“Who is it?”
“Mommy, it’s me, Gretchen. I have to pee.”
Chapter 2
Taylor
I never, not in a million years, thought that I’d ever be someone’s baby’s mama. A wife and a mother I could envision. That was the plan. But a baby’s mama?
But no matter how I look at it, that is just what I am. I have a beautiful baby boy, but I am not married to his father. So what does that make me? Yes, I know. A baby’s mama. I need to just accept it, I guess, but I cringe every time I hear it.
Why does it seem that every time I need to get somewhere in a hurry, the traffic works against me? Right now it’s bumper-to-bumper on I-480. Today we were graced with one of Cleveland’s own afternoon snowstorms. It’s the first one this year, but since it’s only November, I doubt that it will be the last. I think I’m a good driver, but I always get anxious on the highway when the roads are slippery, and if the salt trucks were out, I sure can’t tell.
I’m almost one hundred percent sure that I’m going to be late picking up Joshua. I can’t afford Sister Lang’s late fees, and she knows that. Perhaps today she’ll have pity on me and not charge. It would be a miracle, but stranger things have happened. Lord, please, touch her heart.
I guess I thought I was in love when I got pregnant with Joshua. I bought all of the lies, and it didn’t even take a lot of convincing. I think I was just ripe for love . . . or ripe for a man. Either way, when Luke told me, “Taylor, I do not love my wife,” I believed him. When he said, “One day we’re going to have our own family,” I believed him. He had to be telling the truth, or else I was an idiot and this man was just using me for sex. Well, it turns out that I was an idiot.
Now, I’m not one of those women who would try and trap a man with a baby. From what I can see, the woman is the one who ends up trapped. So, no, I did not get pregnant on purpose, although Luke might tell you otherwise.
I kind of hoped that he’d be happy to know that he was actually able to father a child. He said that he and his wife had been trying to have a baby for almost twenty years. That was one of his excuses for cheating: the stress of trying to get her pregnant. Yeah, it does sound pretty ridiculous now, but what does everyone say about hindsight?
When I told Luke that I was pregnant, he was not thrilled—at all. The first thing he did was ask me to get an abortion. I was floored! This man is a minister in our church. I can’t even believe he came to me like that.
After he realized that I would not agree to murdering our child, he presented another request. He asked that I never reveal, to anyone, my son’s paternity. For a while it seemed reasonable for me to keep his secret, but now that my son is two years old, I don’t know if it was such a good idea.
I remember going to my pastor, telling him that I was stepping down from my various auxiliaries because of my pregnancy. Of course, Pastor wanted to know if the father was someone in our church. Let me just say that although I never understood it completely in my high school English class, I now know what The Scarlet Letter’s Hester Prynne was going through. The only difference between Hester and me is that she loved her baby’s father. At that point, I was ready to sell mine out completely.
I kept my promise, though, and to this day I haven’t told anyone. My grandmother used to say, “What’s done in the dark always comes to the light.” I truly believe that. Every day, Joshua looks more and more like his father, and I know that Luke can see it. I catch him looking at Joshua from time to time, out of the corner of his eye.
Lately, I’ve started to think of his wife. Of course, I never did when I was sleeping with Luke, because that was more than my conscience could bear. She’s my sister in Christ, but I had to think of her as a cold fish of a woman who only wanted to have sex to get herself a baby. Though it wasn’t any real justification for what we were doing, I clung to it for dear life. The illusion that I was bringing the happiness that he could not find in marriage was enough to fuel my illicit lust.
“Illicit lust” may sound like a harsh term to some people. Why not use a less biting synonym such as “affair” or “tryst”? Well, to be honest, I had to get real with myself. When Luke told me that we were over, I was truly devastated. I even prayed for a solution that would allow us to be together. As crazy as it sounds, I prayed for another woman’s husband. Thank God for deliverance.
It’s been almost three years since I’ve even held a conversation with Luke. No, he has never apologized for taking advantage of my stupidity. No, he has not even acknowledged my child’s presence. He has not offered one red cent, and he’s got plenty.
