Betty Before X

by Ilyasah Shabazz

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say.

  Two

  Once Sunday school is over, the first thing Shirley tells me is that she got the gold star. “Nine more to go,” she says.

  “That’s great, Shirley!” I say.

  We join the other kids who are rushing over to Mrs. Malloy, making sure we smile real big. She gives each of us a piece of candy every Sunday as long as we promise to wait till after church to eat it. Mrs. Malloy is married to one of the head deacons, and she’s also one of the organizers of the Housewives’ League with Mrs. Peck. Mrs. Peck is Pastor Peck’s widow. She started the Housewives’ League to help support Negro businesses. She organizes the boycotts of stores that refuse to hire Negroes or sell products made by Negroes. They say since the store owners don’t want to hire us or sell our products in their stores, we shouldn’t spend our money there. Lots of folk around here call Mrs. Malloy and Mrs. Peck Detroit royalty.

  I see what they mean. Mrs. Malloy’s fingernails are always polished so perfectly, like the shiny pearls she wears around her neck. And her shoes! Mrs. Malloy’s husband owns a shoe repair store, so her shiny patent leathers always look brand-new. Each Sunday she wears a different hat, sometimes one with netted lace hanging over her eyes, sometimes one with a big, wide brim. Her suits always match her hats. Plus, she smells really nice, like flowers. She is tall and slender, with just a few wrinkles in her face and not one in her clothes.

  Mrs. Malloy greets me the same way every Sunday: with the biggest smile that wakes up something deep inside me. “Good morning, Betty,” she says as she gives me a hug. “Baby, do you know how beautiful you are?”

  I smile and nod, thinking, Yes I do, because my Aunt Fannie Mae told me so. Hearing Mrs. Malloy say it, too, makes me believe it just a little more because she is not my aunt, or my grandma, or a family member at all, so she doesn’t have to say sweet things to me.

  Mrs. Malloy doesn’t have any children, but still, she knows how to love, how to look at you in a crowd like you’re the only person she sees.

  I take my piece of candy and walk over to my best friends, Suesetta and Phyllis, who are sitting in the sixth row, right side. We go to the same school, too, so we pretty much see each other every day except Saturday. I sit at the end of the pew, next to Suesetta, who is wearing a navy-blue skirt, a white starched shirt, saddle oxfords, and bobby socks. Her hair is pressed and curled real tight at the ends. Phyllis’s hair is pulled back into a ponytail. Phyllis is the wiry one. Her long, thin arms and legs don’t have much body to hold on to. She has light-brown skin, like Suesetta.

  Ollie Mae walks right over to us, says, “Betty Dean, I’ve got my eyes on you. You follow the rules in the Lord’s house. You hear me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say.

  Pastor Dames takes the podium. He’s only been the pastor for about a year. He came to lead our church after Pastor Peck died. It’s so different without Pastor Peck being here. I didn’t think anyone could ever replace him. It’s different not seeing him at the pulpit or after church greeting the visitors with Mrs. Peck, who still comes to church and sits in the same pew every Sunday. Somehow she is still able to smile and praise God even though her husband is gone.

  The service starts off with a prayer and the reading of scripture. Then comes my favorite part: the choir. They sound like heaven’s angels. I am nodding my head and tapping my feet to the rhythm and singing along. Suesetta turns to me, whispers, “You should join the youth choir, you have a nice voice.”

  “Thank you,” I say. I continue to sing, praising the Lord.

  I slide my hand in my purse and pull out the peppermint Mrs. Malloy gave me. I make sure no one is watching—especially Ollie Mae—then unwrap the candy and put it in my mouth fast, holding my hand up to my face and faking a cough.

  Suesetta pokes me in the side with her elbow. “I want one,” she whispers.

  “I don’t have any more.”

  “Well, let’s go to the candy store and get some,” Suesetta says.

  “Okay. I’ll ask Ollie Mae if I can walk with you after church.”

  One of the women in front of us turns around and gives us the eye that tells us to stop talking.

  We lower our whispers.

  “Not after church,” Phyllis says. “During offering time.”

  The woman turns around again, this time clearing her throat.

