by Daniel Black
“Is dat right?” Reverend Dawson exclaimed behind me.
“Yes, sir, it is. My promise to Ms. Swinton and all of you is that I will use them to make other lives better. If I can be even a portion of what she was, then my living shall not be in vain.”
The crowd roared as I took my seat. I was trembling, both from adrenaline and the pain of letting Ms. Swinton go.
“Whooooooooooooo-whee!” Reverend Dawson shrieked. “Dat’s what education’ll do fu’ ya!”
I tuned him and the rest of the congregation out and hung my head and cried. David put his arm around my shoulder, and I was grateful for his touch. I didn’t care who saw me that day. That was my mother lying before me and I didn’t know how to let her go. I began to wave my arms and shake my head violently. “It’s all right, little brother. It’s all right,” David said. It wasn’t all right. I would never get another chance to speak about her or to her, and I needed to make the most of the moment. I rose suddenly, teary eyed, and began to sing, “If I can heeelp somebody … as I travel along … if I can cheer somebody … with a word or a song … if I can shoooow somebody he’s traveling … wrong … then my living shall not be in vain!”
People were screaming and falling out all around me. I was purging my soul.
“Then my living … shall not … be in vain!!!!! Oh, oh, then my living … shall not be in vain … . If I can heeeeelp somebody as I travel … along, then my living! … then my living! … then my living … shall noooot beeeeeeeeeeeeeee in vaaaaaaain!”
Ms. Polly was running up and down the aisle by the time I finished the song. Several folks were shouting, and others were holding them. The majority of the congregation were standing and clapping their hands, declaring, “Sang, boy!” and, “Amen!” and, “Hallelujah!” Yet I wasn’t doing it for the praise. I needed some way of turning pain into joy. I remembered the old folks doing it when I was a child, and I knew I could do it, too. I felt a lot better.
After the cheering settled a bit and the ushers carried Ms. Polly out, Reverend Dawson returned to the podium. “Dat was all right! Whoooo-wheeeee! I mean dat was all right! If yo’ soul don’t feel no betta after dat, den you don’t know de Lawd at all!”
“Amen!”
“We now gon’ have some words from David Gladstone, Ms. Swinton’s oldest boy.”
David surged and went to the podium confidently. He had prepared an outline to assist him since he knew he was on the program to speak.
“I am pleased to discover that many people knew my mother intimately and loved her dearly,” he began. “She was an incredible woman, by any standard. I believe a person’s life celebrates her more than anyone else ever could, and Momma’s life certainly spoke volumes. She loved her work, she loved her kids, and she loved her Lord. She wasn’t big on shouting and other open declarations of praise, but in her private space she gave God His due. Momma used to call me and ask me to pray for her to have the strength to carry on, especially on nights when her thoughts of T.L. threatened to overwhelm her. She would talk about how much she loved him and how she wanted nothing but the best for him. She used to say her baby was somewhere out in the world alone and needed his mother’s prayers to protect him. Yet she often feared her prayers were insufficient. Her only wish was to see him before she died, and the Good Lord made sure she got what she wanted.
“I thank all of you for your prayers, flowers, phone calls, and especially for honoring my mother and allowing her gift of teaching to bloom among you. Your testimony of her greatness comforts my heart beyond what any of you could ever know.” His voice cracked as he concluded, “I used to dread the idea of coming down to this little place in the middle of Arkansas. Now I know why Momma stayed. There were people here whom she loved dearly and would have given her life for. I’m glad to know the feeling was mutual.”
David resumed his seat, and I squeezed his hand affirmingly. It was almost over.
Reverend Dawson asked the congregation to rise for the recessional. The choir began to sing “Goin’ Up Yonder” as the funeral directors slowly wheeled the casket out of the church. David and I walked side by side, both of us crying lightly and humming to steady our nerves. I noticed Momma examining me expressionlessly when I walked out of the church. She should be relieved, I thought. The truth was out, so no need to hide anymore. Maybe there was pain in her heart that no one knew anything about. Yet, I couldn’t worry about Momma right then. I had some things to do before I left Swamp Creek.
