by Pat Simmons
“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” She didn’t suppress her smirk very well.
“No, actually, you do.” When she laid her hands on the table, I took the liberty of reaching across wrapping my hand around hers. This was going to work between us. I would make sure of that. “Something tells me it’s going to take me a while to figure you out.”
“Take your time, Noel. My late mother once told me we only get one shot at the most important thing in life.”
“Something tells me you’re going to be very important in my life. What else…”
Jason chose the wrong moment to return, and I could’ve strangled him for interrupting. Mackenzie gave the waiter her attention as Jason placed our meals on the table.
Grabbing Mackenzie’s soft hands for prayer and my own selfish reasons, I bowed my head and we prayed. When I opened my eyes, she watched me with amusement. “What?”
“I’ve got to save some information about me until date number two.”
“You’re a tease, and you know it don’t you?” I accused her as we continued to sign throughout our meal, ignoring a few stares directed our way. We exchanged email addresses and cell numbers for text messaging. When Jason placed a slice of apple pie before Mackenzie, she licked her lips. “A woman with an appetite,” I joked.
“We’ll talk later. I’m busy.”
Agreeing, I laughed to myself before digging into my Triple Chocolate Meltdown—a chocolate cake filled with a fudge-center, topped with dark and white chocolates. Mackenzie’s eyes coveted her dessert as she ate. My eyes admired her. I didn’t need to see my food to taste it. Finally, I swallowed my last bite and picked up our conversation. “So you’re a theater major, are you? What school?”
Wiping a dip of ice cream off her lips, she swallowed. “Emerson College in Boston. What about you?”
I stroked my mustache, watching the pride in her eyes that had to be reflected in her voice. “I did my undergraduate at Gallaudet University, D.C., and MPA in Public and Nonprofit Management and Policy, New York University Wagner.” I leaned back as if I just checkmated her king. The only problem was I didn’t know how to play chess.
Tilting her head, she studied me. “You’re a package, Noel Richardson, a special gift, wrapped by God. Can I ask your age?”
“Thirty-one.”
“And you haven’t been snatched, yet?” She frowned.
I lifted my brow. “I’m selective about who traps me.” Now take that, Miss Norton, anyway you want.
Jason returned shortly with the bill. Mackenzie reached for her purse. I touched her hand to stop her.
“I invited you to come along, not to buy me dinner,” she signed with an attitude.
“A man never lets a lady buy a meal.” My fingers walked across the table in a mock dance to the bill again. “You can buy me dinner when I leave my checkbook and credit cards at home.” I reached into my back pocket for my wallet.
“Something tells me you never do,” she challenged.
Add stubborn to her qualities. I’ve never met a woman who turned down anything free, even if it was a pack of gum. “Mackenzie, we’re not getting off to a good start. We just had our first argument after church and in a restaurant.”
Our heated gestures over who should pay began to draw attention. Embarrassed, we rubbed our right fists in a circular motion against our chests, “Sorry.”
Valerie appeared and invited herself to our table, forcing a space on the edge of Mackenzie’s chair. She actually smiled at me. “I never turn down a free meal. You want my bill?”
The woman knew how to crash a party. Mackenzie seemed to ignore the intrusion as she combed the inside of her purse. Before she could retrieve her money, Nick scooped up a chair from a nearby just-vacated table and dragged it to ours as if he was the final partner to a card game.
Nick plucked our ticket from my fingers and grinned. “Got it, brother, consider it my treat.”
“What about me?” Valerie said, pouting.
“You, Sister Preston, are a regular. Everybody knows you.”
Nick and Valerie exchanged words about her bill until other church members began to referee. Jason elbowed his way through the gathering and offered to pay for our meal. Realizing our disagreement had gotten out of hand, we called a truce. Mackenzie and I left Jason a tip that was more than half our meal.
Standing, I helped Mackenzie with her coat before putting on mine. I slid my hands into black leather gloves, not commenting about Mackenzie’s gloves. I smirked at the contrast colors. The woman and her fashion statement. Once outside in the restaurant’s parking lot, I looked up into the winter sky. “Still mad at me?” I asked as I escorted Mackenzie to her car.
