by K. T. Richey
“You watch. Tonight at the concert, he’s going to pull me out the crowd and he’s gonna sing a slow, sweet tune in my ear. . . .” The stylist wrapped her arms around her body and pretended to slow dance. Then she screamed and threw her hands in the air, sending the comb she was holding flying across the room. “I got my tickets early. I’m in the third row.”
Misha couldn’t help but laugh at her antics too. The woman was so animated. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself. That man’s a preacher. Besides, he don’t want no black girl anyway.”
The conversation went to whether he was white or black or both. They debated about his hair being natural or processed. They debated about everything they could think of about him. Then they began loudly discussing whether gospel artists were taking Jesus out of their music and trying to sound and look like hip-hop artists. Throughout the intense conversation, Misha kept wondering how she knew him. She had been down that road before and did not want to return.
Finally, after several hours, her hair was finished and she drove back to her apartment. She looked at the clock. She looked around her empty apartment and decided to go to the concert to avoid sitting alone one more night. Besides, the tickets were free and she might enjoy herself.
She tried on clothes to see which outfit she was going to wear. Soon realizing many of her clothes were fitting snugly around her waist, she sat on the bed, wondering if she should try to put on maternity clothes. She looked in the basket of clothing Judy had given her. She found a simple black skirt with the elastic panel on the front. She had her own fuchsia-colored tunic blouse that still fit her. It would go well with the skirt and would cover the front panel.
After dressing, she looked in the mirror. She did not look pregnant. That was good in case she ran into someone she knew. She did not want to explain anything to anyone who did not know her situation. Looking at her toes, admiring the free pedicure the salon gave her while she sat under the dryer, she chose a pair of black strappy heels to wear.
Misha left her apartment and drove to downtown Atlanta. As she got close to the theatre, hoards of people jumped out in front of her, trying to cross the street. She drove slowly until she found a parking space and followed the large crowd to the Fox Theatre.
There was a long line outside the box office. A large sign read SOLD OUT. A lady at the front held up the ticket line, trying to convince someone inside to sell her a ticket. Misha looked in her purse and pulled out the two tickets. She walked up to the lady and gave her the extra ticket she had. The woman looked at the ticket and started jumping up and down.
“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. A front-row seat? You got to be kidding. How much are you selling it for?” the woman screamed.
“You can have it. Be blessed.” Misha walked away. She looked at her ticket. She didn’t realize Judy had front-row seats. She hated sitting in the front row at concerts. The speakers were always too loud. If she had known, she would have worn pants instead of a skirt. She didn’t want Bernard Taylor to get a free show too. She stood back from the crowd and wrestled with going in the building or going back home. Since she was already there, she decided to stay, and if the music became unbearable, she would leave. She walked into the building and an usher escorted her to her seat that was in the center of the front row.
Misha looked around the beautifully decorated auditorium. People came in, filling the balcony and box seats. The lady she gave the ticket to came and sat down beside her.
“Hi, I’m Tequala. Thank you again for the ticket. All three of his shows are sold out.” She reached out her hand to shake Misha’s.
“Three shows? This guy is that popular? I never heard of him until a friend of mine gave me the tickets.”
The lady’s mouth flew open. “You never heard of Bernard Taylor? He’s one of the biggest gospel singers in the country.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, you’ll like him. I have all his CDs.”
The lights dimmed and the audience became silent. The opening act was a local group that sounded good to Misha, but the music was too loud and Tequala talked the entire time. After they finished, someone started to clap. It wasn’t a demanding, get-the-show-started clap, it was a church clap. It seemed to Misha like everyone joined in. Then all of a sudden three women and a man came out on the stage, clapping their hands and dancing around the stage. Then a tall, light-skinned man walked out and the crowd leaped to their feet. Misha looked around and joined them. The energy was high and Misha was enjoying herself.
She recognized Bernard Taylor from the video she saw earlier at the salon. She watched him as he danced around the stage with the others. Then the women and the man walked over to some microphones that were set up at the side of the stage and began singing. Misha looked over at Tequala and she was singing along with them, her head steadily bouncing. Everybody knows this song but me. Misha stood with the crowd listening to him sing the first song. After he finished he asked the audience to sit down.
Bernard Taylor worked the crowd like the professional entertainer he was. He had everyone laughing and dancing. Everybody was so into the concert. Misha sat, staring at him. I know I know this guy. How? Finally, he said he was tired and someone brought him a tall stool and he sat down on it. The backup singers did the same thing.
Bernard Taylor talked about the goodness of God and how God has the ability to heal. He stopped briefly and stared directly at Misha. She stared right into his big brown eyes. For a brief moment, she could feel his pain. She could see his sorrow. She placed her hand on her heart. Her heart went out to him. She lowered her head and began to pray for him. Did anyone else notice he was trying to encourage himself?
As he continued singing a slow worship song Misha somehow knew he was in a personal battle. She could sense he was struggling with being accepted by the audience. She could almost hear his heart cry out, “Is there anyone here who truly loves me, not my music, not my money, but me?” Misha lowered her head again and continued praying.
