In the Neighborhood of Normal

by Cindy Maddox

  Mish ran through it again in her head. Keep your eyes open because maybe you’ll get a visit from an angel. And then that secret kind of wink.

  Like maybe I just did? He heart beat faster at the very thought.

  Could this lady possibly be an angel? But how could Mish find out? She couldn’t just go and ask the woman, “Excuse me, are you an angel?” She would look ridiculous asking such a thing, and they would think she’d gone and lost her marbles. She had to figure out another way.

  The lady had said maybe the person Mish was waiting on had a message for her. An angel would certainly have a message, but it wouldn’t be a strange question to ask a regular person. It wouldn’t raise suspicions, so Mish decided it was a safe place to start.

  The lady had moved a few steps away to the bakery counter and was talking to Jodee, and Mish was having a hard time hearing without her blasted hearing aids. Random words and phrases kept reaching her straining ears.

  Twelve…

  Increase in followers…

  Fishing efforts…

  Believe in me…

  Some kind of miracle…

  Raise the dead…

  Raise the dead?! Did she hear that right? Mish couldn’t wait any longer. She got up and sidled up next to the lady. “Excuse me,” she began, “but you said something about a message. Do…do you have a message for me?”

  The lady was so pretty when she smiled back. “A message? Why, sure. Follow the love. That will never lead you wrong.” She looked away to take the bakery package from Jodee, but Mish couldn’t wait any more. She just had to ask.

  “Who are you?” Mish whispered.

  The woman turned back toward Mish but didn’t quite meet her gaze. Her eyes widened and she whispered urgently, “Jesus Christ!” Then she grabbed her box and was out the door in a flash.

  Mish stared at the door in a daze. Had she just heard what she thought she heard? She thought back over the conversation between Jodee and the lady. She hadn’t heard everything, but she’d heard enough. Followers and fishing, faith and miracles, and raising the dead? It all fit. And, of course, the message: follow the love. And, finally, there was the woman’s own admission. “Who are you?” Mish had asked, and she got her answer.

  Well, I’ll be a monkey’s auntie, Mish thought. Jesus Christ came back as a Black lady!

  2.

  So is everybody clear on their assignments?”

  The officers of the Women’s Society were gathered at the long table in the church library, going over last-minute details for Saturday’s bazaar. Mish nodded quickly in response to Opal’s question, and so did Ruth and Ethyl. They all knew better than to mess with Opal a few days before the bazaar. The woman sure liked to be in charge. But the closer they got to the day, the more anxious she got; and the more anxious she got, the crankier she got. It was best to agree. You could always do what you wanted later and claim you forgot or didn’t understand.

  Mish did that a lot. The only problem was she’d been doing it so long everybody thought she was dim-witted.

  As if she’d been reading Mish’s mind, Opal narrowed her eyes as she zeroed in on her. “You know what you’re supposed to do, Mish?”

  “I surely do. Absolutely. No problem. I got the bull by the tail and the cat by the horns. I crossed my Is and dotted my Ts and—”

  “All right, all right! A simple ‘yes’ would have sufficed,” Opal snapped, but the smile at the edge of her mouth gave her away.

  She had a good heart, Opal did. She just got caught up in the details, which is why Mish hadn’t yet shared the news she was bursting to share. She had to at least let Opal get through her agenda first.

  Opal turned her attention to their special guest for the meeting. “Stephen, thanks for coming. I know you must be busy at work. We sure appreciate your help with the decorations and the Christmas wreaths.”

  Stephen smiled at the four women around the table. “I’m glad to do it. But if I keep this up, you might just have to make me an honorary member of the Women’s Society.”

  Opal laughed. “That’d be a first! We’ve never had a pastor’s husband in the Women’s Society before. Then again, I guess you and Pastor Jeff are getting used to shaking things up around here.”

  “It’s not our intention,” Stephen said as he leaned back in his chair and stretched. “But it does seem to come with the territory.”

  Mish interjected. “Oh, before I forget. Is there any way you can sweet talk Pastor Jeff into making his chocolate cake for the bake sale?”

