by E. N. Joy
She couldn’t explain her feelings. She hadn’t thought twice about Drake since last seeing him, and now, for some reason, she couldn’t get him off of her mind—literally. The guilty pleasure of being pleased by her husband while she fantasized about another man had been swept under the rug as Hannah’s body burst with ecstasy. She momentarily tried to fight it, but it was too late. Her mind and body had already been taken over by the desires of her flesh. The challenge would be trying to get it back.
Chapter 21
“And she’s white? She’s not only married, but she’s white too?” Dawson shouted through the phone receiver into Drake’s ringing ear. “Brother, you might as well turn in your Bible and cross, ’cause you fo’ sho’ going to hell. ’Cause I’ma knock you into the middle of it when I see you for dating a white woman. Forget about losing your Christianhood or Christianship or whatever it’s called. The Muslims won’t even let you in now.”
Drake couldn’t help but chuckle at his brother’s somewhat comical outburst. “Oh, so now you could care less if she’s married. It’s her skin color that bothers you?”
“Now you know I ain’t got nothing against white people, but with all these fine sisters out here . . . Negro, please!”
“But God sees us all as his children and He loves us all the same, no matter what our skin color is. You love who you love, and one of the commandments is to love everybody.”
“Yeah, but you don’t have to go cohabitating with everybody. Look, none of that matters anyway,” Dawson exaggerated, shooing his hand at the phone receiver as if his brother could see him. “The original purpose for my call was just to let you know that I’m sorry about how I acted the other day, you know, trying to put down your Christianity. But sometimes people feel like in order to lift themselves up, they have to put other people down. I guess that day was one of those times for me.”
Drake smiled as his heart warmed to his brother’s words. “Dude, I appreciate hearing that from you. It takes a real man to admit that sort of thing.”
“No, problem, bruh. Now back to the married white chick.” Dawson couldn’t wait to hear more. Sometimes men were just as bad, if not worse, than women when it came to gossip. “You ain’t gon’ have her chained up and stuff like Samuel L. Jackson had that white woman in that one movie, are you?” Dawson burst out laughing.
“Man, you stupid.” Drake chuckled. “Look, me and the white chick . . .” Drake cleared his throat and corrected himself. “I mean me and Mrs. Wells have nothing but a business relationship. Believe me, I prayed on that. Had I not prayed myself up, I probably would have turned her business away.”
“Why?”
“Temptation. I put myself to be all up in temptation’s face. I should have just referred her to someone else. I mean, I have dozens of people working under me. I could have easily assigned her to someone else.”
“But you didn’t, which means only one thing.”
“What?”
“That you’re a Christian, but news flash, you’re a man first.”
After hanging up the phone with his brother, Drake was in desperate need of prayer. He went into the private bathroom of his office, which also served as his makeshift prayer closet.
Hannah hadn’t left his mind since the day she entered it. He felt crazy thinking about someone who hadn’t even given him a second thought. It was like he was creating this fantasy in his mind—a fantasy that had no possibilities of becoming a reality. Or did it?
Chapter 22
“Here we were, sitting here talking about all the work I have to do today at the salon with the upcoming audit, and next thing I know, you talking about God,” Locksie said, crossing her arms. “How is it you always manage to bring God into everything?”
Mary touched her niece on the chin with her index finger. “Honey, hopefully, before the day I die, you will know the answer to that question for yourself.”
“Yeah, yeah, yada, yada,” Locksie said, rising up from the table and dumping the remainder of her coffee in the sink.
“Anyway, Locksie, I really would like you to come to Friends and Family Day at church this Sunday. I promise you will be blessed.” Mary followed suit and dumped the last of her coffee after taking a sip.
“I’m going to try to make it,” Locksie said as if the first thing on her to-do list was to come up with an excuse for not going.
“Promise you’ll really come this time, Locksie,” Mary said with such sincerity. “It’s really kind of important to me that you come.”
“I better go to the bathroom real quick.” Locksie was bound and determined not to give her aunt a “yes.” Her mother had always taught her growing up that “yes” was a commitment. One could change her mind and turn a “no” into a “yes,” but to change a “yes” into a “no” gave the person’s word very little value.
Locksie rushed off to the bathroom and feigned using it. She and Mary then exited out the door. After locking up behind them, Mary said, “So, Friends and Family Day this Sunday at my church; you’ll be there?”
Locksie sighed. “Sure, Aunt Mary, I’ll be there.” She trotted down the sidewalk to her car in pure defeat. “You’d make a good Jehovah’s Witness, you know that?” Locksie commented as she got into her car.
“Honey, anybody who done witnessed what our God can do is a Jehovah’s Witness.” Mary winked as she got into her car. She rolled down her window and stuck her hand out and waved before pulling out of the driveway and heading down the street.
Locksie just shook her head. She watched Mary’s Mustang speed off until the license plate that read GODS FA4 was no longer visible.
Locksie had cramps in her belly as she slipped into her red dress, which was the fourth outfit she had tried on already that morning. The nervous butterflies in her belly just wouldn’t seem to let up as she mentally prepared herself for church. She hadn’t been to church since God knows when, and wasn’t too much looking forward to going today. But there was no telling what her aunt Mary would slip into her coffee Monday morning if she didn’t show up.