  I don’t respond. I just keep looking straight ahead at the choir, start clapping my hands. There’s no way I can skip out on church to get candy. The last time Suesetta and I followed along with one of Phyllis’s it-won’t-take-long adventures was when we stopped by the ice cream parlor after school instead of going straight home. I made it to my house just before Ollie Mae did, so she had no idea, but I could barely enjoy my ice cream because the whole time I was worrying about getting a whipping. My stomach twists like a licorice just thinking about it. Besides, I know Ollie Mae has her eyes on me. Today is not the day to go to the candy store.

  Once it’s offering time, the deacons stand at the front of the church asking the congregation to rise and follow the ushers from the rear.

  Phyllis whispers, “Keep some of your money for the candy store.” Then she says, “Walk out of the sanctuary like you’re going downstairs to the restroom.”

  When she says this, I feel like that’s a much better plan than just leaving. If Ollie Mae sees us walk out of the sanctuary, she’ll think we went downstairs to the restroom or maybe to get a drink from the water fountain. We walk a long circle around the sanctuary and when I get to the front, I place one nickel in the basket instead of two. I walk past Deacon Malloy, who is holding the basket, and I smile.

  Suesetta and Phyllis are right behind me and I can hear Phyllis saying, “Just keep walking … Keep … walking.”

  I know what I’m about to do is wrong. But sometimes I get tired of being the one who always listens and follows all the rules, the one who watches over Shirley, Jimmie, and Juanita.

  I try to look normal, like the words coming out of Phyllis’s mouth are just the lyrics to the song the congregation is singing.

  Love lifted me, love lifted me. When nothing else could help, love lifted me.

  With my nickel in my hand, I walk right past the pew where we were sitting and keep going, right out the door, down the block, around the corner to the candy store.

  Suesetta and Phyllis follow me.

  My heart is jumping and flipping and my hands are trembling. I don’t settle down until I know for sure that no one is following us. “I can’t believe we just … left,” I say.

  Suesetta looks at Phyllis. “How are we going to get back in without anyone seeing us?”

  Phyllis laughs. “Do you know how long Deacon Malloy prays? If we hurry and choose what we want, we’ll be back before anyone notices.”

  Suesetta looks leery of Phyllis’s confidence, but we walk into the candy shop and start picking our candy. The man behind the register looks us over. He is dressed in black slacks, a white shirt, and a red bow tie. “Mighty dressed up just to come to a candy store, young ladies,” he says. He gives us a disappointed look like adults do so well when you are not doing what they think you should be doing. I look away.

  I get to thinking that maybe this was a bad idea, but it’s too late. We’re here, so I might as well get something, and quick. On the front counter there are two oversized jars full of gumballs, jawbreakers, and malted milk balls. The jars are sitting on top of a glass case displaying small pastries. I want a little bit of everything but I know that’s impossible, so I rush past the jars and go to the aisles that have small boxes of candy.

  Phyllis is there already, choosing what she wants. She picks up three pieces of bubble gum and one small box of Dots.

  “You can’t get those,” I tell her. “Not if you’re going to eat them in church.”

  “Why not?” she asks.

  “We have to get something we can hide in our mouths. Not something we have to chew. Everybody will see us chewing b
ubble gum.”

  Phyllis says, “Good point.” She grabs a pack of sour suckers. “We can share these.”

  I pick up three candy drops. “And these, too. But after church so it won’t matter if our tongues change colors.”

  Suesetta gets three Sugar Daddies. “For after church,” she says.

  I pay five cents for my candy, Suesetta and Phyllis pay for theirs, and we leave.

  On the way back to church, Phyllis hands out equal amounts of sour suckers to each of us. The rest of the candy is in my pocketbook.

  We stop in the foyer and, instead of entering the sanctuary, we go straight downstairs to the basement and take our turns coming out of the bathroom just in case someone asks where we were. Now, we won’t be fibbing if we say the bathroom. We sneak back into the sanctuary like we never really left. Step right back into our row, candy in our cheeks, just as Pastor Dames begins his sermon.