She stopped and issued her challenge. “Should I be?”
“Listen, Mackenzie, I apologize for making a scene, but not for being a gentleman.”
She resumed walking as if she didn’t hear me. Pointing her remote at her car, the headlights blinked. She turned and faced me, mischief danced in her eyes. “Next time, I’ll order more.”
So the teasing interpreter returned. I was geared for another round, so I leaned close to her ear. “Should I follow you home and make sure you don’t hurt anybody?”
Mackenzie pulled her wool coat tighter around her neck. “Nope. Prayer will protect any motorist. I’m a strategic driver. Someone sways to the right. I’ll pivot to the left. They stop, I swerve. They jump out, I speed away. Plus, for the time being, I still live at home with my Dad. He generally doesn’t go to sleep at night until he knows his little girl is safely in the house. If I don’t move out soon, I’ll be fifty years old and still his little girl, but it’s okay. Without my mom around anymore, we check on each other.”
Taking off my gloves, I wrapped my hand around Mackenzie’s cold fingers. Closing my eyes, I bowed my head. “Father God, in the Name of Jesus, I stand before You with a woman so precious and so special. I ask that You guide her over the highways and the byways. Please keep her and everybody in her direction safe. Amen.”
CHAPTER 6
A week later, I admitted, I was ready for love, wanted to be in love, and wanted Mackenzie to be the recipient. Stretching, I folded my arms behind my head. Pleased with my assessment, there was nothing I wanted to do about it. That didn’t mean that I would say or sign those words to Mackenzie next week, but I was willing to explore the possibility. She had everything I desired in a woman: knockout looks, a sweet spirit, and a one-of-a kind sense of humor.
Midweek Bible class didn’t satisfy my craving for Mackenzie. We had exchanged a few emails, but it wasn’t the same. I didn’t have the privilege of walking to her car. Valerie was at Mackenzie’s side, pleading for a ride home. Nick offered, but Valerie declined, insisting she had something to talk over with Mackenzie. I had no other option than to bid Mackenzie good night as she walked away.
Friday morning, while on my home computer, my older brother Pierce’s instant message request flashed at the bottom of my screen. He was more regular than prune juice. We communicated daily. If he didn’t email me, I text messaged him.
Pierce typed: “What’s up, Noel? How did your week go and any plans for this weekend?”
My hand trailed the waves in my hair. Then I twisted the hair in my mustache before replying. “Don’t think I’m crazy, but I feel like I’ve lived a lifetime in a week.”
Pierce: “Explain.”
“Going back to church was one of the best decisions I’ve made in a long time and an unexpected blessing was waiting for me, I think. I’ll tell you all of the reasons why I was late getting to Mom and Dad’s house on Thanksgiving,” I tapped on the keyboards.
Pierce: “Okay, Noel, I’m waiting. You’re typing slower than Caleb signs.”
“God drew me to the church, but Mackenzie Norton is keeping me rooted there. From the moment I sat in that pew, it was like a build up of attraction—her somewhat tamed curls, her convictions, and her honesty. That woman had me tangled up in a net before I knew I was c
aptured.”
Pierce: “Noel, the point of you going back to a physical church was to strengthen your relationship with God, not to pursue a relationship with a woman.”
Did I mention there were no secrets between us? I wanted Pierce’s opinion on Mackenzie. “Don’t jump to any conclusions. The church more than meets my spiritual needs. It’s the answer to the family’s prayers …” I paused. Mackenzie was a full-length novel that I couldn’t write about in a sentence or two.
As I rubbed my face, Pierce propped me. “Well?”
I finished typing, “Maybe mine, too. She’s one of the church’s interpreters. I can’t believe I asked her out days after I met her, and without any hesitation, she said yes.” I bit my lip to hold in a laugh. Pierce would deduce the same thing I thought. A few seconds later, he typed in the words.
Pierce: “Noel, I know you’re not desperate, so what was it that made you lose your mind? It’s as if you went to the supermarket to purchased toiletries and came out with a year’s supply of can goods. What gives? Is she pretty? Is she spiritual?”
