by Dijorn Moss
“I’m tired,” Jamal said.
“Come on, let’s get to our rooms. Maybe you can get a power nap in before the first session,” Quincy said.
A chill penetrated Jamal’s bloodstream as he got out of the car and threw on his black cowhide-leather jacket. He balled both of his hands up and blew into them to create instant warmth. Quincy popped open the trunk and handed Jamal his black duffle bag. Jamal felt like he had bricks inside of his bag. Quincy closed the trunk and pressed a button on his chain to trigger the lock.
Jamal followed Quincy’s lead as they walked along a boardwalk toward the room.
He took time to admire the scenery, despite the pale sky that hung over the campgrounds. Jamal watched as a squirrel ran in front of him. The squirrel stopped midway and stood up in front of them before dashing off into the woods. Jamal adjusted the position of his duffle bag to avoid back pain. They arrived at their room and Quincy opened the door. Jamal stepped in front of Quincy and used his shoulder to open the door all the way. He examined that Chauncey was neatly moving his folded clothes into a drawer, while an unknown young man lay on the edge of the bed with his feet planted on the floor while text messaging on his cell phone.
“What’s going on, fam?” Jamal asked.
The young man diverted his eyes from his phone long enough to give a nod. Chauncey stopped putting away clothes long enough to extend his hand to Jamal.
“Brother Jamal, praise God. How’s it going?” Chauncey asked.
Jamal bogarted his way into the room and dropped his overnight bag on the first available bed, which just so happened to be positioned right next to the window. It gave a nice view of the beach. Jamal figured a good view of the ocean and the rising sun would make getting up early more bearable.
Jamal extended his hand to the new guy. “What up, fam? I’m Jamal.”
The new guy smacked Jamal’s hand three times before snapping his fingers to signal that the handshake was over. Then he stated his name, “Will,” as he diverted his eyes back to his cell phone.
Jamal laughed at the new way to greet someone.
“I haven’t seen you before. You must be a new member at church?” Quincy asked.
“We met last night. Will was kind enough to help me with car troubles, so I invited him to come,” Chauncey answered.
Jamal had never known Chauncey to be the type to travel in areas where he might encounter a young man like Will.
“Well, praise God. So you came to the Retreat to get closer to God?” Jamal asked.
“Whatever that means,” Will said, not taking his eyes off of his cell phone.
There was a certain aura about Will. His nonchalance stood out in a room full of egos. Only, Will’s nonchalance was not of someone who freed himself of worry, but of someone who just did not care to begin with. Jamal was a pretty good judge of character, and he could tell when he was looking at his former self in the mirror. Jamal, too, had been in that place until he had what he called a Damascus moment. Will may have needed a Damascus, and Jamal’s purpose at the Retreat may have been to assist Will in his Damascus moment.
Chapter Fourteen
There was only one reason why Quincy was at the Retreat: to confront his wife’s lover. He figured the best way to figure out who he was was to interrogate the people who Karen associated with at church. A stroll along the boardwalk led him to spot Douglas, the choir director, aka minister of music. Karen sang in the alto section of the choir and she spent many late nights at choir rehearsal. Douglas stood along the shore with headphones in his ears. He gestured as if he were conducting the waves.
The misconception that most male choir directors were gay did not deter Quincy’s suspicion. He approached Douglas and got his attention.
“What’s going on, Brother Page?” Douglas removed his headphones.
“Nothing much, just trying to get ready before everything starts.”
“I know, I know, I know! We’re going to be on fire this weekend. Are you going to join the male choir on Sunday?”
There was only two occasions when Quincy sang: in the shower and right before he made love to his wife. The latter was inspired by the soulful sounds of Teddy Pendergrass.
“No, not me. Well, you know, that’s the wifey’s thang, not mine. She looks forward to singing every Sunday. Just this last Sunday I saw her shoot out of the house wearing nothing but sweats and a T-shirt.”
“Sister Page did not have on any sweats. She wore a skirt.” Douglas seemed confused.
Now right there, he messed up. “How do you know what she had on?” Quincy was curious.
“All the girls were talking about it.” Douglas was skeptical.
“What were they saying?”
“They were saying, ‘Look at Sister Page trying to look young.’ I’m surprised you didn’t know what she had on.”
Douglas came off as very obnoxious, and if it weren’t for the fact that Quincy needed answers from him, Quincy might have punched him in the face. However, Quincy could conclude that the choir director and his wife were not engaged in any hootie-hoo-Timbuktu.
“Listen, Douglas, if there was something going on that I needed to know about, would you tell me?”
“Yes, of course, Brother Page, I would.”
“Thanks, man, I appreciate that.” Quincy patted Douglas on the back and headed toward the boardwalk. The introduction ceremony was not for another ten minutes, but with nothing else to do, Quincy decided to head over to the conference room.
He looked forward to locking eyes with Minister Hypocrite. He looked even more forward to confronting him in front of his fellow brethren. Quincy bit into a pear he’d bought at a rest stop. He found momentary sweetness on the other side of the coarse texture of the pear skin.
Arriving at the empty conference room and taking a seat near the podium, Quincy had one purpose in mind and that was to get to the truth. Quincy wished he could confront him the second he walked through the door.