Being a single parent is no joke either. It’s difficult going through the financial crises and money situations (public assistance has never been and I hope will never be an option for me). But I find even more trying the times when Joshua does something cute or precocious and I don’t have anyone to tell. Not anyone who will care about it as much as I do.
And then there are those days that I just want a break. I want to read a book or watch a movie uninterrupted. As a single mom I’m always on duty. Joshua is always there. I love him to death, but sometimes (and I really hate to admit this) I resent my son. Or maybe I resent the sin that brought him here.
Whew! I pull up to Sister Lang’s house with two minutes to spare. Thank you, Lord, for small favors. It doesn’t take much these days to make me testify. On Sunday I’ll be saying, “I thank and praise God for getting me to Sister Lang’s house on time.”
Sister Lang, as usual, has my son packed up and ready to go. His winter jacket is barely warm enough for today’s temperature, but I have to wait until the fifteenth to get him a snowsuit. He’ll be warm enough going from the house to the car.
“Thank you for having him dressed, Sister Lang. It really helps me.”
“Oh, Taylor, it’s not a problem at all.”
“Well, thank you all the same.”
Sister Lang looks out her window, shaking her head. I already know what she’s thinking.
“Child, it’s cold out there. Is that little summer jacket going to be enough for Joshua?”
Sister Lang gets on my last nerve exaggerating like that.
“Sister Lang, he’ll be okay. We’re just going from the house to the car. The car is already warmed up.”
“I’ve heard of people getting frostbite in seconds.”
I smile instead of rolling my eyes. “I don’t think we have to worry about that today. I’m getting him a snowsuit when I get paid.”
“Humph. Can’t his daddy buy him a coat?”
I knew that was coming. I have virtually the same conversation with this woman at least once a week. Can’t his daddy get his hair cut? Can’t his daddy pick him up sometimes? She knows my situation.
“Well, Sister Lang, you know our story. Just pray my strength in the Lord, okay?” If nothing else works, this always shuts her up.
“All right, honey. I’ll do that.”
It takes me all of two and a half seconds to get Joshua to the car. He falls asleep as soon as his head hits the cushion on his car seat. Thank you, Lord, for another miracle. Some days Joshua’s toddler chatter nearly drives me insane. And I know that Sister Lang must be giving him sugar on his way out of her house, because he’s usually raring to go when I pick him up.
I see my sleeping son’s innocent, chubby reflection in my rearview mirror, and I can’t help but feel just a little sorrowful. Joshua is sleeping so peacefully. He has no idea that his life is lacking anything. He’s supposed to be able to roughhouse with his daddy and learn how to use the bathroom from his daddy. He’s supposed to learn from his daddy how to be a man too. How in the world am I supposed to teach him that?
Chapter 3
Yvonne
I’m glad that my husband is saved. He is saved, sanctified and filled with the Holy Ghost. Hallelujah to God! It is such a blessing to be married to a man of God. So many of the sisters I know are married to no-good, low-down brothers. And the single ones are
desperate to find a man. Any man. That’s why I started this support group called Sister to Sister. These women need somebody to tell them how to get a real man of God, how to treat a real man and how to keep him.
Now, I’m not saying that my marriage is perfect. I’d be lying if I did. Me and Luke have had as many problems as anybody else. We just have God in our union, and that’s the difference.
Sister to Sister is really just a prayer circle for women. We’ve got some married women that are having trouble with their mates (saved and unsaved). We’ve got single women that want to get married so badly they can taste it. And recently, a lot of single mothers have been joining us.
I invited Taylor Johnson to come to our meeting this week, and she looked at me kind of funny. That girl acts like she doesn’t need anybody, including her baby’s father. I mean, I’m not one to meddle, but it seems like if you know who the daddy is, then he should at least be helping out financially. She says that she knows, but maybe she doesn’t. That little Joshua is cute as a button too. I don’t see why the daddy wouldn’t want to be around. Some black men are just doggish, I guess. That’s what happens when you don’t do things God’s way. I’m glad I never had to go through those particular consequences and repercussions myself.
