by Chris Fabry
“It’s okay, Mom.”
“Yeah, I know,” she said. She dished out the spaghetti and sauce for Danielle, put her salad bowl beside it, and went to the bedroom to talk with Tony.
“Look, if you’ll just come and eat with us—”
“I can’t,” he snapped. “This has wrapped me up all day. As soon as I got the notification . . . I can’t believe we’re going through this again! Of all days!”
“Of all days?” she said.
“I made a sale today. A big one. The one I’ve been angling for. I mean, it was the best feeling to seal that deal and shake that guy’s hand. And then I get the news that you’ve—”
“Tony, please—Danielle needs to hear you say it’s okay. That she’s okay.”
“I’ll talk to her later,” he said. “I’ll tell her that later. And I don’t need you telling me what I have to do. I have a relationship with my daughter, okay? You don’t have to get between us like this.”
“I’m not getting between you, I’m trying to help you understand!”
He grabbed his gym bag and stormed out of the room. The door to the garage slammed like thunder. And then she heard the familiar clacking and the sound of Tony’s car pulling away.
Tony drove fast to the gym and stretched out while waiting for a pickup game—and then he was off, dribbling and moving the ball up court as fast as he could. He was aggressive, going for the basket each time he touched the ball, driving to find an open lane. When one closed, he’d pull back and look for another. On defense he went for steals, fouled hard, and worked up a good sweat at the expense of his opponents, mostly slower white guys. It felt good to be on the court, to be in a game he could control instead of something he couldn’t.
They were at game point, going to twenty, of the third matchup when his lifelong friend Michael called for the ball at the corner. The defense shifted slightly and Tony shook his head. Finally he got him the ball and Michael dribbled near the top of the key and signaled. Tony nodded and followed Michael down the lane.
It was poetry in motion. Everything slowed as Michael elevated and laid the ball off the glass. Tony jumped, took the ball, and jammed it through the net.
“Ball game!” Michael shouted.
Every player on the court and those waiting whooped and yelled at the move. Tony was surrounded by teammates who slapped his back and gave him high fives. His opponents even congratulated him.
“That was sick,” one said.
“Let’s run it back again,” someone said behind him.
“Nah,” Tony said. “I gotta go, man.”
“Come on, one more game.”
“We just beat you three times.” Tony glanced at the bleachers and saw two fresh players waiting. “Let these guys play.”
“All right. Jump in, fellas.”
Tony sat on the bleachers and wiped his face with a towel. His muscles were loose now and a lot of the stress from home was gone. The five thousand dollars still hung over him and stung his gut, but he had calmed somewhat about it.
Michael sat next to him and gave him a slack-jawed look. “You all right, dog?”
“Yeah,” Tony said. “Why?”
“You looked like you played a little mad tonight.”
Michael was a good player, quick and able to see the whole court. But he didn’t have the killer instinct.
“So? It just means I play better,” Tony said.
“Better means ball hog? Dude, I can’t get a pass from you. It’d be easier to baptize a cat.”
“I just needed to blow off a little steam, okay?”
“Well, I hope you’re done.”
Tony smiled. Michael was right, but he was also jealous. There were some who had it and some who didn’t. On the court and in life.
“Anyway, it’s cool, man,” Michael said. “We all gotta do that sometime.”
Tony could tell Michael was opening the door to talk about why he needed to blow off steam, and part of him wanted to go there. But he thought better of it, especially with somebody from church. The stuff about his family, his marriage—all of that was best kept to himself. And there were other things beneath the surface, steam rising from different places in his life he couldn’t let escape. Not with somebody like Michael. Not with anybody, really.
“Yo, see you in church, right?” Michael said.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe means no.”
Which was true. A maybe in a sale meant no. You kept pushing until you got a yes. But church didn’t hold much interest for Tony. He saw it as a necessary evil. Something that tied up his Sunday mornings but was good for the family, good for his marriage, and supposedly good for his soul. Networking. He made contacts there and kept his image intact.
It was just that church had become a guilt trip. He felt bad when he was there, as if something was off-kilter down in his heart, and sitting in the pew looking at all the people with their lives together—perfect kids and perfect marriages—pointed out how much he didn’t have. But when he didn’t go, he got the glare from Elizabeth.
“Hey, Tony, you gotta hit me one,” a player from the other team said as he was leaving.
“Come on, man, I gotta go,” Tony said, smiling.
The guy stuck his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the players behind him. “Dude, I just told all these guys. Just one.”
He knew what the guy was talking about and it had nothing to do with basketball. He wanted to tell them he was tired. He wanted to just walk out. But everybody was turned now. He was onstage.
Tony tossed his gym bag and towel to the floor and looked at the players as if to say, Watch this carefully. I’m only doing it once. He braced himself, tightened the muscles in his legs, and let the memory work. From a standing position he jumped, flipped in the air, and landed perfectly on his feet with his arms tucked into his body.
The new guys stood with their mouths open. The ones who’d seen it before clapped and cheered.
“I told you!” the player yelled.
Michael shook his head and Tony grabbed his stuff.
