One Sunday at a Time

by E. N. Joy

  “Yes, indeed,” Deborah agreed as they entered the kitchen. “Persia, your lawn is magnificent as well. You definitely know your stuff when it comes to the green stuff.”

  Klarke had a little coughing spell and just about choked.

  “That’s what they tell me,” Persia replied in a singsongy voice. “Thank you so much for the compliment, Deborah.” Persia escorted her guests over to the kitchen’s center island, which held various appetizers and snacks. “If you need any decorating ideas for your own home, I’m your girl,” Persia said. She popped a grape in her mouth from the fruit platter that was sitting on the island. “You ladies, help yourselves.” She pointed to a stack of small red plates.

  “I don’t mind if I do,” Deborah said, grabbing a plate and placing a couple of pieces of fruit on it, some salami, a few crackers, some cheese, and veggies.

  “The punch is over there on the counter,” Persia pointed out. She looked at Klarke. “A special ginger ale blend with a hint of sherbet, something I learned from one of the best caterers in the business.” She winked at Klarke.

  “Shhh, girl,” Klarke said, putting her index finger on her lips. “I’ll have to kill you if you be telling folks my punch recipe.”

  Persia shooed her hand. “I didn’t tell her everything.”

  “You told enough,” Klarke said seriously. “Girl, I’m just playing.” She laughed and then followed behind Deborah, placing snacks on her own plate. “So where’s the other girls? Downstairs?” Klarke asked.

  “Yep.” Persia gave Klarke a questioning look behind Deborah’s back. Deborah was too busy helping herself to a cup of punch to notice.

  Klarke mouthed the words, “Wait a minute,” to Persia as she continued to load up her plate.

  “Dang, did you two get the party started without us before you got here? Look at that plate.” Persia pointed to Klarke’s loaded plate. “Or do you just not want to have to make another trip back up here once those side effects kick in?” Persia laughed.

  Klarke’s eyes bucked out as she tightened her lips and gave Persia an evil look. “I said wait a minute,” Klarke mouthed harshly.

  Persia shrugged her shoulders, not understanding why Klarke was mean mugging her. “What?” she mouthed at Klarke right before Deborah turned around with both her plate and her cup in hand.

  Deborah looked at Klarke, waiting for her to answer Persia’s questions, because she had no idea what the woman was talking about. When Klarke remained silent, Deborah said, “Get what party started?”

  “Uh, no. I, uh . . .” Klarke thought for a moment and then stuffed a strawberry in her mouth. With her mouth full, she began to talk to Persia. “I didn’t get a chance to eat today, is all.” She stuffed a pineapple chunk in her mouth. “So, uh, Persia . . .” Klarke picked up a napkin and wiped some pineapple juice that was dripping from the corner of her mouth. “On the way here, I was telling Deborah about my situation, everything I went through mentally, you know, back when I went to jail and all.”

  Persia nodded. “Uh-huh.” She confirmed that she knew all about it. “It took a mental toll on you, for sure. We all go through things in life, not necessarily incarceration, but things that can just make us feel . . .” Persia searched for the right word.

  Then, at the same time, all three women said, “Crazy.” They each laughed.

  “Exactly,” Persia said. “And even though one might not deem one person’s issues as serious or as detrimental as another’s, what we all have concluded is that a molehill to one person can be a mountain to another.”

  “And vice versa,” Klarke added. “The straw that broke this camel’s back felt like a big ole oak tree landing on me and breaking me in two.”

  “I know exactly what you guys are talking about,” Deborah said, taking a sip of her punch. “I think that’s why I keep most of what I’m dealing with or feeling to myself. You turn on the television and see real crises, and then you feel stupid and selfish for thinking you’re actually going through something.”

  “When, in all actuality,” Persia said, “your mind is suffering a crisis.”

  Deborah looked from Persia to Klarke, then back to Persia again. “You two look so well put together, like nothing in the world could bring you down.” Whether Deborah realized it or not, she looked well put together too. She was doing as good a job hiding behind a mask as the next woman. “It’s hard to believe that you’ve been through what I’m going through mentally.”