  “For you, Mish? I’m sure he will.”

  “Are you sure he has time?” Ruth asked. “Is his sermon for this Sunday written yet? The week is half over, you know.”

  Mish caught Ethyl’s glance across the table and rolled her eyes. Ruth Tipton was the busiest busybody she ever did see. And she was always on Pastor Jeff’s back about something. Ruth still couldn’t believe the church had gone and hired a gay pastor. What she really couldn’t believe, Mish thought, was that they hired a pastor without her approval. And she was making them pay for it.

  “His sermon is well on its way, Ruth, so don’t you worry.” Stephen said it with a smile, but Mish thought it looked a bit forced.

  “Well, we need the name of the cake to put on the sign,” Ruth said.

  Stephen hesitated. “Um…let’s just call it Pastor Jeff’s Chocolate Surprise.”

  Ruth bristled. “Is it his original recipe? If not, I’ll need the official title from the book he used.”

  “I really think it’s best to just call it Pastor Jeff’s Chocolate Surprise,” Stephen repeated.

  Ruth leaned forward and gripped the edge of the table with both hands. “That wouldn’t be honest, now would it? And I know our pastor would want to be honest.”

  Mish and Opal exchanged looks. They were both worried that all Ruth’s haranguing would eventually drive Pastor Jeff away. And they both liked him, in spite of his—what was the right term? Sexual orientation, that was it. He was by far the best preacher they’d had in ages, and his cooking wasn’t bad neither.

  Stephen sighed. “Well, if you insist, Ruth, the name of the cake is Better Than Sex Cake. Now, would you like to put that on your sign?”

  Everyone started laughing. Everyone except Ruth, of course. “No, I most certainly would not!” she exclaimed, leaning back from the table as if it held a platter of manure.

  “I do see the problem,” Opal began with a smirk. “We could be accused of false advertising.”

  Mish leaned forward. “I guess it depends on who you ask. Or who you’re married to!”

  “And how long it’s been!” Opal added.

  “I do have some short-term memory loss,” Ethyl said slowly. “But I can remember fifty years ago as if it was yesterday.”

  She paused, and everyone waited. As always.

  “And that cake is rightly named,” she finished with a grin.

  Mish slapped the table as an idea came to her. “Hey, I bet we could charge more for it if we call it Better Than Sex Cake. We could change the name to all our crafts. Better than sex afghans. Better than sex pot holders.”

  “Now Mish,” Opal teased, “have you ever seen a pot holder that was better than sex?”

  “No, but maybe if it comes with batteries!”

  As they burst out laughing, Ruth raised her voice. “I thought this was a meeting of the Women’s Society of the Congregational Church, not the Society for the Promotion of Licentious Living!”

  Mish and Opal looked at each other, then spoke in unison. “Can’t it be both?”

  “That does it!” Ruth hollered. “You call me when you decide to act like Christian ladies.” And then she stormed out. Or she would’ve if she could’ve. It’s hard to storm when you use a walker. They all held off, waiting until Ruth had shuffled slowly out the door and down the hall before they g
ave in to their laughter.

  “Oh, ladies, if I’d known your meetings were so much fun, I’d have attended sooner!” Stephen said, wiping tears from his eyes.

  “And Lord forgive me,” Mish began, “but I do enjoy getting old Ruth going!”

  Opal agreed but quickly got them back to business. “Stephen, can you commit to Pastor bringing his chocolate cake, whatever we call it?”

  “Yes, ma’am. And if he doesn’t have time, I will make it.”

  Mish patted his hand. “Stephen, you’re such a good pastor’s wife.” She clasped her free hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry! I mean pastor’s spouse! Or husband. Or partner. Or whatever you want to be called. I didn’t mean—oh, good Lord, I’m sorry!”

  Stephen smiled at her as he squeezed her hand. “Relax, Mish. It’s fine. I know you didn’t mean anything by it. Besides, I don’t think being called a woman is an insult.”

