Mama B - a Time to Love

by Michelle Stimpson

  I paced back and forth across the living room. How dare she? After all I’ve done for her!

  I wondered if maybe I should have confronted her with Frank in the room. Naw, I didn’t need Frank there. This kind of thing is best handled woman-to-woman.

  My first mind said to go back in that room, snatch my good 500-thread-count sheets off her body and order her to leave my house that very hour! She had some nerve layin’ up in my bed, breathin’ my heated air, makin’ passes at my…man-friend. And callin’ me slow, too!

  My head throbbed with anger. That back-bitin’ floozy! “Lord, Jesus!” flew out of my mouth.

  “B, you alright?” the witch’s voice called to me.

  “Yeah!”

  “Okay. This bread sure is good. Thanks for thinking of me.”

  “Uh hun.” I was thinkin’ about her alright. Thinkin’ about how good it would feel to pack up all her stuff in them plastic grocery bags and set her right out there on my porch, then wake up in the morning to find her disappeared. This time I would not go lookin’ for her. Just let her rot wherever she wound up, I didn’t care. I didn’t deserve this! No wonder nobody in her family fools with her!

  The Voice of wisdom, which thankfully never sleeps or slumbers, came to the forefront of my mind. B. Calm down.

  I managed to plant my behind on the couch despite my heartbeat springing all over the room. My hands, by virtue of all the years I’ve been walkin’ with the Lord, I guess, formed a steeple at my forehead. “Lord, this is ridiculous and You know it. She can’t stay here, Father God. She got to G-O, go.”

  B. Calm down.

  I slammed my fists on my knees. I didn’t want to calm down. You do something nice for a person—take ‘em into your house, feed ‘em, bring a doctor to see ‘em, give ‘em everything you have. And this is how they treat you? “This ain’t fair, God.”

  Jesus feels the same way.

  Now why He always gotta bring Jesus into everything, I don’t know. Well, yes I do. I can be mad as I want to, but when I think about all He done for me, everything else happen be small compared to His goodness.

  This little reflection was enough to bring me back to myself. I had to think this through. If I went in there and kicked her out, she would be, literally, on the streets with no place to go. Probably try to squat somewhere and bust her nose again. Not that it would be my fault, just that she’d be hurt when she could have been safe here in my home at least until daylight, when she could hustle her bad leg on back to wherever she wanted to go. Me kicking her out that night would be two wrongs.

  Plus, there was the issue of her health. She couldn’t have made it all the way down the street if she’d wanted to.

  I grabbed my cell phone off the coffee table and sent Libby a text message I hoped she’d see first thing in the morning. Give me Eunice’s son’s number. This boy needed to come get his Momma quick, fast, and in a hurry.

  When I finally settled into bed to process my heart with the Lord, my anger gave way to the fact that I was hurt. I certainly wasn’t starvin’ for friends, but…I liked Eunice. I thought we were going to at least be the kind of friends who’d catch up with each other by phone once or twice a year.

  In seventy-two years, I done had my fair share of folk lyin’ on me, gossipin’, repeatin’ stuff I thought was confidential, and undercuttin’ me. I used to work in a salon, remember? This was different, though. I’d never actually witnessed with my own ears somebody bein’ so deliberately two-faced with me—for no real reason. What Eunice gon’ do with a man? She can barely stand up!

  I thought about all the times we’d sat up talkin’ and laughin’. She’d cooked for me, told me I should be proud of my kids. Come to think of it, she’d given me the courage to move on past Albert. And she was one of the captains of the B-and-Frank cheerleading squad, next to Libby!

  “Lord, how could she do me like this?”

  Jesus knows.

  He also wept. Which is exactly what I did, too.

  Chapter 15

  Eunice’s leg got to hurtin’ so the next morning, she couldn’t even get out of bed. “Call the doctor and tell him to refill my pain prescription,” she begged me.

  To be fair, I sat on the edge of the bed and tried to contact the doctor. His answering service said he wouldn’t pick up his messages until later in the afternoon. They advised me that Eunice should take over-the-counter medicines until Monday or either go to the hospital.

