And it was told David what Rizpah the daughter of Aiah, the concubine of Saul, had done.
And David went and took the bones of Saul and the bones of Jonathan his son from the men of Jabeshgilead, which had stolen them from the street of Bethshan, where the Philistines had hanged them, when the Philistines had slain Saul in Gilboa:
And he brought up from thence the bones of Saul and the bones of Jonathan his son; and they gathered the bones of them that were hanged.
And the bones of Saul and Jonathan his son buried they in the country of Benjamin in Zelah, in the sepulchre of Kish his father: and they performed all that the king commanded. And after that God was intreated for the land.
It was just seven verses, but immediately I felt saddened by Rizpah’s grief. I placed myself in her shoes, sitting out in the elements, mourning, grieving and lamenting. To passersby she probably looked quite pitiful—something like how I’d seemed to all of my family and friends. Her tears, however, masked an inner strength. I wondered if I would discover fortitude on the inside of me.
I understood the loneliness Rizpah felt when her sons were stripped from her so soon after she’d lost her husband. For my entire life I’d been surrounded by people, but I was no stranger to feeling alone.
As a girl, I was blessed to have the stability of a mother and father under one roof. I cherished the evenings that my mother, Claudette, baked cookies with me and my sister, Dayna. Mama would let us stay up late on Fridays to meet Daddy when he came home from his second-shift job.
Daddy always came in the house and scooped me up in his arms as if I weighed a feather. I didn’t realize I was a chubby child; I just knew that my Daddy loved me and thought I was beautiful.
When I started going to school, and the teasing began, I didn’t know how to take it. I ran home crying every day because of the cruel jokes and embarrassing pranks. Even worse, my own sister Dayna, a year younger than me, had become ashamed of sitting near me on the school bus.
Mama’s solution to my weight problems was to berate me and deprive me of sweets and desserts. Gone were the nights of cookie baking. I sat alone in my room with tears in my eyes, reading books, while the aroma of the fresh-baked goodies wafted into my nostrils. Unbeknownst to Mama, I would sneak Little Debbie snack cakes from the store and guiltily munch on them while waiting for Daddy to come home.
Rizpah, a woman who had been dead for centuries, sparked new tears from decades-old hurts. I just sat on my couch crying for Rizpah . . . or maybe I was crying for me. Her despair reminded me of my own, and her loneliness of what I was experiencing right before I met the man who would change my life.
CHAPTER Two
Past
It was a hot and stifling Sunday afternoon, and Pastor Jenkins was running long. I enjoyed a good message, but if Pastor was going to get up there preaching for an hour he needed to take a special offering to get some air-conditioning. I fanned myself constantly to keep from forming perspiration stains on my new dress.
One of my best friends and fellow armor bearer, Ebony, passed me a note. It read, Someone is looking at you. I smiled, shook my head, and crumpled up the little slip of paper.
Ebony was referring to Marvin Baker. He was the only prospect of a husband that I’d ever had. Things hadn’t worked out at all, but Ebony insisted that he still wanted to change my last name. She always imagined that she caught him gazing at me with longing in his eyes.
I ignored Ebony grinning at me, her gray eyes sparkling with excitement. Although she was eager to marry me off, she never seemed to want the same for herself. She was a beautiful girl, petite and shapely, though no one would ever know the way she covered herself in her “holy” garments. She had hair that came to the middle of her back, but it was always twisted into a neat ball at the nape of her neck. She refused to put on any makeup, not even lip gloss. Personally, I thought it was a waste, but she felt she was called by God to be single.
Finally Pastor Jenkins was saying the benediction, and I was so glad. As soon as we said “Amen,” First Lady Jenkins sent Ebony on some errand. I stood next to her as she greeted the church members.
After everyone had said their hellos, First Lady turned to me and asked, “How are you feeling this fine Sunday afternoon?”
That was, on the surface, a fairly innocuous question. However, did First Lady Jenkins want to know how I felt in the spirit? If that was the case, I would respond, First Lady, I feel good down in my sanctified soul. However, if she was referring to my natural, physical existence . . . well, that was a whole other story.