The burial was quick and nondramatic. Reverend Dawson read the Scripture that says “man that is born of a woman” and then prayed a short prayer. He asked if anyone had anything they wanted to say, but no one responded. Therefore, he said, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” and the casket began to descend into the earth. I felt helpless. There was nothing else I could do to honor Ms. Swinton, no way to tell her how much she meant to me, no way to let her know how much I appreciated the sacrifice she had made in giving me up.
“That’s that,” David said softly after he crumbled a handful of dirt onto the casket.
“Yep,” I mumbled inaudibly. We started walking back down the road toward the church.
“Today’s gonna be a scorcher, huh?” David was trying to make small talk to ease my pain.
“It might.”
“T.L., don’t hold on to pain. Let it go.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” I snapped.
“There’s no magical formula, my brother. You have to take everything in your life as a lesson instead of as punishment. You have to try to see how every event makes you better. Once you get the lesson, you let it go.”
“And what’s the lesson of this?” I screamed.
“That’s for you to determine,” David stated boldly. “I’m sure it has at least something to do with your gift of teaching.”
“Not that again!”
“You couldn’t get away from it if you tried. Teaching’s the reason you’re on the planet. Your gift is your reason for existence. Everything that happens in a person’s life is somehow related to his spiritual gift. Exactly how is your job to figure out.”
I didn’t say anything more. I wasn’t thinking rationally and I was too upset to do any real intellectual work. David was right, though. I knew that much. And, to be honest, I probably didn’t want to know the connection between everything and this teaching gift for fear of where it might land me.
As though telepathic, David said, “Don’t be afraid of the truth, T.L. It will always leave you better. Always. It might not seem that way at first, but trust me. The truth will set you free.”
I could smell fried chicken as we approached the church. I knew the kitchen would be humming with excitement, laughter, and good food. No matter how great the pain or how incredible the loss, the food at funerals was always incredible.
“What time do you leave today?” David asked when we reached the entrance to the church kitchen.
“I’ma catch the five o’clock bus in front of the Meetin’ Tree.”
“What are you gonna do with the books?”
I hesitated. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
“I was thinking. Since now it looks like I’m gonna be here another day or two, packing up the rest of Momma’s things, I can ship them to you if you want me to. It could be expensive, though.”
“I don’t know, David. I’d have to get a bigger apartment first, and that would take longer than a day or two.”
“Well, you’d better figure out something quick. It’s already three thirty.” And with that, David lightly pushed me into the church kitchen.
People were laughing loudly in spite of the tragedy of Ms. Swinton’s passing. Their uproarious voices made me much lighter about the situation.
“Sho ‘am sorry’bout cho’ momma!” Mr. Blue said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “She was a greeeeat woman, dat’s fu’ sho’!”
“Thanks, Mr. Blue.” I smiled.
David and I sat at the head family table as church moth
ers served the feast. You would have thought we were at the Welcome Table in the kingdom of God with all the food they set before us. We ate good, too. Maybe hurt creates appetite and a need to fill one’s self with something substantial. Mr. Blue sat across from me—he always sat at the head table, regardless of what family it was. I took a chance and asked him, “How long have you known Ms. Swinton was my momma, Mr. Blue?”
I had to wait for a response, for he was sucking on a drumstick. “All yo’ life,” he said calmly, and kept on chewing. “I thought that was why you left heayh. Folks said you got mad at yo’ daddy fu’ what he done and just ran off one day.”
“That’s not true. I didn’t even know she was my momma until a few days ago.”
“Sometime what folk thank they know ain’t so. I sho’ is sorry you had to find out thisa way.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? A long time ago?”
