by E. N. Joy
Instinctively, she yanked her son up and began yelling, screaming, and cursing. “Do you know what you’ve done? Why can’t you just sit your simple self down somewhere? Why you always messing with stuff, you little . . .” On and on she went as her son began to roar out in tears.
“Do you think I care if you cry? You ain’t worried about all the work I have to do now, so why should I worry about you?” Deborah was on fire as she gathered the papers. She’d stop every now and then and point her finger right in her son’s face and scold him a good one. “This is my work. This is what keeps a roof over your head, clothes on your back, and food in your stomach,” she ranted as if the child understood. But she couldn’t have cared less whether the boy understood. She was just frustrated.
For all the thirty minutes it took for Deborah to gather up the papers and try, to no avail, to put the stack back in order, she ranted on and on. Her son roared the entire time. “That was just stupid. How could you do so something so stupid? Stupid! Stupid! Just plain stupid!”
“I sorry, Mommy,” her son cried, wiping his eyes. “I sorry.”
“Oh, you don’t have to tell me how sorry you are,” Deborah raged, as she continued to fiddle with the paper. “You had a sorry daddy, so what else could I have expected?” Frustrated and angry to no end, Deborah just burst out crying. “I can’t believe you did this. Now what am I supposed to do?”
“I sorry,” her son said again. His voice was so sweet—so innocent. He rubbed his tiny eyes, trying to get that wet stuff to stop coming out of them, but the tears just kept flowing. It was like he couldn’t control them, no more than his mommy could control the words that came flying out of her mouth.
Deborah looked over at her fragile son. She exhaled. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry, sorry I even decided to have kids. I mean, what was I thinking? How did I think for one minute things would have been different with Elton? I was sorry and stupid to think I could actually get the fairytale—the happily ever after. I ain’t even mad at myself for getting that abortion back in the day. In hindsight, heck, it was the right thing to do. Probably should have gotten an abortion the second time too.” She let out a harrumph. “Guess God’s showing me, huh?”
Deborah let out one last expletive before throwing the mangled stack of papers in the air and walking away. She dragged her drained, tired, and depressed body to her bed, where she’d find it nearly impossible to find the strength to peel herself up off of it again.
“What’s happening to me, God?” Deborah cried out, feeling regretful and remorseful for the way she’d just behaved—for the way she’d just behaved to and in front of her son. “This isn’t me. It’s not me. I don’t know who that person is acting like that, but it’s not me,” Deborah cried. “I need you to help me, God. I need you to bring me through this thing, God. No playing around and no test. As you can see, I fail the tests and I’m tired of taking them over and over and over. I need an instantaneous breakthrough, God. Please,” Deborah cried.
Eventually Deborah’s bladder forced her out of the bed. It sickened her that she had even contemplated just lying there and peeing on herself. She was just that weak physically, mentally, and spiritually. Life was truly taking its toll on her. From the outside looking in, Deborah didn’t appear to have a bad life at all—not one that would cause her such anxiety and breakdowns. But what people couldn’t see was the torment, the war, going on in her mind. It was a battle she felt defenseless to fight.
“Jesus,” she said before pulling herself up and going to the bathroom. And she knew it had to have been Jesus who carried her there. That’s just how weak and lifeless she was. She felt dead.
Since she was up, she decided to go check on her son. Despair and darkness had consumed her over the last couple of hours, so much so that she allowed her son to fend for himself in the house. In her right mind, she knew allowing a toddler free rein of the house wasn’t smart. But Deborah was far from being in her right mind.
As she went back to the room where she’d last seen him, she found it empty. She called out his name but got no answer. She proceeded to go from room to room, calling out his name. No matter how many times she called out his name, there was no response.
“Baby, where are you?” Panic began to set in. “What was I thinking?” Deborah said out loud. “What was I thinking not keeping an eye on him?” This time she hit herself upside the head, frustrated and angry with herself.
