No Weapon Formed (Boaz Brown)

by Stimpson, Michelle

  “Yeah,” Mr. Smith said, “and teach her how to fold clothes.”

  “Okay, PawPaw,” Seth, nearly out of breath from lugging his baby sister, answered.

  With the kids out of earshot, Stelson asked, “For a moment, let’s forget about the fact that Seth and Zoe are both black and white, which you’ve never addressed at all.”

  He waited for a rebuttal from Mr. Smith, but there was none.

  “Don’t you think teaching kids—any kids, black, white, whatever—that their enemy can be spotted with their eyes is a huge disservice? What if the person who may be willing to help Zoe with something is white, and the person who wants to stab Seth in the back is black? Then what?”

  Mr. Smith pounded a fist into his palm. “You’re missing my point.”

  “You don’t have a point—”

  “How you gon’ tell me I don’t have a point?” Mr. Smith’s voice escalated. “Just ‘cause you don’t agree, don’t invalidate me.”

  Stelson raised his palms to chest level. “My bad. You have a point, but it’s based on overgeneralizations and stereotype. Both equate to prejudice, which is quite ironic if you ask me.”

  Mr. Smith set an elbow on the table. Covered his mouth with his fist. “I’m not sure if the problem is that you don’t get it or that you won’t get it.”

  “Get what? You haven’t told me anything except…” Stelson laid a hand on the article. “How awful white people have been to black people and how my kids need to embrace their blackness and be skeptical of all white people. You’re teaching Seth to be suspicious of what he sees in the mirror.”

  “He may not always look white,” Mr. Smith stated. “Sometimes it take a while.”

  “Let’s say it never happens. What if Seth always looks white? What if he grows up and marries a white woman, then you’ve got bleach-blonde great-grandkids. Then what? You want them to come and tell you they’re sorry about the Tuskegee Experiment?”

  “We don’t want no durn apology. We want respect!”

  “In the ten years before I got ill, when have I ever disrespected you?”

  Mr. Smith bit his middle knuckle.

  “That’s right. Never! I’m a good son-in-law. I’m good to your daughter, your grandchildren. I’ll raise them in the fear of God, but never the fear of man.”

  “Then you raisin’ ‘em in ignorance and that shows your ignorance,” Mr. Smith accused.

  LaShondra stepped into the kitchen. “This conversation is approaching destructive. I think we’d better leave now.”

  “I think you’re right,” Mr. Smith followed, “because I don’t think me and Stelson ever gonna be able to see eye-to-eye.”

  Stelson didn’t respond.

  “Okay. Let’s leave well enough alone,” LaShondra wheedled. She stood beside Stelson and held his hand.

  “But a grandparent’s got a right to pass on the history,” he mumbled.

  “No, you don’t,” Stelson spoke up. “Not if it leaves Seth confused.”

  “Seth ain’t the one confused. It’s you two,” he pointed at Stelson and LaShondra.

  “Daddy, all we’re asking is that you respect our rights as parents to raise up our children the way we believe is best. Can you leave the black history lessons to us?”

  Mr. Smith threw an arm toward Stelson. “He don’t even know black history!”

  “I know we all need to stop living in the past and move forward,” Stelson surmised.

  To which LaShondra pivoted toward her father’s side as she dropped Stelson’s hand. “Wait a minute. Nobody’s saying we need to forget the past. It happened. If we brush it under the rug, it’ll happen again.”

  Stelson threw his hands in the air. “Then what is the solution? You two tell me the answer!”

  “Own up to it!” Mr. Smith hurled over LaShondra’s shoulder. “Be proactive!”

  “How can you command me to do something you’re not doing, and you’re black?” Stelson laughed. “I mean, are you mentoring young men in this community? Are you going to council meetings? Voting in all the elections?”

  Nostrils flaring, Mr. Smith stepped in front of LaShondra, which landed him directly in Stelson’s face. “I ain’t got to do nothin’ but be black, pay taxes, and die.”

  Stelson backed up. “You’re doing nothing to pay it forward, but you expect me to do something?”

