Mama B - A Time to Speak (Book 1)

by Michelle Stimpson

  Sunday morning, I kept my Bible handy (just in case) while Rev. Dukes talked on the importance of separating yourself from so-called “haters” and other people who don’t want to see you get rich. Folk was cheerin’ him on and runnin’ ‘round the building in circles.

  But back to the hatin’ part—I sat there wondering who in they right mind sit up thinking ‘bout all the people who hate them? You know somebody hate you, you pray for them, treat them nice and keep right on movin’. Can’t nobody stop you from pleasing God but yourself. Plus, you live long enough, you figure out folks ain’t studyin’ you near much as you think they are.

  Like I said, I wasn’t gon’ raise no stink about things, though. We were five weeks into this drought with Rev. Dukes. I figured we were closer to the end of him than the beginning.

  At the end of the service, one of Rev. Dukes’ folks, young man by the name of Brandon, got up and made mention of a back-to-school talent show for the kids. Well, since Shantay, her husband, and the other family that mostly work with the youth had been skippin’ out on church in Pastor’s absence, I was glad somebody stepped in. So long as the kids just sang their songs and did their praise dances, should have been fine.

  Cameron ran hisself straight to the front of the church soon as we dismissed. Him and about ten more kids gathered around Brandon to sign up for the talent show.

  Since he didn’t need no ride to church, Cameron was the first one there at practice Monday evening, too. He must have told Rosetta’s grandsons about it ‘cause they all come stompin’ through the house after Brandon let them out of practice. I mean, they was goin’ at it.

  Reminded me of Otha back when Albert and me went to see him perform with his fraternity. Chile, they was steppin’ and movin’ like we back in Africa! Thought they was doin’ something new, I guess.

  Same thing with Cameron. “You want to see our routine?”

  I sat down on the sofa. “Sure. Go right ahead.”

  Rosetta’s oldest grandson said, “Well, there will be seven of us stepping Friday night. But we’ll do what we can.”

  “I understand.”

  Cameron and the other two boys line up in front of the television set. They counted off, “One. Two. One, two, three, four.”

  They only got about eight counts into the dance when somebody messed up. Don’t know which one it was, but they had to start over. Twice.

  Finally, Cameron gave up. “Never mind, Mama B. We’ll go outside and work on it some more.”

  Tickled me, but I didn’t laugh none ‘cause they was serious about this thing. “Good idea. Y’all go on outside, I’ll make you some snacks for after you finish. I can hardly wait to see the performance Friday night.”

  They traipsed out there and practiced the moves. Rosetta’s grandsons almost got into a fight, but Cameron intervened. Little peacemaker, that boy was. Make any father or grandfather proud.

  I fished my cell phone from my purse and sent Son another text.

  Your grandson performing at church Friday night.

  Few minutes later, he returned.

  Sorry. Can’t make it. Plans already.

  Plans, my foot. I could see I was going to have to practice the Rule of One on Son. Something I hadn’t done with him since Nikki was born.

  Me and Libby come up with the Rule of One. It’s when you got grown kids and they don’t want to listen to you and you already know a face-to-face meetin’ won’t really get you nowhere ‘cause somebody always got to have the last word.

  Instead of a conversation, write a letter and tell ‘em one time and one time only about what’s on your heart. Give them advice. In love. Let ‘em know this the only time you gon’ bring it up, ‘less they want to talk about it (that’s the “One” part).

  When Jesus talked to folks, He didn’t sit there arguing. He might say “Do you want to be healed?” or “I am the Son of God” and that was it. They either believed or they didn’t. Ain’t got time to sit up trying to talk people to death. Talk don’t help some people.

  Other thing about the rule is: you can’t do it often. Some kids, never. Some kids two or three times in a lifetime. Only when you see they gettin’ ready to do something you believe they gon’ regret for a long, long time.

  Last time I did the Rule of One with Son was when told me he was leavin’ his family for Nikki’s momma. Said he was bored with Wanda. Dianne made him feel “alive” again. Now, I couldn’t figure out how he was feelin’ dead already at the ripe old age of twenty-four. I did know what he was feelin’, and it certainly wasn’t dead.