He was certain that A-MOG was a minister. Next to a pimp or politician, ministers were some of the most smooth-talking, charismatic people he knew. Maybe Quincy would wait until he got the chance to speak before he confronted him. Maybe he’d wait until the good old minister got into a deep, passionate sermon, and then expose him with the truth. He knew that the timing had to be perfect, and, at this moment, he was certain that today might be the day. This weekend was supposed to be about the men confronting who they were in the empty moments when no one was around except God. The minister needed to remove his facade and confront his hypocrisy.
Jamal soon joined Quincy, along with Chauncey and his new friend, Will. Quincy wished he had time to dissect the mystery surrounding Will, but that was neither here nor there. Quincy’s mission was clear, and, more importantly, it was free from any distractions.
More men started to pour into the conference room. Judging by the foul odor, it was clear that they had been playing on the basketball court. Over sixty men had made an arrangement to be here over the course of the next two days in Monterey with fellow Christian men. For a moment, Quincy reconsidered his actions.
He found it narcissistic of himself to crush these guys’ hopes of turning their lives around, only to have another glaring example of how leadership fails to uphold the standard it preaches. Brother Evans was both a minister and a high school football coach. He had hands that could punch a hole in a tank. He used those hands to begin a loud clap, and soon the majority of the men joined in. Quincy did not join in the clap.
Unlike his brothers, he was not caught up in the emotions of the moment. If the devil existed, he sure was in the midst of this gathering.
“Hallelujah. I’ve been waiting all week to come here and be with my brothers,” Brother Evans said. “I couldn’t wait to get together with my brothers and fellowship. I told my wife when she kissed me good-bye that the man who’s leaving would not be the same man who returns.”
Brother Evans’s words were greeted with mighty “Amen’s” and cl
aps. Quincy wondered if Evans’s joyful act was just that—an act—or genuine. Maybe Quincy had been a fool this whole time, thinking that this weekend was a holy event. Maybe it was an actors’ workshop, and maybe the men here only pretended to be religious.
“Now, I’m going to turn the podium over to the angel of this house, Pastor Dawkins.”
Brother Evans led the ovation that carried Pastor Dawkins to the front of the podium. Pastor Dawkins had yet to enter a room without ducking down. In his early days, he’d started as a small forward for UCLA. A torn meniscus ended his professional career.
Pastor Dawkins pulled the microphone toward him and adjusted his square glasses. “Oh, how marvelous it is when brothers can dwell together. Yes, yes, my heart is heavy.”
Those words caused the men to settle down. He removed his glasses, and with his massive hands he wiped the tears from his eyes before putting his glasses back on.
“Fierce warriors of God surround me and I know that the battle is intense. I can see it in your eyes. The wounds are visible. The burden of being the head of your household is heavy, especially in these uncertain times.”
Though the “Amen’s” returned in low tones, the nods symbolized that Pastor Dawkins did not lose his audience. The religious stuff aside, Quincy had always been a big fan of Pastor Dawkins and his eloquence.
“That’s why this time is so necessary, so that we can remove our armor and be able to show God that He is still head of the throne. You guys are in for a treat this weekend. I know we’ve traveled a long way, but it was worth it. God has a transformation waiting for us.” Pastor Dawkins waited until the “Amen’s” settled down. “Now, as always, I would like to go around the room and ask each man what he is expecting this weekend.”
One guy—who Quincy saw at church from time to time, but whose acquaintance he’d never had reason to make—stood up, eager to be the first one to speak.
“Praise the Lord, brothers,” the gentlemen greeted. “It’s great to be here with you.”
He received a well return of “Praise the Lord” from his brethren.
“As some of you know, I got laid off from my job about three months ago and I’ve been trying to find a job. It’s been hard trying to put food on the table with a wife, two kids, a mortgage, and two car notes. But I come hoping that God has a word and a job for me. So that’s what I’m hoping for this weekend.”
The brother sat down on cue, and Quincy thought the guy’s entire reason for being at the Retreat was a waste of time and money. This was not a job fair, and he could not expect to provide for his family while shelling out $200 for a Men’s Retreat. On second thought, maybe Pastor Dawkins assisted the guy with paying for the Retreat.
Regardless of which, Quincy saw the man’s reasons as naive. Several men had gone up and given less dramatic reasons for attending the Retreat. Jamal had turned quiet as a result of his and Quincy’s conversation in the car, but Jamal had decided to stand up anyway. “Praise the Lord. I am excited to be here with my brothers. I have a tough decision to make that will have a huge impact on my family. I’m hoping that God can help me make the right decision.”
Of course, Quincy knew that Jamal’s reasons for going to the Men’s Retreat were not as noble as they sounded. He was a fool and really there was no choice. He needed to cut his losses and spare himself future disappointment.
Ministers Perkins and Jacobs entered the room. Quincy was certain that one of the men in that room had slept with Karen. She’d never said who, but Quincy knew that, based on Karen’s after-service interactions, it had to be one of them, namely a leader. Karen was always full of praise regarding Minister Perkins and his Bible Studies. Karen and Minister Jacobs served together on the feed the homeless ministry.
