Sing A New Song

by Michelle Lindo-Rice

  Myra’s chest puffed. When she accepted Jesus and got baptized, she prided herself on being a living example. That was why she stuck around here, even when Neil wanted to move. Well, she amended, that was what she had voiced aloud. Secretly, Myra wouldn’t mind moving to a more upscale town. Between her and Neil, they could more than afford to, since she was a teacher and he a computer analyst.

  However, her parents hadn’t raised a fool. This house was a bought and paid in full hand-me-down from her parents before they retired and moved to Florida. Practically speaking, there was no reason to move, unless they had a child. Myra wanted one badly. She snagged a cookie, thinking some more about her “baby” dilemma. Sitting on a stool, she put her head on the countertop while eating, giving the impression that she was praying.

  She knew that with God, all things were possible, but after years with no success, Myra, who suffered from endometriosis, was seriously considering the option of in vitro fertilization. The procedure was costly and intrusive, and some folks believed God did not need that kind of help.

  Still deep in thought, Myra raised her head and glanced up at the ceiling. A few church people, with that backward mentality, came to mind. She and Neil believed that God increased knowledge so that the doctors could do their “magic.” They subscribed to the notion that God was behind it all. He was the physician, and the doctors were merely his tools.

  In autopilot mode, Myra bit into her fifth cookie. She had set out two full plates of cookies, but Myra had no idea just how much she’d eaten. What did I do to deserve infertility? she thought. Myra was genuinely perplexed and vexed about it. She knew God was a just God, but she did not do anything to displease Him, so God had no reason to keep her womb closed.

  Guilt plagued her so much that she could barely look Neil in the eyes sometimes. He could not have a child because of her. On second thought, she was not at fault, either. Life was God’s decision. He gave it, and He took it away. “So, in essence, it’s on you, God, all on you,” Myra shouted freely, not worrying or even caring if Neil came in and overheard her tirade.

  Myra bit into a few more cookies before realizing she had lost count. Now she felt disgusted with herself for eating away her frustrations, and she had only a paltry serving left. “Yeah, yeah, I know I need to trust you, God,” Myra belted out. “But where is trust getting me? Answer me that, God. I pay my tithes, help the children, go to church, all of that. I call the main line, I call Jesus up, but I guess He’s way too busy for me.” Bitterness washed her insides, whirled around, darkening her very countenance.

  Myra saw she was holding a cookie as her microphone. Well, she might as well finish it since she had already started eating it. That mentality was the devil’s doing, and it would gain her twenty pounds. It was hard to believe that she was once a size two and the head of the cheerleading squad in high school.

  Myra stood up, defiantly tossing the half-eaten cookie in the garbage. She went into her bedroom and headed straight for the mirror. She studied herself before slowly turning sideways, imagining her womb swelled with child.

  The cookies had not filled her. Unless she had a child, nothing would.

  Surreptitiously, she confessed, not even God.

  Later that evening, Myra decided to work on a recipe for key lime pie. She had tasted the treat when she and Neil visited her parents in Key West. Her doorbell rang, but Myra was too engrossed in her task to answer the door. Sometimes the neighborhood kids got a kick out of ringing the doorbells and running off.

  The second chime told Myra she needed to heed the call. Wiping her hands on her apron, Myra walked over and opened the front door, forgetting to use the peephole as a precaution. Her mouth dropped open, as if she had seen a ghost.

  “Tiffany! Tiffany Knightly!” Myra squealed and hugged her old friend close. After a few seconds, she released her hold and just looked. “What’re you doing here? I thought you were living it up in the big L.A.”

  “I know,” Tiffany agreed as she entered Myra’s home. She knew Neil would not tell Myra about her moving back until she was ready. She knew Myra had no clue just what close friends she and Neil were and that they had maintained contact over the years. Looking around, Tiffany experienced the same warm sensation she used to feel every time she entered this house. “Gosh, this house feels the same as when I used to come here.”

  Myra laughed and keenly studied Tiffany’s facial reactions. Myra was not going to let her question slide. Tiffany was going to answer her question. “So, girl, what’re you doing here?” She followed Tiffany into the kitchen and took a seat at the round table.