  Son got a good heart. Since him and Wanda got back together, he been doin’ good with his family and his church. But, in the natural, he always been the kind who love to tell other people what they doin’ wrong, yet don’t like nobody to point out his faults. Can’t stand to be wrong. We couldn’t hardly play Monopoly with him ‘cause he nearly fall out when he land on “Go to Jail!”

  Anyhow, he still my son. I still had a right and a obligation to speak the truth into his life. Just had to figure out what words to say.

  And I knew I wasn’t the One with all the answers.

  Chapter 21

  I finished making the grilled sandwiches for Cameron and his summer buddies. Called them in to eat, then sent the other two home. I was planning on taking my shower first, but by the smell of him, I let him go ahead.

  When Nikki come in, I called it a night. Left her to tend to her son while I tended to mine.

  I met Jesus in the rocking chair. Pulled out my Bible and read first Corinthians chapter thirteen again. Reminded me of who I am in Christ before I wrote the Rule of One letter to Son. Not rude, not self-seeking, not proud, slow to anger.

  Took me nearly an hour to write the letter. This was the one shot I had to let Son know exactly how I felt with no tit-for-tat. I wrote it on stationery Libby got me, with flowers and everything on it. Anything to help Son know how much I loved him, how much God loved him. Told him not to carry ‘round the guilt of what happened between him and Nikki’s momma. Nobody’s perfect, but everybody been forgiven in Christ – past, present, and future. Time for him to move on, don’t let the enemy steal the relationship with his grandson, especially. I expected Son would call me in a day or two, after he got the letter.

  Now, I thought my last words would be to Jesus that night, but Nikki come knocking on the door.

  “Mama B? You sleep?”

  With the hallway light on, I could see her sliding her hands up and down the thigh part of her pants.

  “What’s the matter?” I switched on the night lamp.

  She walked over and sat on the foot of my bed, shaking like a leaf. “I saw J.T.’s car.”

  “Where?”

  “In my rearview mirror. He must have found your address by doing a reverse search on your landline after I called him.”

  Folks and all this technology. Stalkers ain’t even got to work hard no more. “You want to call the police?”

  “No. I’ve been through this with J.T. before. When he gets like this, he starts acting real crazy. I…I think maybe me and Cameron need to move back with him. I don’t want to put you in any danger.”

  I sat up in my bed. “Nikki, is it something else you ain’t told me?”

  She dropped her head. My stomach dropped, too. All along, I knew there was something more to this story.

  “J.T.’s cousin. The one I was working for?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Well. When I left. I took some things with me.”

  “Things like what?”

  She blurted out, “Money.”

  One thing I know, people don’t play about they money. One of Albert’s best friends got shot over five dollars in a crap game.

  “How much money?”

  She squeaked, “Two thousand dollars.”

  My chest loosened a little. Guess I was thinking she’d say something higher. She should have been able to resolve this matter it soon as she got a job. “You need to pay it back.
”

  “No, I don’t.”

  I raised my brow at her.

  She softened. “Well, not all of it. I know how J.T. and his cousin work. They were not about to give me my last two weeks’ earnings. I’d have to get a lawyer, which would have cost me more than I’d earned. They always kept the last paycheck of everyone they fired. I wasn’t going to let them get over on me like that, so I helped myself. Plus, now, J.T. owes me another five hundred dollars for the phone. I might owe them four hundred dollars, tops.”

  She had a point. “Maybe you should talk to J.T. See if y’all can’t reason this out, like Libby said the other day. Sit down and put pencil to paper. Right is right. Figure out exactly what you do owe the business, and pay it back.”

  “J.T. is not a reasonable person. A reasonable person would have knocked on your door and asked to speak to me. We might have argued, I might have ended up calling the cops, but still, the whole thing would be reasonable. But J.T.’s the kind of person who would rather follow me and make me feel scared weeks and weeks before he actually does whatever it is he’s going to do.”

