with one of my newly purchased towels and said, “Well I guess that’s it, then. Come give us a hug.”

  My family formed a receiving line. Jonathan hugged me first and expressed how happy he was to begetting the television all to himself at home. Momma wrestled with the flood that raged behind her eyelids. “You remember your upbringing, hear? Don’t get down here actin’ like you ain’t got no home training. You keep your head in the books and your eyes on the Lord, you hear?”

  “Yes, Momma. I will.”

  She and Jonathan left the room. Daddy put his arm across my shoulder and stood at my side. I wanted to see his face, but he’d arranged us otherwise. “Well.” He kicked at the nothing on the ground, and I witnessed a single drop fall onto the floor. I would never know if it was sweat or a tear. “This is it, LaShondra.”

  “Sure is, Daddy.”

  “You just remember, a lot of black folks bled and died so you could have this chance. You’re here on the shoulders of your peoples.”

  I stalled the tears as long as I could, but lost the battle. I seized my father’s neck and felt him hug me back. Then he reached into his pocket and handed me a fifty-dollar bill. Without looking up, he said, “For emergencies.”

  * * * * *

  My phone rang as I was getting dressed for work Friday morning. It was Jonathan.

  “You’re lucky I’m already up,” I told him.

  “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we have Sunday dinner at your house? I think it would be a good idea for Daddy and Stelson to meet.”

  “Daddy’s not even talking to me right now, Jonathan. I don’t know.”

  “Well, he’s talking to me, and I’m talking to God. So get this thing all ready to go, okay? Just order something and serve it in some crock pots.”

  “You’re wrong for that!” I pouted.

  “Seriously, Shondra, call Stelson and invite him over for the Sunday meal at your house. I’ll work on Daddy. Don’t worry, he’ll be there with bells on. What time?”

  “I don’t know. I guess if I go to church at Gethsemane with you and Momma, we could all be out by the same time. Stelson’s church lets out by one o’clock.”

  “Okay, so we’ll play it by ear and have the meal at your house.”

  “All right,” I blew it out, “I’ll tell Stelson.”

  We had to cancel our plans for miniature golf Saturday night due to rain. Peaches and Quinn followed me to Stelson’s house instead for another night of movies. This time we brought Chinese food.

  “Hey,” Stelson greeted us at the door. “Glad you could make it.”

  He squeezed me tightly and dusted my lips with his. He gave Quinn that “brother” hug and kissed Peaches on her cheek. “Come on inside.”

  Okay, where is all the furniture?

  “Sorry I don’t have much for us to sit on in here,” he apologized, leading us past a bare dining room with nice, shiny hardwood floors. High ceilings added another dimension to the spaciousness to his home, which was perhaps even more pronounced without any furniture. “I’m not much for decorating.”

  “Needs a woman’s touch,” Peaches said, talking to Stelson but glancing at me.

  “You’re right about that,” Stelson agreed. He took one of the sacks of food from Quinn and led us to a living room. It did have furniture: a large, pillowy sofa, love seat, and chair ensemble.

  We took turns making our plates and then assembled around the television to watch Men in Black. As the credits rolled and Quinn prepared to put another DVD into the player, Stelson asked Peaches and Quinn to excuse us while we went out to the covered patio to talk privately. The rain had stopped, but the recently showered earth shimmered beneath the moon’s glow.

  Stelson led me out to the veranda. He had a spectacular view of Lake Jones, lit by strategically placed lamps near the shore. It was beautiful, but I was not the one for a lake and all the little critters that come along with water. I cuddled up next to him on a wicker love seat and tucked my feet under my behind.

  “This is nice,” I said.

  “It is, isn’t it? Sometimes I just come out here and marvel at God’s handiwork. It’s very humbling.”

  “Mmm.

  “Stelson,” I asked, “what are you feeling?”

  “I’m feeling. . . I don’t know. What do you mean?”

  “I mean, when you are with me, what do you feel?”

  “I feel blessed. And I have a confession to make,” I said, facing him. “When I went out to lunch with you that first time, it was only to make the white women at my job jealous.”

  He laughed and pulled his hair back.

  “What are you thinking? Do you ever think about the fact that I’m a black woman?” I needed to know.

  “Not nearly as much as you do.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I raised my head.

  “The fact that you are black is always on your mind.”

  “That’s because I’m always black.”

  “I’m always white, but it’s not always on my mind.” He shrugged.

  “That’s because neither your race nor your gender has ever been a disadvantage to you. If it were, you’d understand.” I relaxed a little and settled back into the tiny space between his neck and shoulder blades. “This relationship has been harder on me than it is on you. It’s difficult sometimes for me to see past color. But I’m learning.”

  “Close your eyes,” he said. Stelson reached over and gently lowered my eyelids with his fingertips. I felt his lips near my ear, the warmth of his presence. He whispered, “I love you, LaShondra Smith.”

  He said he loved me. He said he loved me.

  Then he kissed me, and my heart melted right outside on the patio. Just love him. This kiss wasn’t one of those get-physically- turned-on kisses. It wasn’t like any other kiss I’d ever experienced in my life. Our souls were connecting, as if our very spirits became one. I felt so peaceful when his lips left mine. Stelson had kissed me with everything he had in him. And I received it. I made up in my mind that if I had to walk around for the rest of my life with a blindfold on, I was gonna love that man. Period.