Obviously, I was not clear when I said that the meeting would start promptly at 7:30 p.m., because I’m the only one here. I wipe some of the frost off of the window to see if anyone else has pulled into the church parking lot. So far my car is the only one, and after only a half hour it’s already covered with snow.
We probably won’t have much of a turnout tonight because the snow is really coming down. Some of these folk have been in Cleveland their whole lives and they still get excited about snow.
I had to adjust to this cold weather when I moved here from Atlanta. The very first winter that I was in Cleveland we had a blizzard that put about a foot of snow at my doorstep. I’d only seen snow maybe once or twice in my whole life. I cried every time I walked out of the door and almost crashed my husband’s new car trying to get to the grocery store.
When I met Luke, he was nineteen years old and traveling with his pastor. I was eighteen, fresh out of high school, and ready to face the world. At the time, I didn’t have any intentions of going to college, even though my mama begged me to attend Spelman. She never had the chance to attend college, but she’d always wanted to go. I was the exact opposite of Mama. I hated school, and only did just enough to earn my diploma. Besides, my daddy convinced me that I was pretty enough to get a rich husband and never have to work a day in my life. I believed him. All I wanted to do was find a good church boy, settle down and get married. And there Luke was, looking fine as wine.
I fell for Luke almost immediately, mostly because he didn’t sound country. He spoke so eloquently. He was attending Bible College. I knew he was going to end up being a pastor someday, and he will too, if Pastor Brown ever sits his old butt down and retires. Don’t get me wrong, I love Pastor Brown, but there comes a time when you have to pass on the mantle.
Anyway, Luke swept me right off my feet. We only courted for about a month before he asked me to marry him. Yes. It was a whirlwind romance, and I loved every second of it. Everyone back home said that it was too soon, but Luke said that God told him I was his wife.
We got married right in my pastor’s office. We didn’t even have rings to exchange, but I didn’t care. Who needed a cheap gold band or a big white wedding dress when I had the man right there in flesh and blood?
It came as a shock to me when Luke told me we were moving to Cleveland. For some reason, it had never occurred to me that Luke wouldn’t want to stay in the South. I objected to the move, and even threatened to divorce him, but Luke let me know in no uncertain terms that I belonged to him.
I remember screaming at the top of my lungs and wanting to go back to my mother’s house. Luke had continued packing our bags like he didn’t even hear me. I knew that I was acting like a little girl, but I threw an all-out tantrum. I started throwing dishes and knickknacks across the room. Luke continued right on ignoring me. I didn’t like being ignored, so I picked up one of Luke’s heavy textbooks and hurled it across the room, aiming for his head. He ducked out of the way in the nick of time, but I had certainly gotten his attention. But after I’d gotten it, I realized that I didn’t really want it.
Luke came across that room like a demon-possessed man. He grabbed me by my long hair and pulled me down to my knees. He slapped me three times across my face and told me to get it together.
Never in my life had I been hit by a man. My daddy hadn’t believed in whipping girls, although my mama had a different philosophy. I was afraid that I had opened a whole box of worms and that Luke would be hitting me for the rest of our marriage. I didn’t know what to do. I was terrified of leaving my family behind and going to a strange city where I knew no one, especially if my husband was gone be whipping me.
After a few hours passed by, Luke apologized for hitting me. He vowed to never do it again, and that was enough for me. I was to blame for his outburst anyway, and I promised myself that I wouldn’t ever push his buttons like that. In twenty years Luke has never again laid a hand on me.
Getting used to Cleveland was difficult for me. Since I didn’t have any friends, I got active in the church. Most of the girls my age were going to college or working, and they thought I was old-fashioned to be tied down to a husband at such a young age. Luke didn’t want me working, so I didn’t. I went out with the missionaries, visiting the sick and shut-in and praying with them. It didn’t bother me to be hanging around with a bunch of church mothers. The giggly, young, single sisters got on my last nerve anyhow.
