Even Sinners Have Souls

by Joy, E. n.

  I couldn't understand why, if God didn't want women to be so tempted by this power in a man, power that only He could bestow upon them, then why on earth did He choose to grant them so much power. God knows that the church houses ain't full of nothing but women, and yet he chooses to use man to lure them into His good graces. God had to know that power in a man, to a woman, is like a magnet. Some of us are just drawn to it. Like a hustler's bottom chick; she's in it because of the power her man has over the streets.

  So with this power Duvall had over me, whenever he called, I came running. Of course, every now and then the conviction of guilt and shame would force my mouth to tell Duvall that it was over between us; that this time would be our last time. But he just wouldn't accept no for an answer, and I could never seem to muster up the strength to stand my ground.

  So like now, sitting in Duvall's ride after once again compromising myself, compromising my body and com- promising my soul, my guilt level has risen to the next level, stronger than a raging tsunami. It seemed to be catapulting me and the feeling consuming me.

  "Semora, you are the best," he said to me as he gently brushed his hand down the side of my face.

  His touch always seemed to flush away any guilt and shame that might have been trying to come between us. I laid my hand on top of his and looked into his charming eyes. I think I'm in love with a married man. A leader of my church home. The Pastor's son-in-law and the wife of a woman who I, at times, considered to be my own spiritual mentor.

  I must admit, when I joined the Titus Women Ministry, Avoria and I immediately cliqued. Not by my choice though. I had planned on keeping my distance; not saying too much of anything. But Avoria just had this sweet spirit about her. Although beautiful, gifted and talented, other women weren't jealous of her; they were drawn to her. I became one of those women. What a twisted affair this entire thing was becoming.

  With so many commandments to follow, especially the two that stood out the most for me: adultery and for- nication, I knew spite my decision to live for the Lord, I was headed straight to hell without ice to cool me off.

  Subtracting my ill-behaved dealings with Duvall, I would still like to believe that I am somewhat of a decent individual. I mean, others have done worse, haven't they? Or am I, Semora Hairston, the only sinner out there? Will God have mercy on my soul?

  Chapter One

  With the Good Comes the Bad

  Before God ever sent Duvall my way, or Satan ever sent Duvall my way (I haven't figured out which one sent him yet), Justin and I had suffered a major setback in our relationship. Although we had been together for 18 months, in all truth, only one year had been satisfying. The last six months were an emotional turbulence driven flight. Like most relationships, we had our little spats. But the last spat Justin and I had put months of space between us.

  The woman that Justin had introduced to me as his sister when we first met turned out not to be his sister at all. In fact, she was his longtime, undercover lover. You know the type; that friend of the family, we are like brother and sisters but really we're screwing each other's brains out when nobody's looking. Yes, that type of sister.

  It was a mess and way too much drama for me. I had entrusted this man with my heart, and in a little over a year and a half, he shattered it into pieces.

  "Semora, baby, I'm sorry for lying to you," Justin had apologized the day I caught the two of them together. "I never meant to hurt you, only to protect your feelings. I didn't know how to come clean about Tiny."

  Tiny was his pint-sized, so-called sister that helped feed his ego too. Probably one of the women in that small percentile that was shorter than his five foot, five inch frame.

  It was hard for me to believe the sincerity of his apology since his upper half was naked, dripping with water, and his bottom half was wrapped in a fluffy white towel, fresh from his linen closet. The two of them had been sharing a shower, washing away the remnants of their prior act just moments before. And here I was doing a good deed; surprising Justin with a Friday after- noon lunch. He always went home on his lunch hour. But I had no idea that for years he was having lunch with Tiny. Or should I say, he was having Tiny for lunch?

  Tiny had managed to flee his house while I was swingin' on Justin. And she was lucky too. Lord knows I would have mopped the floor with her. Here I had been trying to live right by at least not shackin' up with Justin. We had decided not to do the live-in boyfriend/girlfriend thing. This meant, for me at least, the trust factor had to remain intact. But with him pulling this stunt, it was going to be hard for me to trust him again, if I ever trusted him again at all.