As crazy thoughts filled her head of what could have possibly happened to her son while she entertained herself at a pity party, she became even madder at herself. How could I get so caught up in myself and just not care that I let him fend for himself? Stupid! Stupid! Stupid. With each insult, she knocked herself upside the head again.
“Baby, where are you?” She headed for the front door to see if it was still locked. The entire trek to the door she envisioned her son somehow wandering outside and into the street, and a speeding car taking his life. Those thoughts vanished once she realized the door was still closed and locked. Next she peeked inside the kitchen and called out his name. Nothing.
Deborah went back to her bedroom and checked underneath her bed. Maybe he’d crawled up under there and was hiding or something. When she didn’t find him under her bed, she checked her bathroom. She checked closets. She checked inside the washer and dryer. Heck, she checked inside drawers. She couldn’t find him anywhere.
The frantic mother realized she hadn’t checked the back door. In order to get to the back door Deborah had to walk through the kitchen. She entered the kitchen where the long counter was the first thing that greeted her. She walked around the counter heading to the back door. That’s when out of the right corner of her eye she saw something lying in front of the refrigerator. She instantly stopped in her tracks and turned toward the appliance.
There lay her son, lying on his back, surrounded by cookie crumbs, with a half-eaten cookie in his hand. He was sound asleep as his little chest heaved up and down. Hunger had obviously gotten the best of him while he waited for his mother to pull herself out of her funk.
“Oh, God, thank you!” Filled with relief, Deborah ran over to her son and dropped to the floor next him. His little chest went up and down as he made a little snoring sound. Then he made little exhaling sounds like he’d had a long, hard day but was now at peace in a deep sleep. His little round cheeks had dried-up tearstains on them.
“I’m so sorry, son,” Deborah whispered as she sprawled out next to her son and lay next to him. “So sorry.” She kissed him on his forehead. “I hate myself for this. I hate myself for who I am and what I’m putting you through.” Tears dripped out of Deborah’s eyes and onto the floor. “I just wish I was dead. I don’t want to go through this. I don’t want to put my son through this. I’m better off dead.” She looked at her son and before closing her eyes said, “He’s better off dead with a mother like me . . . We’re both better off dead.”
Chapter Thirty-three
“Blessed and highly favored,” Deborah responded to Helen after Helen asked her how she was doing. Deborah’s response was a lie. Maybe it wasn’t a lie. Perhaps she really was blessed and highly favored, but she certainly didn’t feel that way.
On the inside Deborah was in pain. Her insides hurt. She felt guilt. She felt sorrow. And now here lately she’d felt something that she’d never really felt before: crazy.
One minute she was up, another minute she was down. One minute she was laughing at the things her son did, the next minute she was frustrated, agitated, and aggravated at the things he did. One minute she’d want to call her mother and tell her how much she loved her and that the past didn’t matter. The next minute she became filled with rage at her mother. Things felt complicated. Her life felt complicated; too complicated to let anyone in. That’s why she hadn’t called up her mother and gotten things back on track between the two of them. That’s why when Lynox invited her out, she declined, stating she was behind on work. She simply didn’t feel like being bothe
red. She didn’t feel like talking. She didn’t want to converse with anyone. She didn’t have the strength to put up a front and be phony, pretending like everything was kosher. And for the life of Deborah, she couldn’t figure out why anyone would want in anyway.
She was in such a cold, dark, dreary place. There appeared to be no light—no hope. No matter how hard she tried to dig herself out of that dark hole, she just kept sliding back down in it. So why would anyone in their right mind want to be a part of that? Unfortunately, her son was left with no choice.
“What happened here?” Helen asked, pointing to the bruise on Deborah’s son’s arm.
“What?” Deborah asked, curious as to what Helen was referring to.
“This, right here, on his arm.” She pointed to a round strawberry-like mark.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Deborah replied, shooing her hand. “You know how boys are, especially terrible twos.”