I’d tried something new with my wardrobe that morning. Instead of my normal blacks and earth tones, I had listened to the advice of a bubbly salesperson and donned an orange dress. She told me that bright colors were really becoming popular for plus-size women (that’s what she called us . . . I prefer big girls). She said that the bright color would draw attention to the dress and away from my weight. I wasn’t so sure about that. I had all my armor on (not spiritual armor, but my serious one-piece body shaper), and still I thought I looked like an autumn pumpkin. Not to mention that my feet felt like sausages, crammed into size nine shoes when I really should have gotten size nine and a half.
I responded, “First Lady, I feel good today.”
“Well, all right. You’re looking good, too, honey.”
“Are you sure this orange looks all right?”
First Lady laughed. “What you doing, girl? Fishing for compliments?”
“No. I wasn’t sure about it when I put it on this morning.”
“Well, you look lovely. So are you excited about the wedding?” She’d clapped her hands together when she asked. Obviously, she was excited about it.
I hesitated before responding. “Um, y-yes. Yes I am.”
The wedding. My best friend was to be married in a week, and I kept forgetting that I was supposed to be thrilled about the event. Lynette and I had been best friends for fifteen years, but I had to question the friendship of a woman who insisted that I (all 260 pounds of me) wear a strapless gown.
When Lynette told me a year ago that she was getting married, I vowed to lose at least fifty pounds. When I started on the Linda Turtle weight loss regimen, I was pumped. Ms. Linda Turtle’s television commercials depicted big girls who had been transformed into svelte fat-free vixens. I knew I was going to be a success story.
About six weeks into the plan, I had lost a grand total of five pounds. I’d followed that diet to the letter (okay, maybe I’d slipped up once or twice or thrice), but my reward was a measly five pounds. That’s what I call invisible weight loss. I couldn’t tell where on my body those five pounds were lost from, and as a matter of fact I don’t think they were lost at all. I think they were just playing hide-and-seek and were readying themselves to reappear at any moment in a new form, maybe underneath my chin or on the back of one of my arms.
Needless to say, I gave up without much of a fight. I didn’t have enough time to lose the amount of weight to actually make a difference. At 260 pounds, even if I lost 50, I’d still be fat. A fat girl in a strapless bridesmaid’s gown.
Now, although I wouldn’t be shapely for the blessed occasion, I still planned to have a smile on my face, because I truly was happy for my friend. Her two sons needed some type of positive male influence in their lives, and Lynette’s fiancé, Jonathan, was the answer to her prayers. From the moment he walked into their lives he was better to those boys than their daddy ever was, and ten times better to Lynette. No, make that a hundred times better. Her ex-husband Brian was a treacherous leech.
I started to ask First Lady Jenkins if she needed anything, but I noticed a smile spreading across her lips. I followed her gaze across the sanctuary to Brother Marvin Baker. First Lady and Ebony were in cahoots on hooking the two of us up. They didn’t care how many times I told her that neither one of us was interested. First Lady waved at him, and he slowly walked over. I knew he didn’t want to come anywhere near me, but I wasn’t hurt. The fee
ling was mutual.
I spoke first. “Praise the Lord, Bro Marvin.”
“Praise Him,” he said dryly.
First Lady smiled as if she had accomplished something, but Marvin just stood there looking constipated. He was like all of the other brothers I’d ever encountered. He probably thought that I still had a thing for him. I did not. The whole relationship with him was one of my most humiliating experiences.
First of all, let me say that Mr. Marvin was not the best-looking brother around—and that’s being nice. He was overweight, and all his clothing was just a little bit too snug. He had a mundane career—he was a research analyst at a law firm—but at least he did have a job. To top it all off, it was only a matter of time until the brother sported a George Jefferson hairstyle. But with all that going against him, he thought he was too good for me. It never ceased to amaze me how even the most undesirable brothers in the church were searching for the sisters who looked just like Halle Berry.