Coincidentally, Quincy was prepared to stand, and he stood up right as another brother stood up. Quincy’s desire to speak outlasted the awkwardness of the moment until finally the other brother sat down.
“Praise the Lord,” Quincy said to a warm welcome. “The scripture says that He is the way, the truth, and the light. Well, I’m hoping that God will bring some things out of darkness and into light.”
Will watched as, one by one, each man stood up and stated why he was there. Will did not have a clue why he was there. He felt peace in the midst of an otherwise hostile lifestyle.
Soon there were only a few people left who had not gone up and spoken. A sweet tobacco scent brought Will’s attention to the Black & Mild he had in his pocket. Tonight would be a good night to smoke; of course, he would have to wait for the church boys to go to sleep before he did so. Lost in his train of thought, Will realized that he was now the last person who had not spoken. The tall pastor extended his hand to Will. All the air left the room, and Will’s body temperature increased as he stood.
“Um, I’m here to get closer to God,” Will said, and sat back down.
It seemed like a legitimate thing to say. The question was whether Will really meant it. The vibration from his cell phone caught his attention. D-Loc must’ve called him about nineteen times. His mother had called just as many. Will dreaded going back home, but he could not leave his brother and sister at home with the wolves. He wondered when he would get a chance to think about himself and what he wanted.
What did Will want? For starters, he wanted this feeling he’d had since arriving at this place to never leave. He wanted to actually own a car instead of steal one. He wanted to not feel invisible. The world he knew buried his kind without any remorse. With billions of people in the world, how could he possibly matter? Just him thinking of life as something to live and not merely exist in was taking away his only edge. He did not want to go back, but he could not stay. And there existed Will’s paradox.
Chapter Fifteen
Chauncey’s brother had called twice while he was enjoying dinner. He was annoyed as the caller ID on his cell showed St. Mary’s Hospital, so he made the decision to send all of his brother’s and sister’s calls to voice mail. Chauncey was constantly confronted with his brother’s plight, and disgusted that his brother always reached out to him more than he would reach out to his Lord and Savior.
“How’s your brother, Deacon McClendon?” Jamal asked.
“He’s fine.” Chauncey put his phone away. He did not feel the need to explain himself to a neophyte like Jamal. Instead, Chauncey turned his attentions to his guest, Will. At first, Chauncey had been certain that God was interceding on Will’s behalf. He seemed to be in deep thought at the introduction meeting, and he’d seemed compelled to come here to the Retreat. But something seeped into Chauncey’s consciousness during the introduction ceremony.
He became aware that maybe Will was not here to get closer to God. Maybe Will was a Trojan horse and he was here to do the devil’s work. A chill scattered throughout his body at the thought that he may have been a vehicle that allowed the enemy to penetrate the camp.
A sly smile emerged from Chauncey’s face at the thought that he had uncovered the devil’s plot. At the same time, terror reemerged at the thought that it might be too late. Chauncey closed his eyes and began to pray with both hands interlocked and his head bowed, to the point where they were touching his forehead.
“Lord, give me the strength to do what is right in the face of evil,” Chauncey prayed.
“Amen,” Brother Evans said from across the table.
Chauncey realized his prayer may have been a little louder than he planned, because it caught the attention of Will, the one person he did not want to become antsy.
“You can get service all the way out here?” Chauncey asked Quincy, who was text messaging.
“I can get service on Mars with this phone,” Quincy replied.
Chauncey found Quincy’s texting rude, considering they were at a church event where the emphasis was on fellowship between men. Quincy disengaged and preoccupied himself with his cell phone.
“What you do for a living, fam?” Will asked Quincy.
“I’m an architect. Any of
the new buildings you see in downtown Long Beach were either designed by me, or I gave very critical advice on the project,” Quincy replied.
Humility was not one of Quincy’s strong suits, which was why Chauncey and he often avoided each other as much as possible. Besides, Chauncey seriously doubted if Quincy was even saved. He barely attended church and he seemed more concerned with worldly things than the things of God. Of course, Chauncey did not want to judge him…out loud anyway.
“So you’re the man at your job? Huh?” Will asked.
Quincy smiled and put away his cell phone. “Let me tell you, doc. Aspire to be your own boss. Times are hard, man, and I would be going crazy right now if I were in a position where my paycheck rested in another man’s hand. I got tired of seeing my supervisor take credit for my ideas and take the spoils as well. I started my own firm with my best friend and have not looked back since.”
“Real talk,” Will said with a nod.
Quincy’s words only reaffirmed the street logic Will already possessed. Chauncey had to steer Will away and make allowances for the fact that the pompous Quincy did not know the true nature of Will’s attendance at this Retreat.
“You mean it is because of your faith in Jesus. God is the supplier of all our needs,” Chauncey replied.
Quincy responded to Chauncey’s statement with a short chuckle. “Yeah, that’s true too.”
“Looks like I’ve seen you around the hood before,” Will said to Jamal.
“Possibly. You went to Poly?” Jamal asked.
“Naw, I went to Jordan,” Will answered. He snapped his fingers with a big smile and pointed. “Jamal Bryant. You played running back.”