  He asks the church to stand for the reading of scripture and says, “Turn your Bible to Galatians 6:7.” We flip the pages and follow along as Pastor Dames reads out loud. “Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.” Pastor Dames closes his Bible. “Church,” he says, “when you sow injustice, you reap calamity. When you sow hatred and selfishness, racism and fear, you reap destruction and chaos!”

  The church mothers nod, fanning themselves with the church bulletin. A few people stand, clapping and saying, “Yes, Lord. Yes!”

  Pastor Dames says, “Oh, my friends, the Lord will not allow this suffering to last forever. The Lord’s timing is not your timing. We must not be weary. For every tear you sow, you will reap joy. For every good deed you’ve done, kindness and provision and peace will be at your doorstep.”

  More people stand, more hands get to clapping.

  He pauses and speaks real slowly, “I have been young and now I am old. We have come a long way as a people.” He looks around the congregation as his voice gets loud. “As slaves, we cultivated this nation’s barren land and we turned it into a land of milk and honey so that every single American citizen now has the opportunity to call this great United States of America his home,” he preaches. “Our people did that. Your people did that, Church. The time for suffering will soon end.” The whole congregation is standing now, clapping and cheering. The pastor shouts, “The fight for freedom and equality for all of our children must continue until every single American is free. Until there is truth and justice for all of God’s children.”

  Pastor Dames is quiet for a moment, letting his words sink in, letting the amens and hallelujahs echo throughout the sanctuary. “Church, we must not fight hate with hate. We must continue to sow goodness, forgiveness, love. We serve a mighty God. And He will take care of us. He always does.” Pastor Dames wipes his brow with a white handkerchief. He takes a sip of water, then lowers his voice, talking solemn and low. “And this goes for our personal lives, too. Let us remember that God sees everything. He sees our heart, every good deed, and every sin. Every word of gossip, every lie. God sees and hears it all.”

  I swallow my candy, look down at the floor, my shoes, anything but Pastor Dames’s eyes. Did he see us leave church? Does he know I spent some of my offering money on candy?

  Pastor Dames ends his sermon with a prayer, asking God to give us all the strength to continue to do good even in the face of pain and injustice. And then, he says, “And Father, forgive us for the times when we fall short and don’t do what we should.”

  “Amen!” I say. Real loud.

  Three

  After church Suesetta says, “Phyllis is coming over to my house. We’re going to listen to her Billy Eckstine record and bake cookies. You want to come?”

  “I’ll be right back,” I tell them, and run to find Ollie Mae to ask permission.

  Ollie Mae says, “Do you think you deserve to go, Betty Dean?”

  My heart tumbles to the pit of my stomach. Does she know I left church to get candy?

  I stand there thinking about what I should say. I do not want to fib, especially in church. Especially because the last time I told a really, really tiny lie about eating all of my vegetables when really I gave them to Jimmie, Ollie Mae gave me a whipping. So I don’t fib right here, right now in church. Because I don’t know what Ollie Mae or the Lord might do. And I don’t want her or the Lord upset with me. I think about what Pastor Dames said about reaping what we sow and so I pray one more time inside my head, asking God, Please don’t punish me for misbehaving.

  Ollie Mae sighs and says, “Well, answer me for God’s sake. Do you think you deserve to go?”

  I don’t say anything. I just keep praying.

  Ollie Mae steps to me and grabs my wrist, real tight.

  She bends down low enough to whisper in my ear. “I let you sit with those girls today, Betty Dean, and you disobeyed me.”

  Mrs. Malloy sees us. She walks over, slow and calm, and stands close enough so Ollie Mae can see her but not so close that she’s in our space.

  Ollie Mae squeezes my wrist tighter. Her whisper is not light or sweet like the kind of whisper that tickles your ear. Hers is bitter and stinging. “I brought you into this world, Betty Dean, and I can take you out. You hear me?”

  “Yes, Ollie Mae. Yes, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Malloy steps closer. “Everything okay?” she asks. But something in her voice tells me she knows nothing is okay.

  Ollie Mae lets go of my wrist. “Everything’s fine,” she says.