I did release my laugh. “Yes, she’s incredibly pretty. Her walk with God excites me. Her attitude fascinates me.” I hit send and waited. “Pierce, are you there? What are you thinking? Talk to me.”
His message interrupted my thinking. “A week, huh?”
“Actually, nine days, but it seems like nine weeks,” I corrected.
Pierce: “Noel, if you start picking out an engagement ring, I may have to step in, and you know I will.”
“I don’t expect anything less. I’ll keep you posted, within reason. So no bowling for me this weekend, I’m booked. We’re going out for a quick dinner this evening because it’s the last night of some theater production at the Uppity Theater.”
I didn’t care if Mackenzie had five minutes to spare, I planned to steal six. “We’re also going to the Chris Botti concert tomorrow at the Blanche Touhill Performing Arts Center.”
Pierce: “Not only have you lost your hearing, you’ve lost your mind. Chris Botti? You can’t hear, Noel. You’re way over your head, way over your head.”
“Thanks for reminding me.”
Pierce: “Now, I know it’s time for me to start praying. I may have to throw a little fasting in there, too. I’m interested on how this will turn out. Gotta run. Stay focused on Jesus.” And with his signature line, poof, he was gone.
Unconcerned about my unopened emails, I logged off the computer. I knew Pierce was my voice of reason, or my conscience, and he kept me grounded. I also believed blessings came unexpectedly. Without Pierce mentioning anything, I had the same concerns about my immediate attraction to Mackenzie.
I stood from behind the desk in my makeshift office in the second bedroom. I strained my brain to remember the noise of a trumpet. I couldn’t. Strolling across the hardwood floor to my closet, I didn’t feel like a suit today, so I chose casual attire.
As the founder and chief executive officer of PRESERVE-St. Louis, I gave myself permission to work half a day.
PRESERVE-St. Louis, a non-profit organization, was my brain-child after attending grad school at NYUWagner four years ago. Its MPA curriculum with a concentration in Public and Nonprofit Management and Policy ignited my hunger for community involvement. After volunteering at Brooklyn’s Catholic Charities office, I was hooked. Although it was a national private organization, I wanted to concentrate solely on the community where I lived—the displaced, under-paid, and uninsured.
I’m thankful God gave me the desire to continue my education after I received my business degree in Economics from Gallaudet University in D.C. Created by an Act of Congress for the Deaf Culture; it was the premier school that offered an elite education. How many other colleges and universities could boast that President Abraham Lincoln signed its charter?
Then in 1961, President Kennedy introduced affirmative action. Later, President Johnson enforced it. Gallaudet University, segregated southern black colleges, and predominately white schools/universities were changed.
If schools wanted government funding, they had to offer equal access, which also gave the Deaf culture more opportunities in a hearing world by schools providing necessary tools for us to succeed. We had choices, and for some, that did not include a Gallaudet education.
My professional memberships weren’t limited to the National Association for Speech Language and Hearing, the National Black Deaf Association, but also the National Association of Black MBA and the Association for Public Policy Analysis and Management (APPAM).
Not bad for a deaf man, but I had a lot of inspiration. The accomplishments of African-Americans like Martin Luther King, Rosa Parks, James Hubert Blake, Jackie Robinson, Dr. Mae Jemison, and countless others are instilled into every black child.
When I lost my hearing, my family indoctrinated me to the famous deaf pioneers like bodybuilder Lou Ferrigno, actress Amy Ecklund, Miss America talk show host Heather Whitestone, and even Rush Limbaugh. How many people knew Rush wore a cochlear implant because he had experienced sudden deafness?
I was preaching to the choir again. At PRESERVE-St. Louis, we organized weekly forums and workshops and sometimes facilitated more than two a week.
Occasionally we hosted evening fundraisers that required our presence until ten at night. If there were hot-button topics, our role was to act as the mediator between the rich and poor, communities and corporations, Jews and Muslims, or black and white.