  Of course, Eunice didn’t receive that news well. Oh, she moaned and groaned and writhed in pain, saying doctors were nothing but “overpaid nerds.”

  She wasn’t sayin’ that when she hit on Frank. “Lord, forgive me,” I whispered under my breath.

  “Forgive you for what?”

  I guess I’d spoken too loudly. “Never mind.” Since she was obviously in a lot of pain, I knew it wasn’t the right moment to confront her about what she done the night previous. No, I wanted her undivided attention whenever we had that conversation.

  “I got some ibuprofen in my room.”

  “No, I can’t take that. It upsets my stomach. You got some Tylenol?”

  “Sure don’t.” I was very glad to disappoint her.

  Stop it, B. “But I’ll run to the pharmacy to get you some Tylenol.”

  Her eyes glistened as she wiped her nose. “Thank God!”

  Yes, she’d better thank Him because left up to me, she’d be at a shelter.

  “I’ve got money in the front pocket of my fanny pack.”

  Since she’d offered, I reached into her stash and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. Under any other circumstances, I wouldn’t have dreamed of taking money from someone in agony. But I reckoned paying for her own medicine was the least Eunice could do.

  Libby finally called me while I was at the pharmacy. “What took you so long?” I quipped.

  “I told you we had the women’s prayer breakfast this morning. Why? What’s the problem?”

  “Eunice.”

  “She run away again?”

  “I wish.”

  Libby slurred sympathetically, “What happened?”

  “Put it this way, when she said she shouldn’t be in the house with Peter, she was right. And that’s all I’m gon’ say about the matter,” I shut my trap.

  “Well, I don’t want to lead you into gossip and slander, ‘specially since I just came out the church-house, so I’ll leave it there, too. Here’s her son’s number.”

  I stopped to get a scrap of paper from my purse and jotted down the digits. “Thank you. I’ll have to talk to you later. For now, be prayin’ for her. That leg is really achin’ her this morning.”

  “Will do. Bye.”

  Well, at least I’d put Libby in Eunice’s spiritual corner. Lord knows Eunice needed somebody rootin’ for her ‘cause I sure didn’t have an unction to.

  The sign above the aisle led me to the row with pain relievers. Reluctantly, I grabbed the box of Tylenol off the shelf. Tramping back toward the counter, I heard a familiar voice call my name.

  There was Pastor Phillips to my left, near the freezer. Instantly, my frown gave way to a smile. “Hello, Pastor!”

  “Hi, B. Fancy seeing you here!” Glare from the overhead lights made his forehead shine even more. A healthy glow, I figured. Good to see him lookin’ like ninety-five percent of himself again.

  “Same to you.”

  “I didn’t get to talk to you much the other day. How’s your family?” he inquired.

  “Oh, everybody’s fine. Looking forward to a good Thanksgiving. I got four kids but don’t hardly get to see ‘em ‘til the end of the year. Shame, you know? We got to do better.”

  He agreed. “And how’s your friend—the smokin’ one?”

  I chortled. “Oh, she’s ‘bout as good as you can be after all she’s been through.”

  “Yes. No matter how bad things are, they could always be worse.”

  I tried to think of what might be worse than a person bitin’ the hand that feeds them.
“Pastor, I gotta ask you a question.” I scooted in closer to his basket.

  “Sure, B. Anything.”

  My Pastor meant it, I know. He and I done had plenty counseling sessions. He a good shepherd, and Geneva was a worthy helpmate. She always added extra wisdom to his advice. I probably would have been done contacted Pastor about Eunice if I’d had that team in my back pocket. Now, Pastor would have to suffice by himself.

  “You ever tried to be nothing but nice to someone, but they try to hurt you?”

  He closed his eyes and nodded as though he already understood what I was trying to say. “Yes, B. I know what you mean. I’ve been praying for you ever since I saw that hint of contempt in your eyes toward Henrietta.”

  “Contempt?” Henrietta?

  “Yes. I know it’s hard to love somebody who doesn’t treat you the way you deserve to be treated,” he persisted. “But Jesus said in Luke six, if we only love those who love us and if we only do good to those we know will do good to us back, we’re no different from sinners. Anybody can love somebody who treats ‘em right. But a Christian has the power to love the people we know won’t or can’t return it to us. That’s the love of Christ.”