  “I paid it backward! Got the scar behind my ear to show for it, you hear me!”

  LaShondra put a hand on either man’s chest. “Enough.”

  “Whaaaaa!” Zoe’s squeal reverberated through the house.

  The adults froze.

  “Whaaaaaa!”

  In a millisecond, the argument died as they rushed to the laundry room.

  Chapter 32

  “Seth!” I screamed at the sight of Zoe holding up her reddened arm.

  Stelson picked her up before I could.

  “What happened?”

  The smell of bleach scratched my nostrils.

  “What did you do, Seth?” Daddy flared.

  Seth looked at my father, my husband, and then me. His eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry. I was trying to help Zoe.”

  “Help her how?” I noticed tiny bleached spots on his blue school pants and a green hand rag showing similar discolorations. “With bleach?”

  “Yes. PawPaw said black people have bad lives. And I don’t want Zoe to have a bad life. I used the bleach spray on her arm, and I rubbed it with a towel so she can be white.”

  In that millisecond, my gut ripped down the middle as I came to realize how heartbreaking it must have been for Seth to imagine his baby sister doomed for life because she was brown-skinned.

  Stelson and I looked at each other, his eyes communicating the mutual pain undergirded by anger seeing as this was my father’s doing. He growled, “I’m gonna go rinse her arm,” and sped off toward the kitchen.

  Seth raised his hands to his face.

  “Don’t!” I clutched his wrists to prevent him from getting bleach in his eyes.

  My swift action must have scared him even more because Seth wailed in confusion. “I wasn’t trying to hurt her!”

  “We know you would never hurt Zoe.”

  “Are you mad at me?”

  I didn’t answer. Honestly, this was the kind of thing I would have gotten a whipping for when I was five. And yet, I couldn’t find it in me to spank him. Made perfect five-year-old sense to use bleach to make things white, including his baby sister whose life was headed for disaster, according to his beloved grandfather.

  Still in emergency-mode, I took Seth to the restroom and washed all the way up to his elbows with soap and warm water.

  Once I’d dried him and was satisfied he was out of danger, we joined Stelson, Zoe, and Daddy in the kitchen. Stelson was at the sink with the bright overhead light turned on, examining her skin closely. “I don’t see any breaks in the skin.”

  I dropped Seth’s hand. He shot over to Daddy’s chair and climbed to the safety of my father’s lap.

  I, too, inspected Zoe’s arm at the sink as she panted through her last few whimpers. “Just irritation.”

  Stelson patted Zoe’s arm with a paper towel. He twisted the faucet handle.

  Absent the rushing water, the room fell silent.

  Daddy looking at me and Stelson. Me and Stelson looking at him. Seth looking back and forth like he wasn’t sure who was in trouble.

  Stelson leaned against the counter. Crossed one ankle over the other. I stood beside him. “Mr. Smith, do you see what we’ve been trying to tell you now?”

  Daddy rubbed his fingers across his lips roughly and gave the slightest nod.

  My breath bottlenecked in my chest. I covered my mouth to avoid distracting Seth with my own overflow of emotions as little huffs of air escaped. Breathe. Breathe. I knew Daddy was wrong for trying to brainwash Seth, but he didn’t mean harm. And I knew Stelson was right for vigilantly guarding our family from fear, but there was still the reality of life in the
world even though we weren’t of it. The bottom line, though, was my babies. Seth was too young to process the complexities, obviously. The timing was all off, and it was time for my father to set the record straight.

  I prodded, “Then tell Seth, Daddy. Tell him about the wonderful life ahead for both your grandchildren.”

  My son looked into my father’s face.

  Daddy set his forehead on Seth’s. Nose-to-nose. Daddy closed his eyes and exhaled as though he’d been holding his breath for fifty years.

  Seth giggled. “PawPaw, your breath smells like peppermints.”

  “Good thing, huh?” Daddy managed a chuckle despite the hint of crackle in his voice.

  Daddy sat back a bit. Cupped Seth’s chin with his left hand. “Listen. You know your PawPaw is old, right?”

