by Candice Dow
When church was over, my mother invited us to her house. “Scooter has to get back and he has to . . .” I begged off.
He interrupted me. “Did you cook candied yams?”
“Of course. If I would have known you’d be in town, I would have made sauerkraut.”
“You remember that?”
She nodded. “I sure do. I know all my children’s favorite meals.”
Okay, she’d taken this too far. I tried to finish. “He has a four-hour drive. Plus he has to go back to his mother’s house.”
“You can get on the road by five. Another hour won’t hurt.”
“You’re right.”
Just great, Scooter. She said, “I’ll be there in a minute. Go on Taylor. Go in through the garage and start warming the food up.”
“Okay.”
As we left the church, I snapped, “Scooter, they are going to harass us if we go over there.”
“Taylor, we don’t have anything to hide.”
I smirked. Did he or did he not still live with Kuku? He kissed my cheek. “I’ll be over there in thirty minutes.”
I huffed. “Okay.”
When I pulled up to my parents’ house, Toni’s minivan was parked outside. Anxiety rushed through my veins. I contemplated just turning around. Instead, I opened the garage and entered the house.
When I stepped in, she sat in the family room. She was the only one there. Why aren’t her kids here to distract us from talking?
“Hey Toni.”
“Taylor.”
It didn’t sound like a greeting, but more like confrontation. This was dangerous. We’re usually amongst a group and my mother acts as referee. I walked over to the stove and began peeping in pots. I turned to find her staring at me with her arms folded.
“We should talk.”
“Talk?”
She shook her head. “It’s like every time I say something to you, you get defensive.”
“Maybe it’s what you don’t say to me, but find time to say to everyone else that makes me feel as if I need to defend myself.”
I tilted my head and smirked. Now answer that.
She shifted her weight and sighed. “I don’t know why you feel like I talk about you behind your back, because I . . .”
“Because what?”
I’d now shifted her into defensive mode. Her neck began to roll. “I don’t talk about you to anybody. I don’t know why people always say what I say and no one ever says what they say.”
I smiled. “Who are they? Why don’t you say who you’re talking about? And what do they say?”
As if she was holding back tears, she took a few deep breaths. She and I hadn’t talked alone in three years. Since the time she assumed I was a slut and married women shouldn’t deal with people like me.
As I saw her about to get emotional, I got emotional. I thought about how it all went down. How we went totally wrong. We’d always had our jealousy issues, but the incident that tore us apart for good flashed through my mind. I took a deep breath. Three years ago, I was young and dumb. Toni called me over to her house. I remember the conversation like it was yesterday.
“Taylor, girl. Andre has this fine friend over here. He went to seminary school with him.” She giggled. “Girl, his father has a big church in Atlanta and he’s so fine.”
“Girl, I am not coming over there. You know I don’t mess with men in the ministry.”
“Girl, this one is fine as they come. He seems cool too. Plus, I’ve told him all about you.”
Two days prior, I’d found out that I passed the bar exam. I was in my apartment, having a celebratory happy hour alone. What could it hurt? I got in my car and rushed over to Toni’s house. Often, I wish to God I could rewind those steps.
When I walked in, my weakness sat on her couch. He was neatly groomed. I blinked. Was I looking at the right person? I frowned. Minister? I shrugged my shoulders and they introduced me to Minister Jabari Mason. His brown eyes smiled at me through his black wire-framed glasses. We stood face to face. As his presence attempted to inhale my breath, I struggled to hold it. His baggy denim shorts and navy-and-white Polo shirt invoked amnesia in me. He does what again?
Toni confirmed. “This is Minister Jabari Mason.”
Discounting all ministers was a bit narrow-minded of me. Never say never. I smiled. “Hi, Jabari.”
When I extended my hand to connect with his, I noticed a stainless steel Movado with a round black face. While I admired his watch, he yanked my forearm and embraced me. “Down south, we give hugs.”
Feeling slightly dizzy, I nodded. He laughed. “I’m an Atlanta boy.”