  “And sometimes I still go through it,” Persia said.

  Klarke nodded her support of Persia’s statement. “Which is why we meet here every month.” She popped a piece of cheese in her mouth. She then gave Persia a look, letting her know that now was the time to begin clueing Deborah in on things.

  Deborah looked down at her plate. She was starting to feel a tad uneasy. Klarke had mentioned that they met every month. Deborah assumed that included the other women who were downstairs. “I don’t know. You two really seem cool. Talking to you is like talking to someone who has known me all my life and gets me. But I can’t even religiously talk to and tell my story to a counselor, let alone a group of strangers.” Deborah looked at Persia. “I mean, I think it’s a great idea that you open up your home and hold monthly group counseling sessions, but I don’t think that’s the way I want to deal with things right now.”

  Persia looked at Deborah strangely. “Me either. This isn’t a Psychos Anonymous meeting.” She laughed, looking at Klarke. She turned her attention back to Deborah. “This is where we meet for the cure, not to discuss the ailment.”

  This entire evening had too many weird bits and pieces for Deborah to put together. She felt as if both Klarke and Persia were speaking in riddles. “Let me tell you this. If a sista didn’t think she was crazy before tonight,” Deborah said, referring to herself in the third person, “she sure does now. What’s really going on here?”

  Klarke and Persia looked at one another.

  “I really don’t think words can explain it,” Persia said to Deborah.

  “Me either,” Klarke said. “Because, trust me, I tried.” She had an exasperated expression on her face.

  “How about we just show you?” Persia suggested.

  “Please do,” Deborah said, just as exasperated as Klarke.

  Klarke had already told Deborah she could show her better than she could tell her. Well, it went without saying that Deborah was ready to see for herself.

  “Then let’s go, ladies,” Persia said, opening the door off the kitchen that led down to the basement. After walking down a couple of steps, Persia stopped in her tracks and turned back around to address the women behind her. She looked at Klarke. “I trust your judgment, Klarke, but are you sure your friend is going to be okay with this?”

  Klarke looked back at Deborah before turning to Persia and replying, “I guess we’ll find out soon enough, now won’t we?”

  ***

  “What in the world?” Deborah took the plate she was carrying and sat it on top of her cup as she walked down the last step in Persia’s basement. She used the index finger and thumb of her free hand to pinch her nose closed. “Did someone hit a skunk on their way over here or something? I’m not trying to be funny, but I hit one last week on my way home and lit my living room up when I walked into my home.” Her face twisted up, Deborah closed her eyes and shook her head.

  Klarke chuckled as they followed Persia down a hallway and into an open area.

  Ahead Deborah could see a cloudy-looking room. “A smoke bomb?” she said to Klarke. Persia had such a beautiful home, and Deborah couldn’t imagine why she would allow someone to set off a smoke bomb in it. Maybe this woman was crazy . . . in every sense of the word and according to every legal definition.

  “There’s smoke, and it’s the bomb.” Persia laughed as she disappeared into the smoke-filled room.

  When Deborah entered the room, she saw about five other women conversing with one another. A couple of them were sipping on drinks, and one wa
s nibbling on her own plate of food. It was what the other two were doing that gave Deborah pause. She froze right in the entrance to the room.

  “Everybody, this is Deborah,” Persia announced as she walked over to the two women Deborah’s eyes were frozen on. “Deborah, this is . . .” Persia’s words stopped when she turned to find Deborah standing there, on the verge of shock.

  The other women waited for Persia to finish the introductions.

  “Deborah, are you okay?” Persia asked.

  Deborah’s head nodded yes, but her appearance screamed no.

  Persia looked at Klarke and gave her a “Handle your girl” look, then went and handled her own business with the two women. Seeing that Persia had no intention of finishing the introductions, the women all went back to their business and the conversation at hand.

  “We got two going,” one of the women said as she passed Persia the skinny white little thing she’d been puffing on.

  “Thank you,” Persia said as she accepted it and then took a puff. She exhaled smoke, and it shot from her nose like from the nostrils of a dragon.

