It’s late, after eleven p.m., when I hear a knock on my door. Does anyone in Atlanta call first? But I know before answering the door that it’s Dorcas. More than likely, she wants to know how the day went.
“Hello, Dorcas. I wasn’t expecting you,” I say dryly as I open the door.
“Hi! I know it’s late, but I wanted to see how things went in Savannah.”
I sit back down on the couch and close my eyes. It is entirely too late for her to be this bubbly.
“That bad?” she asks.
“Worse.”
Dorcas sits down on the couch next to me. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I shock Dorcas by bursting into spontaneous laughter. It has occurred to me that this saved woman is visiting me at my apartment late at night. A month ago we would have already been in the bedroom. It’s funny to me that taking her virtue hasn’t even crossed my mind.
“Sister Dorcas, are you here with good intentions? Because back in the day, when a woman visited me at this hour—”
Dorcas laughs. “This is
not
a booty call.”
“Okay. I just wanted clarity.”
“What I really want to know is what happened with Emoni. Did you two hit it off?” asks Dorcas with a nervous chuckle.
Yeah, we hit it off. Thinking about our jokes brings a smile to my face. I can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard. Instead of making her seem immature, Emoni’s youthfulness is innocent and attractive. And then she earned my respect when I watched her pray for that girl in the church and the man who might be her brother.
But I don’t say any of this to Dorcas. “We actually had a lot of fun, mostly cracking jokes on Oscar.”
“See, I told you. Emoni is a great girl.”
“You’ve made a believer out of me.”
Dorcas stands. “I guess I’ll get going, then. I don’t want to keep you up. Besides, we’ve got church in the morning.”
“You sure? I could pop some popcorn, and we could watch a movie.” I need the distraction. I’m not ready to be left alone with my thoughts about Bishop.
Before Dorcas can reply, I’m on my feet and getting the microwave popcorn out of the cabinet. Dorcas smiles and sits on one end of the couch with her feet stretched clear to the other side, leaving a small area for me to sit.
When I’m done, I walk back over, holding a bowl of buttery popcorn. “Where am I supposed to sit?”
“Down there,” answers Dorcas as she points to the opposite end of the couch.
I laugh. “All the way down there?”
“I think that’s the wise thing to do,” Dorcas replies, her face serious and her arms crossed.
“What if I want to make a comment about the movie?”
“Write me a note.”
I sit down slowly and rub my hands on my jeans. My heavy exhale shows my frustration.
A rush of thoughts floods my brain. I’m remembering Dorcas’s lips on mine. I’m feeling like if Bishop Prentiss can’t walk the straight and narrow, then how can I?
Whatever the reason, I slide across the couch in one fluid motion. Before Dorcas can object, our lips are locked in a deep, deep kiss. It’s the kind of kiss that can end only one way. At first she doesn’t resist. I can feel her heart racing and her breathing becoming ragged. But when I place my hand in the warm spot between her legs, she jumps up like I’ve gotten out of pocket.
“D-Darrin! What are you doing?”
“Baby, what did you come here for?”
Dorcas frowns and hisses, “Not this.”
“Wow. I thought this was what you wanted.”
Dorcas’s chest heaves in and out. “What I want is someone who respects himself enough to wait until he’s married. I want a saved man.”
I’m embarrassed and confused. I’ve never been in this situation. It feels like I should be apologizing, but the words won’t come.
“I guess I’m not him, huh?” I ask with a sigh.
Tears fill Dorcas’s eyes. “You could be, Darrin.”
She goes to the door and sees herself out. I don’t even try to stop her because I know that I’ve blown it.
I sit back on the couch and take in what Dorcas said. She told me that I don’t respect myself. Wow.
I whip out my laptop and open up my blog page. Right about now I feel the need for strangers to tell me that everything is cool in my world.
DIARY OF A MAD BLACK BLOGGER
Why am I up at the midnight hour blogging? Real talk. I just went through something brand-new in my life of dating. I just had a woman tell me no.
Now, I’ve spit game to women before and been shot down—so that’s not what I mean. I’m talking about a woman who’s feeling me and has been dating me. I tried to take it to the next level. The sexual level. Y’all know what I’m talking about.
Anyway, she turned me down; told me that I don’t respect myself.