First Lady had made Marvin and me a team to plan a group outing for the singles committee. I’d thought that we had a lot in common. We both loved the Lord, we both loved the church, and we were both single and looking. I also thought that we had connected, but I was wrong.
Before we were even officially dating, Marvin had the nerve to go around telling members of the singles committee that I was stalking him. He said I was calling him and e-mailing him every day, wanting to pray with him. Excuse me for actually caring about him. And to set the record straight he called me as much as I called him. He didn’t start flipping on me until a new sister joined the church, one whom he thought he was going to hook up with. All I had to take is one look at her and I knew she was out of Marvin’s league.
After the new sister completely dogged Marvin, he had the audacity to come back and try to mend fences with me. As badly as I wanted to be in a relationship, I was not about to be a doormat; nor was I taking sloppy seconds. I told Marvin that we could be friends, so he decided to stop speaking to me.
My story with Marvin was the story of my relationship life. In high school, as big as I was, I was virtually invisible to the opposite sex. It didn’t help that my best friend, Lynette, was in the homecoming court every year and a cheerleader to boot. Lynette never seemed to notice that the boys didn’t like me. She always acted like I had some elusive secret admirer who would soon show his face. When this prince never arrived, I lived vicariously through Lynette’s puppy love ordeals and prayed that it would someday be my turn to experience the giggles and butterflies in my stomach. I ended up spending prom night alone and in tears.
My college years were supposed to be better. If there was a guy on campus who appreciated a woman with a little extra meat on her bones, he was going to find me and we were going to live happily ever after. I even worked on my personality. I didn’t want any hindrances when my prince finally came along. I brushed up on current events, read interesting novels, and honed my conversation skills—only to find that the one brother in town who liked big girls was already happily involved.
By the time I hit my senior year, I was distraught and discouraged. Lynette tried to include me in social functions and convinced me that the only reason I didn’t have a boyfriend was that I’d been making myself scarce. I joined the Black Student Union with Lynette thinking that I’d meet someone who wanted to make a change in the world.
At the first meeting I was introduced, by Lynette, to a debonair young man named Justin. He was quite active in his church and couldn’t help but tell everyone that he was saved. Even though I was nonchurched—my family attended on Christmas and Easter—I was thoroughly impressed by Justin’s zeal and dedication. He invited me and Lynette to his church, and we both accepted his invitation with stars in our eyes. We both found Jesus—and Lynette found a boyfriend. I didn’t hold it against Lynette. She had no idea that I’d hoped Justin would be my first real boyfriend.
I flourished in my church environment. I was a single woman in a sea of many single women. On the surface, it was perfectly acceptable to be single, as long as I was living my life for Christ. Beneath the facade, however, were hordes of single women who craved love, husbands, and children.
It was hard to be a church member and not be married. I felt that married women were validated by the fact that they’d been chosen. I was always hearing about the “virtuous woman” as the epitome of femininity and womanhood. The virtuous woman did it all: ran a business, took care of her household, and of course was the main jewel in her husband’s crown. Most of the women of faith in the Bible had husbands backing them up, and the single women of faith were mostly harlots! I wanted to be a faithful wife and not a faithful woman of ill repute.
Lynette was waving to me from across the church. She started walking over with two of her other bridesmaids in tow. They looked like three models prancing down the catwalk. Lynette was five foot nine, taller than the other women, and weighed probably 140 pounds—and that was after she’d eaten a big meal, wearing her heaviest jeans and a sweater. This morning she was wearing a fitted red suit, the skirt just barely reaching her calves. It was sharp. Now, Lynette . . . she looked good in bright colors.
“Praise the Lord, First Lady. Praise the Lord, Char!” said Lynette in her most cheery, upbeat tone.
“You betta praise Him,” replied First Lady.
“Hey girl.”
“That orange is pretty,” she said after appraising my outfit with a swift glance.
“You think so? I think maybe it’s too much.”
“Not at all. You know, not everybody can wear orange.”