When she raised her head, she noticed he was no longer singing and had walked over to the backup singers. One of them was singing a brief solo. While she was singing, he was whispering in the ear of one of the other ladies. They then looked in Misha’s direction.
He returned to the front of the stage after each singer had their solo. “I have an announcement,” he said. “This is my last tour. I started a church back home in DC, where I will serve as pastor. Touring takes a lot of time. I now have to give that time to my members.”
The audience gasped.
“I will continue to write and record music,” he continued. “From time to time, I will accept a concert. But, I will no longer do full tours.”
During the rest of his concert, he continued to stare in Misha’s direction. When their eyes met, he would turn and walk to the opposite side of the stage. Misha stared at him too, wondering if he went to Howard.
After the concert, Tequala thanked her again for the ticket and disappeared into the crowd. Misha stood in front of her seat, waiting for the crowd to move out of the auditorium before she headed for the door. When it looked like the mass of people had exited the hall, Misha picked her sweater up off the seat and turned to walk away, when she noticed Bernard Taylor staring at her from behind a stage curtain. What’s up with this guy? She waved to him and walked up the aisle toward the door.
Outside in the lobby, she noticed the vendors were selling concert T-shirts, hats, and booklets. She walked up to the table and noticed the rows of CDs on the table. She asked for the latest one and purchased it. She left the auditorium happy she went to the concert but wondering what was wrong with Bernard Taylor. She vowed to keep him covered in prayer. He needed someone who didn’t want anything from him to pray for him. That someone would be her.
Chapter 26
Misha lay on the exam table, listening to the swooshing sound of her baby’s heartbeat. She focused her attention on the ultrasound picture, trying not to feel the coldness of the gel the doctor applied to her st
omach.
“Can you tell if it’s a boy or girl?” she asked.
“Not today. You’re only sixteen weeks. Maybe the next time. But it looks like everything is progressing well.” Dr. Trinidad took a tissue and wiped the gel off Misha’s stomach. She reached behind Misha’s back and helped her sit up. “We’ll see you back in a couple of weeks to see how everything’s going. If you have any problems before your next appointment, call my office immediately.” She tore off the picture of the baby from the ultrasound machine and handed it to Misha. “Here’s the picture of your ultrasound. How’s that nausea doing?”
“It’s much better. I barely have morning sickness now.” Misha looked at the picture she held in her hand. She tried turning it around so she could get a better look, trying to see what the doctor saw.
After receiving her next appointment Misha left the office to face the August Georgia sun. She thought she was used to the Southern sun. But today it seemed hotter, hell hot. Misha walked to her car as fast as she could. She wanted to feel the breeze of the air conditioner. She started her engine and sat back and relaxed to the coolness of the air flowing in the car. She wiped the sweat from her brow and sighed. Her family had decided to have dinner at her grandmother’s house. She was not looking forward to it. Her mother would be there. She did not want to face her mother’s scorn, especially on a hot day like today.
Since she decided to keep the baby her mother had not had a good thing to say about it. Misha tried to avoid talking to her as much as she could. In the past few weeks, she had decided she was going to do things that made her happy and one of those things was to avoid her mother at all costs. However, today, she was unavoidable.
On her drive, Misha thought about how much she had grown with all the turmoil that had gone on in her life in the past year. Now, things were beginning to look up for her. She was studying for her exams in her classes at Clark Atlanta. She was pleased her professors had given her an incomplete due to the attack and not a failing grade. She planned to take her exams and a couple of classes until she delivered her baby. She had joined an exercise class for pregnant women that Dr. Trinidad referred her to. She was also in a support group at the rape crisis center. She became more involved with the singles group at her church, even though her pastor told her she could not preach at his church. She did not question it. It was probably some of Bishop Moore’s doing.
She did not want anything negative in her life. She wanted a happy baby. She sang the alphabet song aloud in her car until she pulled into the driveway at her grandmother’s home. Other family members were already there. She sat in the car and directed the flow of the air conditioner to her face. After sitting for a brief moment, she walked into the house.
Loud chatter filled the house as the family gathered to celebrate her grandmother’s birthday. Her mother was fussing at everyone as usual. Misha tried to avoid her by talking to her aunt and uncle and her cousins. Children ran in and out of the house. Her mother screamed at them, telling them to stay outside. Misha sat next to her grandmother.
“Grandma, I am almost done with my quilt. I think I’ll bring it over here next week and you can show me how to finish it up.”
“That will be okay. Call first. I’m going on a trip with the group from the senior center next week. We going up to Chattanooga to the museums and shopping. Staying overnight. But, I’ll help you.”
Her mother stopped what she was doing and faced her with her hands on her hips. Misha looked at her and for the first time she realized her mother looked like a younger, fatter version of her grandmother. “Mama, I told you I could not go on that trip,” she yelled.
“I know. That’s why Mattie going with me.” Her mother huffed and left the room again.
Aunt Mattie hugged Misha. “Look at you. You’re getting out there.”
“I just left the doctor’s office. She said everything is fine. Look, I have the ultrasound.” She handed the picture to her aunt and everybody, except her mother, stopped working and passed the picture around the room. Finally, Misha was able to get the picture and place it in her purse. “What y’all want me to do?”
