I get up to refill my glass of Pepsi and hear Sascha trying to sneak in the house through the kitchen doors. I leave the lights off so she doesn’t see me.
“You’re going to end up pregnant,” I say as she tries to tiptoe upstairs.
She jumps. “Emoni. You scared me. Why are you standing in here in the dark?”
“Waiting on you to come in. It could’ve been Mother or, worse, Daddy.”
Sascha rolls her eyes. “No. You’re the only one who waits up late looking for something to snitch about.”
“I’m not trying to snitch on you. I just think you should be careful. Kevin only wants one thing.”
“What do you know about that?” Sascha asks sarcastically. “You don’t know anything about what men want. You’ve never even had a man.”
She goes upstairs, leaving me standing there speechless. I hate when she gets out on me like that, but it is the truth. I’ve never had a boyfriend, not a real one, only Oscar. He doesn’t even really count, because we never kissed or shared anything sweet.
I feel hot tears stinging the corners of my eyes. Why do I have to be the sensible one? The homely one? Why can’t I be the one all the men want?
I go back to my bedroom and slam the door. I pick up my discarded romance novel and plop down in my beanbag chair. I open it up and read the fiery words and take in all of the heaving chests and ripped bodices. All the while, tears are making little hot rivers on my face.
Mother says it’s a blessing that I don’t have to worry about my chastity.
What kind of backhanded compliment is that?
Emoni
I
f it’s not bad enough that I spend every Friday night chilling at home reading a book, I add insult to injury and attend the singles’ ministry meeting every other Saturday evening. We’re supposed to be here encouraging one another on a night that’s tough for the lonesome, but most of us are just trying to hook up with somebody on the sly.
After thinking about Darrin all last night, I decided to go to the salon this morning and get a fresh new haircut. It’s short in the back and on the sides, and the front swoops down in a drastic bang that covers one of my eyes. I went all out with the eyebrow arching and facial and got a manicure and pedicure and all new accessories to go with a sharp red pantsuit.
I’ve never looked better.
I see Sister Ophelia walking across the room, looking me up and down, probably trying to think of something smart to say. Technically, she is a single, but come on! She’s pushing sixty-five, and I believe that she caused her late husband’s heart attack with her unbearable nagging. She just comes to the singles meetings to tell us all how sinful we are.
“Praise the Lord, Sister Emoni,” says Ophelia.
I give her a one-armed hug. “He’s worthy, Sister Ophelia. How are you this evening?”
“Blessed in the city,” she responds. “Honey, what is going on with you and all that red? Did your mama see you walk out the house? You look like your name should be Babylon.”
I bite down on my tongue so hard that I draw blood. “I bought it new for tonight. Do you like it?”
“No, I most certainly do not. And I also do not care for that man’s hairstyle you have. A woman’s hair is her crowning glory, and you done cut all yours off. Honey, you should’ve kept that hair. It was all you had going for you.”
I think I might explode and take Sister Ophelia with me. She has got to be the meanest woman on the planet. I calm down a little when I notice Darrin walking in to the meeting. Sister Ophelia notices him, too.
“Look at those desperate heifers,” says Ophelia while pointing to the small crowd of women that has formed around Darrin. “I mean, can they let the man get saved good before they start tossing their panties at him?”
I let out a giggle. That’s the thing about Sister Ophelia. She’s funny as all get out as long as she’s talking about someone else. And since that thirsty Dorcas is the ringleader of the crowd, I’m not going to disagree.
“Sister Ophelia! You are wrong for that.”
“Yes, I said it. And it’s the truth, too. I even saw you grinning up in his face at Bible study. You need to quit, girl. Go on and marry that Oscar. He the one that wants you.”
“Oscar and I are only friends.”
Sister Ophelia crosses her arms. “Humph! That’s only ’cause you ain’t got good sense. Oscar is a good man, but you’d rather stand next to the baptism pool looking for a husband. Don’t you know some of them men go down dry devils and come up wet devils?”
When I don’t reply to her question, Sister Ophelia walks across the room, probably looking for a more willing ear. I consider the possibility that she might be right about Darrin. He sure seems to be enjoying all of the attention from the ladies.
