by Lamar Giles
Me: What if I’d clowned you for it?
Qwan: Might’ve mattered a year ago, back before I went through some real shit. But thinking Angie was pregnant, and I might be a dad . . . fronting about something that didn’t happen wasn’t important anymore. Why you ask?
Me: I’m thinking about doing something Qwan. It might be kind of big.
Qwan: Is it legal, though?
Me: It’s legal.
Qwan: And it’s about getting some shit off your chest?
Me: Yep
Qwan: Then I got your back, D. Always
Me: Unless Angie calls.
Qwan: Then you’re on your own.
Qwan: lol
Swinging my feet to the floor, I didn’t feel so cold anymore. I checked the clock. 8:45 p.m. There was still time.
I left my room, went down the hall, and knocked on Cressie’s door.
“Come in.” She was in her bed clothes, still tinkering with her video.
I said, “I have a proposal for you.”
“About?”
“A very special episode for your channel.”
She perked. “I’m listening.”
I closed and locked her door.
Chapter 29
NO NEW FEMFAM EPISODE WENT up after midnight. Or by eight a.m. Or even by the early afternoon. It was the Friday before the long holiday break, and I asked my sister to hold off on posting until I finished school. I wanted one last day of semi-normalcy if what we did went the wrong way.
I said “semi” because I broke my Extreme-Focus protocols for the first time in weeks. I had stops to make.
First, I tracked down Shianne between classes. She was at her locker, saw me coming, and went full attitude, expecting a fight. I walked up to her, locked eyes, then hugged her. She went limp, didn’t fight it. Some passerby made a lewd comment and she told him to do crude things to himself.
I let her go, and said, “Thank you for being honest. I know it must’ve been hard to say such harsh things to me.”
“It wasn’t hard. I told you, post-baby, no filter.” Her face softened. “But I’m glad we’re still friends.”
Next stop, midday, Jameer. I caught him by the school library, pulled him inside. He looked skittish, like I might beat him up. I said, “Relax. I want to tell you to do what you can to get to a computer tonight. I know you’re not going to be able to watch at home, so maybe the library. I don’t know.”
“What am I going to be looking for?”
“Help. I hope. I’ll text you later.”
Finally, at the end of the day, after gym was done, while everyone filed into the cold, happy to be done with school for this calendar year, I caught up to Kiera as she exited the girls’ locker room.
“Hey,” I said. “I need to say something.”
The hostility was immediate. “Is it like what you said last time? Because you can keep it to yourself.”
“No. Not at all. I want to say I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“All of it. I never came at you honestly.”
She backed up, taking it wrong.
I waved the last statement off. “This isn’t me trying to holler or anything. I know there’s nothing between us. I’m not trying to change that.”
She didn’t relax. That was okay. I was almost done.
“You weren’t wrong to be wary of me in the beginning, Kiera. I’ve earned whatever distasteful things you feel about me now. Whatever happens this weekend, please understand it’s all part of my apology to you and the rest of the Pledgers. Okay?”
The corners of Kiera’s mouth turned down. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yo, is there a problem here?” Mason sidled up next to her, close enough for their shoulders to touch.
“No. No problem at all. Enjoy your holidays.”
In my car, my tasks complete, I gripped my steering wheel, ratcheting my hands around it. Deep breath. Deep breath.
Then, I sent my sister a single-word text.
Me: Now
We would see.
FemFam Presents Episode 15: Bare Your Soul w/ Special Guest My Baby Bro
CRESSIE
Hey, FemFam! It’s me, Cressie, and I interrupt our regularly scheduled programming to present a special episode. As you can see, we’re in my bedroom back home, it’s late, so my hair’s wrapped and I’m rocking my silk bonnet—black hair, don’t care. Okay, that’s a lie, I do care a little, but I didn’t get all camera official because I’m not going to be doing the talking this time. This episode’s going to be my brother’s show. At his request. You see, he’s recently turned the corner on some very Boy-ish Things. If you’ve been following the channel, you know Boy-ish Things refer to some of the sillier ideas boys get in their heads about what we like, and don’t like. What they need to do to impress us. How they respond when they don’t like what we say or do. He’s got things to tell you. Thank you for listening. Del, it’s all you.