  “I have moved back into my old house.”

  Since Tiffany declined her coffee offer, Myra joined her. She had kept herself abreast of the latest news and knew Tiffany had retired from showbiz. She had also heard about the lung cancer. “I’m sorry about . . . you know . . . your situation,” Myra said, fumbling the words, not quite knowing how to express her sympathy.

  Tiffany waved her hands, dismissing Myra’s concern. She responded with a glib comment. “I have officially come home to die.”

  Myra did not know how to respond to that. She took the inferred hint that Tiffany did not want to get too sentimental, but she could not let that comment pass. “Don’t say that. You never know what could happen. I serve a miraculous God, who specializes in things that seem impossible.” Myra squelched her own betraying thought about her empty womb and the apparent lack of a miracle.

  Tiffany wisely let the comment slide. Her impending death was something she did not want to talk about right now. She was sick and tired of talking about it and worrying about it. Tiffany did not want to hear about God, either. If she had any contact with God, it would be to ask Him if He had forgotten she had a daughter, who, because of her death, would have no one to care for her. Tiffany did not relish getting into any discussion about God with Myra. She changed subjects without batting an eye over her bald-faced lie. She knew all about their lives because Neil updated her whenever they spoke. “I did not know you would still be here. I just took a chance. How come you’re still here?” she said.

  “Where was I going to go?” Myra responded, biting the bait. “My parents left me this home when they moved to Florida, so I stayed.”

  “Oh, I see you are married.” Tiffany noted the rings on Myra’s left hand.

  Instinctively, Myra touched them and smiled, “Yeah, it’s been about seven years now. I married Neil.”

  “I never would have guessed you two would have gotten married and would still be together after all these years.” The lie spilled off Tiffany’s tongue like honey. She deserved an Academy Award for this performance. She could play dumb like nobody’s business. But she knew that if Myra had any inkling that she and Neil had kept in touch, there would no convincing her that there was nothing going on and that they were truly just friends.

  Myra blushed. “Well, we did, and we are still together.”

  “So what do you do? You already know what I do—excuse me, used to do—for a living,” Tiffany quipped.

  “I’m a fourth grade teacher at Smith Street School in Uniondale,” Myra replied. She then launched into a more detailed job description. Myra’s love for her job was apparent as she spoke with suppressed excitement about her daily tasks. She regaled Tiffany with funny tales of things her students had done or said. Myra informed Tiffany that when she was not teaching, she was playing an active role in the church.

  “Being a schoolteacher sounds extremely entertaining and interesting,” Tiffany commented, purposely not addressing the religious aspects of Myra’s life. “So how come you’re not at work today?”

  Myra stumbled over her words. “I don’t know really. I think I just haven’t accepted that summer is over, and Mondays are so hard to get back to work.” Myra laughed awkwardly. “Besides, I have so many days in my sick-leave bank that this one day won’t even make a dent.”

  “I hear you,” Tiffany said.

  Then, just as quickly,
the air between the two women intensified. Astute, Tiffany knew why.

  Myra did too.

  Tiffany deduced Myra wanted to know why she never kept in touch when she ran away from home all those years ago. “Myra,” Tiffany began, “I am sorry. I know I did not do you justice as a friend when I left like that. But there was a lot going on, and it was a confusing time in my life. Not that it justifies anything, but I was a little messed up.”

  Myra’s shoulders relaxed at Tiffany’s perceptiveness. She had to admit that was the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question going through her head. She did not want to appear selfish to Tiffany by asking, so she was deeply relieved that Tiffany had broached the subject. “Why did you leave?” Myra asked, quietly. “I mean, you did not even say good-bye or anything to me, your friend since kindergarten. You just up and disappeared. I went to see my grandparents and came back to learn that you were just . . . gone.” She made no attempt to disguise the pain in her voice. She wanted Tiffany to know how much her rash move hurt, even after all these years.

  Tiffany hunched her shoulders with shame. She could not answer Myra’s question without full disclosure so she simply reiterated. “Myra, I was going through a lot at the time, and I did some things I was not proud of . Then one day it became too much, and I just left.”