I cracked a smile. When I walked in the kitchen to get more detail from Toni, she was smiling from ear to ear. “I think he’s perfect for you.”
“Whatever.”
I’d been claiming celibate for nine months and the last thing I needed was someone that wanted to wait until marriage. My seasonal celibacy commitment was nearing its threshold. I was tired of holding out. At that moment, I was only as celibate as my options. And Mr. Jabari was too fine of an option.
Toni continued to convince me. “Girl, he is so your type. He knows the word, but that ain’t the only thing he talks about. He’s cool. He’s fly. And you know Daddy’s been praying that we all marry ministers.”
I sucked my teeth, because we’d heard that all of our lives like that was the ideal thing to do. Anyway, as she made Jabari sound like the most ideal of my last resort, I began to even convince myself.
“Well he is fine.”
For the next hour or so she and Andre played matchmaker. Finally, Jabari made it clear that he was interested in spending a few private moments with me. Toni lived across from a little park, so I suggested going for a walk. He popped out of his chair like I suggested a steak house. When we left the house, Toni was as excited as if this man asked for my hand in marriage. I gestured for her to calm down. We walked in circles and chatted about life and growing up as preachers’ kids. We seemed to bond well. Finally, he suggested we chill on the playground. Seemed like a fun option. As we spun around and giggled like ten-year-olds, his spirituality and his sexuality must have gotten all mixed up. At nine o’clock on a Sunday evening, Mr. Minister practically attacked my horny ass on the neighborhood playground. He had a way with words and an even better way with his hands. And damn it, before I knew it we were discussing the ramifications of having sex. All I could rummage up in my mind to stop the fireworks flaming between us was to say, “I thought you were a minister.”
In between swallowing my tongue, he nodded. “I am, but I’m a man too.”
He gripped my bottom as we stumbled over and leaned up on the ladder to the sliding board. I swear my hands were not touching him. As if to put brakes on the progress of this train wreck, I gripped the sides of the ladder. The horny devil on my left shoulder said, “Damn Taylor, if he kisses like that, what will sex be like?”
He kissed my neck and the angel on my right shoulder said, “He ain’t nothing but the devil. Get away from him.”
He thrashed his tongue in my right ear and drowned the angel speaking in it. When my backed-up love started to come down, my horny ass asked, “Do you have condoms?”
He nodded and whipped one from his back pocket. In the heat of the moment, I decided not to ask why he kept condoms handy. I was just happy he had one. His hands explored parts of my body that had been ignored for months. My hips began to grind in unison with him. He reached his hands down my jeans. He leaned his forehead into mine. “Taylor, I don’t do this all the time. I feel like there’s something special between us.” He asked, “Do you?”
I agreed with the bullshit he was spitting, “Yeah, something is special about you.” In between moans, I added, “I just feel like you’re different.” I shook my head as he cupped my breast. “I’ve been celibate for eighteen months.”
Nine months didn’t sound as official. He quickly reached down and practically ripped my jeans open. He looked me in
the eyes. “May I?”
Wasn’t that so polite? I nodded. He parted the bridge that protected my flow. He felt the moistness. “Ooh . . . Taylor.”
“Jabari, stop . . .”
“Why?”
“Because this isn’t right.”
I don’t know how it became right, but before I realized it, my jeans were at my knees and my long limbs were bent over the sliding board. I took my plight from sensual celibacy in the most unsensual position. As my hands clung to the second to the last step on the kiddy ladder, he sent chills through me. My head bobbed back and forth. For those moments that he ministered to my body, I concluded that a man of God was all right with me. With the last stroke, he gasped, “Ah . . .”
And I said, “Shit!”
Guilt settled in as he wrapped his arms around my waist and rested his soggy face on my back. I rested my arms on the steps. And we stood, sack against saddle on the playground. I squirmed. I shifted. I huffed. He got the message as he backed away. He pulled up his shorts and assisted me with my jeans.
He followed my lowered eyes. I shook my head. “We shouldn’t have done this.”
“Why?”