  Klarke walked over to Deborah and stood next to her. “You good?” she asked softly.

  “I . . . I . . .” Deborah was truly at a loss for words. She continued looking around the room for a moment. She watched as the two joints made their way around the room, the women puffing and puffing and then passing them along. She finally looked at Klarke. “You do that too . . . what they’re doing?”

  Deborah’s question was laced with so much disgust that Klarke almost felt too bad to answer. “Yes,” Klarke said, shaking her head no. Realizing that she was saying one thing and doing another, she added, “No,” all the while nodding yes. Klarke threw her hands up. “Clearly, I do. I can’t seem to get my brain to coordinate my mouth and my gestures.”

  “So is that what they mean when they say, ‘This is your brain on drugs’?” Deborah asked.

  “No, honey, this is my brain off of drugs. I need a hit.” Klarke set down the plate she had in her hand and went over and took a hit from one of the joints. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back as she blew out the smoke. “Yesss,” she said, as if that was exactly what she needed. She gathered herself and then walked back over to Deborah. “Okay, and you were saying?”

  Deborah looked at her strangely. “You just took a puff of that joint, Klarke.” Deborah hadn’t gotten rid of her tone. Only now Klarke thought she heard a hint of judgment behind the disgust.

  This time Klarke wasn’t confused about her reply. “Yes, yes, I did,” she said matter-of-factly.

  Deborah scrunched up her face. “And they did too.” She looked over at the women, her face still scrunched up.

  “Yes, they did too,” Klarke said.

  “Disgusting. With everyone’s mouth on that one little thing, aren’t you afraid you might catch herpes simplex one or something? Or catch a cold? Ew.” Deborah shook her head in repulsion.

  Klarke stared at Deborah for a moment. She had to make sure Deborah’s only concern was germs. “Are you serious right now? You entered a room that looks like Snoop Dogg was the interior designer, and all you’re worried about is catching cooties?” Klarke asked, then waited on an answer with a straight face.

  “Well . . .” Deborah thought for a second. “Yeah, and I can’t believe it’s not a concern for you. I mean, how do you go home and kiss your husband after repeatedly putting your mouth on something a hundred other people had their mouth on?” Deborah put her plate down too, as well as her cup of punch. “I just lost my appetite.”

  Klarke watched Deborah make a boo-boo face for a moment longer before she burst out laughing. Klarke laughed so hard, tears welled up in her eyes.

  Persia walked over with a joint in hand. “What’s so funny?” she asked Klarke. “Don’t tell me you got the giggles. Acting like a rookie.”

  Klarke put her hand on Persia’s shoulder while she laughed. She tried to gather herself, but she couldn’t stop laughing. She bent over and put her other hand on her stomach. Eventually, Persia started chuckling. Her chuckle turned into a laugh, and then before she knew it, she was having a laughing fit also. Eventually, the other women came over to see what was so funny. The next thing Deborah knew, every last one of the women was laughing, all except her.

  They looked so silly, happy, and carefree. A smile covered Deborah’s face first; then she allowed a little chuckle to slip out. A little laughter eventually escaped her mouth. Granted, she wasn’t laughing nearly as hard as the others, but she was laughing. Laughing was good.

  “Okay, okay,” Deborah said. “It wasn’t that funny. Cut it out.”

  “What wasn’t that funny?” Persia managed to ask Deborah through her laughing. “I’m laughing at this crazy fool.” She pointed at Klarke.

  Deborah thought for a moment, and her laughter disappeared once she realized she had no idea why Klarke thought what she had said was so funny. Was Klarke laughing at her?

  Finally, Klarke was able to gain her composure and speak. “Whew-wee. That was funny.”

  “What?” Persia insisted on knowing. “What was so dang funny?”

  Klarke pointed at Deborah. “I was afraid she would trip off the fact that we, you know, smoke weed”—Klarke held the joint up—“since I wasn’t certain if she’d ever smoked before or knew anyone who smoked.”

  “I don’t,” Deborah was quick to confirm.