  Myra quelled her inquisitiveness. She knew now was not the time to push for more information. She had to accept Tiffany’s sincere apology and move on. That was what God would want her to do as a good Christian woman. Tiffany was dying, and Myra did not want to hold on to old grudges. God’s Word said that we have to love and forgive others as Christ forgave us, so Myra graciously accepted her friend’s apology.

  “I love you, Tiffany. We were such good friends and I want to rekindle our friendship,” Myra said, reaching out to hold Tiffany’s hands.

  “I am going to need it, believe me,” Tiffany stressed. “But just for the record, I want you to know that it’s not because I am dying that I am here now. I have got a lot I have to do before my time and a lot of demons I have to face.”

  Myra looked at her friend, silently asking her to explain.

  Tiffany let out a huge sigh, before saying, “I have to . . . I just thought it would make things easier for Karlie if I returned home.” It was too soon for a tell-all.

  “Karlie? That’s your daughter, right? I knew you had a daughter, but you kept her under the radar,” Myra said.

  “Well, certain things in my life I’ve kept very private, and Karlie is one of them. She is fifteen now.”

  “Fifteen . . . I thought she was younger than that.” Myra did the math in her head. Realization struck. “So you were pregnant around the time when you left?”

  “Yes,” Tiffany answered. “Yes, I was.”

  “Oh,” Myra said. She mulled that over for a few seconds before asking, “So where is Karlie? You should’ve brought her here with you.”

  “Karlie started Hempstead High School today. I tried to get her in before the year started, but I couldn’t. But it’s only a week, so I’m confident she’ll catch up.”

  “You sent her to public school?” Myra’s eyes depicted her shock.

  “Yeah,” Tiffany answered dryly. “Karlie pleaded and pleaded to go to public school, even though she’d gone to private school all her life. It took some serious thinking on my part before I hesitantly agreed. I am waiting on pins and needles for her to get home so I can hear all about her first day. I hate the fact that school has already started, but it couldn’t be helped.”

  “Well, I imagine it will be an eye-opening experience,” Myra returned.

  “Karlie is a tough cookie. I think she will be just fine,” Tiffany said with a confidence she didn’t feel.

  Chapter Nine

  Even though it was mid-September, it was ninety-six degrees, and everyone moaned about going to school on such a picture-perfect beach day. Karlie walked through the halls of Hempstead High School, which featured student artwork on display. Some of the kids here were truly talented.

  She was enrolled in Hempstead High’s College Preparatory Academy for Music and Art, but she still had core requirements to fulfill. Her heart was pounding so loudly that Karlie splayed her hands across her chest. She had convinced her mom to send her here instead of to a private school or to a tutor. Karlie had assured her mother she would be just fine. “It would be a piece of cake,” she’d said.

  However, that was all before Karlie heard the click of her shoes as she meandered down a long hallway. Suddenly the bell rang, and she was whirled around by kids rushing in different directions. “Ow!” Karlie screeched and grabbed her long braid. Someone had tugged her hair. Karlie reached her hands to her head to soothe her tender scalp. Lucky for him, or her, the culprit was long gone.

  She knew she stuck out like a sore thumb. With her designer clothes from Beverly Hills, Karlie knew she did not blend in with the Sean Johns and Timberlands crowd. But she wouldn’t let that stop her. Resolute, Karlie marched to her next class. “I will not be intimidated.” A girl rushing by ran smack into her. “Ooh, I’m sorry,” Karlie said instinctively, then thought, Why did I just apologize? Great. Now she felt like a punk.

  “Watch where you are going,” the girl yelled before continuing on her way.

  “What’s the big rush?” Karlie asked to no one in particular.

  “Lost?” a boy asked.

  Startled that she had an audience, Karlie turned toward the voice and saw a tall, lanky boy looking at her. Leaning against his locker, he seemed in no apparent hurry to get to his class. Karlie felt grateful. Now, this was someone who seemed to be more her speed.

  The late bell rang.