I hung my head. “Because . . .”
He lifted my chin. “Look. This was different. I don’t do this every day. We can’t help it if we have chemistry.”
He continued, “I know your people. I wouldn’t have done this if I wasn’t feeling you.”
Of all the people to have a one-night stand, it would have to be a minister. Good thing the sky was clear, because I should have been struck by lightning.
“I just feel so bad.”
“Me too.”
He grabbed both of my hands and began to pray. Did he really think that it was okay to screw my brains out and immediately ask for forgiveness? As he asked for anointing to fight his temptations, I laughed to myself. This fool was crazy. But in the end, he wasn’t the only fool.
When we got back to Toni’s house, I immediately said my good-byes and darted to my car. Toni looked at me inquisitively, but I didn’t offer an explanation. Obviously, Jabari did. He stayed up all night telling them how I jumped his bones on the playground and he had succumbed to the temptation of this worldly woman. Who do you think they believed? And my own sister began to refer to me as Delilah. She told my parents and everyone else in the church that I made the nice minister screw me on her neighborhood playground.
As Toni stood in my face wondering why I don’t talk to her, I still wondered why. Why would my sister never discuss it with me? Why would the whole church have to think I was a whore? Why did she tell anyone who’d listen that I had sex on the first night with a good minister that she hooked me up with? Why didn’t she care about my feelings? Why did my father have to call me and tell me if I wanted to be a whore, keep it out of his church?
As all the questions that plagued me trudged through my head, I huffed. The anger I felt when it first happened returned and my blood sugar began to rise. My right hand clamped tightly around a fork, as I stared into her eyes.
“I’m just saying.”
“You’re just saying what?”
The sound of the garage interrupted us. She stood up straight. “All I’m saying is that I’m not the only one that has something to say about your lifestyle.”
“My lifestyle?”
“Your lifestyle.”
My mother opened the door that led into the kitchen. An expression of uncertainty and joy sat on her face. She looked around to make sure nothing was broken. She smiled at me. Then, at Toni.
Toni ignored my mother’s presence and said, “Let’s go upstairs.”
I ignored her and pretended to be preoccupied with helping my mother get dinner together.
My mother wasn’t sure if we were getting along or not, because she appeared on edge each time either of us breathed. Scooter was on his way and I wasn’t prepared to heal the ugly wounds that had torn our sisterhood apart.
I walked out of the kitchen. Toni tagged along. I turned around and huffed. She was probably betting that I’d be anxious to settle our issues. Too little, too late to learn to love. I smirked and opened the bathroom door.
Toni grabbed my shoulders. I turned to see what she wanted. She obviously had a lot on her mind. As tears filled her eyes, I felt I should grant her the opportunity to say what was on her chest.
I looked at her as if to say, “Say what you have to say.”
She stuck the tip of her chin into her black turtle neck. “Taylor, I was wrong.”
I shrugged my shoulders. She had done and said so many cruel things about me, simply because I was single. As if it was my fault for not finding some guy who wanted to marry me by the time I was twenty-four. “Toni, I really, I . . .”
She touched my hand. “I have prayed about our relationship, and I want it to be better.”
Her grown-up act scared me. Was I ready to abandon my bitterness toward her? I curled my lips because I wasn’t sure. Her eyes watered. “How can I teach my kids how to love each other and I can’t even get along with my sister?”
Our childhood played in her eyes. My parents never allowed us to go to bed angry. When we fought, they locked us in a room until we got it together. How had we grown so far apart? I blinked and returned to the present. She didn’t understand the struggle. My struggle. In her eyes, single translated to wild. I was out of hand for the cards God dealt me.
“Taylor, I’m sorry.”
“Taylor, say something. I miss you,” she begged.
As I sat there searching for what I wanted to say, I wasn’t sure. Why did I feel I couldn’t forgive her, when I expected Scooter to forgive me? I stretched my arms out to hug her. As we embraced, she repeated, “I’m so sorry Taylor. I hope you can forgive me.”
“Taylor, talk to me.”