  I had to ask. “Well, if he’s so unreasonable, what were you doin’ with him?”

  She paused, like nobody ever asked her that before. “Good question.”

  “You got a good answer?”

  She stopped again. “No ma’am.”

  Well, least she was honest. One thing I can say about my Nikki-Nik. She might do wrong, but she don’t try to cover it up. When she called me and told me she was pregnant, she didn’t make no excuses. So I knew she was telling the truth about the money. And about J.T.

  Her foot started tapping against my floor. “What should I do, Mama B?”

  “You remember that summer you came to stay with me and that girl stole your money from your backpack at the Y-M-C-A?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I pushed the covers off my chest. “We gon’ do the same thing now we did then.”

  “Accept Christ again as my Ssavior?”

  “No. You only need to do that once, so long as you believed. Right now, we gon’ pray. Pray for J.T. Pray for you. Pray for the Lord to intervene.”

  She joined me on the side of the bed. We went before the Lord. Nikki asked Him to forgive her for taking the money. I asked the Lord to protect us all, and help her and J.T. come to an agreement.

  When we got finished, she very nearly begged, “Can Cameron and I sleep in your room?”

  Five minutes later, Cameron was nestled at the foot of my bed; Nikki leaned back in my rocking chair. They drifted off to sleep.

  But the Holy Spirit wouldn’t let me rest. He sent me through the house with my oil, anointing every doorknob, every window, speaking the word. “No weapon formed against us shall prosper.”

  Chapter 22

  Most of the children spent Wednesday night in the fellowship hall while service went on in the sanctuary. They called theyself getting ready for their different acts for the talent show. Whole thing got throwed together real fast if you ask me, but didn’t nobody ask me so I didn’t say a word.

  Me and Ophelia sat next to each other. Henrietta had done moved over to the other side with Mother Powell. They carried on as usual with Rev. Dukes doin’ his thing, preaching on the topic of supporting black businesses. By this time, I say about half the women in the buildin’ wearing that Body Enchantment. You can tell by the way they sittin’ up straight, can’t hardly breathe, with they bosom crawling up to they neck. Plus when they turn around, you see a big chunk of fat right under the armpit. Look to me like Body Enchantment don’t do nothin’ but push the fat around.

  Again, I kept my mouth shut. Maybe I was one of the haters Rev. Dukes always preachin’ about. Just seem like nothing but negativity come out of me lately when it come to the church. I repent, Lord.

  Mother Powell must have been the only one without a Body Enchantment suit ‘cause she got to shoutin’ and—y’all ain’t gone believe this—her stockings fell slamp to the ground! Most peoples was so busy carryin’ on, they didn’t see it, but I did.

  She booked over and grabbed ‘em real fast, tried to slide ‘em up real quick. Lord, I like ta rolled of that pew laughing. I repent again, Lord. Gimme some kind of compassion from somewhere.

  I knew then it was time for a fast. Cut back on feeding the flesh, give my spirit more to work with ‘cause I couldn’t keep going down this road with Mt. Zion. Even if Geneva let go soon, it would take Pastor a time to move on.

  I got to do better. Can’t be standing in the gap for my granddaughter while I got a big gap open in my own life.

  While Nikki gabbed with Cynthia ‘nem at the front of the church after the benediction, I made my way to the church kitchen to get Cameron. Soon as I walked in the door, Cameron saw me. He yelled, “Watch us, Mama B!”

  He turned and asked Brandon, “Can you turn on the music so my great-grandma can watch us practice?”

  “We don’t want to spoil the surprise, do we?” came from Brandon.

  I shrugged, set my back against the wall. “I don’t mind seein’ it more than once.”

  Brandon looked at the boy working with him. They got a kind of funny look on they face. “Okay. Here we go.”

  Cameron and his little friends stood in a row, backs to me. Then the music started and the boys got to steppin’. This time they didn’t miss a beat. Clappin’, slappin’ hands, hoppin’. Whew! Tell you what, somebody oughta put them on T.V.!