  My lips stammered for the words to respond. For one thing, I wasn’t talkin’ about Henrietta. For another, why he use a harsh word like ‘contempt’? Is that what I showed toward Henrietta? All I could say was, “Thank you, Pastor,” ‘cause he has surely bamboozled me there.

  “I know you can do it. You’ve got the love of God in you. He will prevail,” Pastor edified me.

  Again, I expressed my gratitude. Me and Lord would have to get back to this little sermon later ‘cause it flew straight over my head at the pharmacy.

  I stole a look into Pastor’s basket. Two microwave meals and a bottle of Sprite. “What you doin’ eatin’ all this mess? I thought the ladies packed some of the leftover food for you to freeze and eat this week.”

  “Yes,” he looked away, “most of what was left was…you know…the stuff the peoples didn’t want. For good reason.”

  “I see,” I conceded. Basically, he was sayin’ all they had left was Henrietta’s food. “Not to worry, Pastor. Either me or Ophelia will drop by and bring you something later on.”

  “Yes,” Pastor purred, “Ophelia. How is she?”

  “She’s good.”

  “Mmm. You know, the other day, when you brought Dr. Wilson to church…you got me to thinking.” A shyness skidded across his face. “We ain’t gettin’ no younger.”

  “You right about that,” I could only agree.

  “I’ve been thinking about Ophelia.”

  “Yeah, I think about her, too. Maybe the Lord’ll send her somebody soon. She’s sure ready for some company,” I spilled all her beans as I remembered her pressing me to acknowledge Frank’s interest in me.

  Pastor coughed. “I was thinking maybe…me and Ophelia…” he shrugged.

  I narrowed my eyes as his clues sunk in. “You sweet on Ophelia?”

  He rubbed his chin and shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other.

  Inside, I got so tickled. Me and Pastor was in the same boat. He ain’t asked no woman out in so long, hadn’t courted in so long, the only tricks he had up his sleeve was the ones he’d used back when he was young and insecure, in his early twenties; he was poking around a woman’s friend to get a clue.

  I had to help him out. “Why don’t you call her and ask her to a movie?”

  “You, um, yes,” he stumbled. “Okay.”

  “Yes. Call her. I’m sure she’d be happy to receive the invitation from you,” I encouraged him. Then I put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s hard gettin’ back in the swing of things, Pastor, but if the Lord has opened your heart to find another helpmate, that means He’s still got work for you to do, and He knows you’re going to need someone behind you.”

  His eyes shined. “I receive that in faith.”

  Chapter 16

  I really wasn’t sure how that whole thing with Henrietta got brought into what I was saying to Pastor. In my mind, I replayed what happened when Henrietta accused me of harboring sin in my home. I thought I’d done a pretty good job of ignoring her.

  I didn’t have too much to say to her at the Friends and Family Day. She said something to me, of course, but I’d ignored those words, too, ‘cause I know she ain’t all there. Bottom line with me and Henrietta, I didn’t have no feelings toward her. For the time being, I didn’t see nothin’ wrong with it. You can’t make nobody act right, you know?

  Pertaining to Eunice, I still didn’t have no good idea of how to act with Eunice. Lord, exactly how am I supposed to handle a snake?

  Like I imagined an addict must look while waiting for somebody to cut up the drugs, Eunice sat up impatiently as I opened the box of Tylenol. I squeezed and turned the bottle, poked in the protective foil, and pulled out the cotton ball. I poured two into her waiting hand.

  “Give me another one.”

  Her request went against the label’s advice, but in light of the fact she was a grown woman who’d probably taken more medication than most in her lifetime, I obeyed.

  She downed the pills with the water I’d brought her. “Ummm. I hope this works,” she whimpered. Sounded almost like a dog.

  Suddenly, I remembered the time Son’s dog, Blackie, nearly lost an inch of his tail after following my child into the house despite Son’s orders for the dog to stay outside. The screen door slammed just before Blackie made it all the way inside, causing a nasty cut.

  Of course, Son fussed at him for not being obedient. But I remembered telling Son to be nice to the dog. Blackie knew better than to come inside, he just didn’t want to listen that time.