Locksie had tried her best to talk Dawson into attending with her, but his firm “no” offered no hope for being changed to a “yes.” The only time Dawson had been to church was to attend a funeral or a wedding. He hadn’t grown up in the church, and neither side of his family were practicing Christians. Of course, almost every one of them had a Bible laying out somewhere in their house for show, as if its mere existence was enough to get them into heaven.
While Dawson simply didn’t want to go because church wasn’t his thing, churches had always been scary to Locksie, ever since she was little and her mother would tow her to every big church in the city of Detroit. If one church did something her mother didn’t approve of, they’d move on to the next church. And if that pastor didn’t preach about what Locksie’s mother wanted to hear, then they’d move on again. Just when Locksie would make a friend or two in Sunday school, she’d never see them again. It was like changing schools in the middle of the school year—twice. Eventually, Locksie realized that making friends at church wasn’t in her best interest. That feeling transferred over to making friends at school as well, so Locksie had always pretty much been a loner. Her relationship with Hannah was the closest thing she had to a friendship.
Locksie walked over to the dresser mirror and took a look at herself. She gazed into the eyes of what seemed like that same little girl with her hair braided up into one big pigtail at the top of her head. It was that same little girl who wondered if they were going to the old church at which her mother had last made her way down to the altar and joined, or the new church where, on any given Sunday, her mother would join as well.
She smiled in the mirror at the thought of how she used to use the back wall of her closet, behind all her pretty little Sunday dresses, to mark with a crayon the number of churches her mother had joined. Her intention was to write to the Guinness Book of World Records some day and submit her mother’s name as the person who belonged to the m
ost churches.
Locksie patted her hands down the dress as she turned from left to right and then to the back, looking over her shoulder to make sure she looked respectable and presentable.
“Yeah, I think this one will do.” She sighed, relieved that she had finally found something suitable to wear to church. After all, no matter how saved and holy those church women claimed to be, Locksie felt that they would be the first to judge a sistah.
“Ooooh-wee,” Dawson said as he entered the bedroom. “Sexy mama! Lady in red, a brotha can’t wait to get you in bed.”
“Oh, great,” Locksie said, throwing her arms up and sucking her teeth as she headed back to the closet to try on a fifth outfit.
“What? What did I say?” Dawson asked, confused. “I can’t compliment my woman?”
“No, baby, it’s not that,” Locksie said as she shuffled through the closet. “It’s just that I’m going to church. I don’t want to walk up in there looking sexy, having them women think that their husbands are thinking what you just said—that they want to take me to bed.”
“Oh, God, Locksie, it ain’t that serious.” Dawson threw himself on the bed and folded his arms.
“Don’t be using God’s name like that.”
“Like what?” Dawson raised his voice an octave and said with furrowed eyebrows. “Jesus.” He flopped his head back down.
“Dawson, stop it,” Locksie snapped.
“Dang, if going to church makes you all funny-acting like that, I sure hope your aunt Mary don’t ever invite you again.” Dawson got up out of the bed and headed for the bathroom.
His Sunday morning had been going just fine. He had gotten up and worked out fifteen minutes longer than he normally did, working off some of his pent-up sexual frustration, and he was feeling good. He didn’t want to change his mood by hanging around for a brewing argument with his girlfriend. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Look, Dawson, I’m sorry,” Locksie said as she came out of the closet with a black pantsuit draped across her arm. “It’s just that I haven’t been to church since I was a little girl and I’m nervous. I’m scared. I don’t know what to expect.”
“Then don’t go.” Dawson made the most obvious suggestion. “Why would you want to go be with people you have to be nervous or afraid around? If that’s what being a Christian is about, then they can keep that mess.” Dawson went to close the bathroom door.
“Wait!” Locksie stopped him. She took a deep breath before making a suggestion. “You see what a nervous wreck I am, baby. Will you please just go with me?” She folded her hands and made a puppy-dog face.
“Naw, I’m straight,” Dawson said then closed the door behind him, leaving Locksie standing there nervous, afraid . . . and alone.
Locksie sat in the church parking lot for about five minutes, waiting on her aunt Mary to pull up before she realized that Mary’s car was already there. Good thing, too, because Locksie had no intention of going into that church not knowing a single person. She was hoping to beat her aunt Mary there so that when she did pull up, Locksie would already be there and they could go inside together. Now she’d have to go inside alone, looking around for her aunt, making it even more obvious that she was a lost outsider.
After taking a deep breath, Locksie looked up and said, “Lord, please let this church thing go smoothly.” She opened the car door and stuck one leg out before looking back up to say, “Oh, by the way—my name is Locksie.” It had been so long since she had last been to God’s house that she didn’t know if He still remembered her.
That might not have been the best introduction in the world, but right now the last thing she wanted to do was walk into church late. So, she’d have to properly introduce herself to God later.
As Locksie made her way to the church door, she looked down at the royal blue top she had chosen to wear underneath the black pantsuit. Used to wearing the top three buttons undone on her blouses, she quickly buttoned it up all the way to the top. Before entering the church, Locksie pulled a tissue from her fall jacket pocket and blotted her lips.