“Yeah, but it looks like it hurts. I think maybe I better get some ice or something for it.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing, but ice won’t hurt,” Deborah agreed. “I’ll go to the church kitchen and get some.” Deborah exited the room, wishing she had never even bothered to come to church. She didn’t feel like all this talking and being fake with all those blessed and highly favored responses. She didn’t feel like going to get ice. She just wanted to lie down somewhere and die. She didn’t even want to be in church. Obviously, whatever it was that was going on with her, Jesus couldn’t fix, because here she was right in His living room, and she felt just as bad as she’d felt in her own. Where was His spirit? Where was all that strength-of-Jesus crap now?
Sure, some time ago, right there in that very house of the Lord, she’d experienced a breakthrough and received deliverance. But look how long that had lasted. She felt worse off than ever. So why come to church and have to keep the lights on with her tithes when she was surrounded by darkness?
“Sister Deborah, my God, I’m so glad I ran into you,” Pastor Margie said as she exited the kitchen with a cup of coffee in her hand. “If you have a minute, I’d like to speak with you after service today.”
Frickin’ great! Deborah roared on the inside. Now her pastor wanted to talk to her. Didn’t the world get it? She didn’t feel like talking. She didn’t even feel like living. “Actually, Pastor, today is not a good day. I’ve got something going on today and—”
“I promise you, it’s very important,” Pastor Margie assured her. “You know I almost never meet with anyone right after Sunday service, but you and your son have been in my spirit heavily.”
Deborah thought she was going to choke on her spit. Had the pastor sensed something was going on in Deborah’s household? The pastor always said how God spoke to her about things—how God gave her a spirit of discernment to be able to know what’s going on with her flock. Had God opened His big, fat mouth and ratted Deborah out to Pastor Margie? Those were the last thoughts in Deborah’s mind before Pastor Margie spoke again.
“Please, Sister Deborah. It can’t wait.”
“Okay, Pastor,” Deborah reluctantly gave in.
“Good.” Pastor Margie exhaled and the two heard clapping in the sanctuary as prayer followed. “We’ll go in and head into the sanctuary. I’ll see you after service.”
“Yes, Pastor,” Deborah said, making her way to the sanctuary.
Deborah had given herself a pep talk in an attempt to encourage herself to try to take in today’s service, but she did not want to be there. She wanted to be at home in bed. And up until the eleventh hour, that’s what she had planned on doing—skipping church and staying home in bed. But she knew better. She knew service wouldn’t have been let out five minutes before a New Day member was doing a drive-by to come check on her. She figured the better of two evils would be dragging herself out of bed, putting on her church face, sitting through service, and then going home and going back to bed. Yes, that would be better than some member showing up at her door unannounced and uninvited, fishing around in her business. But now Pastor was throwing a monkey wrench in her game plan by wanting to talk to her after service.
“Lord, get me out of this,” Deborah said under her breath as she sat miserably during praise and worship. And just as if God had heard her plea, she looked up and saw her son’s assigned number from children’s church pop up on the little screen. “Praise God,” Deborah said, this time not so much under her breath.
The number method was something a lot of churches used in children’s church/childcare. When a parent checked their child in, their child was assigned a number. The parent is given a little ticket with the number on it, just like in dressing rooms or at the deli counter in a grocery store. If that number flashes up on the screen in the sanctuary during church service, that means there is an issue going on with a child and the parent needs to come get them. It can be anything from the child made a mess on himself to the child misbehaving. For Deborah, it didn’t matter what the reason. She was just glad to be getting rescued from the sanctuary.
“I saw my son’s number show up on the screen in the sanctuary,” Deborah said to Helen’s assistant once she entered the children’s church. She didn’t see Helen or her son anywhere in sight.
“Oh, yeah,” Unique replied. “Helen put his number in, but she took him to—”
Just then the door opened and Helen entered with Deborah’s son in her arms. She had a bag of ice in her hand. “You forgot to bring the ice.” Speaking of ice, Helen’s tone was a little icy.