  When I got home, I knew I needed to pray. I felt myself coming to a point within, where I knew I needed guidance. This whole thing had come in a series of powerful, convicting truths and awakenings, building from subtle observations to this very substantial relationship with Stelson, with twists and turns along the way. The final destination, however, was at a place that I’d never known before. Neither had anyone I knew of. True to Himself, God had given me my very own Boaz. But I needed Him now more than ever.

  I prayed for the answer, but I didn’t get it. Instead, I felt the urge to call Peaches, of all people. I explained the situation to her the best way I could, sparing few details about what happened out on the veranda.

  “So, what did you say when he told you he loved you?”

  “I couldn’t say anything. He kissed me.”

  “Then?”

  “Then what?”

  “Then what did you say?” she pushed me.

  “I didn’t say anything. I just. . . I just sat there. I don’t think he was expecting me to say anything. He just wanted me to know that he loved me.”

  “Look, I’ve seen how Stelson treats you. He adores you, LaShondra. Your problem isn’t loving him, your problem is letting him love you, and that is not a color thing. You need to sit back and let the man woo you, for once in your life. I mean, get your big behind right up there on the pedestal and become his queen, ‘cause if you won’t, somebody else will.

  “You done went all this far with a white man, no need in stopping now. Don’t bring up your past issues. You are in a godly relatio
nship. Everything is different. Everything is better.”

  I didn’t say anything. I just let her talk. As she expounded on the message that I needed to allow myself to be loved, unexpected tears began to flow down my cheeks. She was speaking the gospel—I really didn’t know how to be loved, how to do this relationship thing God’s way. It seemed almost too good. But then again, everything from Him is always above and beyond our imaginations.

  “You still there?” Peaches asked after a while. She heard me sniffle and slowed down a bit.

  “LaShondra, Stelson is not perfect, but God’s love is. So the next time Stelson puts his arms around you, you accept that embrace like it was God Himself, ‘cause, girl, I’m telling you, all that’s good and perfect comes from Him. Accept it.”

  Confirmation.

  I wiped my tears and thanked Peaches for speaking to me. “Girl, you broke it down for me.”

  “Somebody had to,” she laughed. “Daddy is good to us, isn’t He?”

  “All the time,” I agreed, then asked, “How did you learn all of this, Miss Thang?”

  “Girl, I didn’t know. The Holy Spirit is teaching me right along with you. I’m just telling you what I learned about a week ago, when Quinn asked me to marry him.”

  “Yeah. He proposed in a roundabout kind of way. He was all asking me what I thought about the name Patricia Robertson.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “Girl, he ain’t gettin’ no answer till I get a ring, okay?”

  “Peaches, you are wrong!”

  “No, I ain’t! We are not tryin’ to do a Harper from The Best Man here. This is real life—a sister needs a carat!”

  “I’m gonna keep praying for you.”

  “Please do.”

  It had been a while since I’d been to the old church— probably a good two years or so. The church was just as I remembered it: run down but somehow dignified by its towering steeple.

  Jonathan, Momma, and I walked up to the front steps and through the wide white doors into the vestibule. Gethsemane smelled the same. I closed my eyes and breathed in deep. A flood of fond memories came crashing down on me with an intensity I was not prepared for. I stopped for a moment and let my heart feel whatever it was that overtook me. I could almost see Mother Dear sitting in her usual spot on the front row next to the Sunshine Band. And there I was, sitting next to my friends, passing notes and discussing the contents of my almost-empty purse. Then Mother Dear popped me on the leg and told me to pay attention to the preacher and spit out my gum. It was all there. It had never left.

  I opened my eyes and used my hands quickly to fan the tears away. I checked myself in the mirror before entering the sanctuary. The ushers led us to the fifth pew, and we sat quietly as the announcer read off the list of announcements and asked the saints to govern themselves accordingly.

  My eyes roamed the edifice and came to a standstill at the altar. How many times had I been there with the saints praying all around me, praying for me, tarrying for my soul’s sake? Their heavy, worn hands rubbing my back and coaching me on what to say to the Lord. And there, on that altar so long ago, I’d cried out to Him for everything. I’d been to that altar and back out into the world so many times I couldn’t keep count. And every time I’d come back, God had forgiven me. He never did keep count. It seemed that through the years, in His own way and in His own time, God had given me everything I’d ever asked for, even though I didn’t deserve it. Thank you, Lord.

  I enjoyed the foot-stomping, hand-clapping service and sermon delivered by one of the newer assistant ministers at Gethsemane. He spoke on faithfulness and the importance of staying on the course through tough times.

  Following the benediction, we hung around talking to old church friends for another half hour. Jonathan had on his navy garb, and Momma made him take pictures with almost every saint in the building.

  After church, Jonathan and Momma went back to my parents’ house to pick up Daddy while I went back home to get prepared. I called Stelson and told him to come on over. In the meanwhile, I took the steaks and other side dishes from a local steak house out of the foil packaging, heated them, and then placed them in nice serving dishes. I pushed the sacks and containers deep into the trash can.