  Mish breathed a huge sigh of relief. “Oh, thank you. You fellas know I don’t have a problem with you two. I got over that,” Mish said with a wave of her hand. “I just sometimes get tripped up by the words because I don’t want to say the wrong thing and hurt your feelings.”

  Stephen was still smiling. “Really, it’s fine, Mish. I know you would never say anything hurtful on purpose.”

  She returned his smile at last. “My brain works slower than my tongue sometimes. And I’m an old woman. I’m not always up-to-date on the latest lingo.”

  “I do have some short-term memory loss,” Ethyl began again.

  They waited. “And?” Opal prompted her.

  “And do y’all remember Pastor Goodpastor? He left here about fifteen years ago.”

  “Marvin Goodpastor,” Stephen began. “He pastored here for fourteen years, preached phenomenal sermons without once making anybody mad, and was always in his office for drop-in visits while simultaneously spending all of his time with the shut-ins. A pastor so good it was even his name.”

  It seemed to take him a few seconds to realize that Mish, Opal, and Ethyl were all staring at him, speechless. He clapped a hand over his mouth. “Oh good Lord, I said that out loud! Ladies, I am so sorry. That was incredibly catty.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” Opal assured him.

  “Well, it kind of was,” Mish corrected, “but it was honest. I bet it’s not fun for Pastor Jeff to have to walk in those shoes all the time. None of our recent pastors have stayed long, and it wouldn’t surprise me a bit if that was the reason. Being compared to Saint Marvin the Good must get mighty old.”

  “It does,” Stephen said with relief. “But I still shouldn’t have said it. I am sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” Mish assured him. “Now Ethyl, you was saying…”

  “I was saying?” Ethyl looked confused.

  “Yes, you asked if we remembered Pastor Goodpastor,” Mish reminded her.

  “Oh, right! Well, the only thing people didn’t like about Pastor Goodpastor was that he wasn’t married. Never did get married. Never dated neither. Had this friend from seminary who used to visit pretty regular-like. He wasn’t married neither. Nobody ever talked about it, of course, but…” Her words trailed off.

  “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Stephen asked.

  Ethyl nodded.

  “Pastor Goodpastor was gay?” Opal exclaimed.

  “Oh, that explains it.” Mish smacked her forehead. “I never understood why Floyd didn’t like him—which is weird, because I usually knew exactly why Floyd didn’t like people. But he never would say what he had against Marvin Goodpastor. He would just frown every time the name came up.”

  “So your husband wasn’t a big fan of ‘the gays,’” Stephen replied. Mish shook her head and he returned her sad smile.

  “Marvin Goodpastor was gay,” Opal repeated, as if saying it again would make it sink in. “Will wonders never cease.”

  “No, they don’t,” Mish agreed. Her heart leapt at the opening she’d just been given. It was finally time to share her news. “Like yesterday, at the diner!”

  They all looked at each other and then back at Mish. They were confused, she knew. She got this look a lot.

  “All right, I’ll bite,” Opal said at last. “What happened yesterday at the diner, Mish?”

  Mish was trembling with excitement. “Yesterday at the Bluebird Diner…” She paused for dramatic effect. “I met Jesus!”

  Opal looked at her warily. “You met Jesus.”

  “I sure did!” Mish declared. “And until then I had no idea Jesus was going to come back as a Black lady!”

  Stephen just stared at her. “Jesus came back…?”

  “Yes, the second coming. But she came back as a woman, a real pretty Black lady. I met her at the diner.”

  “Now, Mish,” Opal began, “you did not meet Jesus at the diner.”

  “How do you know?” Mish countered. “You wasn’t there.”

  “I am pretty sure Jesus is not a patron of the Bluebird Diner.”

  “But I met her!” Mish argued. “And she gave me a message: follow the love. Now, doesn’t that sound like the kind of thing Jesus would say?

  “Well, yes, but…” Stephen paused and put a hand on top of Mish’s. “Mish, what makes you think this woman was Jesus?”

  “She said that was her name. Jesus Christ. Clear as day.”