  “Mmmm hmmm.” Seth nodded as best as he could.

  “Seth.” Daddy cleared his throat. “A lot of bad things happened to black people, especially people my age and those gone on before. But the world is changing. It’s not perfect, but it’s better. I don’t want you to worry about your sister being black. She’s gonna be just fine. And so will you.” He threw a glance toward us. “Your Momma and Daddy will look out for you.”

  Seth slapped his clumsy hands against Daddy’s face. Pulled Daddy closer. “Jesus looks out for me, too, PawPaw. You want me to ask Him to look out for you so people won’t do bad stuff to old black people anymore?”

  Tears fell onto my shirt as Stelson massaged the back of my neck.

  “Yeah. That would be nice,” my father accepted the offer.

  “Close your eyes,” Seth commanded. “God, could you please help my PawPaw so no one will hurt him because he’s black? And if a bad person comes, You kick ‘em away, all right? Thank You. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”

  “Amen,” we repeated.

  Seth didn’t forget to pray for PawPaw again during our family bedtime prayer. After a talk with Seth about staying away from chemicals, we had family prayer and tucked the kids in bed. Stelson and I thanked God for intervening with my father. I felt better already about Seth spending so much time with Daddy.

  Stelson gave me a recap of the conversation he and Daddy had before Seth tried to change Zoe’s skin color. “Oh, I forgot. Your father inducted me into the M-O-B-T-M club.”

  “The what?”

  “Messed over by the man.”

  I tugged the covers up to my chin. “I don’t even want to know.”

  Stelson packed his laptop and power chord into his work attaché and set it by our bedroom door. “Gonna try to do a mile tomorrow morning,” he said. “Keep your cell phone on vibrate.”

  Seeing him shove the laptop into place stirred up my desire to speak to him about the website forum. I hoped he wouldn’t see it as an invasion of privacy. If he did, I’d just have to apologize. I didn’t want anything else standing between us. “Babe, when you were at the hospital, I had to come home for a few things. I was looking for some information on your computer.”

  “You remembered the password, right?” he asked, climbing into bed.

  I turned my body to face him. “Yeah. I did. And the computer opened to your last window. I saw the Hold My Hand website.”

  He turned on his side, facing me. Lying in bed talking was something we used to do for hours on end when we first married. Before the kids. Even more than the physical intimacy, I’d missed our long, drawn-out, heart-to-heart talks. I sensed we were “there” again, though. After all the issues that had come to test us—my job, the kids, my father, my attitude, a tick bite—none of them had overtaken us, by the grace of God.

  Yes. We’re “there” again.

  “I read some of your posts in the discussion forum.” Water trickled from my eye.

  Stelson wiped my cheek gently with his thumb. “I know. I should have talked to you before I went to strangers.”

  “No, no, no,” I said. “Well, yes. I’m sad that you wanted to hold their hands instead of mine. But I get it. Chronic illness isn’t something that can be understood from the outside looking in. In some ways, I think you should apply that same philosophy to the black experience.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.” He continued caressing my face. Twirling my hair as his eyes stayed fixed on mine. “What else bothers you?”

  “The fact that you think I’m so fragile you had to hide the truth from me,” I confessed.

  “What would you have done differently if I’d told you all my symptoms before I had a definite diagnosis?”

  I twisted my lips to the side as I thought. What would I have done? “I don’t know. Maybe gone online and looked up all the symptoms. Been more demanding with your doctors.”

  “Been more worried?” he suggested.

  A few beats passed. “Yes.”

  “Worrying doesn’t solve anything. And, in this case, neither would all those sponsored websites and doctors we visited have helped. You had just quit your job and started learning all the stay-at-home-mom routines. You were stressed already. Why would I add to your problems?”

  “Because your problems are my problems, big daddy. Look, I know you’re a man and all.” I slapped his shoulder. “If you hadn’t had the seizure, we’d still be back at square one.”

  “But I did have the seizure and it happened that Peaches was in town, able to come right over and help figure it out. His timing is perfect.”