The MacBook rotated so the built-in camera focused on me. The tiny green power light next to the lens felt like a laser boring into me.
DEL
Hey out there. I’m sorry if I’m not as polished as my sister, this is new to me. The camera and saying the stuff I’m about to say. I’m here of my own free will, though. No one is making me do this. It’s important that you know that.
I don’t know how to make this fancy, or do a good lead-in—like I said, not polished. So, I’m just going to say it. I’ve been lying about losing my virginity for two years. I’m a virgin. I’ve never even come close to having sex.
[quick cut—removing the footage of me hyperventilating—the video resumed]
I pretended I wasn’t a virgin because not being one felt expected. So many of the guys and girls at my school talk like they’re porn stars in training. Like they know all about sex because they watched some Lindy Blue videos. It was embarrassing to feel like the only person who didn’t know what they were doing. And maybe—maybe—I could’ve found someone who was willing to help me lose my virginity for real, but this thing happened in my town. If you’ve been watching my sister’s channel, you know what I’m talking about. A lot of new moms, and babies, and everyone around us freaking. Honestly, sex got scary to me.
I kept pretending I wanted to do it. I’d go on double dates with my best friend, and find something I didn’t like about the girl so I’d seem picky, not afraid. Then—this is the worst part—I made up all these unfair expectations for a girl who I thought was a virgin, too. I made her this ideal instead of a human. We were meant to be together when the timing was right. Then I tried to make the timing right by engineering all these dumb schemes, and more lies, and really being the kind of guy that—that’s not good for anyone.
I hurt feelings, and caused problems, and I’m trying to tell anyone out there who’s feeling the sort of thing I felt, and you know it’s not right, then you can turn it around. Like I did. With help.
See, I joined this group of people who also weren’t interested in having sex yet. They became my really good friends. Though I was still pretending, and scheming, and being an overall asshole, I feel like I’m able to admit my wrongdoing now, partially because of them.
This is me baring my soul. Confessing my sins. It’s okay if you’re scared about anything in your life. It’s not okay to lie and manipulate to hide those fears. I know that now. I’m better for it. I hope me telling my story helps you find ways to be better.
And—listen—I know this may not be for everyone, but I couldn’t wrap this up without giving you the opportunity to make the same sort of connections I did so I could be what I think is a 1,000 percent improved Del.
I was able to come to terms with the real me through the various programs happening at my mom’s church.
That’s First Missionary House of the Lord in Green Creek, Virginia. It’s run by this great guy named Pastor Eldridge Newsome. And if you’re nearby, and free on Sunday, I’m inviting you to join me there.
Service sta
rts at eleven.
Of course there was more to the video than that. Cressie asked some follow-up questions about the perceptions of manhood, and how men create new generations of misogynists. We talked about the unrealistic sexual expectations on teens in general. The canceled Healthy Living class. How we needed to stop calling the Baby-Getters that name. But, there was really only one part I was interested in. Would that invitation work?
I didn’t think I’d know until Sunday, despite the way that video racked up views among Cressie’s subscribers. And it blew up, believe me.
Still, would people show? Would this final play actually work? I was worried. I wasn’t the only one.
Saturday night, shortly after 8 p.m., I got a text.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: Del, this is Sister Vanessa at First Missionary. I’m reaching out to deliver a message.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: If you do indeed plan to attend service tomorrow, could you come a bit early?
UNKNOWN NUMBER: Pastor would like a word.
Chapter 30
SUNDAY MORNING, I DRESSED IN my suit, attached my clip-on tie, gathered my notes, my freshly purchased Bible, and went downstairs, expecting a silent escape.