  Son had fussed at Blackie. Told him, “That’s what you get for being such a bad dog!”

  I intervened at that point, rubbing Blackie’s neck the way he always liked. “Don’t be so rough with him right now, Son, he’s hurtin’. Show him some mercy, even if it is all his fault,” I had said.

  That’s when the Spirit watered and bloomed the seed Pastor had planted at the pharmacy: How could I show more love toward a dog than a human being? I wasn’t supposed to be just toleratin’ Eunice and Henrietta. I was supposed to love them. There’s a big difference between the two.

  I nearly choked at the revelation.

  “B, you alright?”

  Wasn’t no doubt in my mind then about how to treat this trial the Lord had done placed in my life to perfect His love in me. I reached out and pulled her into a big hug. “God loves you, Eunice.”

  “My word, do I look like I’m about to die or something?” she babbled into my ear.

  “No. I’m just saying, He loves you no matter what.”

  “Okay. If you say so.”

  I settled back on my bottom and looked her in the eyes. “He says so. And I love you, too.”

  Eunice’s head tilted slowly as she blinked several times. “Thank you. No one has said that to me in a long, long while.”

  “Then it’s about time,” I said, propping her leg up on a pillow. “Let me pray for your leg.”

  She dropped her head and closed her eyes, and I took the liberty of asking God to heal her leg as well as open her heart to more love than she’s ever known in Him.

  I don’t usually answer my phone when an unknown number comes across my screen, but seeing as it was Saturday, I figured the telemarketers were off duty. “Hello?”

  “This is Paul Lemon. I got your message. How can I help you, Mrs. Jackson?” He said it all professional, like I hadn’t told him my reason for calling was his own mother.

  I went out of my way to sound friendly. “Yes, Mr. Lemon, how are you?”

  “I’m fine, ma’am. How can I help you?” he repeated.

  Goin’ off the fact of Paul having manners (him calling me ma’am and all) I knew I needed to play the sweet old lady card. “Son, your mother’s in a real bind here in Peasner. She hurt herself real bad—”

  “Is she ok
ay?” he cut me off, with a smidgen of genuine sincerity in his tone.

  Thank you, Lord. “Yes. For now. But that leg of hers needs to be looked at and she won’t go to a doctor.” I tucked myself into a corner of the kitchen to be sure that, even if I had to raise my voice, Eunice wouldn’t hear me.

  “Trust me. Once the pain gets great enough, she’ll go. She always does.”

  He had a point. A person can be as stubborn as they want to, but a sharp twinge will change a mind; have ‘em beggin’ for a doctor, a nurse, an aide—anybody with access to a needle.

  It hurts to see somebody get to that point, though. “Well, now, I know you don’t know me, sweetie, but…I’m a friend of your mother’s.”

  He interrupted with a laughing cough. “She has friends?”

  “Yes. I am her friend insomuch as I’m for her good.”

  He stopped his sarcastic clucking. “I see, ma’am.”

  “In addition to being her friend, I’m also a mother. And I know it would mean a lot to any mother for their child to come see about ‘em when they down and out,” I coaxed with a few intentional cracks in my voice.

  “Not likely,” he grunted.

  “You mind if I ask why not, young man?”

  “Umm,” he mumbled, “no disrespect, Mrs. Jackson, but I haven’t seen my mother in quite some time. She gets in trouble, she gets out of trouble. She makes friends, she burns her bridges, she moves on to her next victim…that’s how my mother is. My sister and I stopped trying to change her a long time ago.”

  I could almost taste the bitterness in his words. My heart melted for him, for the fact of not having a mother for whatever reason. But the presence of anger meant he still cared. The boy in him hadn’t given up on his mother, no matter what his grown-up lips said.

  “That’s fair, Paul. For what it’s worth, your mother hasn’t always been the greatest friend to me. I’m sure, whatever she did, she hurt you far worse than she hurt me, but she’s still your mother and you only get one from the Lord. Now, you already got the right idea about not changing her. All you need to do from this point on is forgive her for not being the mother she should have been and accept her for the woman she is now—imperfect as she is because she needs you, son. She really does.”