  I reckon the song they was dancin’ to probably come from the world, but they cut out the words, so I couldn’t rightly prove it.

  Until they got to the chorus. Cameron and the rest clasp they hands together, press they index fingers and thumbs together like they got a gun. Man on the song say, “Pull out the forty-two, pull out the forty-two, pull out the forty-two.”

  Forty-two!

  Before I knew it, I was in Brandon’s face. “Did I interpret this right? You gon’ have these boys pretendin’ like they got guns? In the churchhouse, too?”

  He bent down and pushed a button to turn off the music. Took a step back and said to me with a half-laugh on his face, “Ma’am, it’s not what you think.”

  “Well, then, explain to me what it is?”

  He started talking with his hands. “It’s like a weapon of warfare.”

  The other young man working with Brandon started sniggering, like I can’t see him out the corner of my eye.

  “I done read all the weapons Christians use, and ain’t nary one of ‘em a gun. Who gave y’all permission to use this song?”

  Brandon said, “We’ve used it at our old church. Really, I mean, the song is what you make of it. You can think of it as a gun, or you can think of it like…Matthew chapter forty-two.”

  The other young man nearly doubled over in silent laughter. These boys must think I’m an old fool. “Maybe I could think of it like Matthew chapter forty-two if there was a Matthew chapter forty-two.”

  I grabbed Cameron’s hand and escorted him and Rosetta’s boys back inside the sanctuary and straight to the vestibule. I turned them over to Nikki, asked her to take the other boys home and get started with Cameron’s nightly routine.

  Fear flashed across her face.

  “Chile, go on. Ain’t nothin’ gon’ happen to you in my house.” I shooed her away.

  My next step was to wait for Rev. Martin and Rev. Dukes. Mother’s Board or not, this talent show was bound to be a bunch of mess with folk like Brandon headin’ it up. Got my great-grandson actin’ like he carryin’ a gun. That’s the last thing little black boys need to be practicin’ for. We got enough problems in our community without the church addin’ to ‘em.

  Rev. Martin and the good preacher was the last ones to the front, seein’ as they got to lock the doors. Evidently, Brandon had already got to them before I did ‘cause Rev. Dukes started the conversation with, “Hello, Mama B. Brandon tells me you had some concerns about the boys’ step routine.”

  Push the mad out, keep the love in.
Push the mad out, keep the love in. “Rev. Dukes, these boys plannin’ to perform to a song about a gun, and act like they totin’ guns in the show.”

  I saw the smile on his face just as stupid as the one on Brandon’s. “There’s nothing to fear. You know, a song is whatever you make it to be in your mind. And I think you’re missing the point of this youth rally. We’re going to bring in kids from this area who wouldn’t normally find themselves at a church on a Friday night. Let them perform in a safe place rather than on a street corner. Feed ‘em a hot dog and chips, send them home at a decent hour.”

  My head cocked to one side. “They gon’ get fed any word here?” I knew when I said it, it was a stupid question. He ain’t bit mo fed the grownups the word, so I knew he wasn’t gon’ give it to the kids.

  Rev. Martin asked, “Would you feel better if we did it in the fellowship hall rather than the sanctuary?”

  I got to give it to him. He tried to compromise. Some things don’t need to be compromised, though. “Rev. Martin, the church ain’t the world. We not out to compete with the world—playin’ music glorifyin’ guns, dancin’ like we on a music picture show. What’s the difference between us and a nightclub? Free hot dogs?”

  Rev. Dukes put his hands up. “With all due respect, Mama B, you’ve got to understand things are changing. We have to do things differently to reach this generation. We have to try new stuff.”

  As wrong as I thought he was, I could hear how sincere Rev. Dukes was. He meant every word he said, from the bottom of his heart. So I said to him real calmly, “Son, it’s one thing to entertain kids, another to raise ‘em up with a heart for God. Kids don’t need a bunch of new stuff. They need true stuff, the message of Christ, if you want to make a difference in they lives past Friday night.”