As he reached the door, Ernie Timms came into the gym flipping through a stack of pages. He was a thin man with wisps of hair he tried to comb over, but that wasn’t working for him. He’d been the director of the community center for a few years and things weren’t going well. It always seemed like there was some crisis they were trying to avert with funds or programs.
“What’s up, Ernie?” Tony said, noticing the man seemed a bit flustered.
“Hey, Tony. Do you know how long you guys reserved the gym tonight?”
“I think it was till nine thirty,” Tony said. “Why?”
Ernie frowned. “Oh, boy. I think we’ve double-booked it. Okay, so . . . okay. Thanks.”
Clueless. The guy was always walking around in some kind of daze. Tony was determined not to be like Ernie.
Miss Clara
Clara was in the produce aisle at Harris Teeter, trying to choose the right size tomato, when Clyde dropped the bomb. Her son took her shopping each week and spent time with her in this humdrum duty. She was fine driving herself, of course, but it seemed to make Clyde feel like he was doing something for her, plus she got to spend time with him.
After she had gotten past seventy, visits to the doctor increased—they wanted her to come in every whipstitch. And investment people wanted to sell her some new policy, and the retirement home people practically camped out on her front steps. But she didn’t expect the latest offer to come from her son.
“What would you think of coming to live with us, Mama?” Clyde said.
Clara found a soft spot she didn’t like on the tomato and put it back. “Now why in the world would I want to do a thing like that?”
“Well, my guess is you won’t want to right away. But Sarah and I have been talking about it. Praying about it.”
She looked up at him. She could remember holding him on her lap, reading a story, kneeling down beside him. Then came the years she spent on he
r knees because she was concerned how he might turn out. Those years were long gone.
“With everything you’ve got on your plate, you’re praying about me coming to live with you?”
Clyde inspected the tomato now. “Maybe this isn’t the right place to bring it up.”
“What are you so worried is going to happen to me?” Clara said. “You only live four blocks away.”
“Mama, that old house and all those stairs—it concerns us. What if something happened? What if you fell? You won’t keep that cell phone with you like we’ve asked.”
“Do you want to see me do a handstand? Is that it? Here, hold my dress down while I—”
“Mama, stop it.”
“What will it take to prove to you that I can handle living alone?”
“I know you love that house. I know your treasures are there.”
“My treasure is in heaven, and if I could go there and not be a burden to anyone, I’d hitch the wagon right now.”
“And if that’s what God wanted, He would have taken you a long time ago. He apparently has things for you to accomplish down here.”
Clara looked at Clyde squarely, a little twitch in her own eyes. “Don’t you think I’ve lived long enough to have the right to live where I want? Haven’t I done enough to deserve that?”
“You have, Mama. And you deserve a lot more. I’m just asking you to consider it for our sake. We don’t want anything to happen—”
“Nothing is going to happen to me,” she said, scrunching her face into a frown. “I’m not like some old codger who can’t get around. You stop worrying about me.”
He pushed the cart away from her to the bread aisle. For some reason every grocery store she had ever shopped at put the bread and milk on opposite ends of the universe. Produce and meat were separated too.
She followed him, toddling along until she caught up and put the tomato in the cart. She could tell this conversation was weighing on him.
“You want that raisin bread you always get?” Clyde said.
“Forget the raisin bread and turn around here and talk to me,” Clara said, grabbing for a loaf and checking the stale date. “Now what’s going on in that head of yours?”
“You know we did some work on the garage and put in a little apartment on the back.”
“You said you were going to rent that out for extra income. Maybe take in somebody who needed help.”
He bobbed his head. “Well, that was partially true. Sarah and I were kind of hoping we might be able to convince you to move in.”
“That’s what you were thinking all along?” she said. “That’s the craziest thing I’ve heard in my life. What am I supposed to do with my house?”
“Sell it, Mama. The house prices are good right now. You’d have a nest egg.”
“Nest egg,” she said, like the words left a bad taste in her mouth. “My Social Security and your father’s life insurance and pension are all I need.”
“All it’s going to take is one fall down those stairs—”
“Now there you go again,” she said, interrupting. “You don’t think I know how to use the handrail?”
“Excuse me,” a younger woman said. She had a fussy baby in a car seat in the middle of her cart. “I just need a loaf of whole wheat.”
“Grab her a fresh one from up there, Clyde, and check the stale date,” Clara said. “This is my son. He thinks I should come live with him because I’m getting old and feeble.”
Clyde shook his head as he grabbed the bread. “I didn’t say that.”
“Do I look old and feeble to you?” Clara said to the young woman.
“Mama, this lady doesn’t want to get into the middle of our problems.”
The young mother smiled and thanked Clyde for the bread. “No, ma’am. You look quite healthy.”
“See there. A mother knows.” Clara waved a hand. She peeked over the edge of the car seat. “My, would you look at that beautiful baby.”
The mother told Clara the child’s name, and the sight of the old woman seemed to calm the child.
“I’m going to add this little one to my prayer list, if you don’t mind,” she said.