I chuckled. She laughed too. That was always how it was. She always got on me because I was the loquacious one, but she could never handle it when I wouldn’t talk. Hoping my words changed my heart, I rolled my eyes. “All right, Toni, I forgive you. Now I have to pee.”
She chuckled. “Thank you, Tay. Thank you.”
I closed the door and sat on the toilet. A part of me was elated that the friction between us was partially settled, but doubt settled in me. Was she only interested in our relationship, because it appeared that I was in a relationship? I was baffled. Why now?
When I came from the bathroom, Scooter and my father walked in through the garage. I stepped into the kitchen. My father grabbed me. I leaned to wrap my arms around his large belly. “Hey, Daddy.”
He kissed my cheek. “You sure looked beautiful in church today.”
I smirked and Scooter nodded. “I agree Bishop.”
We all laughed. Toni hugged Scooter. “I’m happy to see you again, brother.”
We transferred into the family room while my mother got things together. Scooter and I sat next to each other on the couch. My father stood in front of us. We scooted apart to allow his three-hundred pounds in between. He rested his hand on my knee and took a deep breath. “My Taylor.”
Somehow I think he thought Scooter could convert me into the devout Christian I was as a teenager. He rolled his neck over to Scooter. “Son, what are your plans for my daughter.”
I leaned up to check Scooter’s expression. He smiled. “Our plan is to be together.”
My father frowned. Scooter said, “I plan to marry her.”
Huh? Marry me? We just declared ourselves a couple. His ex-girlfriend just called my house. My heart raced inside of me. My father chuckled and patted my knee, silently telling me a job well done.
Despite all of my accomplishments thus far, Toni and my mother looked like I’d finally had a notable achievement. Toni raised her thumb up. My mother winked. Excitement beamed on everyone’s face. By golly, Taylor has found someone to marry her. I sat bewildered. What the hell was Scooter thinking?
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Taylor’s jaw dropped when I told her fath
er my intentions. I wished I’d been prepared for that question. Unconsciously, I said what I thought he wanted to hear. It’s not like he could arrest me if I didn’t follow through. As I envisioned my future with Taylor, I reluctantly turned my phone on. Still, Akua hadn’t called. She hadn’t texted me.
As I drove home to the unknown, I inhaled so much nicotine, it ain’t even funny. In all of two months, I went from an upstanding recovering nicotine addict, in a stable relationship, to an addict in between relationships. Something has to give. I paged her again. By the time I reached the New Jersey Turnpike, she called back.
“What the fuck do you want?”
“Are you okay?”
“You don’t give a fuck how I feel.”
I huffed. “I do.”
“I talked to your bitch yesterday.”
“I know.”
“I moved your shit to the other room.”
“Ku, how are you doing?”
She retorted, “It doesn’t matter.”
“Are you already back on your feet?”
“I had to go to work.”
“You could have gotten someone to cover for you.”
“What should I do? Tell them that my boyfriend left me and I ran behind him and sliced my feet all up. I can’t work.”
“Ku, c’mon now. You don’t have to get into all of that.”
“Don’t tell me what I need to get into. There’s no telling what you been into this weekend.”
I guess the thought was too much for her to bear, since the phone slammed in my ear. I closed my phone and turned up the music to drown the doubt floating through my head.
My dirty clothes were thrown in the corner of the second bedroom. Akua had dumped all my shit on the small twin bed. For hours, I aimlessly attempted to organize this mess I’d made. When hunger pains pierced through my side, I checked the time. 11:54 P.M. I’d been fumbling around the house for three hours and Akua still hadn’t made her way home.
I called her on her cell phone. She didn’t answer. I went into the kitchen to find something to eat. The refrigerator was empty. I swung cabinets open. Nothing. I returned to the same cabinets just to make sure. Still nothing. I stood there realizing how I ended up in a serious relationship. These types of things don’t occur when a woman is in the house. Frustration forced me to dial Akua again. I began pacing the floor. She had to go to work in less than five hours. Where could she be?
