Less Than Perfect Circumstance

by Kristofer Clarke

“Yeah.so what’s your tomorrow like?” Kelvin asked, changing the subject. I was relieved he had.

  “I’m heading back into the office. I have dinner with the Millingtons on Wednesday.”

  “They must really like you,” Kelvin complimented

  “It’s kind of hard not to,” I said, laughing. “Yeah, I’m going to eat my butt off.”

  “Baby, you’re greedy.”

  I didn’t agree, but didn’t respond.

  “I know you have a long day ahead so I’m not going to keep you any longer.”

  “You’re not keeping me,” Kelvin assured.“We haven’t talked this much in a long time.”

  And I wonder why, I thought. “You know what I meant.” The smile on my face had been missing for some time. “Get some rest. Let me know how the conference goes.”

  “You know I will. Have a good night, baby. Love you,” Kelvin said.

  “Love you back.”

  When I hung up, it was late and it didn’t even matter. I wasn’t sleepy. There was this feeling of content that I usually got after talking to Kelvin. I caught myself smiling, and I carried the smile from the living room to the bedroom, into the shower, and eventually to bed. I finished reading the sixth chapter of my book, which I probably have to reread. I kept replaying the conversation with Kelvin in my head. There was so much more I wanted to say, but I was satisfied.

  CHAPTER TEN

  HE’S BROUGHT ME THIS FAR

  Dexter

  The congregation at Mount St. Daniel Holy Redeemer Pentecostal Church seemed a little unusual on this first Sunday morning in September. It was a little more quiet than usual. The church was without Sister Bethany Gloria Robinson and her little baby, Keion, who was usually screaming at the top of his lungs long before Sister Abigail Montgomery would finish reading the Sunday announcements. Jonathon Rivers and his younger sister, Jasmine, who is usually pointing fingers, hiding her face and giggling about nothing, were not there. They must have had a few too many rum and coke at the bar last night and couldn’t wake up in time to hear whatever message Pastor Edna-Mai Rockwell-Carter had prepared.

  The Golden Agers Annual Worship Service was in full swing at Mount St. Daniel. It wasn’t the service I expected, or for which I had prepared myself. I had never made it to the early morning service, and this morning was no exception.

  At the direction of Sister Saretha Blanchard, The Volunteer Gospel Chorus came to its feet, opened hymnals, and began their first selection. Music rung out from the new grand piano and organ, both donated to the church by the late Pastor Nathaniel Rockwell. The choir, dressed in majestic purple robes with yellow pipingobviously purchased especially for the occasionopened their mouths. Music praising the Lord poured out from their old, God-loving faces. They sang, “Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine! Oh what a foretaste of glory divine! Heir of salvation, purchase of God; Borne of His spirit, washed in His blood.”

  I stood to join in the pattern clapping that seemed to have started from the row of wives in the front pew. Somewhere between “Perfect submission” and “Angels descending”, my mind slowly drifted from this uplifting hymn. I was suddenly overwhelmed with thoughts of Bryus and Trenton and their announced move to England. I was filled with envy, not the kind that stunk with rage and hatred, but one of love and hope of their success. It gave the rest of those hopefuls something to look forward to. I thought how two couples who met under the same circumstances could have two different outcomes. There’s just no figuring this stuff out.

  “Yes! Thank you Lord,” Deacon Lyle Turner shouted from the back where he stood earlier, with gloved hands, handing out pamphlets detailing the order of the service.

  “Praise God! The Lord has been good to me. Yes Lord!” Another shout came from the direction of the choir.

  Pastor Rockwell-Carter, draped like royalty, walked up to the podium with confidence. Her striking beauty demanded attention. Her powerful voice resonated, and the word of God became even more convincing.

  “Good morning, church,” she began.

  Rockwell-Carter is an on-the-edge pastor, usually stepping on toes when she preached; however, made no apologies or regrets at the end of her sermon. The Lord is only using her to deliver His message. She speaks as the Lord commands. That was her motto.

  “You know, church.”

  She removed the microphone from the podium and descended the pulpit into the congregation.

  “I woke up this morning, and I felt good. Do you hear me, church? I said, I woke up this morning and I felt good.”

  “Amen, Amen,” several members of the church responded.

  “Because the Lord,” she screamed, “I said the Lord gave me another day to praise him.”

  “Yes He did. Preach on Pastor,” Sister Grace Lewis shouted, wearing an oversized purple hat, and a white suite that flowed over matching purple shoes.

  “And remember, church. This day was not promised. So I hope each of you gave Him thanks this morning.”

  “Yes, we did,” the congregation assured.

  “Believe me when I tell you, many people… ” She paused. “You seem quiet this morning, church. I don’t think you want me to preach.”

  She turned, giving her back to the congregation. The church erupted in laughter.

  “I said many people, church, did not get to thank Him this morning.”

  After an electrifying sermon, most of which seemed too deep for the congregation to comprehend, Pastor Rockwell-Carter approached me with a look of concern I had never seen from anyone. What the hell did my mother say to this woman? I thought, trying to keep the perplexed look from appearing on my face. I knew how dramatic my mother can be when describing incidents to others. Sometimes I think she deserve Oscars. Before I could disconnect from my last thought, Pastor reached out her hands to me, then leaned over and kissed me gently on both cheek.

