Ezekiel's Passion

by Bailey West

  Copyright © 2017 by Bailey West

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Ezekiel’s Passion/ Bailey West. -- 1st ed.

  Cover art by: Cover Couture

  Photo: shutterstock

  From Blue’s Beauty

  One day during one of our clothes swapping sessions in the bathroom, Zora informed me that she was leaving home as soon as high school was over. She’d received a scholarship to Columbia University in New York. She wanted to become an Oral Surgeon.

  “I haven’t told my parents because I don’t want them to stop me.”

  “How are you going to pay for your ticket to get there? I have money if you need it.”

  “Thank you, but I’ve saved up enough money from babysitting those bad ass kids at church to pay for a one-way ticket. I am going to stay in the dorms, and my scholarship will cover my tuition, room, and board. I just have to maintain my grades.”

  “How will you get out of your house with your stuff?”

  “I will bring stuff out slowly and keep it at your house. I don’t have a lot there. Most of my stuff is at your house anyway. I just can’t stay here any longer Nette. I’m going to lose my mind if I have to continue to live with these people. It’s just…I hate church. I hate church people. I hate church stuff, and they are always making me do it. I just want to be able to experience life without them ruining it.”

  She let one tear fall and quickly wiped it away. She told me some things that she has experienced while living with her parents and she swore me to secrecy, so it’s her story to tell…

  1

  “The 4:45 am bus to New York City is now boarding at door number three,” the muffled voice said over the intercom.

  “Thank goodness,” I said to myself as I stood to collect my bag. I followed the other waiting passengers and formed a line at door number three.

  “Hey, Lil Momma,” I heard a raspy voice say over my shoulder. I turned around hoping that it was not who I thought it was. It’s him. He smiled at me displaying an open face gold tooth that was next to a spot in the front of his mouth where another tooth used to be. He looked like a Jack-o’-lantern.

  I saw him when he first came into the bus station. He looked like he was fresh out of the pen…as in penitentiary. He had on some high waisted stone washed jeans that were rolled at the bottom and tucked into his white slouch socks. He had on a windbreaker jacket with earth tone colored paisley print. I’m figuring that was the style when he went up. No one told him that we have graduated from paisley jackets and stone washed jeans.

  He sat across from me in the waiting area and kept looking at me. I made eye contact with him once, and he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth…well, tooth. I named him ‘Toothless.' I always make up names for people when I don’t know their names or don’t care to know their names. I felt uncomfortable under his glare, so I moved and sat closer to the guard station. I don’t know how much help the security guard would have actually been since he seemed fascinated by a crossword puzzle he was working.

  After realizing Toothless was standing behind me in line to board the bus, I looked into my bag and pretended like I’d left something in my seat. I stood by my seat for a few minutes until I saw the line move then I stood back in line. I needed to make sure Toothless, and I wasn't sitting anywhere near each other.

  The bus was somewhat full, but the seat directly behind the driver was still available. I chose that one. Toothless sat in the back of the bus.

  The bus loaded its last passengers and pulled out of the station. The bus passed the Gateway Arch and crossed over the Mississippi River. I watched as we crossed the bridge into Illinois from Missouri indicating that I’d actually done it. I left Saint Louis. More like escaped Saint Louis. I walked across the stage at my high school graduation, celebrated with my best friend, Zanetta, then I snuck out of my house in the middle of the night. I walked a couple of blocks and then called a cab to take me to the bus terminal. I probably should be nervous or scared, but I’m not. I am just ready to be gone. In the last couple of weeks, things in my house had gone from bad to hell. I knew I had to leave.

  No one knew my travel plans including Zanetta. I did tell her I was leaving but the less she knew, the better. I knew that Zanetta would be the first stop my parents made when they started looking for me. If they started looking for me. They may not care. Then again, they will look because they will want to save face in front of the church people. How bad would it look to the church folks if the Pastor and First Lady have no idea where their child is? It’s all about image for them. They are only concerned with how things look. They could care less about how things really are.

  I left a letter for my parents so they wouldn’t think I was kidnapped.

  Dear Mom and Dad,

  I guess you know by now that I have left home. I couldn’t stay any longer, and I didn’t feel like you would understand my need to leave. I will be okay. I have a plan. God will protect me.

  Love Zora

  I didn’t tell my parents that I was accepted to every college I had applied to. Nor did I announce that I had chosen Columbia University. I didn’t think they would care, so I didn’t share. I don’t recall either of them asking me about my future plans. I believe that it was assumed I would stay in Saint Louis and find a job or go to a community college. How crazy is it that no one thought to ask me what my plans were? For a normal family it would be very crazy, but for my family, it was…what it was.