My entire family was dressed in their Sunday best, waiting for me.
My confused glare bounced from face to face, landing on Cressie. She said, “Seems like straight As gives you clout around here.”
I still didn’t get it. Dad?
He said, “I thought she’d want money. Her asking me to go to church seems a small price to pay.” He munched a spoonful of wet Frosted Flakes from a bowl in his hand.
Mom looked less comfortable. “I’m all for getting y’all churched up, but are you sure you don’t want to try the AGAPE Church over in Simonsberg?”
“Nope,” Cressie said, “First Missionary today. We can try whatever church you want after.”
Jesus, Cressie. That didn’t sound ominous at all.
But my parents didn’t seem to catch on, and, honestly, as nervous as I was, this made me feel better. Like backup. We weren’t the Justice League or anything, but the Raineys felt pretty unstoppable in the moment.
We showed up at First Missionary early, at my insistence. Good thing, too. The parking lot was almost full. Usually, there were spaces to spare in the gravel lot. Not that day, and I knew why.
Mom said, “Guess people are piling into the services close to the holiday. Good call on coming early, son. I want my usual pew.”
“Don’t mention it, Mom.” Really, don’t.
We spilled from our car, began the walk to the entrance, gaining an ample amount of side-eye from some of the regulars. Coach Scott left his truck, paced us to the door, radiating bitterness. I got the sense if he could order me to do a dozen suicides right there, he would’ve.
Inside the door were two girls I didn’t recognize. One white, one Latinx. They were focused on their phones until I walked in.
“Oh, oh,” said the white girl. “Are you Del?”
“Um, yeah.”
The Latinx girl went bug-eyed. “Oh, oh. You’re Cressida.”
Cressie gave a slick grin, like she was used to this. “It is I.”
“Your videos rock, especially the last one. Can we get a picture?”
Cressie eyed me for approval. I said, “Sure.”
Me and my sister wedged between the girls, and the white girl handed her phone to Dad. “Could you?”
Dad eagerly played cameraman, ignorant to everything. “This church is way friendlier than I expected.”
Mom’s narrowed eyes communicated something different.
I asked the girls, “Where are you from?”
“We drove from Hopewell. Had to see the place that inspired you to say all you said.”
Hopewell was an hour away.
The girls thanked us and rushed into the crowded sanctuary for a seat. A lot of new faces—a lot of young faces—occupied the pew gaps that were usually empty at the start, middle, and end of service. If it was like this forty minutes before service started, I suspected it would be standing room only by the time things really got rolling.
Someone gripped my arm, spun me to them. I expected an angry Newsome.
It was Kiera, her face crinkled with fury. “Come. Here.”
She dragged me from my family down the middle aisle until we were at the base of the pulpit, where we took our Purity Pledge a million years ago.
“I saw your video. I saw that you did”—she swept a hand over the growing crowd—“this. Do you know what I have to do today? Do you know you made it worse by bringing like a hundred strangers here to watch me do it?”
“It’s not what you think.” Though, it might be exactly what she thought. We wouldn’t know until after I spoke to Newsome.
She huffed. “How much damage do you plan to do?”
She walked away without an answer, not that I had one to give.
Sister Vanessa emerged from the corridor adjacent to the pulpit, spotted me, and waved me over. I mouthed to Cressie, Save me a seat, then joined Sister Vanessa.
“He’s back there, huh?” I said.
“He is.”
“How bad should I expect?”
“I honestly don’t know. But I want to tell you, I’m proud of you for being so open in your video. And my God, look at all those people in the pews. I don’t care what my uncle may say, or do. This is a blessing.”
I know I should’ve been more focused on the blessing part, but I was scared AF.
I shoved my hands into my pockets so he wouldn’t see them shake. That familiar incense tickled my nose, and when I turned the corner into Newsome’s office, I saw me on his computer monitor. He was watching my video.
“Del,” he said, calmer than I expected. “Sit, please.”