  “I’m happy to see that the good Lord brought you through your horrific experience,” Pastor said, staring into my eyes, waiting for me to respond.

  “Pastor Carter, this is my good friend, Jacqueline DeMai.”

  I met Jacqueline while at Mt. Saint Christian Hospital. She wasn’t too involved in church, but I had convinced her to come along with me.

  “That was a great sermon, Pastor Carter,” Jacqueline complimented.

  “I’m glad you were here to receive His word. I hope to see you next week.”

  “I’m sure you will, pastor,” Jacqueline said, with conviction, and looked at me, reading my thoughts, daring me to say something.

  “It is good to see you, Dexter.” She paused

  “That was a beautiful sermon...”

  I tried to avoid the obvious conversation I knew Pastor wanted to engage in. This was not the place to attempt to describe my latest mishap. I was certain she had already been given all the details. Any of the missing pieces were probably already filled in by hearsay. After all, this was churchwhat is it that they do not talk about. I wasn’t in the mood to confirm or deny any of what she heard.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THIS THING CALLED LOVE

  Trevor

  It’s 5 a.m., and while I should be asleep, like you and most of America, I can’t. I keep doing this to myself. I find myself anticipating your calls, and checking to see if you did call and I had missed it. While I occupied my time with friends, you assumed I was out doing other things. You know the latter is not true. I call to offer you an explanation but those calls went unanswered. Do I even owe you an explanation? We have both gotten so accustomed to saying “I love you” before going to bedat least I hadand I still expected that much from you. Maybe you feel those words are no longer needed.

  I paused.

  I held the pencil gently in my hand between tired fingers. I realized, as I lay in the dark unable to sleep, that what happened, what had happened so many times before, had become so normal for Kelvin. His phone calls were rare, and now, I might as well accept that all other methods of communication had become useless. There
was someone else in Kelvin’s life, occupying his time. I needed Kelvin to come clean. Regardless of what I knew, what I hoped wasn’t true, I still loved Kelvin.

  I found myself holding on to the little that was left between Kelvin and me, and the more I tried to hold on, the further I felt him pulling away. I didn’t like where things were going, but I felt it was inevitable.

  I had a vivid mind, and well, tonight it got the best of me. I felt tiredtired of hurtingand the more I thought, the more I realized that the hurt I felt was self-inflicted. I didn’t know what to do. We haven’t had the chance to sit and really talk about things, and there was so much left unsaid.

  Kelvin knew I loved him. I knew no matter how hard I tried, the feelings I had for him didn’t seem to be going anywhere. I wasn’t near Kelvin to show him just how much I still loved him, but I told him every chance I got. Maybe that was part of the problem. Could it be true? Had Kelvin found what he was looking for in someone else? What hurt the most was that I would have to face the fact that what I had known all along was true. Nothing was going to lessen the pain of Kelvin’s disclosure. If this was true, we needed closure. There was no way I could keep this up anymore.

  Sadness overtook me. I thought about what I would say if Kelvin were to admit to finding someone else to love. Though I had convinced myself I would wish them the best, tell Kelvin to always look his new man in the eyes and smile, so he knows that being with him made him happy, secretly I knew I would be wishing that the man Kelvin loved was still me.

  I wasn’t sure what kept me from sharing my thoughts with Kelvin. May it was fear, or love, or fear of not being in love that kept me silent. No matter how many times I had been hurtand Kelvin had done some things that have cut me very deepretaliating had never crossed my mind.

  I remembered one year I was looking forward to a Valentine’s Day I knew would be filled with things I wouldn’t soon forget. It was a cold January evening. February was approaching fast, and I still hadn’t finalized my plans. So much had been going on that the simple task of making reservations had slipped my mind. The next morning when I saw the note reminding me of things I needed to get done, I quickly reserved a table for two at one of my favorite restaurants. It had the best ambiance and, of course, I wanted to share this with Kelvin. Though I had giving him the details, and even reminded him, Valentine’s Day still found me sitting at home, waiting. Kelvin’s cut and dry explanation was that he had overslept, and blamed me for everything that had gone wrong that evening. I was already disappointed. What difference was one more blame going to make? Though it wasn’t the Valentine’s Day I had in mind, we did spend it together.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME?

  Trevor

  Simply put, I loved my dad. Robert Seymour Harrison was daddy and mommy whenever I needed him to be. I’ve never met my mother. Her name was Clara Rene Harrison. She died from complications during childbirth. For a long time, I blamed myself for my mother’s death. As far as I was concerned, she was fine until I came along, so it must have been something I did. I had a hard time understanding my innocence in my mother’s unfortunate accident, no matter how tirelessly my father tried to explain.

  Birthdays were met with different emotions; a bittersweet celebration as my father and grandparents trying as hard as they could to do more celebrating than mourning. It was hard for us to separate the two eventsmy birth and my mother’s death. Often I thought about the decision they all made, and I was grateful that my mother had chosen my life over hers.