Most women hit you with that “You don’t respect me” line. But she told me that I don’t respect myself. I gotta say, that cut me deeper than any curse words or blows that could’ve been thrown my way.
I. Don’t. Respect. Myself.
And the really scary part is: I think she’s right.
Here I am, trying to be a Christian, and at the first sign of trouble, I’m ready to throw it all away and jump in the sack with a woman I like but don’t love. Maybe I’m a lost cause.
I’m closing the comments on this post, because I’m not sure I’m ready to hear your replies. Mad Black Blogger signing off …
Emoni
I
t’s Sunday morning. The Lord’s day. We should be rejoicing and being glad, but our house is in an uproar.
Daddy came home last night and apparently told Mother everything that happened in Savannah. They argued late into the night. I’ve never, ever heard them yell at each other. But Mother unleashed a fury no one in this house knew she had.
I’m standing before my mirror, playing with my feathered bangs and feeling anxious. I’m thinking about my brother Kumal and how I wish we’d gotten a chance to talk more. Also, I can’t help but consider how well Darrin and I got along. I just hate that the evening ended on a low, low note.
I hear a light knock on my door. Must be Tyler, because Sascha never knocks.
“Emoni, what in the world is going on?” asks Tyler nervously.
“I don’t know, Ty.”
Tyler comes into my room and closes the door behind him. I sit down on the edge of my bed, trying to wrap my arms around this situation.
Tyler questions, “Did something go down in Savannah? Did Oscar flip out on that Darrin guy?”
“Why would Oscar be going off on Darrin?”
Tyler raises his hands apologetically. “No reason. Forget I asked.”
“Actually, some man confronted Daddy.”
Tyler’s eyes widen. “Confronted Bishop how?”
“He says he’s Daddy’s son, by a drug abuser named Genevieve.”
“You don’t think Bishop could be—”
“No. Oh, I don’t know. His name is Kumal, and he looks just like Daddy.”
“Well … Daddy is a man, and he has a past that we don’t really know anything about.”
“Tyler, I’m not about to sit up here and speak anything wrong against Daddy. I’m sure he’ll explain this to us in due time. And we know all about Daddy’s past. He testifies about it all the time.” I say this with conviction, hoping that it’s the truth.
“I’m just saying that it’s possible. That’s all. Everybody’s got skeletons.”
I need to dismiss this conversation immediately. “Tyler, I can’t hear this right now. You want something to eat?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Well, I’m getting something in my stomach.”
I leave Tyler sitting on my bed and go downstairs to the kitchen to make breakfast. I guess that’s only if you consider a piece of toast and bottled water breakfast. I’m not sure my stomach can handle anything else.
The doorbell rings. Strange for a Sunday morning, but Oscar is prone to checking in on Daddy personally when something is wrong.
I open the door, but it’s not Oscar, it’s Sister Ophelia. “Sister Ophelia. What a
lovely
surprise.”
“Gal, don’t lie on the Lord’s day. You ain’t happy to see me.” She rolls her eyes and purses her lips tightly, looking like she sucked a lemon.
“I’m being polite, Sister Ophelia.”
“I value truthfulness over politeness.”
“Obviously.”
“Honey, I need to speak to your mama. In private.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Did I stutter or whisper when I said
private
?”
This is not good. First of all, Ophelia never comes to our house. And she wants to talk to Mother in private? She must know about Sascha and Kevin. For half a second I debate on whether or not I should get Mother. This is so not the day for any other revelations.
But I don’t have the chance to make the choice myself, because Mother is already walking into the room. Her eyes are puffy from crying all night long, but she is still wearing her “greet the saints” smile. Even though Ophelia asked for privacy, I’m not leaving until Mother asks me to.
Ophelia stands from the couch. “Hello, Diana. You know, you really ought to put some plastic on this sofa if you want it to last.”
“Praise the Lord, Sister Ophelia. Is there something troubling you?”
“Yes, there most certainly is.”
“You couldn’t have called?” asks Mother while raising one eyebrow.
Ophelia responds, “Ain’t I welcome in your house?”
“It’s not that at all. It’s just that it must be important for you to drive all the way over here, on a Sunday morning, no less.”
Ophelia takes a deep breath. “Your daughter has seduced my grandson. Right now they are laid up in a hotel together. Fornicating.”