I did, and became instantly bitter, recalling the night he made me tell about Healthy Living.
He paused my video, and tugged his glasses off, folding them, then massaging the bridge of his nose. “What’s this supposed to accomplish, son?”
“I was told for me to come back, I’d need to confess. I’m honestly not a fan of your way, so I did mine instead.”
“You expect me to believe that’s all this is? All those new visitors out there aren’t some sort of setup to disrupt our service? Because I’m going to be frank with you: if you think you’re going to prevent our congregation from worshiping, I promise I’ll have you escorted from the premises. I won’t stand for any . . . shenanigans during this holy time.”
My head shook the entire time he spoke. “It’s nothing like that. Everyone out there, they want to be connected to a good place. I haven’t planned anything beyond that. But I do have a request.”
Pastor breathed deeply, looked to the sky. “Lord, this boy.” To me, “What?”
“Let Kiera off the hook. Don’t make her, or anyone else, get up there and tell their deepest secrets anymore. I got on the internet and told all of mine hoping you’d see that as a worthy enough sacrifice to save them.”
Pastor leaned forward, nearly hissing, “Boy, you are skating dangerously close to blasphemy. You didn’t sacrifice anything. You didn’t save anybody. Only One has ever done that.”
“Then let’s follow His example. I was paying attention in those purity classes, Pastor. I know when you’re forcing us into the pulpit to embarrass ourselves, that’s not saving anybody either. I’m asking you to look at a better way.
“The way I figure it, you can say some stuff that inspires those people to want to come back. I’m certain there are a lot of options in the Bible that work for when you want people to feel encouraged, like they belong. Or, you can force young people to embarrass themselves for your own satisfaction and a few amens.”
“If you think you can manipulate me—”
“No.” I shook my head, meaning it. “Not manipulation. I know I don’t control you. I’m not trying to. I’m stating the choices I’m sure you already recognize. You can do whatever you want, and that can be the same thing you’v
e always done. This is your church. Or, you can do what your wife once said, and help protect the youth in our community. You might start by not scaring them away.”
I stood, not waiting to be dismissed. There were fifteen minutes before service started. I bet Pastor had some things to think over. “I look forward to the sermon.”
Emerging from the corridor, I gaped at a packed church, more people still cramming their way in. Among them, I spotted all of the Purity Pledgers. Ralph and Bobby ushering folks to the last few empty seats. Mya in the choir stand. Jameer sitting apart from his parents. All the rest.
Kiera was wedged between her mom and dad, staring daggers at me. That gaze was too intense, so I dropped my eyes and skittered to the seat Cressie had saved next to Mom and Dad. I sat, thought it over, then bowed my head and closed my eyes, praying that all would go well.
Service started on time, but the songs seemed longer. There had to be a record number of announcements, and so many cursory prayers that I feared the crowd would start to siphon off before Pastor took the lectern. One request always wrapped up announcements before the real sermon started. Missus Baines, in her creaky old-lady voice, said, “Would all visitors please stand so the First Missionary family might greet you properly?”
Every other Sunday the question was a formality. That day, dozens of people stood. Most were young. All were because of me.
Missus Baines, who wore thick bifocals and maybe couldn’t see so well beyond the first pew, seemed startled by all this movement. She adjusted quickly, excited for so much company. “Well, praise the Lord! First Missionary, please greet our newcomers.”
Another few minutes passed as every visitor got a handshake or hug from the regular attendee closest to them.
Newsome observed it all. No smile.
The greetings calmed, everyone sat. Newsome approached the lectern. “Every head bowed, every eye closed as we pray.”
I didn’t peek for once. Didn’t want to see what was going on around me.
“Dear Lord,” he began, “we are often faced with choices. Choices that lead to other choices. And more choices after that. We know choosing wrong can lead to a path of darkness, which is why it is best to seek your guidance in our decision making. Yours. Not earthly advice from a man, or a boy.”