  “I know. I don’t like being left out of the loop, though.”

  “All we did was argue after I got sick. I didn’t think you wanted to be in my loop.”

  I smiled. “My bad, my bad.”

  He tilted toward me and planted a kiss on my lips. “My bad, too. There’s actually a name for my irritability. They call it Lyme rage. When I read it on the website, I realized I was wounding you and the kids because I wasn’t in control of myself. I withdrew. It was the safest thing for everyone.”

  The words seemed sweeter from his lips than they had been on screen. We lay without words, just playing with each other’s skin and hair. Gentle kisses here and there.

  My phone buzzed. “Ignore it.”

  “I fully intend to,” Stelson agreed.

  But then it buzzed twice more within a minute. “I’d better take a look.”

  The message from Terri read: Umm…I’m pretty sure you can have your job back. Turn on any local news channel tonight. PHS the top story.

  One from Jonathan: Was that your school?

  One from the school district with a link to a public announcement document which I wasn’t interested in viewing on my tiny cell phone.

  “Honey, turn on the news. Something happened at my high school.”

  He hit the remote control and we both watched as the reporter narrated. “It all started with some very ambitious journalism students. After a stealthy, long-term investigation, they created and posted their YouTube video yesterday titled ‘Grownups These Days’ exposing an affair between the principal, Jerry Ringhauser, and his new assistant principal, Natalie Lockhart-Gomez. Both administrators are married to other people. The students shot several videos and pictures depicting these two, who are supposed to be setting an example for the student body, leaving hotel rooms, attending events together, kissing and holding hands.”

  Snippets of the video confirmed the students’ allegations. “Oh my gosh. This has Michael Higgins’ name written all over it. He was chomping at the bit to break open a scandal,” I told Stelson.

  The report continued, “When Mr. Gomez was informed about the video, he came to the campus around five this afternoon and opened fire in Mr. Ringhauser’s office. Early reports say the principal was in the office and hid under the desk.

  “As he left in handcuffs, Gomez pointed out that he had only meant to scare the principal.”

  Footage of the husband being escorted from my school building to a police car in handcuffs rolled. “If I’d wanted to kill them both, I could have.”

  The reporter’s face popped back on the screen. “Now, there were n
o students present at the time of the shooting. But as you can see”—he walked toward the back wall and put a finger through one of the holes—“ Mr. Ringhauser’s office shares an adjacent wall with another office. One of the warning bullets penetrated the wall. Sources tell us that office used to be occupied by another principal. Thankfully for her, she’s on a leave of absence.”

  The camera zoomed in to peek on the other side—my side!

  “This is Ivan Raley reporting. Lisa, back to you.”

  Chills ran all over me. “Stelson, that empty office is my office. I could have been sitting there when that bullet tore through!”

  “Wow,” Stelson remarked. “Just wow.”

  We held on to each other for a long time, that night. Really, I should say Stelson held me because I was beside myself. First, that my office got shot up. And second, that my boss, whom I had such respect for, would do such a thing.

  “Focus on the good part, LaShondra. No one was hurt.”

  When I was a member at Gethsemane, people used to stand up and testify that the Lord had kept them from dangers seen and unseen. I always envisioned God putting his hand down between a person and whatever harm was trying to attack them.

  But given this incident, I had to bring God out of my box, ‘cause evidently He could run to the future, then come back and tell me what to do today so I wouldn’t be in the wrong place at the wrong time three months later.

  All along, I’d been thinking the Lord wanted me to take the leave for other people’s sake. Little did I know, obeying Him was as much for my good as the people I was serving.

  “Yeah, baby, He’s beyond good.”

  Chapter 33

  Of course, Dr. Hunt called and asked if I might be interested in returning to the campus sooner rather than later. “No pressure,” she said. “It’s just a question.”

  “Let me get back to you.”

  I started to make a note to myself to pray about it the next morning, but I got an answer in my heart almost immediately: Not yet. I didn’t waste another minute thinking about it. Called Dr. Hunt and told her I was out until further notice.