  “Wait,” Opal interrupted. “A strange woman just came up to you and told you she was Jesus Christ? And you believed her?”

  Mish pulled her hand out from under Stephen’s. This was not going as she had planned. “No, it wasn’t like that.” She looked around at their disbelieving faces, and she knew she had to do a better job of explaining. “It started with a text message. Somebody wanted to meet me for breakfast, but I didn’t know who it was. So I went to the diner, and I waited. Then she walked in and we got to talking about the Bible and angels and stuff like that. She seemed to know things about me, like we’d met before, but we hadn’t.” Mish took a breath and Opal started to interrupt, but Mish just talked louder. She wasn’t going to let them argue her out of what she felt—what she knew in her heart to be true. “She said she had a message for me. She told me to follow the love. And when I asked her who she was, she told me she was Jesus Christ.”

  Opal closed her eyes briefly and pinched the bridge of her nose, a sure sign that she was trying not to lose her patience. “But Mish,” she began, “it could’ve been anybody. It could’ve been a mentally ill person, thinking she was Jesus. Or a con artist, preying on the vulnerable.”

  The knot that had been in Mish’s throat plummeted to her belly. Her best friend didn’t believe her. Her best friend thought she was vulnerable and foolish to believe she’d met Jesus. She turned to Stephen, praying that at least he would believe. “You wouldn’t think that if you met her,” she pleaded. “She was a strong, beautiful woman with a pretty smile and kind eyes, and she saw me—really saw me. And she had a message for me. That’s why she sent me the text that brought me to the diner—to give me the message.”

  “You know, Mish, the text could have been a wrong number,” Stephen reasoned.

  “Sure, it could have been. But it wasn’t, because I got to meet Jesus!” Mish answered. She looked back at Opal, then at Ethyl, who hadn’t said a word since she’d started her story. She could see in their eyes that they were worried about her. Well, they didn’t need to be. She knew what she’d seen, what she’d felt in the woman’s presence. She knew it was real. And she knew what she had to do now. She put on a smile and looked at Opal and Ethyl. “I appreciate your concern, but I have already accepted the mission, and now I’m gonna follow the love.” She turned to Stephen. “You got a problem with that, son?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “I didn’t think so. Now if you’ll excuse me, I better get going. I need to get home and finish some more pot holders for the bazaar
.”

  She stood and turned toward the door, but she could hear the smile in Stephen’s voice as he spoke. “Would those pot holders have any special name, Mish?”

  She kept walking. “Follow the love, Stephen.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Follow the love.”

  “They didn’t believe me, Floyd. None of ’em.” Mish paced across her living room as she spoke. “And why should my news be so hard to believe? Don’t the Bible say he’s gonna come back? And why shouldn’t I get a visit?”

  She stopped and looked at the green plaid chair Floyd always sat in and waited for him to answer. She knew he wouldn’t, of course, but after being married to the man for nearly sixty years, she figured she knew what he would say anyway. It’s not like he’d had an original thought in years.

  “I know I ain’t nobody special,” she agreed. “But shepherds were the first ones to hear on Christmas, and they were kind of like farmers. So why not me? Why wouldn’t Jesus come talk to me?”

  She fixed herself a cup of instant coffee and dropped down on the old sofa. “Maybe my job on this earth ain’t done just because I’m old. Maybe there’s more to me than a farmer’s wife and mother and grandmother. There’s gotta be a reason Jesus would come to me.”

  Mish looked at the empty chair. “Or maybe I’m just a crazy old woman still talking to her dead husband.”

  She took a sip of coffee and grimaced at its bitterness. Maybe they were right. It didn’t make sense that Jesus would come to her. She was just an old woman with nothing more important to do than make pot holders for the women’s bazaar. She was useless. Obsolete. Just like her old landline phone.

  But it sure had been nice for a while. It sure had felt good to think there was something meaningful she could do with her remaining years. Opal was probably right. She hadn’t met Jesus. And Floyd was definitely right. She wasn’t anybody special. It was best to give up this whole idea and get back to what was real.