Those church mothers imparted a lot of wisdom to me, and I believe that’s why my marriage has lasted this long, when it seems like everyone else is getting separated and divorced. I know what kind of work it takes to keep a marriage together. The sisters taught me how to clean my house until it sparkled. I already knew how to cook, and I made sure that Luke never came home without his dinner waiting on the table. And in the bedroom—well, let’s just say that I ain’t never had a headache.
Even now, after twenty years, I still serve my husband in the same way, and he loves and appreciates me for it. I keep myself looking good too. Some of these sisters in our church have one or two kids and just let themselves go. They get fat and lazy and then wonder why their husbands are stepping out on the side. I understand putting on a few pounds, but they have no excuse to be walking around nappy-headed. That’s why they make Dark & Lovely. I know my husband gets everything he needs at home. I’m not bragging either. It’s just what I know.
I see Sister Pam Lyons. It’s a good thing too, because in another five minutes I was going to head back home. I should’ve known that she’d be the first one to show up. That girl has more problems than anyone I know. She’s one of those career women. I told her that she needs to quit that job and stay home with her babies. It isn’t natural for a man to just let a woman take care of him, but her husband hasn’t had a job in over a year. Not a real job anyway. She says he’s a record producer, but I think he’s a dreamer. Don’t get me wrong, now, there is nothing wrong with dreaming. Not as long as you wake up and take some action. If you ask me, Mr. Lyons is just sleeping his life away, and Pam is nothing but a crutch. If he came to church other than on Easter and Mother’s Day, he just might get delivered.
Looks like Pam’s business suit is getting a bit snug. She’s either stressed or prospering, but I believe it’s stress. She’s been fighting that battle of the bulge for a while now; I hope she wins soon. I think she’s about one meal away from being plus-sized. She’s got a cute haircut, though, and some red highlights in all that curly hair of hers. I’ve never been bold enough to do anything like that to my hair. I like it long and I like it thick. Most of the time it’s just pulled back into a bun, but it’s a comfort to know it’s there.
“Praise the Lord, Sister Yvonne. I’m sorry I’m late.
I had to feed my daughters when I got home today,” says Pam in a lackluster tone. She sounds tired.
“Hey, Pam! He’s worthy. Girl, you obviously aren’t the only one running a little late.”
Pam peers out the window. “Yes, I see. It’s probably the snow. Maybe we should’ve canceled.”
“Mmm-hmm. How are things going with you?”
Pam plops down into a seat. “I’m truly blessed, sis. I just got promoted at work. I answer to a vice president now.”
I clap my hands together. “Well, bless God! We need black women in strategic places in these companies. Maybe you can help someone get hired.”
Pam responds hesitantly, “Maybe so. If they’re qualified, of course.”
“Of course. Well, it looks like it’s just going to be us tonight. I was really hoping that Sister Taylor would come. She’s been looking kind of down lately.”
“Really? She’s never been to one of our meetings. Why did you think that she’d be here tonight?”
“I invited her. Sister Lang said that the girl didn’t even have enough money to buy her baby a winter coat.”
Pam looks as though she doesn’t believe me. But I happen to know that Sister Lang is a very good source who always double-checks her stories.
“Are you sure? I wonder why she didn’t mention it to anyone. I know somebody in the church has some hand-me-downs for little boys.”
I roll my eyes and respond, “Maybe she needs to get the child’s father involved.”
Pam waves both hands in the air. “Hey, that’s none of my business, Yvonne. I’m sure she has her reasons for what she’s doing.”
I don’t know what Pam is thinking, but as her sister in Christ I think it’s my duty to get involved. It’s what the Lord has called me to do. Some of these young women need guidance. Everyone knows that she refused to tell Pastor Brown about her partner in crime. She needs to be getting a check so she can buy that little boy what he needs.
What a Sista Should Do Page 2