“Sit down. You can’t do any heavy lifting in your condition,” Aunt Mattie said.
“Aunt Mattie, I can do something.”
“Go in the bedroom and get that fan in the closet and bring it in here. All these people are overworking the air conditioning and we need to get the air circulating,” Misha’s mother demanded.
Misha walked into her grandmother’s bedroom. She looked around. It looked so small. When she was a child, the bedroom and the whole house looked huge. She thought her grandmother lived in the biggest house in the world. But that day, it seemed so small and cramped. Her grandmother’s handmade curtains still covered the tiny window that looked out into the backyard. She caressed the antique dresser and mirror her grandparents had since they had gotten married. She walked over to the bed and followed the seams of the handmade quilt that covered the bed. She took a long, deep breath and let it out to relax the memories that engulfed the room.
She opened the closet and pulled out one of her grandmother’s house dresses she wore every day. Misha hugged and smelled it, trying to take in a hint of her grandmother’s scent. It still smelled like her. She became overwhelmed with emotion. She looked on the shelf and spotted her grandmother’s hats. She picked up one of her hats and walked to the mirror and tried it on. The hat was so small it did not fit her head. Misha stood, looking in the mirror, trying to see her grandmother instead of her reflection. She could feel herself about to cry. She was so emotional lately. A happy mother equals a happy child. She took the hat off and placed it on the bed.
“We don’t have time for you to play dress up.” Her mother was standing in the doorway, looking at her try on the hat.
“I only tried it on. I’m just getting the fan.” Misha flipped around and headed for the closet where the fan sat.
“That don’t look like a fan to me. Step aside. I’ll get it. You don’t need to be lifting anything. You might hurt the baby.” Her mother reached on to the shelf and pulled down the small desk fan and left the room.
What just happened? Her mother helped her? Misha could not believe it. And, she mentioned the baby. She usually didn’t have anything good to say.
Ask her if she wants to see the picture.
Misha followed her mother out of the room. “Mama, I had an ultrasound today. Do you want to see the picture?” Misha did not wait for her to answer. She handed her the picture. Her mother stared at the picture. Then, she turned it in different directions. Misha started to laugh. “That’s the same thing I did when Dr. Trinidad gave me the picture.”
Her mother handed the picture back to her. “Here. We’re wasting time. Food should be ready in a minute.”
Misha’s cell phone rang. She looked at the caller ID. It was Eric, her attorney. “Hi, Eric. Give me the good news.” She closed the door to her grandmother’s room and sat on the bed.
“I wish I had some for you. The State is refusing to pay for your prenatal care. Their attorney says they can’t determine if the baby belonged to Heckler. But that’s okay. It’s just legal maneuvers. When the baby’s born, we can do a DNA test. Are you absolutely positive your baby is Heckler’s?”
“I told you I had not had sex in years before the rape. I have not had sex since. He’s the only one who can be the father.” Misha’s hand trembled. She needed the State to pay her medical expenses. Trying to pay her health insurance on the workers’ comp check was taking a toll on her finances.
“Calm down. I’m on your side. I have to ask you these things. One more thing. We scheduled a deposition for you, Amber, and several students who were in your class the day of the attack. Your deposition will be next week.”
“Deposition? What’s that?”
“It’s nothing you need to be worried about. The attorneys for the State want to ask you some questions about what happened that day. They want to know why you were in the field
house the day of the attack. I’ll be there with you. I’ll probably ask you a few questions to clarify your answers to them. It’s routine in most comp cases. You’ll be fine.”
“If you say so.”
Eric gave Misha the time and date of the deposition and ended their conversation, trying to assure her everything would work out. He told her he thought she could possibly get $1 million from the consulting firm for the assault and the baby. Somehow, this information did not make her happy. She sat on the edge of the bed and began to pray God move the State attorneys to allow her to get assistance with medical care and pay for her insurance premiums, at least until the baby was born.
“We don’t have time for you to sit around daydreaming.”
Misha looked up. Her mother was standing in front of her. “I wasn’t daydreaming. I just finished talking to my attorney.”
“What did he say?” Her mother eased closer to her.
“Looks like I’m going to get a lot of money to take care of Miracle.” Misha stood, her head hung low.
“How much money?”
“He doesn’t know yet. I’ve got to do a deposition first. He thinks I could probably get a million dollars.”
“A million dollars? What?” Her mother wrapped her arms tightly around Misha, startling her. “Y’all, Misha’s attorney said she’s going to get a million dollars for the baby.” People ran into the room, excited and congratulating her.
“Wait a minute, everybody. It’s not a done deal yet. We have a long way to go first and the State can decide not to settle.”
“Oh they can’t deny my grandbaby the money she deserves.”
Your grandbaby? Who is this woman? Misha looked at her mother hugging Uncle Paul. She almost laughed out loud. She knew her mother was only thinking about herself. “Everybody calm down. We still have a long way to go. They need a DNA test to be sure it’s Heckler’s. So I won’t know anything until after the baby’s born.”
“Well, they’re going to give my granddaughter everything she deserves. I’ll see to it.” Her mother swung the towel she held in her hand over her shoulder.