“Oh, yeah, I forgot,” Deborah replied. “I ran into Pastor right before I went into the kitchen. She got to talking to me, then we heard service start . . . I guess I just got thrown off.”
Helen brushed by Deborah. “Well, I really think this bruise is bothering him. He’s cranky, whiney, and acting a little mean,” Helen said. “And that’s just not like our little guy.”
“Oh, Mommy’s poor baby.” Deborah took her son from Helen’s arms and began to console him. “Him not feeling well,” she said in baby talk. Then, grateful for a way out, she said, “I think I’m just going to take him on home and get him together.”
“That might be a good idea,” Helen agreed. “And here . . .” She extended the bag of ice to Deborah. “Still try keeping some ice on it. It might make it feel better. But you still might want to call his doctor as well.”
“Yes, thank you.” Deborah accepted the ice, signed her son out of children’s church, and then raced to her car.
It was as if she couldn’t get out of that church soon enough. Once she hit the exit doors she exhaled like she hadn’t been able to breathe the last half hour. And that’s exactly how she’d felt.
As she buckled her son in his car seat she scolded herself for not just staying home in the first place. She was a mess all the other days of the week, so what made her think that on one day she would be okay? Well, she wasn’t okay, and she was coming to grips with the fact that there was nothing she could do about it—or God either, for that matter.
Deborah got in the car and pulled out of the church driveway. Hopefully Helen would tell Pastor Margie about how she had to leave church early; that way her pastor wouldn’t think she’d stood her up. Deborah had to admit, though, the last thing she wanted was to have a sit-down with her pastor. So she was glad that now she didn’t have to. But soon enough, she’d wish she had.
Chapter Thirty-four
“Is everything okay? When you called me on the phone and asked me to come over, it sounded urgent.” Lynox stood in Deborah’s doorway, genuinely concerned.
“No, everything isn’t okay,” Deborah replied. “You mind coming in for a moment?” Only seconds after the invitation, Deborah wished she hadn’t extended it. Why bother? Just as soon as she told him what she had to say, he would be out the door anyway. Therefore, he might as well have stayed outside. But it was too late.
“I don’t mind at all.” Lynox stepped inside.
Instead of closing the door behind them, Deborah left it
open. At least he’d be able to make a quick exit. Leave, stay; she didn’t care anymore at this point. The entire situation was making her crazy. Or more crazy, should she have said? Right now, she just needed to start unloading a lot of things that were weighing her down—things that were making her stressed and tense. Things that wouldn’t let her rest and had her mind on edge. There were lots of things, including her relationship with her mother she’d yet to mend. But that was next on her list. Her and her mother’s past went deep. Her little secret she was keeping from Lynox would be a breeze to fix compared to that. So she decided to start off in the shallow end of the pool and deal with Lynox first.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” Deborah dived right in. Enough time had been wasted. If she beat around the bush and put it off any longer, history would probably repeat itself. There would be some interruption—some type of threat of him finding out she had a child from someone other than her.
With her luck, some fairy would probably drop from the sky holding a sign that read, DEBORAH LEWIS IS YOUR KRYPTONITE: A LADY WITH A BABY. And if that didn’t happen, then surely her son would wake up from his nap before she had a chance to get the words out.
Within minutes after laying him down in his crib for a nap, Deborah hopped on the phone with Lynox. Her son typically took a two-hour nap. What she needed to tell Lynox would only take five minutes. So when he told her that he could be at her house in a half hour, she knew that Lynox would be there and gone before her son ever even woke up. Or at least he’d sleep until after she got a chance to tell Lynox about him.
“What is it you need to tell me, Deborah?” Lynox was looking more concerned than ever as he went to sit down on the couch. He’d barely bent his knees before he stood back up. “Wait a minute. This isn’t déjà vu, is it? I mean, the last time you had something to tell me, it involved you hopping on a plane headed out of the country... with another man, might I add.” Lynox shot Deborah a worried look. “This doesn’t have anything to do with another man, does it?”