  I sat in the chair at my computer and thought about writing my father a few lines, just to see how he was doing. After realizing that I had not even shared the news of the contract with himand I had told just about everyone elseI decided to call.

  “Speak!” he commanded.

  My father had an unusual way of answering his cell phone.

  “Dad, how’s it going?”

  “Hey, Rene. What’s going on big man?”

  My father was the only person who, today, uses my middle name whenever we talked. After my mother passed, my father decided to name me in honor of her memory. He wanted to make certain she was never forgotten. He wanted something of my mother to continue with me, as if his love, my birth, and the fact that I resembled my mother in every way weren’t enough. Rene became my middle name, pronounced slightly different of course. I was named Trevor to honor my grandfather. I wore both names with unmatched pride.

  “Not much going on, dad. I haven’t spoken to you in few days. I have good news.”

  “You met a woman and you’re getting married?” Robert joked.

  “Funny, dad, but no, that’s not it.”

  If I didn’t know my father as well as I did, I would have thought he was serious.

  “Then what is it?”

  He knew marriage wasn’t a part of whatever good news I had to share. I gave my father a more abbreviated version of the story I had shared with Denise and Kelvin. Regardless, my father was just as proud.

  So many times I felt no one else understood me better than my father did. I couldn’t ever remember my father not being there to share in my accomplishments or my failures. He was always there with encouraging words. He was my biggest fan. When I needed a father, Robert Seymour was there. When I needed a mother, both her spirit and my father were there, too.

  “Congratulations, son! You know how proud I am of you.”

  “Dad, you do realize that’s exactly what you said when I won the 7th grade Spelling Bee.”

  “Yes, I remember, and I’m even more proud now. So what else is happening? How are things with you and Kelvin?”

  My father surprised me. Usually he would simply ask if I were ok. Since I told him of our breakup, he rarely mentioned Kelvin’s name to me.

  “Kelvin and I are fine, dad. He was in New York for a couple days, and he’s actually planning on visiting this weekend.”

  “Are you ok with that?” Robert paused, giving me just enough time to think about the question and my response.

  “You mean with him coming? Of course I am. It’s been too long.”

  “Feelings are still there, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Of course they are,” Robert agreed.

  It’s during these conversations that I felt I was talking to my best friend and not my father. I was happy my father and my best friend were one and the same.

  “I love him with all my heart.”

  I surprised even myself with my admission. I couldn’t believe what I had just said to my father, but in all honesty, Robert already knew the feelings I had for this man.

  “I feel you, big man. Distance doesn’t work in all relationships.”

  Admittedly, hearing my father call me a big man during this conversation was somewhat weird.

  “Well, apparently he couldn’t handle the distance. I didn’t have a problem with it. Even though he assured me it would work, everything changed slowly after he moved.”

  “I hear you. Did you ever think about moving?”

  “When he moved, dad, we had it all planned out. But I guess not everything we plan actually works out.”

  “So you’re going to come up for air after he leaves?”

  I laughed. It amused me to hear my father talk so openly.

  “Exactly!” I replied through laughter, and I could almost see my

  dad smiling.

  “I’m not stupid. Been there, done that. There’s nothing like making love to your ex, especially if the feelings are still there.”

  What does he know about making love to your ex? I thought to myself. I couldn’t recall my father ever mentioning being with any other woman besides my mother. Nevertheless, I was sure there must have been a few. According to my grandmother, my father was a heartbreaker in his day, and I must admit, he still is.

  “I can’t explain it, dad.”

  “You don’t owe me any explanation. I understand. It’s going to take you a while t
o get over it. In fact, you may never get over it.”

  “Is that how you feel about mom?”

  I hoped my inquisition hadn’t stirred unwelcomed feelings in my father’s heart. I just wanted to know.

  “Your mom was the love of my life,” Robert admitted.

  “Most people don’t understand. They think I am stupid because Kelvin seemed to have moved on, yet I can’t bring myself to do the same.”

  “Are you worried about what people think? I’m not going to say that you have to get over it,” Robert added. “If you are ok with the way you’re dealing with the situation, you don’t have anything to worry about. The question is, how long is this going to last, especially since you say that Kelvin seemed to have moved on?”

  “I can’t put a timetable on it. Maybe getting over him simply means just putting whatever feelings I have aside and trying to move on as well.”

  That’s the only response I could come up with.

  “Especially since you know what’s really going on with him. You will in time.”

  “I think if we had ended the relationship before he relocated, it would have been easier. But like I said, we had plans.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t want to let go, do you? That’s what bothers you the most. Help me. Tell me if I am wrong,” my father pleaded.

  I appreciated my father for what he was attempting to do.

  “It’s not that I don’t want to let go. I don’t think I am ready to. I do know that, eventually, I’ll have to. If I hadn’t given my heart to him the way I have, it would’ve been easyor at least easier.”

  “But son, love and life is never easy. Anyone who tells you otherwise, has never loved nor lived.”

  “This is so hard. I’ve ended relationships in the past, and have gotten over them with no problem.”

  “Honestly speaking, son, I don’t think you actually loved in those past relationships. It could be that you don’t have control over your emotions like you did before, and it is scary. Isn’t it?”