Mr. Blue smirked and said, “It wunnit nonna my business and nonna my place to be talkin’’bout yo’ daddy to you. I knowed’bout it, but I wunnit s’pose’ to talk’bout it. Dat’s why I didn’t say nothin’.”
“How did you know?”
Mr. Blue gaped at me and pierced his eyes but said nothing. He kept smacking on chicken bones and collard greens and glancing at me occasionally like I was supposed to understand his thoughts without him speaking them.
After we ate, I asked David if he would step outside for a moment.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Four ten,” he said. “You must have come up with an idea.”
“I think I have, if you’ll agree to it.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Here’s the plan: Leave the books in the house until I find a bigger apartment. I’ll come back and get them myself. I know you plan to rent the house out, but if you put the books in one of the back rooms, they shouldn’t be in the way. What do you think?”
David observed me sternly and said, “No deal. You can’t get away that easily.”
“What do you mean, get away?”
“The books are supposed to be with you. They’re not supposed to be boxed up.”
“I’m not abandoning them! I’m going to find a bigger place so I’ll have somewhere to keep them. I would literally have no room if I took them home. Plus, I can’t take thousands of books on a Greyhound bus! I’m gonna have to ship them whenever I move them.”
“Fine. Maybe I overreacted. I don’t want those books to go to waste, sitting in boxes in Momma’s old house.”
“They’re not going to go to waste, David. I wouldn’t do that.”
“OK, T.L.,” David said suspiciously.
“What’s the problem?”
“Thinking you’re gonna come back here soon leaves me doubtful. Swamp Creek is not a place you visit often, to say the least.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Sorry. That was a low blow. But, T.L., you’ve got to promise me you’ll come get those books as soon as you can.”
“I promise, David. You have my word.”
“Fine. I’ll leave’em in the spare bedroom and you come get them as soon as you can. And I mean as soon as you can!”
“I promise!” I said confidently.
Willie James walked up as David and I were finishing our conversation and said, “Daddy’s lookin’ fu’ you.”
“Tell him I’ll be there in a minute.” Willie James walked away.
David frowned and declared, “T.L., you won’t want to come back to this place a few months from now. Tell yourself the truth, man.”
“I know,” I sighed. “But I’ll have to now.”
“That’s my fear, brotherman. I know your intentions are good and all, but I’m afraid once you leave this place this time, you’re never coming back. And Momma’s books won’t be enough to bring you.”
I studied David’s eyes as I tried to convince myself I would make another trip to Swamp Creek within a few months. The thought exasperated me.
“I’m telling you. I don’t know about this. If you leave those books here forever, Momma gon’ be mad about it!”
“Yeah, I know.” I plopped down on the steps in front of the kitchen door and dropped my head into my hands.
“Look. As long as you promise to come back, it’s cool with me if you leave the books. Don’t leave them forever. Please.”
“All right, David. I won’t. I ain’t got no choice.”
“Yes, you do. We don’t have time for that conversation right now, though. You got a bus to catch.”
“I know,” I said excitedly. “Let’s promise to stay in touch, big brother.”
We hugged tightly and exchanged phone numbers and addresses. I felt sad leaving David. I had truly grown to love him.
“I’d better go see what Daddy wants. Take care of yourself, OK?”
“Count on it, T.L.”
We gawked at each other awkwardly for a second.
“You need a ride to the big tree?”
“Naw. Daddy’ll drop me on his way home. Thanks, though. I’ll phone you from New York.”
“Please do. I’d like to know you’re home, safe and sound.”
We embraced again and I heard Daddy call my name.
“I gotta go.”
“I love you, T.L.”
“Love you, too, David. Talk to you soon.”
I bumped into Daddy as I rounded the comer of the church.
“You ready to go?” he asked me.
“Yessir. I think I am.”
“Let’s go get yo’ stuff from de house and then—”
“I put it in the truck this morning before I left. I didn’t know how long everything was going to last, so I thought I’d better bring my bags to be on the safe side.”