“What was I thinking going with this apple berry lipstick?” Locksie mumbled to herself. She told herself that she shouldn’t have chosen a red, even if it was a soft red. She should have worn downtown brown. Just then, Locksie saw two people coming up the walkway and decided to keep stepping on into the church so that she could get out of the oncoming saints’ way.
Standing at the door was a young girl holding a stack of papers. Locksie smiled at the girl as she extended her hand to accept one of the programs the girl was offering. Locksie’s smile quickly faded once she realized that the girl wasn’t going to smile back.
She felt like such an idiot, realizing that church was supposed to be serious and here she was smiling all up in the girl’s face. Locksie swiftly straightened up and reminded herself not to smile, but instead to appear serious about the Lord.
Locksie looked around as she made her way down the center aisle. She wanted to sit down right there on the back pew, but then she remembered her aunt Mary saying something about how the folks who used to come to church regularly, then backslid only to start coming back to church again, always sit in the back, hiding from man or God. She didn’t know which. But Locksie didn’t want them to think she was one of those people. A backslider she wasn’t. Heck, she had yet to even slide forward. So, against her quivering legs’ wishes, Locksie walked closer to the front of the church.
She pretended like she knew exactly where she was going and exactly where she wanted to sit. She put on an air as if she had been there a thousand times. She tried hard not to let on that she was looking for someone. But little did Locksie know, it was obvious to some that she was, in fact, looking for someone . . . she was looking for Him; she was looking for God. And boy, had she come to the right place.
Five rows from the front and still no sight of her aunt Mary, Locksie decided to take a seat on the left side of the church. The decent-sized sanctuary had rows of long pews, fifteen on the left and fifteen on the right side. At the head of the church was a three-level setting that consisted of a carpeted stage at the first level, a platform with a shiny wooden podium as the second level, and behind that was a level that held a tier of four pews.
“Excuse me,” Locksie said to the people who were already seated in the pew where she was trying to sit. Although they had seen her coming and it was obvious she was attempting to join them on the pew, not one of them voluntarily bothered to stand and let her by until she had made her verbal request.
Guess that’s what they mean by lifting your voice in the sanctuary, Locksie thought. One woman even looked up at her and rolled her eyes.
Locksie sat down and took off her jacket just as a man walked on the stage with microphone in hand and said to the congregation, “Let’s begin to give Him some hand praise.” People stood and clapped their hands.
“Hallelujah,” a couple of people shouted.
“Thank You, Jesus,” the woman next to Locksie clapped.
Not wanting to stick out like a sore thumb, Locksie stood and began to clap. She felt silly because she had no idea why she was clapping.
“Come on and stand to your feet and give our God some praise,” the man shouted. A few of the people who were still seated stood to their feet and began to clap. “I don’t know about y’all, but I came here today to praise the Lord. I didn’t come here to sit on God. He’s done too much for me to come here today and sit on Him.”
Locksie looked around at the few people who were still seated in their pews. She knew the man with the microphone was referring to them. A couple more stood and began to clap. The few remaining seated were hellbent on staying that way because they had just been called out, put on Front Street by the man who was doing the exhortation.
The words “Humph, we’ll show him,” were written all over their faces, as well as “He ain’t gon’ tell us what to do up in here. I can praise God sitting the same way I can praise Him standing.”
“That’s right, Brother Wilkersen. You tell ’em,” someone called out.
“Praise Him!” Brother Wilkersen said with a little more bass in his voice, as if he was spiritually angry that not everyone could find it in their hearts to stand and praise God. “Give Him what you owe Him, church. Stand and praise Him!”
“Thank you, Jesus. You are an awesome God. We magnify you. We glorify you,” members began to shout.
“If it wasn’t for Him, I wouldn’t be here this morning. I wouldn’t even be awake this morning. Yeah, the alarm clock went off this morning, but that ain’t what woke me up, or should I say who woke me up,” Brother Wilkersen declared.
“Hallelujah! Thank You, Jesus!” members exclaimed.
Locksie smiled at the man’s clever words. For years she had given that annoying alarm clock credit for waking her up each morning. There stood a man before her telling her that it was God who had been waking her up.
“That’s right,” he stated. “Through His mercy and grace, He allows me to wake up each morning. Some of us know darn well from the things we did last night that we didn’t even deserve to be woke up this morning.”
“Amen!” one of the last few people who had been seated stood and shouted.
“Some of us were at the club drinking our brains out. Some of us were laid up with our boo, who we ain’t even married to. Some of us were laid up with our boo who someone else is married to,” the man said with a stomp. “I know I ain’t gon’ get too many hallelujahs or amens on that one.” Brother Wilkerson, along with a few members of the congregation, giggled. “But God said that He still loves you and that the blood of the lamb has already paid for your sins . . . Oh, but what good it would do God’s heart if you would just obey His Word. Won’t you stop taking for granted that Jesus died for your sins? Y’all know what I’m talking about. Some of y’all walk around talking about, ‘Since Jesus died for my sins, why should all His suffering be in vain? Let me get in a few good sins,’” he mocked.