  "You know what hurts me the most, Justin?" I said to him after his pitiful excuse for an apology as we stood there in his master bathroom. "The fact that you had me vibe'n with ole girl. I mean, we caught movies together, went out to eat and what not. I had her over my apartment. Not to mention the countless times we've both been over your crib together watching the game or something." I threw my arms in the air. He flinched, thinking I was going to swing on him one last time. But I felt too defeated. Not even a Mike Tyson knock-out punch was going to make me feel better. "You made a fool out of me, Justin."

  Justin had a look of regret painted on his face. I couldn't help but think that underneath that expression was a feeling of major gratification knowing he had played me stupid right under my very nose. Well, as Wahida Clark would saypayback is a mutha.

  Justin had hurt me, but not enough to share my sincere pain with him. I couldn't give him that satisfaction of seeing my vulnerable side. So I decided to lift up my chin, poke out my chest, and handle this thing more civil and laid back.

  "Look, I need some time. So in the mean time, you do you," I told Justin, "and I'll do me. And unfortunately, we won't be doing anything together for a long time, if ever."

  I could have gone there again with my dramatics, clearing off the accessories lined up on his bathroom sink with one swoop before my departure, but I didn't. I was tired of dealing with weak black men with super egos that were only fed when dealing with multiple females.

  "I don't want this to be over," Justin said as he approached the bathroom doorway where I stood. "How can I make it up to you? Tell me how. Tell me what to do and I'll do it. I don't wanna lose you. You're one of the good ones."

  As if that made it any better. Here he was acknowledging that I was a good pick, yet he still found it necessary to cheat on me. I let him plead and beg before I turned my back to him. I then made my way down the plush, crème carpet hallway to the entrance of his luxurious Colonial style single family home. I loved the high ceiling and the balcony that overlooked his living room from upstairs. Too bad I couldn't enjoy being the Queen of his castle any longer.

  Inside, my heart was swelling for this little man. However, it was time for us to part. And as I opened up his front door and exited his home with the door slamming behind me, I felt as if I had just had the wind knocked out of me. I had truly loved Justin, and yet he had betrayed me. So after that, I didn't have much difficulty closing my heart... that was until Duvall settled in my midst.

  ***

  That following Sunday, at my Cousin Angie's church, Faith of Christ, the worship hour was in high praise as the Minister of Music, Sister Jackie, sang a solo, "Lord of All."

  I sang along trying to get my breakthrough. I needed a release. My mind, body and spirit were filled with such negative energy, not to mention unforgiveness for Justin.

  Although I considered Angie my favorite cousin, she and I never really spent time together, except at the family reunions. She was saved and I was still in the world, so we didn't have a lot in common or enjoy doing some of the same things. But still, when I needed a listening ear, Angie was, hands down, the person I could always talk to.

  When I called my favorite cousin with an invitation to my pity-party where I moaned and groaned about the mishaps of my love life and how Justin had played me, I should have known what Angie's solution would have beenthe Lord
. She refused my invite, leaving me to wallow alone, but instead, gave me an invitation of her own; an invitation to visit her church.

  "Can't nobody do you like Jesus," Angie had said.

  "He's got the cure for all of your troubles."

  Maybe so, I had thought after I got off the phone with her, but for the time being, a shot of Henny would have to do. Before I knew it, it was Sunday morning, the bottle of Henny was empty, and I had only felt worse. "Jesus, I hope you really are the answer," I whined, holding my throbbing head as I struggled to get up and get dressed for church that morning.

  The headache that had pained me on the drive to church was now long forgotten and buried in praise as I clapped and tapped. Buried in worship as I lifted my hands to the heavens. Cousin Angie watched me from her usher station. I could see the concern on her face as tears streamed down mine. Since I'd originally been saved, which was a couple years ago, when Angie had last invited me to her church, many tears had seemed to escape from me. My bottled emotions always found their way out. I needed extreme deliverance from my past hurt.