Mother pauses before replying. She blinks rapidly, as if waiting for Ophelia to recant her story. Ophelia crosses her arms and sits back on the couch.
“Sascha spent the weekend with her friend Gina. I have no reason to believe otherwise,” mother says.
“You might not, but I do. I heard my grandson on the phone making hotel reservations for the two of them.”
“Why didn’t you say something to your grandson then, Ophelia?” Mother asks in an exasperated tone. “If they are together, you’re partially to blame.”
Ophelia stands again, nose to nose with Mother. It’s on and poppin’ now.
Ophelia screeches, “I’m to blame? No, you and Bishop are to blame for not keeping tabs on that hot-tailed heifer. A bishop’s daughter is supposed to be holy.”
“We’re all supposed to be holy. Isn’t that right, Ophelia? Anyway, I don’t believe that Sascha would do something so stupid, holy or otherwise.”
“Humph! You’ve got your beliefs, but what I’ve got is facts! You think that little hot-tailed heifer is better than my grandson? Well, she ain’t. She as sinful as the devil himself!”
Mother smoothes her skirt. “Ophelia, I believe that our conversation is over.”
“Turn a blind eye to it if you want,” continues Ophelia as she stands to leave. “But I know the truth.”
Mother places her couch pillows as they were before Ophelia moved them. “You have a blessed day, Sister Ophelia.”
Ophelia narrows her eyes and fumes with anger. She marches over to our front door and slams it on her way out.
“Mother, are you all right?” I ask.
“Oh, yes.” Mother beams through her puffy eyes. “Everything is right as rain.”
Daddy comes downstairs still wearing his pajamas, even though it’s almost time to leave for church. I follow him into the kitchen and watch him grab bacon and eggs from the refrigerator. Tyler joins us and starts toasting a bagel.
Daddy places eight slices of bacon on the hot pancake griddle and hums a gospel hymn.
I ask, “Daddy, are you going to get ready for church?”
“Not going,” he replies curtly.
“Are you okay, Daddy? Do you want to talk about Savannah?”
“I’m fine. Your mother and I are taking a day off, that’s all.”
Daddy taking a Sunday morning off is the opposite of fine. He never misses a Sunday. Not even when we go on vacation. We always make sure to be home on Sunday. Once Daddy was so sick with a stomach virus that he could hardly stand, and he had to let one of the associate ministers preach. But he was right there in the pulpit, doubled over and giving God the praise.
“Good morning, Tyler,” says Daddy, even though they’ve been standing in the same room for several minutes.
“Hey, Bishop,” says Tyler.
“Where are you off to? A football game?” No doubt Daddy is making reference to Tyler’s jeans and tennis shoes.
“I’m going to church with Kevin this morning.”
Right, like Kevin is actually going to church. He and Sascha are probably still curled up in their Super 8 Motel room.
“Kevin’s not attending Freedom of Life anymore?” Daddy asks incredulously.
Tyler takes his time responding. “Well, he visits Love Outreach sometimes. We’re going there today.”
Daddy nods slowly as he turns the browned bacon. A good number of our members have defected over to Love Outreach and Pastor David Maxwell. Most of the defectors are under twenty-five and borderline backslidden, like Kevin. I wish Tyler would just tell Daddy that he wants to worship there instead of making up excuses every Sunday.
Daddy asks Tyler, “What do you think of Love Outreach?”
Again Tyler pauses before replying, as if he’s choosing his words carefully. “If I hadn’t grown up in church, I would definitely prefer Love Outreach to Freedom of Life.”
“Why is that?”
“It’s almost like when you go into a normal church, there’s an expectation. You’re expected to lift up your hands, clap as the choir sings, and shout hallelujah in the appropriate places. But at Love Outreach, you can just come and listen, and no one looks at you strange.”
I interject, “That’s because most of the people there
are
strange.”
“Shut up, Emoni,” Tyler retorts.
Daddy places his crispy bacon on a plate lined with a paper towel. “How is that any different than Freedom of Life? We also invite people to come as they are.”
“That’s what we say.” Tyler chuckles. “But there are a lot of folk sitting up in Freedom of Life who don’t really aspire to that philosophy.”
“We have a very loving church,” Daddy counters.
“Yeah, as long as you look and smell nice; as long as your children are well behaved and you have a nice car.”