  “I’m taking Phyllis to Suesetta’s house. Is Betty coming?” Mrs. Malloy asks. Suesetta lives next door to Mrs. Malloy, so she gets a ride to church every Sunday. Mrs. Malloy steps a little closer to Ollie Mae and says, “Betty really ought to spend some time with girls her own age, don’t you think?” It doesn’t sound like a question. “I’ll have her back right after supper. I know tonight is a school night.” Mrs. Malloy hardly gives Ollie Mae a chance to answer.

  Ollie Mae looks at me, giving me another warning with her eyes. “You can go. I’ll wait up for you,” she says.

  Suesetta, Phyllis, and I follow Mrs. Malloy to her car. We sit in the back seat and wait for the Malloys to get in. Mr. Malloy is talking with Deacon Boyd, Phyllis’s dad, about everything and nothing—from the weather to sports to today’s sermon. Mrs. Malloy is talking with Mrs. Boyd, and it seems like they might go on talking forever.

  Deacon Boyd looks at Mr. Malloy’s car and says, “I’m going to get me one of these automobiles now that General Motors is making Fords again.”

  “Yes sir, it will be good to get the factories back to making cars, instead of a car factory being used to aid the war. How many wars do we need anyway?”

  Then Mrs. Malloy says to her husband, “Dear, we should get going,” and the four of them say goodbye.

  On our way to Suesetta’s house, all I can think about is the candy that’s in my purse and the whipping I’ll get when I go home. I think about all the other ways Ollie Mae could punish me—no playing outside, extra chores, or a discussion about how what I did was wrong.

  I think about all the things she’ll say as she’s whipping me, how she’ll make me feel guilty, telling me, After all I do for you, and You ought to be ashamed of yourself, and If you’re going to live in my house, you are going to live by my rules.

  And then I think, What if I stop living there?

  Maybe I can stay with Suesetta.

  Maybe Phyllis.

  Maybe I can go back to Pinehurst. Maybe a friend of my Aunt Fannie Mae will remember me. Maybe a long-lost relative will be found and want to take me in.

  Suesetta takes me away from my thoughts. “Mrs. Malloy, Betty’s going to join the youth choir. Did you know she can sing?”

  “Well, no, I didn’t,” Mrs. Malloy says. “I bet there’s all kinds of hidden talent in Betty that I don’t know about.” She smiles at me and I try to smile back, but my stomach is in knots thinking about Ollie Mae.

  I start feeling better once we’re at Suesetta’s house. Her
living room is huge, decorated with white-and-gold velvet drapes, blue-and-gold sofas, and thick royal-blue rugs that are under our feet. Chandeliers glisten above us. Every time I come over to Suesetta’s I think about how much bigger her room is than mine and how it is all hers. She has a pink quilt covering her bed, with pink pillows. Across from the bed is a big wooden dresser with a matching mirror. She has lots of framed photos and colorful keepsakes. There’s a photograph of her as a baby in her mother’s lap. She is caught in a laugh and seems so happy.

  I look away.

  Besides her bed and a chair at her desk, there’s a small sofa big enough to fit two people on it. I sit on the sofa, Phyllis sits on the chair at the desk.

  There are suitcases leaning against the wall. Phyllis hands the record to Suesetta and asks, “Whose suitcases are those?”

  Suesetta plays the record and Billy Eckstine croons his blues away. “My Uncle Clyde and Auntie Nina are staying with us for a while. My cousins Kay, Bernice, and their baby brother, Allen, too.”

  “They’re all living here?” I ask. “But I thought they lived in Black Bottom.” I remember meeting Uncle Clyde, Aunt Nina, and their children when they first moved to Detroit from Alabama, but I don’t see them much. Uncle Clyde came to work at one of the Ford car factories, on the assembly line where they made parts for the machines the army used in the war.

  Suesetta tells us, “My mom said now that all the soldiers are coming home from the war, they will need their jobs back and the factories will start making cars again, so Uncle Clyde got let go. My mom said they’ll be with us for just a little while. Until they get back on their feet.”

  “Where does everyone sleep?” Phyllis asks.

  “Kay—the one who’s sixteen—she sleeps in here with me. Bernice is seven and she sleeps in the basement with Uncle Clyde and Auntie Nina. The baby is only a few months old, so he sleeps with them, too.”