  “Yeah,” Karlie said, panicked. She did not want to be the late new girl to class. “I am trying to find Ms. Alexander’s class.”

  “I’ll show you,” the boy offered and walked over to where Karlie was standing. He slung his arm around her shoulders with the casual ease of someone who was used to getting his own way. Karlie’s muscles tensed. She did not feel comfortable with the intimate gesture but did not want to spurn the help of the only person inclined to help her. She remained silent as he led the way down the hall to the last door on the right.

  “Um, thanks,” she told him.

  When Karlie entered the class, quite a few eyes bulged out when they saw who accompanied her. She creased her brows, confused as to why everyone was staring at him with such intensity. The teacher rushed through introductions and went on with the lesson, so Karlie did not think to ask what the big deal was.

  She should have asked. She would later learn that her Good Samaritan was none other than Jamaal Weathers, basketball star and boyfriend of Cheyenne Elliott, head cheerleader. Apparently, Hempstead High had an efficient grapevine and news spread like wildfire. Karlie had just exited Ms. Alexander’s class and was navigating her way to her next class when she felt a sharp nudge on her right shoulder.

  “What the . . .” Rubbing her shoulder, Karlie turn around to see who the perpetrator was. The other students gave a wide berth, minding their own business. Even the teachers standing in the hallway ignored them.

  Karlie saw a petite, light-skinned girl wearing a leopard-print shirt, a broad waist belt, and black tights giving her the evil eye. The girl stood there popping gum for a few seconds before Karlie asked, “Did you just push me?”

  “Yes, I did. I am Cheyenne Elliott, Jamaal’s girlfriend,” she replied haughtily, as if that should be explanation enough for her rudeness.

  “Okay, so?” Karlie shook her head, still not understanding. She saw two other girls walk up to stand next to Cheyenne. They were also gum poppers and were staring her down. Karlie’s chest heaved. She wasn’t about to let these girls punk her out. No way.

  Cheyenne marched up into Karlie’s space. She became bolder now that her two friends flanked her sides. “So you’d better get to know my name real fast. Jamaal is my boyfriend, and you’d best stay away from him.”

  “I don’t even know who
Jamaal is,” Karlie replied, still not putting two and two together.

  “Oh, now she’s playing dumb,” one of the other girls said. “I saw her with my own two eyes, Cheyenne.”

  “Look,” Cheyenne said in a threatening manner and pointed her finger at Karlie. “I don’t know who you are, and I do not care. Just leave my boyfriend alone, and stay out of my way.”

  Karlie watched as Cheyenne and the girls stomped off as they giggled among themselves and pointed in her direction, making it obvious she was the topic of their conversation. Karlie’s temperature rose, but she was outnumbered.

  “Do not let those dry-headed girls get to you.”

  Karlie swiveled around and made sure that the comment had been directed at her. She didn’t want to look stupid. She saw a tall, dark-skinned girl make her way over to where she still stood. “I’m trying not to, but I do not know who this Jamaal is that that Cheyenne girl wants me to stay away from.”

  “He is the school’s basketball star,” the girl explained. “And you should stay away from him. Jamaal Weathers is no good. At least that is what I heard.”

  “My name is Karlie Knightly,” Karlie offered.

  “And I’m Tanya McAdams. Let me see your schedule,” Tanya said, holding out her hand. She quickly skimmed the slightly wrinkled paper. “Good. We’ve got the same history class. Come with me. Mr. Battle is cool, and you’ll like him.” She inclined her head, indicating that Karlie should follow.

  Karlie smiled, relieved. She had just made her first friend.

  Chapter Ten

  Tiffany is not getting away that easy, Myra said to herself. It had been two days since Tiffany had shown up on her doorstep, and Myra was curious to catch up on more of Tiffany’s life.

  Cake in hand, she walked the short distance to Tiffany’s house. She rang the doorbell several times, to no avail. “Where is she? Her car is here.” She tilted her head, hearing a painful outcry coming from the backyard. Myra’s stubby legs hurried toward the sound. She huffed from the effort of running. She really needed to get in shape and do away with the spandex and oversize shirts. Her small frame could not hold the weight of a size fourteen.