With the end of the year approaching, our main focus was choosing the hundred neediest families in St. Louis and assisting them. The one hundred neediest families program was designed to match corporate donations with families that would miss out on the holiday without the help from others. We had been working on that project since October.
At nine-thirty, I walked through glass doors at PRESERVE-St. Louis. Waving at my receptionist, I continued to my office. I booted up my computer and scanned the scribbled messages on my desk. Opening the file listing the families still on waiting for assistance, I wrote a note to have my assistant make additional phone calls and to follow up on correspondence about donation pledges.
Despite my financial and educational achievements, it was my spiritual tank that was empty. Have I been faithful in reading my Word? No. In praying? No. In witnessing? No. Was I ready to embrace the forthcoming changes to my life, which would include Mackenzie? No question about it, yes.
***
At one-thirty, I turned off the overhead lights in my office. Minutes later, I slid behind the wheel of my car. Before driving off, I paused for a short prayer. For some reason, I wanted God pulling for us for this thing to work out.
Taking a deep breath, I opened my eyes as I lifted my head. I stared through the windshield. I’ve never prayed so much since I started going back to church. Still, I wanted to be more than a visitor, I wanted to join, be part of the flock. With that thought, I pulled away from the curb and drove west on Forest Park Parkway.
Thirty minutes later, I entered a ten-acre school campus, which seemed to divide the east from the west and the poor from the up-and-coming middle class. Landscaped lawns and manicured flowers skipped up man-made mounds. The Watkins School was a transplant into the worst part of the city of St. Louis.
The only remnant of the original structure was the etching on the front of the building—erected in 1920. Otherwise, the building could be the winner of an architectural competition. Mackenzie seemed to fit the profile of an instructor, charming her way into an adult or child’s heart and making them believe the impossible.
A black, wrought-iron fence rode the perimeters of the property. A winding path took me to a large rear parking lot. Every type of playground equipment designed by man was sprinkled throughout the backyard.
Entering at the front of the building, a sign directed all visitors to the office. I spotted it immediately through a glass wall. Opening the door, heads popped up. I had everyone’s attention, especially three women on the other side of a counter. That I expecte
d.
One stood from behind her desk, smiled, and approached the counter. She straightened her shoulders and angled her breasts. “May I help you?” Her eyes darted to my ring finger. “Are you a …” her words were lost as she bent for a pad. She grabbed a pencil as she continued to speak.
“Pardon me. I need to see your lips.” It was interesting to watch her response. I knew exactly what I was doing.
“Oh, okay,” she said, flattered. Puckering, she presented me with different angles.
“I need to read lips because I can’t hear.”
“Oh.” She frowned as her shoulders slumped.
“I’m here to see Mackenzie Norton.”
Tossing her pad and pencil a few feet to a desk, she looked back at me. “Well, she’s still in class for at least another twenty minutes. You can take a seat over there.”
I glanced at the unappealing chairs that lined the wall. “Is there a school policy against sitting in on a class?”
She shrugged. “No, not really. Sign in here, put on this badge and I’ll escort you to her classroom.”
I did as instructed and accepted the peel off white badge label. And then I followed her down a multicolor carpeted hall. I sniffed the fresh paint on the walls. After passing three classrooms, we finally stopped. Thanking her before she left, I peeped inside the closed, half glass-and-wood door.
Mackenzie held the classroom of small, inquisitive eyes spellbound. She also had pulled my hazel eyes in with them. One student, a girl whose skin reminded me of sand, wore precision parted cornrows that raced down her head. Her white blouse and tan pants uniform was crisp. When she raised her hand, she flashed dark fingernail polish. Her arm continued to jab the air, pointing at me to get Mackenzie’s attention.
Glancing over her shoulder, Mackenzie’s face brightened and her ready smile blossomed. She beckoned for me to come inside. Every scrutinizing eye followed my entrance as Mackenzie motioned me to the back of the class. I scanned the large classroom for adult-size furniture. Only Mackenzie’s desk and chair would fit the bill, and those were in the front of the class. Suddenly, I felt like a super-size kid in a doll house.