  “Shondra,” Jonathan called in the midst of my preparations, “Daddy made chicken!”

  “Does he know Stelson is going to be here?”

  “Not exactly. But he does know that we were having dinner at your place. Maybe it’s the sign of a truce between the two of you,” he cheered.

  “You guys hurry up. I want to tell Daddy before Stelson comes waltzing through the door.”

  “We’re on our way.”

  My steaks could wait for another time. Daddy’s chicken could not be trumped.

  Jonathan must have driven like a bat out of hell. They pulled up in record time, and I estimated I had roughly ten minutes to tell Daddy Stelson would be at dinner. Daddy walked past me at the door and went straight to the kitchen to put his chicken in the oven.

  I followed him, with an intentionally cheerful attitude. I will not let the enemy tear my family apart. “Hey, Daddy.”

  “Mmm,” he grumbled, searching through my utensil drawer.

  “I’m glad you came.”

  “Where are your forks?” he asked.

  “Daddy, stop. Listen to me,” I commanded him.

  He finally put one hand on the counter and stopped. Daddy looked into my eyes. He probed me, searched me, and examined me. We were deadlocked, each looking for the soul of the other, like two alien creatures, each searching for that familiar place inside the other.

  Daddy stood back and waited for me to blink or cower. But I didn’t. One of us was going to have to back down, and it wasn’t going to be me. I wasn’t going to take any less than his full respect and love—the kind he had always given me. The kind I deserved.

  “Stelson is coming over for dinner.”

  Daddy took a seat at my kitchen table and crossed his arms defiantly. I sat across from him, hoping that his decision to sit down was a good thing.

  I spoke softly, “Daddy, listen. I want you to meet the man in my life. I know you don’t approve of interracial anything, but this is my choice. If you can’t respect that, then you never really respected me.”

  He raised his head sharply. “Who taught you to talk to your father like that? This white friend of yours?”

  “No, you did. I was so afraid to tell you about Stelson because I knew you’d react this way. But with all due respect, Daddy, I have to live a life that is pleasing unto God. If that means going against your beliefs about white people, then so be it. You’re the one who taught me to stick with my beliefs no matter what anyone else says. I’m still your daughter. But I don’t apologize for the fact that I owe more allegiance to Christ than to the black race.”

  “So that’s the way it is, huh?” He bobbed his head. “Just gonna forget about your people?”

  “I don’t have to forget where I came from to move on with my life. That’s where you’ve been stuck, Daddy. You think that if you let go of the pain and anger and hurt, you’ll be left with nothing. But that’s not true. When you forgive and move on, you free yourself up for joy. Joy. Do you even know what joy is? Have you experienced it, day in and day out?”

  “I’m leaving.” Daddy stood up, his chair screeching like a car slamming on its brakes.

  Momma tried to calm him as he walked toward the door. “Jonathan Smith, listen to somebody for once. You said just the other day that you wished you could live to see the day that blacks and whites could get along.”

  “I also said that would be when hell freezes over,” he added.

  “Well, your daughter just threw down some ice. Now, you just sit down and enjoy this dinner. You never know, Jon, you might actually like Stillman.”

  “Stelson,” I said.

  “Stelson.” Momma stood next to him at the door now.

  Daddy stopped, facing the door, with his feet fl
at on the center of my welcome mat.

  What if he walks out that door?

  He put both hands in his pockets. . . jiggled the loose change. He tilted his head back, letting the overhead lights cast a glow on the center of his head. He just stood there. Still. He must have been thinking. Weighing his past against his relationship with me.

  I prayed with everything in me, and I felt Momma and Jonathan doing the same. But what f he walks out that door?

  Then Daddy took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and asked in a shaky voice, “What kind of bread did you get?”

  Exhale. Thank you, Lord.

  Daddy was civil, and that was enough to be thankful for. He shook Stelson’s hand, for the second time, in my living room. They were both apprehensive and silent throughout most of the dinner. Jonathan, Momma, and I did everything we could to keep conversation going. I’m sure we sounded like a sitcom with all that gibberish. But Daddy knew now. And we’d survived.

  I came face to face with an undeniable truth about myself that day. Of all the people who I thought would have a problem with my dating Stelson—my parents, Jonathan, Peaches, my coworkers, the general public—the person with the biggest issue was me. I gave it all up to the Lord that evening in the comfort of my prayer room. As I knelt beside the bed, letting my knees settle on the floor, I laid it all before God.

  Lord, I am tired of fighting this battle within myself I am tired of running back and forth between what I feel, what I’ve heard, and what You have revealed to me as the truth of Your love. Help me to stand up to my fears and fight against the enemy in this battle for my mind one last time. I claim victory right now in the name of Jesus. Amen.

  I jumped through my last hoop, deciding then and there not to let the past overrun my future anymore, to stop reaching back, feeling for what had been comfortable in order to determine what should be acceptable for me in the days ahead with Stelson.

  After all, I already knew in my heart that Stelson was the one. He’d loved me, actively, even before I was ready to love him, without expecting anything in return. He did right just because.