  I probably could have long experienced deliverance if I had truly turned over my life to Christ that day I walked down to the altar and repeated the prayer of salvation the Bishop had fed me. Praise and worship had shown out that Sunday by ushering in the Holy Spirit, who ultimately spoke, through the pastor, a word that I felt was just for me. I had gotten so caught up in the moment, but no sooner than I exited the church doors and stepped foot back into the world, I was back to being my old sinning self again.

  Don't mistake it, I was from the hood, but I wasn't a hoodrat or anything like that. Never the loose type street girl. Even growing up without a stable home, I managed to maintain a certain innocence. And I could've likely turned out to be a thugged out, out of control chick, which was pretty much the type of chicks all the other girls in my hood turned out to be. Believe me, I had enough issues to lead me there. However, instead of dwelling in the streets, I elected to focus on empowering my peers that had lost their mother or father at a young age just as I had. At the age of nine, my mother and father were killed in a fatal car accident; hit by an illegal immigrant, underage drunk driver.

  With the "Help is Here" foundation that I started back when I was eighteen, which at first had been a make-believe foundation that I did as part of my senior project, I was able to give of myself. Living with and taking care of my granny, who was on her last leg due to her diabetes, I thought emotionally there was no more of me to give. But I was wrong though. With over 1.4 million parentless children in the world, I realized there was plenty to give.

  Now once again, I felt there was nothing left of me; nothing worth salvaging anyway; no part of me worth sharing. Here I stood, surrendering my troubles to God in praise; still battling with endless issues.

  This Sunday, unlike the last time I had attended this church, Bishop Dean didn't let God use him. Instead, he opted to entertain the congregation with his old school preaching antics. He put an extension on every word he spoke. Sometimes I could barely get into the message with his stretched words.

  "When Jesus walked-ah! He talked-ah! About the goodness-ah of-ah the Lord-ah!"

  I mean I hated it! What I couldn't understand was how the members of the congregation would say, 'You preaching, Bishop,' when to me, he sounded a hot ghetto mess!

  While Cousin Angie occupied herself with throwing a prayer shawl over, and fanning, one of the mothers of the church who had gotten the Holy Ghost, I politely gathered my purse and things, then slipped out the double doors. So, there I stood on the steps of the church door, back into the world yet again.

  "God, help me," I mumbled as I looked up to the sky. It wasn't a request, it was a plea.

  Chapter Two

  The Lust of the Eye

  On Tuesday, October 4, just one month after Justin and I had split-up, I met Duvall. It was then that my life changed instantly. I was sitting at the half-open window of my second floor apartment, taking in a cool October wind. A beautiful red Robin had landed on the outside ledge of the window pane; a very rare occurrence in my neck of the woods. I didn't want to move in fear of frightening the bird and it flying away, so I tried to remain still.

  Just then, the phone rang, startling me, therefore startling the bird and causing it to fly away. I spit out a string of curse words because I knew who the caller with bad timing was. I walked over and looked at the caller ID. Sure enough, it was Justin, calling for the umpteenth time. I let the call go to voicemail and then immediately turned my cell phone off so that when he tried to call me on it immediately after, once again, he'd hit my voicemail.

  I still hadn't completely forgiven him, yet I hadn't asked him to remove what few little items he had over at my place either. I don't know if a side of me wanted to be able to hold on to a part of him, giving him an actual excuse to call. The desperate part of me wanted to blame myself anyway for not knowing that I was being played. Sadly, either I had been too wrapped up in myself, too wrapped up in my work at Dollar Discount or with the foundation, or just clueless that he had been cheating on me.

  So, returning to the window, I thought about how watching that red Robin had been a peaceful sign from God to appreciate the small things in life. Because now the bird was gone. God, give me another sign, please, I thought. I had to laugh at myself for even thinking that God would answer any of my requests. I knew it was time for me to get back right with the man above. Sitting there alone, I figured what better time than the present?