I peer across the room, trying to get Darrin’s attention. He’s one of only a few men here, so he is thoroughly occupied with all the vultures vying for a conversation. On one side of the room, Oscar is standing with a plate of chicken wings and a cup of punch. He’s glaring at Darrin as if they’re mortal enemies.
Finally, I make eye contact with Darrin. His slow smile is making me nervous, but I hope he can’t tell. He starts walking toward me, and I’m fidgeting with my hands, trying to wipe the sweat off my palms and maintain what little composure I have left.
“Brother Darrin! I’m so glad that you could make it out,” I blurt with a tight smile.
“Thank you for inviting me.”
He’s close enough that I can inhale his cologne. I close my eyes and breathe deeply, allowing his scent to fill my nostrils. When I open my eyes, he’s grinning, and his eyes are dancing. He knows he’s got me open.
“You cut your hair,” he comments.
Self-consciously, I move my hand to my hairdo. “Do you like it?”
“I love it.”
He says that like he really means it, and I feel butterflies. I’m so glad I took the extra time to do everything, because he’s taking me all in, from hairdo to toe rings. He’s drinking in my look like a cold glass of red Kool-Aid on a ninety-degree afternoon.
Dorcas breaks up our moment. She shoves a notebook in Darrin’s face so forcefully that he has to take a step back. “You need to
register
.”
“Thanks, Dorcas,” I answer, and grab the notebook. “I can handle it from here.”
“Well, he’s my guest,” Dorcas spits angrily.
I look at Darrin and note his response. This brother is enjoying this. He must be used to women acting stupid over him. Fighting over him. He’s got me messed up.
He smiles and takes the notebook from my hand. “Well, it seems like you’ve both invited me. I’m so grateful that everyone is making me feel so welcome.”
Oh, I am not about to sweat him. I don’t care how fine he is. That is not my style. At all. Well, technically, I don’t have a style, but if I did have one, it wouldn’t be this. I glance around the room for an escape route, and even though it kills me to do it, I leave Darrin with his number one fan, Dorcas, and walk over to chat with my number one fan.
Oscar immediately accosts me with “We don’t know anything about him.”
“Who are you talking about?” I ask, even though I know he means Darrin.
“This Darrin person. We don’t know anything about him. I want you to be careful.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m grown, Oscar.”
“He comes from another city and immediately tries to get close to you and Dorcas?”
“I think he’s just being friendly. Plus, it looks like Dorcas is the one trying to get close to him. Now what?”
Oscar frowns. “I still don’t trust him. I’m watching him.”
“Why don’t you watch me walk right back over there and give our new member the welcome he deserves?”
Dorcas has obviously marked her territory, because all of the other single women have gone back to talking among themselves. I’ve never seen this side of Dorcas. She’s tossing her hair back and forth, and dare I say, her freckled skin looks radiant.
“Emoni,” says Darrin as I approach them, “Sister Dorcas tells me that you are the editor in chief of the church newsletter. Are you looking for any additional writers? I’d love to join the staff.”
“Yes, we’re always looking for new writers. You can bring me a writing sample on Sunday, and we’ll take it from there.”
“Great. I’ll come up with something riveting for you.”
“I’m sure you will.” I hope there was a hidden meaning to his statement. I raise one of my eyebrows and squint, thinking maybe his gesture is coquettish. I admit, I’m not an expert on flirting. I twist my body a little bit to make sure Darrin has a good view of my … blessings.
Dorcas looks about ready to breathe fire, so I decide to back down. For now. “I’ll let you two finish your conversation. Darrin, we’ll talk more about the newsletter on Sunday?”
“Absolutely. Thank you again for the welcome. I don’t know anyone in town, so it really helps.”
“The pleasure was all mine.”
DIARY OF A MAD BLACK BLOGGER
So, I turned my life over to Christ, y’all … Had to say that all casual, though, ’cause I don’t want to lose any more cool points. Yeah, I lost a whole lot of them standing up at the altar crying like a bi … Well, I’m not gonna use that word, because honestly, I did just give my life over to Christ.
But I’m afraid.
Why, you ask? Because I don’t know how to be saved. I mean, I’ve been around saved people my whole life. I could probably speak in ten unknown tongues, and I know all the steps to cast out a demon. But I don’t know how to live saved.
