No Weapon Formed (Boaz Brown)

by Stimpson, Michelle

  After seeing all those physicians, I wasn’t sure what I believed anymore. I knew Stelson was hurting physically. But with so many physical causes ruled out, perhaps the root was psychological. I didn’t want to think that maybe my husband was having a nervous breakdown. And yet his attitude…

  Christmas Eve was the first time I’d seen my best friend in almost three years. We held on to one another for dear life. Or at least I did. “Girl, girl, girl! I could kiss you!”

  “Don’t get carried away,” she joked.

  While Peaches and I continued to hug, our husbands shook hands. After properly greeting Peaches’ parents, Seth took off running toward the sound of all the other children in the house and with all of Peaches’ kids plus nieces and nephews, there were plenty.

  Zoe squirmed to get out of Stelson’s arms and lean over to Momma Miller’s thick arms. She smothered our daughter with kisses and took her to the kitchen where Zoe was sure to be passed around from aunt to aunt. She’d gotten more social since learning to crawl.

  Peaches’ husband, Quinn, almost didn’t make the trip. He had fractured his ankle in a 3-on-3 basketball tournament at their church and undergone emergency surgery the week before. For some reason, I almost hoped Quinn would be as cranky as Stelson. I guess, then, Peaches and I could have vented together.

  However, Quinn showed no signs of ill temper. His bright smile portrayed a man as sweet and kind as my husband used to be. “Hey, LaShondra.”

  “Hey, Quinn. So good to see you again. I see you’ve been keeping my girl busy in Philadelphia.” I raised an eyebrow. “I hardly ever get to speak to her.”

  “You, too?”

  Peaches poked him in the side, but she might as well have been poking me. Watching their playful interaction reminded me of how Stelson and I were, once upon a time. We used to smile. Touch. Enjoy each other’s company.

  “We’ve got the game on back here,” Quinn invited Stelson to join the menfolk.

  “Sure thing.” Stelson followed as Quinn hobbled along.

  Peaches and I made a round through the house. The aroma of the women’s cooking wafted through every square inch. Two televisions two rooms apart competed for center stage as the menfolk watched sports and the teenagers danced to gospel music videos. Peaches’ smallest children weren’t so small any more. She introduced me to them and I gushed over them, though they didn’t recognize me.

  I spoke to all her family members, including aunts, uncles, and cousins I hadn’t seen since Peaches’ wedding. Peaches’ oldest son, Eric, who also happened to be my godson, was visiting his biological father. I’d have to wait until later to catch up with him, if he was so inclined. Seventeen-year-old boys aren’t always fond of having their cheeks pinched.

  Peaches and I ended up back in the front parlor. Finally, we were alone. “Girl, you look sooooo good,” I complimented and squeezed her again. Her short, coily hair was the perfect accent to the sharp angles of her face. Her well-moisturized, deep cocoa skin reflected slivers of light from her gold and rhinestone earrings. The added touch of gloss made her lips go “pop” and my self-esteem go “poop”. Thankfully, one of us was keeping herself together. For once, I felt like the unkempt one.

  “Having babies back-to-back ain’t no joke. They stole all my poor little calcium. I got three crowns. Can you tell?” She lifted her top lip with her fingers.

  I inspected her teeth, on my toes, then dipping to observe from below. “They look real to me.”

  “Good,” she exhaled. “I knew you would tell the truth.”

  “Well, the guys are watching a game. The kids are fine. Whatcha wanna do?”

  I thought she’d never ask. “Get away from everybody, for real.”

  Peaches rubbed my arm as her face knotted in concern. “I hear you, Shondra. Let me say bye to Momma.”

  As a courtesy, I texted Stelson to let him know we were leaving the house.

  Peaches grabbed her purse and we were off. “Where to?” she asked, starting the ignition in their rental SUV.

  “Anywhere with adults. No sing-along songs, no baby-changing stations,” I demanded.

  She stared me down. “What? You wanna go to happy hour?”

  “If I drank, I would so be there,” I said.

  She threw the car in reverse. “I gotcha. How about age twelve and over?”