  I attempted to pray for God to release me from my backsliding state, but deep inside, I knew it would only be a matter of time before I met another man that I would eventually become sexually involved with. It was the truth, and my granny, before she passed away three months after my high school graduation, used to say, "Tell the truth and shame the devil." She assured me that we all had weaknesses and needed to confess our faults without guilt and shame. Well, I had a weakness alright; and it came in the form of a God-fearing, devout Christian man with intelligence, great conversation and a rippled up body. Hello! Baby boy had it all.

  Just as I thought I was receiving a breakthrough in prayer, I opened my eyes only to see a gentleman walking into the corner store. Now I knew why pastors always ordered that every eye be closed and every head be bowed, because it was certainly easy to be distracted. And I had, to say the least, been distracted.

  Who is that? I said inquiringly to myself. Unchaste, I scooted away from the window and turned to the 18x24 mirror hanging from my living room wall to check myself out. Dressed sharp as always, I found myself smiling as I grabbed my handbag to go hit the store. I moseyed my way across the street with perfect timing. He stepped out of the store just as I was walking in, causing us to bump into one another.

  "Hey," I smiled, touching his hand on the glass panel of the door.

  "Hey," he smiled back a bit shyly, drawing his eyes tightly together. "Do I know you?" he grinned again, trying to be polite.

  I wasn't usually this bold, but meeting him demanded that boldness.

  "You do now. I'm Semora."

  By this time, he'd stepped down from the doorway and over to the side. I moved closer to him in hopes of keeping the conversation going. This was the first time I'd seen a man this fine in Pocamoc. He was Lorenz Tate with a splash of Reggie Bush fine.

  "Semora," he repeated, "That's a pretty name. It fits you." He extended his hand to me. His brown skin had blonde hairs. I mean, it wasn't overwhelmingly blonde, however, as the sun shifted to the east (the side we were on), I could see the blonde glistening off his hands. Man, he was handsome, well dressed and mannerly. I loved that in a man.

  I extended my hand. He lifted it to his lips and placed a soft kiss on the brown side. He wasn't that shy after all. I could feel a bit of flirtation going on, or maybe he truly was just being a gentleman. But truth be told, I wanted it to be more.

  "Thank you," I smiled, checking out his sporty attire. He had to stand at least three feet o
ver me, and from his broad shoulders and physique, maybe he was an athlete. Or at least had been in his past.

  There was an awkward pause as I looked down to his hand and saw that he was wearing a wedding band. I still searched for more to say. "What church do you attend?" I blurted out, not able to think of anything else.

  "Well, praise the Lord, you're saved," he bellowed with excitement.

  I cleared my throat. "Yes, I'm saved." Well I was. "And I'm looking for a good church home. I mean a gut-punching sermon every Sunday."

  "Really?" he said as if he knew something that I didn't know.

  "Yes, really. I've been saved a couple of years now," I boasted as if I had been born on the church pew.

  Even with talk of God now being in the midst of our conversation, I still felt a warm vibe coming from him. Perhaps it was the way his eyes seemed to roam over me spite his wedding band. He was sizing me up; I could just feel it. Marriage didn't seem to be a factor to this married man.

  "You should visit Tabernacle of the Living Word. Pastor Wyatt is a beast at preaching."

  "Is that right? Well, I'ma tell you right now, I'm not for that old school preaching. If your Pastor can't bring it, it being the word of course, I don't want to attend."

  "Oh, he brings the word alright," he responded, leaning back on the brick wall of the store.

  "Good. I need that in my life. Where's it located?"

  "On 40th Street."

  "40th Street by the cemetery?" I questioned, trying to visualize the church.

  "Yeah, that's it. Why don't you come through? In fact, there's a service tonight."

  "On a Saturday? What? Let me find out y'all true holy rollers. They're not going to make me run the aisles and scream seven times, 'thank you, Jesus!' are they?" I laughed, causing him to do the same.