I’m trying it out, though. So … um … those of you who know the words of prayer … keep me lifted up.
But back to my story about Bishop So-and-so and his daughter. Well … the plot thickens. Let’s add to the mix a fine redbone that is ALSO feeling me and don’t have no problem telling it on the mountain.
I can mos def see this scenario getting all out of control, like one of those Street Fiction titles. Don’t trip like y’all don’t be reading that stuff! My title could be
Fornicating Behind the Pews.
Don’t play. It would go all the way to number one on the
Essence
best-seller list.
But anyway, don’t forget about the prayers, ’cause right about now, I’m a WIP Christian. Work in Progress for the unchurched.
Hit me up in the comments section.
COMMENTS
Tyrone 11:01 p.m.
Naw, dawg. Say it ain’t so! You can’t be trying to get righteous on us. We need you to still bust your story wide open. My mama’s pastor just got caught with an illegitimate baby by one of the nurses. Dude. You the voice for the people, bro. Don’t get caught up.
Jia 11:15 p.m.
Shut up, Tyrone! I’m glad MBB has given his life to Christ. But I still think you’re obligated to speak up if there’s a scandal. Maybe that’s what God is calling you to do.
Sister Mary 1:01 a.m.
The Lord ain’t playing with you boy. You giong strait to hell for trying to find dirt on a Bishp.
Lee-Lee 2:32 a.m.
Sister Mary … spell check is a beautiful thing. MBB, I’m proud of you! I’m praying for you. When you gone show us a photo? ’Cause I bet you fine …
Darrin
T
his afternoon is a first for me. Well, it’s a first date with Dorcas, but that’s not the first that I’m referring to. Since I’ve entered adulthood and taken part in the human mating ritual, I have never met a woman at our date destination. It has always been me picking her up, or if I wanted to get straight to business, I’d invite her to my apartment.
But I’m here, in Atlanta of all places, finally trying to live right. So I’m taking Bishop Prentiss’s advice. We’re meeting at a coffeehouse in the afternoon for tea and dessert. The unsaved Darrin would’ve meant for dessert to be a double entendre, but the new me actually means Heath-bar cheesecake.
Dorcas is already here, and she waves at me to come and join her. She looks nice and casual in a jean skirt and tank top. Her hair is in some kind of grandma bun, but her sexy hoop earrings make up for it.
This is going to sound weird, but part of me wishes I was meeting Emoni and not Dorcas. A huge part of me. Made me want to lose my salvation when she showed up at the singles’ ministry meeting in that red pantsuit and fly haircut. I almost asked her out.
But the truth is, I’m still looking for a story. Bishop Prentiss might preach a message to call a sinner like me to repentance, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a skeleton or two of his own. If God could use a donkey to send a blessing, then He can surely use a crooked preacher.
Seriously, though, I wouldn’t be mad if there were no story. Bishop Prentiss is growing on me like moss on the shady side of a building. I want to be able to refer to Bishop as my father in the gospel. Wow, did I just say that?
Father. In. The. Gospel.
Wow. I’m already using the church terminology and whatnot.
But right now I’m thinking about my natural father and his not so idle threat of taking away my source of income—his wallet. I’ve got to come up with something to keep him off my back. A brotha’s got to eat, right?
“Dorcas … you look stunning,” I say.
She laughs. “Boy, you better quit playing and sit down.”
“I mean that, Dorcas. You look great. Sometimes less is more.”
She looks down at herself and shrugs. “Whatever floats your boat.”
“What are you drinking?” I motion to her half-empty teacup.
“Passionfruit green tea and vodka.”
“What?”
She bursts into laughter. “I’m playing! It’s just passionfruit green tea.”
I exhale loudly and laugh a little. Her joke wasn’t funny, but it definitely broke the ice. I don’t know why I’m so uptight.
“So what did you think of our singles’ ministry meeting?” Dorcas asks.
I answer as honestly as possible. “It was … interesting.”
She frowns. “You didn’t like it?”
“Let’s just say I felt like a T-bone steak at a pit bull’s feeding time.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“Tell that to the steak.”