  “That’ll work.”

  “Cool. I was planning to go to this place with Quinn, but since he’s on crutches, he’s out. You’re in. But don’t ask me any questions until we get there.”

  “I’m down for an adventure.” Wherever she was taking me had to be better than where I’d been for the previous weeks, so I didn’t ask any questions.

  “How’s your Daddy?” she asked.

  “Same old. Still trying to make Seth appreciate his African descendants.”

  Peaches laughed. “What, exactly, is Daddy Smith doing?”

  “Girl, teaching him negro hymns and spirituals. Buying him black action figures,” I told her.

  “Shoot, I can’t find black action figures for my boys. Where’s he getting them from?”

  “Who knows? Probably some place he delivered to. I don’t have a problem with Daddy introducing Seth to his black heritage. But we have to watch him so the message doesn’t turn hateful and make Seth feel like he’s fighting an uphill battle.”

  “Well, he will be,” Peaches sided with Daddy.

  “I get that, but does he need to start fighting it at five? I mean, dang, can he please have an innocent childhood first?”

  She tilted her head. “I guess.”

  “When did you have the black talk with Eric?”

  She bit her bottom lip. “Hmm. I guess shortly after he was diagnosed with dyslexia. I just laid everything on the table for him. You’ve got a reading disability, you’re black—you’re going to have it hard, dude. But you can make it. And that’s exactly what he’s done. He’s graduating with honors, getting ready for college.”

  “Yeah. Eric’s amazing. You done good, girl,” I congratulated her.

  She streamlined onto I-35 and then I-75, taking us into north Dallas. We talked about trivial things and laughed like sixteen year olds again. I wanted to tell her how angry I was with Stelson, but I didn’t want to ruin her trip home. Ruin our time together. So I shoved all of my problems aside, hoping to savor every moment with my best friend.

  When she parked outside of a place with bright, colorful lettering—JUMPUP!—on the outside of the building, I protested. “I said no kids tonight!”

  “There are children present. But there will not be anyone under the age of twelve in our dodgeball game tonight.”

  “Dodgeball?”

  “Yes. Dodgeball. On trampolines.” She pumped her eyebrows up and down.

  My word, what has she gotten me into?

  The gym-like atmosphere, noisy and energetic, took ten years off my age from the start. Reminded me of my high school days, when life was carefree and I had an adventure ahead of me. Hopeful, joyous, giddy with anticipation.

  There was a 12-and-older game already in progress, which gave me an opportunity to scope out our strategy before we entered the arena while Peaches signed us up.

  These grown-ups were serious. Way too serious.

  “You watchin’?” Peaches asked when she returned, her eyes as much glued to the action as mine.

  “Yeah. Looks like you need to just keep bouncing at all times. Always a moving target,” I surmised, studying the gray-haired gentleman who hadn’t been hit the whole time. He was good. I hoped he wouldn’t play again because I didn’t want to hurt an old man.

  The game’s timer fizzled down to five minutes. “It’s time,” Peaches ordered.

  We stuffed our shoes and purses into a cubby. She locked it and safety-pinned the key on her shirt. “Let’s do this.” We fist-bumped and gathered near the entrance of the giant trampolines, where a teenager explained the rules and safety precautions. No sitting. No climbing on the walls, no aiming at the h
ead, etc. We also had to sign waivers releasing the facility from liability for any medical mishaps we might incur.

  Six other people—including two noticeably attractive African-American men—joined our group. They were somewhat younger, dark-skinned, probably brothers, judging from their matching dimples. One of them looked up from his paperwork and smiled at me.

  I smiled back with far more toothage than I’d consciously intended to display.

  And then it was time for our game. The older man was still in there. On the other side. Looking like he wanted to smite us with a big, red ball.

  Again, the employee reminded us of the rules. He gave four balls to each team of eight and pointed out a general “time out” area where we could recuperate when necessary.

  The timer started, and the first thing I felt was rubber against my arm. No he didn’t! That elderly man got me! One of the handsome brothers avenged me immediately, throwing his ball hard across the rows of trampolines. Our nemesis dodged, however.