First Lady smiled, but I narrowed my eyes and frowned. Lynette had just affirmed that I looked horrible in the orange getup. She thought she was slick, but I knew her too well. Lynette was one of those people who didn’t feel comfortable talking to others without complimenting them on something. Usually, if there were no redeeming qualities to my outfit, she’d comment on my hair. She had never actually said that she liked my dress. She just said that she liked the color orange. Slick, but not quite slick enough.
Alicia, one of the anemic-looking bridesmaids, said, “Charmayne, the rehearsal dinner is at Shenanigans Seafood House. It will start Friday evening at six thirty. Please be on time.”
“That’s not a problem. I’ll be there.”
I bit my tongue, not once but twice, to avoid saying something nasty to Alicia. The only reason she was even in the wedding party was that she was Jonathan’s sister, but she came in and promptly took over in the planning department. Somehow she’d forgotten that I was the maid of honor. I knew she was getting on Lynette’s nerves, too, because Lynette was flashing her fake grin—the one where she would be grinding her teeth underneath her lips.
Lynette said, “Of course she’ll be there on time. Charmayne, you feel like some dessert? I sure could use some cheesecake.”
I didn’t feel like dessert, but coming from Lynette this was not just a trivial invitation. Whenever she was under stress, or really needed to talk about something important, Lynette had to hash things out with a mouthful of something sweet. She was apt to come over my house at two o’clock in the morning with ice cream and cookie dough, and usually tears in her eyes.
“Mmm-hmm, I’ll go as soon as I’m off duty.”
I ignored Lynette’s very audible sigh, and immediately responded to First Lady’s signal to leave. I quickly collected her Bible and handbag and rolled my eyes at Lynette in the process. My best friend hated it when I was on armor bearer duty. She tried to pretend that I was being abused by our pastor’s wife, but Lynette just didn’t like sharing my attention.
Once inside First Lady’s office, she plopped down in her chair wearily. I neatly placed her hat in its hatbox and handed First Lady her comfortable shoes. Ebony walked into the office right behind us, her errand completed.
“You know,” said First Lady, “Brother Marvin is just playing hard to get.”
Ebony gave First Lady Jenkins a high five. I laughed at their joi
nt attack.
“Am I supposed to chase him?” I asked.
Ebony replied, “Absolutely not! He’s just going to end up missing out on a good thing.”
“I don’t think he’s concerned about that.”
“He should be.” First Lady eased her tired feet out of her pretty high heels. She’d shouted up a storm during service and was definitely paying the price.
I imagined Lynette waiting impatiently outside First Lady’s office. “Do you need anything else before I leave, First Lady?”
“No, Charmayne. I think I can make it from here.”
“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” asked Ebony.
“Lynette is having a crisis.”
“Oh, brother! She’s always having a crisis.”
“I know. But she really needs me this time.”
I walked around First Lady’s desk and gave her a hug and planted a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Ebony, I’ll call you tonight.”
“Right after you rescue Lynette?”
I laughed and nodded. Ebony didn’t care much for Lynette. She felt that Lynette was shallow and bothersome. Ebony hated that I was always there to clean up Lynette’s messes and rescue her from her dilemmas. Lynette, on the other hand, found Ebony to be uptight and too deep for her own good. Every time Lynette heard Ebony quote a scripture she would roll her eyes and say something under her breath. Usually I felt torn between the two of them, because I always had to choose one or the other. They never wanted all three of us to do anything together, and if I chose one, I wouldn’t get a phone call from the other for a week or so.
I stepped outside the office door. True to her character, Lynette was standing there with her arms folded and lips protruding.
I laughed at her antics. “Girl, what is wrong with you?”
“Are you finally finished?”
“Yes. Why do you always hate on my ministry?”
Lynette rolled her eyes. “Ministry? Girl, please. I’m sure the Lord has more in mind for you than carrying other folks’ Bibles.”
Farther Than I Meant to Go, Longer Than I Meant to Stay Page 2