“I wouldn’t mind at all. You can pray for my husband, too.” The woman said it with some sadness in her voice.
“Well, I might as well throw in the whole lot of you. What’s your name?”
Clara spent the next few minutes learning the woman’s name and where she lived. Clara told her about her church and pulled Clyde into the conversation. When the young mother left, she seemed to walk with a lighter step.
“Have you ever met a stranger, Mama?” Clyde said.
“I expect I have at some point,” Clara said. She led Clyde to the dairy aisle for some low-fat cottage cheese. When she got there, she turned to him. “I know you care about me, Son. And I didn’t know you were going to all the trouble of that apartment for me, so I’m flattered. When the Lord tells me it’s time to move . . .” She stopped, thinking about the feeling she’d had in her war room. “I can keep the cell phone with me if it would make you feel better.”
Clyde looked at the floor and inspected the tile. When he looked up, there was a mist in his eyes, and Clara could swear she saw a hint of Leo in his face—the same kindness and gentleness leaking through.
“It’s about your granddaughter. Hallie is having a rough time.”
“I pray for that girl every day.”
“I know you do.”
“I’ve asked her to come over and talk with me. I’m just down the street.”
“And I wish she would, but she stays in her room most of the time. We’ve tried everything. Sarah and I were thinking if you lived with us, maybe your being closer would . . . I don’t know.”
She put a hand on his arm. “All that important stuff you do with the city, all those decisions—and a teenage girl will wear you out.”
Clyde nodded. “I’d rather deal with a teamsters’ contract than try to figure out my daughter.”
“What makes you think she would come see me if I moved in?”
“She loves you, Mama. She always has. I think if you were there, it might be different. All we need is a crack in the door, just a little light. You know?”
The suspicious side of Clara thought this might be a ruse to pluck at her heartstrings. But when she saw the pain on her son’s face, she knew it wasn’t. “And you’ve been praying I’d come live with you because of Hallie?”
“I’d be lying if I said it was only that. We want you to be safe and not alone. And we don’t want to force you or coerce you. But I got the impression the other day . . . and Sarah agreed. Both of us want this.”
Clara searched his eyes and saw what she was looking for. It was there, underneath all the layers. Love. That’s why he was bringing all of this up. She had to focus on that and not the bad feeling she had of being moved to the side of life’s road. Even if this wasn’t what he meant, it was the way she felt.
When they checked out, she saw the young mother ahead of them and waved at her and her baby.
“You’d have your privacy,” Clyde said, picking up a magazine and leafing through it. “We wouldn’t bother you a bit.”
Clara stared at him. “Where do you get this stubborn streak? It must come from your father’s side of the family.”
Clyde laughed and shook his head.
After her things were put away at home and Clyde had left, Clara headed upstairs and at the top stopped and wobbled, the room spinning. She reached out just in time to grab the handrail to steady herself. What if she had fallen? She could see Clyde looking down at her in some hospital room and a doctor suggesting a hip replacement.
When she made it into her war room, she knelt and poured out her heart.
“Lord, if You want me to move, I’ll obey You. You know that. But You can’t want me to leave all these memories. There are too many answers to prayer in this room. We do some good work together here. Why would I need to . . . ?”
&nb
sp; The questions mounted, one on top of another, until all she could hear was her own voice crying out. And then a wave of peace washed over her and told her it wasn’t where she lived that mattered, but that she was walking with Him.
She began to sing softly, an old song. “‘Every day with Jesus is sweeter than the day before.’” Tears came to her eyes and she nodded and shook her hands together.
“Father, I wanted to grow old in this house. I wanted to live here till the end. You know how much of my heart is wrapped up in the life I’ve lived here.”
Then she was back to asking why and it felt like wrestling. But in the end she knew she was wrestling with her own will. She had a loving son and daughter-in-law. She had a granddaughter who loved her. But change was hard, especially for someone who had defined “home” as one spot on the planet for so many decades.
“Lord, if You’re going with me, I don’t want to be anywhere else. I want to walk with You wherever You lead. So if this is Your plan, You must have some assignment for me. Maybe it’s Hallie. Maybe it’s someone else. I’m going to trust You. I’m going to follow You. That’s what I’m going to do, just follow You, and if this is a mistake, You stop me.”
She stayed on her knees, hoping to hear some booming voice that didn’t come.
“All right then,” Clara said, standing. She gingerly walked down the stairs to the kitchen, where she still had the yellow pages stuffed into a drawer by the silverware. You could find anything you wanted on the Internet, but she liked the notes she’d scribbled beside the plumbers and electricians who had helped her through the years. She hand-copied notes from previous phone books into the new ones that came but she’d never had to turn to the realty section. How did you go about choosing such a thing?
“Now if I’m going to work with someone, Lord,” she said aloud, “I might as well work with somebody who follows You so I can bless them with the commission.”
Her mind whirred and spun like a hard drive. Maybe God wanted to use her in someone’s life who didn’t know Jesus. Maybe God wanted her to work with someone who had no religion at all or who was caught in some kind of lie about Him.