  “Dang! I missed him!” the brother hissed.

  “Next time,” I encouraged him.

  I bounced over to Peaches. She caught one of the balls and managed to bop a librarian-looking lady square on her behind.

  “Yes!” I screamed. A second later, my hip got hit.

  “Keep bouncing,” Peaches reminded me. “Moving target.”

  Honestly, I didn’t care to hit anybody. I was just doing my best to stay mobile and dodge the balls coming at me. I pretty much used my teammates as shields and bounced like crazy, but it was fun jumping higher and higher with everything in me.

  As children, Jonathan and I had begged our parents for either a trampoline or a pool. All we got was a swing set. It didn’t even have a slide. Daddy told us if we weren’t grateful for what we had, he’d take it down and give it to someone else.

  My brother and I had joked that Daddy could never make good on the threat since the poles were cemented into the ground. That was Daddy for ya. All bark and no bite. I hoped Seth would soon learn to take what his grandfather said with a grain of salt while remaining respectful.

  Bam! “Ow!” I hollered as the rubber bounced off my upper shoulder.

  “Hey! No aiming at the head!” my self-appointed guardian hollered at the other side.

  He bounced over to me. “You all right, my sister?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  “I can see you’re fine. But are you okay?” he flirted.

  “You know that line is retired, right?” I said.

  We both laughed. Then a ball hit him in the back. “Aw, man!” He turned around and fired at our opponents, nailing one on the hip.

  I found myself admiring the view. His behind, to be exact. Stelson was pretty flat, as was just about every white person I knew. Not that I went around staring at people’s tushes…I’m just saying.

  “Hey!” Peaches called to me. “Pay attention! You’re slacking!”

  Our game ended with no clear winning side from what I could tell, and I had a pretty good viewpoint from behind the action. Peaches and I bounced out of our cage, followed by three more of our teammates who had only signed up for one round, I guessed.

  The guy who’d been helping me, per se, saluted me and then left us alone.

  And the weirdest thing happened: I was sad. Genuinely sad that he was leaving without so much as a good-bye. He didn’t try to sit next to Peaches and me while we tied our shoes. Didn’t try to ask for my number, though I would have turned him down. But still…he didn’t try.

  I suppose that made him a decent man, one who respected the wedding band on my finger.

  I am married, I reminded myself.

  Peaches and I found a booth at the food court and ordered the greasiest, best-tasting concession stand food. She got nachos, I had a corn dog with fries.

  She blessed the food and went in on me. “Okay. We gotta talk. You were way too happy about that man—all up in his face, I’m just sayin’. What’s up with you and Stelson?”

  I dipped my corn dog in a pool of mustard and chewed slowly while weighing my words. It was nearly impossible for me to lie to Peaches. How could I be honest without throwing my husband under the bus? Show me, Lord.

  “Spill it,” she commanded.

  I waited, though. Chewed my food carefully. I even pretended I was chewing when there was nothing in my mouth while Peaches sat staring at me with an unflinching expression.

  “Okay. We’ve hit a rough patch.”

  “How rough?”

  “Rough enough for me to be excited when another man pays attention to me, obviously,” I volunteered myself for the impending cross-examination.

  “What about intimacy?”

  “Nilch. And why do you always have to ask about our sex life?” I asked.

  She explained, “Because you can gauge what’s going on in a marriage by what’s going on in the bedroom. Huge parallels.”

  “I see.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “What plan?”

  She slapped the table. “The plan for fixing the problem? Hello! You can’t just let the enemy walk up in your house and snatch your family from you.”

  Without knowing, Peaches had reiterated what the speaker at the women’s fellowship preached and what God Himself had whispered inside me. Why was it taking yet another person to help me see the light?

  Speak, Lord. Put me in remembrance of Your Word.

  “I don’t know exactly what to do. I’ve prayed for him. I’ve tolerated him. The headaches went away, but now they’re back and he’s out of his mind again. I’ve been writing him “sick man” passes because I realize these are extenuating circumstances, but the stack of passes is almost gone. He’s about to see a side of LaShondra Smith he’s never seen, either.”