  My dysfunctional family consists of my dad, mom, and my three older brothers; Countee, Amiri, and Langston. Yes, they are all named after famous poets or authors. So am I. At some point, my parents read something other than the Bible. I’m surprised my brother’s names aren't: Moses, Noah, and Abraham. Then they would have named me Mary or Ruth. Thank goodness they stuck with the pattern and named me after a famous black author also. It never occurred to me to ask why they chose our names. Those weren’t the types of conversations we had in my family. We really didn’t have any types of conversations in my family. Outsiders probably looked at us and thought we were the Cleavers or the Huxtables. They had no idea what we were really like.

  My dad is the Pastor of Pool of Siloam Church in Saint Louis, Missouri. When I tell you that his passion is that church, I mean it. I think he loves it more than he ever loved anything or anyone including his family. Certainly, more than he loved me. He spends all of his free time either at the church or doing church stuff like preparing his sermon, listening to church on the radio or watching church on TV. I don’t ever remember a time when he was around long enough to actually know what was going on in my life. He wasn’t at any of my honor roll award ceremonies or any of my parent/teacher conferences. Oh, but let Sister So-and-So from the church have an ingrown toenail! He would go to wherever she was, pleading the blood of Jesus over her raggedy ass feet, until she thought she felt better. Let Brother So-and-So be in the hospital, Reverend Chambers would be the first visitor on the list. He would show up with his Bible and his blessed oil all ready to grease that man’s forehead. He cared for everyone else, but not for his family.

  My mother was the one who was in charge of the house. I don’t think she really likes me. She tolerated me, but I always felt like if given a choice, she would have chosen not to be my mother. How do you give birth to a child but ha
ve no patience or time for them? She never established a mother/daughter relationship with me. We didn’t do anything together. If I needed clothes, she would shop for me and bring things back. If I needed my hair done, she would pay someone to do it. She never hugged or kissed me. She never said she loved me or empowered me as a woman. We never had conversations about boys or the birds and the bees. She never told me about her pregnancy or my birth. She did a fantastic job of ignoring me.

  The good church folks thought she took care of me. She is a great actress. She would smile at me and hold my hand while people were around but as soon as they left, she would go back to completely ignoring me. People would give me compliments about my long, black ‘good’ hair or my blue eyes. My mother would always find a way to downplay their compliment. Someone would say, “Oh Zora, your hair is so long and pretty.” My mother would respond, “Girl she so tender-headed, God should have given that hair to someone who would appreciate it and take care of it. It smells so bad by the time I get her to put some shampoo in it. It’s a shame really.” One time someone complimented me on my blue eyes. “Oh Zora, your eyes are so blue and beautiful.” My mother responded, “You know blue eyes are not really blue. They are actually absent of color. You are complimenting her on a birth defect!”. She kept up that type of behavior my whole life. Almost as if she was jealous of me but she created me! How can you be jealous of your own child? Most of the female traits that I have, I learned from Zanetta and her Aunt.

  Auntie Elisa is the one that taught me how to cook, clean and how to take care of my body. She introduced me to scented body washes and taught me how to use maxi pads and tampons. I’d had my period for almost a year before my mother even knew.

  I can’t say that I hate my mother because honestly, I don’t really know her. Hate is such a strong word. Let’s say I am anti-Sheila Chambers. She could probably go missing, and I would be sad for my dad, but that’s about it.

  My feelings for my Dad are different than my feelings for my mother. I love my Dad, although I’m not sure if he loves me back. I think he got lost in Religion Land and there was no one around to direct him. That should have been the job of his wife, but she didn’t. She watched him neglect me. She encouraged his complete immersion into the church instead of reminding him that he had a little girl that needed him at home. I really needed my Dad. I yearned for his love, attention, and protection. The church got those things from him, but I didn’t. I would sit in church and watch him beam with pride at other kid’s accomplishments. Little Sally is on the honor roll two semesters in a row. I stayed on the honor roll. There was not one semester my entire school career that I was not on the honor roll. Little Buddy got a full ride scholarship to the local community college. I got full ride scholarships to every single Ivy League school that I applied to. ‘Little sort of smart person’ scored a 19 on their ACT. I scored a 35 on my ACT and 1500 on my SAT. I took the SAT just to be doing something. I knew I could go anywhere I wanted to go with my ACT score. My accomplishments were never celebrated. He celebrated those old raggedy ass mediocre church kids every chance he got.

  I think my dad is the reason why I have such strong views of church and church people. I don’t deal with any of those mouth foaming, hypocritical, Bible-thumping, hell raising, judgemental people that call themselves Christians. Well, except for one but she is none of those things. She is my best friend my A-1 from day one. My sister from another mister, my Sissy-Zanetta. I met her in elementary school. During our first conversation, I forced her to be my best friend. We have been close ever since. She is my biggest cheerleader. She is my support system and my confidant. She doesn’t judge me even though we are very different. I don’t like church, at all. She loves church. She can go every day and never get bored. If I had to go every day, I would stab myself in my eardrums with a dull butter knife. She’s a fashionista. She has an eye for fashion. Me, not so much. I know if something is cute but I usually let her pick out my clothes. We are opposites, but that has never mattered to either of us. She just loves me for me, and I love her for being the one constant in my life. I know she has my back no matter what.