“I see,” Daddy said disappointedly. “It’s gettin’ close to five, so you’d betta git on out dere jes’ in case de bus is a li’l early.”
“I’m ready whenever you are. Just let me say by to Willie James. I’ll be out in a second.”
I found him sitting on the back pew of the church, glaring out of the window. He appeared depressed.
“Big brother, I gotta go,” I said, interrupting his thoughts.
He turned suddenly, unashamed of his tears. “Please stay, T.L. Please.” His voice shimmered.
“I wish I could, Willie James, but I can’t. I got to get back.”
“Please, T.L.” He grabbed my hand, and my fingers buckled in pain. “I ain’t got nobody.”
“You got yo’self, Willie James,” I suggested weakly while struggling to free my hand.
He finally let go. “Then at least write, OK?”
“I will. I promise.”
Willie James stood and hugged me sensually. He lay his head on my shoulder and allowed himself to melt into my embrace. Then he blinked bloodshot eyes at me and said simply, “See ya.”
“See ya,” I returned, and left. I was trying to stay light about everything, but Willie James was not helping.
I bumped into Momma as I rushed through the church kitchen. We froze awkwardly, staring at each other like strangers.
“Bye, Momma,” I said coyly, trying hard not to feel anything for her.
“Take care,” she returned as I stepped around her. “And take this with you.”
She handed me the picture of the butterfly I had painted for Willie James years ago. “It made him cry’cause it reminded him of you, so I took it down. I thought you’d want it if you ever came back.”
Momma hung her head and walked away.
“Thanks,” I mumbled genuinely, disturbed by what appeared to be an act of kindness from one whom I thought incapable.
I ran to the truck and hopped in. “Ready to go!”
“You sho’?” Daddy asked, starting the engine.
“Yessir. I don’t think I’ve forgotten anything.”
“Ain’t nothin’ else you need to do? Or say?”
I froze. “I don’t think so.”
“All righty, then. Guess you betta be goin�
�.”
We started down the road. I knew Daddy had something on his mind, but I didn’t want to pry. Hence, I sat timidly, praying he’d let me off at the Meetin’ Tree and just go on home.
That didn’t happen. In fact, he pulled off the highway, parked the truck under the tree, and turned off the engine.
“I sho’ do hate it’s gotta be like dis,” he said after a minute or two. “A man and his boy oughta be able to do bettern we doin’.”
I was dumbfounded.
“You done found out a whole lotta stuff since last Sad’dy, and most of it’s done made you madder than a wet hen. I jes wanna say I’m sho’ is sorry, boy.”
Tears welled in my eyes but I held them.
“Ain’t nobody’s life perfect, son, but yours coulda been a lot betta if I had been a betta man back then. I jes’ want chu to know dat I’m sorry. Dat’s all.”
Every time I tried to speak, I got choked up. I wished Daddy had just dropped me off. Leaving would have been so much easier.
He started the engine again, a sign he was ready to leave. “De bus ain’t gon’ be long now. It’s nearbout five o’clock.”
“Daddy … um … take care of yourself,” I mumbled as I wept. “You’ve been a good father and I appreciate it.” That’s all I could get out.
“You take care o’ yo’self, too, boy, ya hear?”
“Yessir,” I said, recomposing myself. I got out of the truck and lifted my bags from the back. I walked to the driver’s side and reached my hand out to shake Daddy’s. He clutched my hand so tightly I could feel his energy run up my arm and into my chest. When I glimpsed Daddy’s eyes, I noticed they were glazed over with tears.
“Come back sooner,” he whispered and tried to smile.
“I will, Daddy. I will.”
He turned his head away and drove off slowly. I sat on the bench underneath the tree and cried like a baby. I never realized before how much I loved that man.
The bus came a few moments later. It was just as hot that day as the day I had arrived.
“Hey there, young fella!” the driver said as I boarded. “I thought you mighta died from a heatstroke.” He laughed.