  “I doubt that. I’ve seen you go off around Stelson. It was not pretty,” she smacked. “Does Six Flags ring a bell?”

  “You did not go there.” Yes, she did, and yes I did go all in on an employee. First of all, it was a hot day. We had no business outside trying to have a double date to begin with. When I finally got the Sprite I’d waited almost fifteen minutes in line to receive, it was flat. So I very politely placed the cup on the counter and said, “Could you get me another one? This one has no carbonation.”

  This—well, I don’t want to call anybody out of their name—young lady took a sip of my drink from my very own straw, placed it back on the counter, slid it toward me and said, “Tastes fine to me.”

  I can’t think of anybody who wouldn’t have had a hissy fit, Peaches included. “What happened at Six Flags…she had it coming.”

  “How you figure she had a cold drink thrown in her face coming?”

  “You don’t take a drink out of somebody’s straw and then expect them to drink after you,” I laughed. “She was nasty.”

  Peaches dropped her head in laughter. “You’re right. I would have done it if you hadn’t. Gosh…we were so young and hot-headed back then.”

  “Speak for yourself. Six Flags was an isolated incident for me.” I clutched my imaginary pearls.

  Peaches rolled her eyes. “Please. Everyone has their breaking point. Maybe Stelson is at his or pretty darn close. The last thing he needs is you walking away.”

  “I’m not crazy. I’m not going to leave him. We’re in this for better or for worse, right?”

  “You don’t have to leave to leave. The same way you don’t have to actually mess around to have an affair, like you did with old boy tonight,” she accused.

  “I did not have a mental affair with him!”

  “Oh, guilty as charged! Smilin’ in his face. Checking out his behind,” she recalled correctly.

  “I plead the fifth.”

  Peaches smacked her lips. “And I’ll plead the blood for you.”

  “Thank you,” was the only fitting response.

  Against all common sense, we made a mad dash to the mall for last-minute Christmas gifts. I had finished shopping for the kids but stil
l had Jonathan on my list, though I knew he never expected anything.

  I asked Peaches if she thought I should get his girlfriend or her son something.

  “Not until she gets a ring from Jonathan,” Peaches replied.

  “You know what? I’m gon’ stop talkin’ to you.”

  Chapter 25

  Peaches and I re-enacted our Celie and Nettie patty-cake good-bye. “Me and you, us never part…”

  Momma Miller cackled, same as always. She reluctantly returned Zoe to me. “This one here is a sweetheart. You can bring her over any time.”

  “Thank you.”

  “She got your Momma’s nose, too,” Peaches’ mother noted. “Wouldn’t be surprised if she grows up to be her spittin’ image. Beautiful woman.”

  “I appreciate it,” I struggled to reply. Holidays and birthdays without Momma were the hardest.

  Stelson bundled up Seth as we headed out the door wishing everyone a Merry Christmas. He seemed pleasant enough. I’d learned to watch his jawline for a hint of his pain level. The headaches must have given him a reprieve.

  However, I watched his jaw clench when we turned into the dusk sun for our ride home. He stopped the car while he searched the center console for the pair of shades which—uh oh!—I had removed from the car when I took it to be washed the previous Monday.

  “Who moved my shades?”

  “I did. I’m so sorry, honey. I meant to put them back—”

  “This is freakin’ ridiculous,” he spouted off.

  “Oooooooh!” Seth sang from the back seat. “Daddy, you said a bad word!”

  Stelson qualified, “It’s not exactly a—”

  “Yes. It is a bad word,” I stopped Stelson from flinging us on the path to an embarrassing parent-teacher conference with Miss Osiegbu.

  Without warning, Stelson swerved the car to the right and put the car in park. “I can’t drive facing the sun.” He got out and opened the passenger’s back door.

  He unhooked Seth’s seatbelt, shooed him over. “I’m gonna have to sit back here with you guys, and you’ll have to scoot over.”

  “What about my car seat?” Seth nearly begged.