  I stayed awake until Toothless got off the bus at his stop. I couldn’t risk falling asleep and waking up to him seated next to me. So, I stayed up. After he got off the bus, I tucked all my belongings in close to me, and I slept until the bus arrived at a stop in New Jersey. The bus slowly made its way through the Lincoln tunnel into the hustle and bustle of New York City. When I first decided that I was going to leave home, I didn’t know if it would actually happen. I thought somehow my parents would find out and try to stop me, but they didn’t. I finally made it. I got off the bus at the Port Authority right in the middle of Manhattan. Things were moving so fast around me, but I was determined that I would learn this city. I had to learn this city. Failure was not an option. I couldn’t go back to Saint Louis.

  I got my small suitcase from the bottom of the bus. I sat down on a bench and thought, “I finally made it here. Now, what do I do?”

  Where can I go to get help? I have seven hundred dollars. That money needs to last me until I can find employment or the semester starts. I need to go to my school, but it’s Saturday. I know the offices are closed today and tomorrow. I have to figure something out. I asked for directions to the library and was directed to the largest library I had ever seen. I saw this library in movies. I waited to use the computers and Googled ‘homeless shelters.' I found one that was for people under the age of twenty-one. I wrote down the address and asked the librarian for directions. I followed her directions and found myself standing in front of a nondescript building. It didn’t have any special markings or signs. I knew this had to be the place based on the address. I stood outside the shelter contemplating everything that could go wrong. They could be full. They could call the police and report me as a runaway. Even worse they could call my parents. This was my only option. I had to go in.

  I rang the bell. A short latin woman came to the door.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Hi, um…I just got in town, and I need somewhere to stay.”

  She smiled, then opened the door to let me in.

  I explained my situation to the lady who turned out to be the director. Her name was Sylvi.

  “We don’t have any beds here, but I am going to send you to my friend who runs a group home. I know she has a bed available for you. That will be a better fit for you anyway.”

  She made a quick phone call. After she finished her conversation, she said, “Yes, she has a short-term bed for you. Follow these directions to her house. It’s not too far from here. It’s walking distance.”

  “Thank you.”

  I followed her directions to the address that looked like a regular house on the outside. I double checked the address before I knocked on the door.

  The door was opened by a small woman.

  “You must be Zora?”

  “Yes, I’m Zora.” I smiled.

  “I’m Evelyn, come in.”

  She moved to the side and let me enter the house. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but it was just a house.

  “Sylvi explained everything to me. You are welcome to stay for a few days. Anything longer than a few days will force me to put you into the system. I’m sure that’s not what you want.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Good, follow me, I will show you to your room.”

  Evelyn showed me to the small room upstairs. There were two sets of bunk beds facing each other and a small desk between them. There was a girl on each bed except for one of the top bunks. There was nothing new or updated about the room, but it smelled like someone had recently wiped everything down with bleach and washed the linen.

  “Here is a lock and a key. You can put your things in that locker against the wall for safe keeping. Keep this key on you. I wouldn’t want to think that these young ladies would steal from you but you can’t be too careful.” Evelyn explained.

  “Thank you,” I sa
id after taking the key and lock from her.

  “Girls introduce yourselves to our new guest,” Evelyn said before she left the room.

  “You can take that top bunk, it’s empty,” one of the girls on the lower beds said. “I’m Martica,” she pointed to herself. “This is Leeann,” she pointed to the girl across from her. Then she pointed above her, “and Bethena.”

  “Zora.”

  “Dang girl where you from talking all country and shit?”Martica asked.

  “I’m from Saint Louis.”

  “Saint Louis? Like that island where the Jamaicans be coming from?” Leeann asked.

  “No dumb ass that’s St. Lucia and Jamaicans come from Jamaica,” Martica rolled her eyes.

  “Saint Louis is south, right?” Bethena asked.

  “Naw, man it's in Missouri. I got some family there,” Martica answered. “How you get here?”

  “I came here for school,” I answered.

  “Hearr,” Martica tried to mimic my accent. “You country den a mug!”

  I’m country, but you just said, ‘den a mug’…I thought to myself as I busied myself with putting my bag in the locker. I put the key around my neck.

  “Aye man, for real. Keep your stuff locked up cause these chicks in here is some straight up thieves, man. Remember those red Nikes I had?”

  “Yep, they came up missing one day. We never did figure out who took them.” Bethena said.

  “Aye, I think it was that one girl that ended up going back home.”

  “Oh yeah, I forgot all about her.”

  I left them to their conversation while I climbed up into my temporary bed. I listened to the girls talk and argue. I held on to my key as I laid in the bed formulating my plan.

  I stayed at the shelter for the weekend. Monday morning Evelyn and I called Columbia University and spoke with a friend she had there. She explained my situation to them.