  “You don’t what?” Persia asked. “Smoke or know anyone who smokes?”

  “Both,” Deborah told her.

  “Come on now,” one of the other women said. “E’erybody know somebody who gets high.”

  “The highest myself, my friends, and my family have ever been is thirty thousand feet up in the sky when traveling via airplane, thank you very much.” Deborah crossed her arms across her chest and rolled her eyes.

  Now that the conversation was turning serious, everyone’s laughter died down.

  Klarke cleared her throat. “I could see the look on your face when you first walked down here and saw that we were weed smokers. Well, for someone not accustomed to the art of weed smoking, I found it hard to believe that all you had to say about it was that we could pass germs. That was funny to me. No offense, but it was.”

  Deborah shrugged. “To each his own. I’m sure I have done and still do plenty of things that other folks wouldn’t, so who am I to judge what you do?”

  “I know that’s right,” one of the women said. “Judge not, lest ye be judged.”

  “Amen,” Deborah said. “Wait a minute. Are we speaking the Word and praising it over a joint?”

  All the women eyeballed each other and then, once again, burst out laughing.

  “Oprah said God is nature,” Klarke said, looking down at the joint. “Well, this is as natural as it gets.” She took a hit and then passed the joint to Persia.

  Persia took a hit, exhaled, then said, “Let the church say amen.”

  Chapter 12

  All the women now sat around the coffee table in Persia’s basement. The two joints that Deborah had witnessed being passed around had been smoked down to the roach and now rested in an ashtray.

  Deborah recalled asking whether or not Klarke was saved when Lynox had first encouraged her to befriend the woman. Now she couldn’t help but address this subject. “So all y’all are members of a church?” Deborah asked the women. She would be in utter disbelief if she were to learn that for the past fifteen minutes she’d been in a room with some weed-smoking Christians who claimed to love the Lord. She didn’t care what those women said about marijuana being natural, like an herb grown in the ground. It was a drug, and the last time she’d checked, in the state of Ohio possession of illegal drugs could lead to an arrest, which could result in imprisonment. And although she had no intention of condemning and judging the women for choosing to smoke the substance, it just wasn’t something she wanted to do herself. Even if they did legalize it in Ohio, she couldn’t get past the idea of putting her mouth on
something that everyone in the room had put their mouth on. Yuck!

  “I am,” Persia and another woman, who had been introduced to Deborah as Cinnamon, said simultaneously.

  “No. I’m not,” Klarke said. “Not on the regular. But Persia has invited me to her church, and I’ve gone.”

  “I’ve invited you to mine too,” Cinnamon said, jumping in, “but you’ve never taken me up on my offer.” She didn’t hide her attitude about this.

  “Next Sunday. I promise,” Klarke told Cinnamon. “No. Wait a minute. The Sunday after that one. I forgot, I have a gig this Sunday.”

  Cinnamon twisted her lips up, as if she didn’t believe a word Klarke was saying.

  “For real, I’ll be there,” Klarke promised. “Just text me the info.”

  “And don’t think I won’t,” Cinnamon said.

  Klarke looked at Deborah. “I might not belong to a church, but I believe in God. Reo doesn’t belong to a church, either, but he can pray his butt off. We owe that to our oldest daughter. She is one praying lady. Even when she was young, she always had a relationship with God. She did that on her own, because I can count on one hand how many times I ever took my children to church.”

  Persia asked Klarke about her daughter. “Isn’t Vaughn a co-minister or something like that at a church in Nevada?”

  “Yep. That’s one of the reasons why I couldn’t convince her to move back to Ohio,” Klarke said.

  “I’m not a member of a church,” one of the other women said, “but I’ve been attending the same one for about a year now.”

  “Then why don’t you just join?” Deborah asked.

  “Because sometimes I like to attend other churches too,” the woman replied. “My focus is being committed to God—and He’s everywhere—not to a church, which is in just one place. I have to have a gym membership and belong to my home owners’ association. Is the church the same way? If I don’t have a church membership, I can’t belong to the Kingdom?” She rolled her eyes. “Let a sista worship and fellowship.”