Cross Roads

by Wm. Paul Young

  But both Maggie and Cabby seemed excited to attend, and Tony was curious. Perhaps things had changed during the years of his absence.

  Maggie, a zaftig looker of a woman, applied a reasonably visible layer of makeup, donned a comely dress that enhanced her most fetching features, and put on red high heels that matched her clutch. She gave herself the once-over in the mirror, smoothing out a few wrinkles while sucking in ever so slightly, before she nodded approval, gathered her coat, and took Cabby by the hand.

  It didn’t take them long to reach the parking lot of Maranatha Holy Ghost Church of God in Christ, the good-sized city church that Maggie attended and Cabby often visited. It was midweek service and also youth night, so the place was full of hustle and bustle, the young and old in a mixing bowl of enthusiasm and holy intention. Tony was impressed at the blend of race and age, the financially secure rubbing shoulders with the less so. The ease of interactions was surprising, as was the general sense of kindness and community. This was different than he remembered.

  Along their way toward the children’s classrooms, Maggie stopped and chatted with this or that person, her personality magnetic and charming. She was engrossed in one of these conversations when Tony heard Cabby whisper, “Tah-Ny?”

  “I’m here, Cabby. What is it?” he asked.

  “See?” He was pointing across the room at a young couple, a pair of teenagers enamored only with each other. They were oblivious to the world around them, holding hands and whispering harmless nonsense. Their universe was just to be near each other. Inwardly, Tony smiled. It had been a long time since he had stopped to notice innocent love. When, he wondered, had he forgotten that it even existed.

  Cabby, however, seemed a bit agitated, as if he were tugging at Tony’s arm.

  “What is it, Cabby? Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Grl-frund,” Cabby mumbled.

  “Cabby,” responded Tony, thinking that he understood. “That girl? You like her?”

  “Ya… no.” He shook his head. “Cnabby want…”

  Cabby wanted. Tony understood. He felt the raw, passionate aching in Cabby and sensed the single hot tear that climbed slowly from the corner of Cabby’s eye and rolled silently down his face. This young man somehow knew that a sweetness lay outside his power to have or hold, and he was sharing this longing with him. Cabby would never experience a gift that Tony had treated with callous disdain—the love of a girl. Cabby treasured what he had handled with reckless contempt. Again Tony realized how shallow were his assumptions regarding the maturity of this sixteen-year-old’s heart. It was not a painful, shaming self-judgment, but an exposure and uncomfortable. It seemed Tony was growing a conscience, and he wasn’t sure he wanted one.

  I’m such an ass, Tony thought.

  “I am really sorry, Cabby,” he barely whispered.

  Cabby nodded, still watching the two. “Sun-dy,” he whispered back.

  Maggie, tugging on his hand, continued their walk, Tony silent and shaken. They reached the designated room, and as she signed Cabby into his class, Tony heard a couple of boys snickering, one of them loud enough to be heard, “There’s that ’tard!”

  Cabby heard, too, and turned to face the boys. Through Cabby’s eyes, Tony saw a pair of gawky junior high boys snickering and pointing in his direction. Cabby did his best to come up with the appropriate response, but gave them the wrong finger—his index finger, straight up with arm bent at the elbow—not quite remembering what he had been taught by his schoolmates.

  “Wrong finger, Cabby, use the middle one,” Tony suggested. Cabby looked at his hand, trying to decide which was the middle one, and quickly gave up, raising both hands and wriggling all his fingers in their direction.

  “Ha!” Tony laughed. “That’s it, give them all the fingers! Well done!”

  Cabby looked down with a grin, delighted with the praise, but it made him self-conscious. He held up one hand, waving it slightly. “Stop,” he said, embarrassed.

  “Oh, pay those boys no mind, Cabby,” encouraged Maggie. “They weren’t brought up properly. They’re not even smart enough to know what sort of ignoramuses they are. Anyway, I’ve got you all signed in, and I’ll be back in about an hour to fetch you home. Lots of your friends are here and Miss Alisa. You remember Miss Alisa, don’t you?”

  He nodded his approval and was about to head into class when inexplicably he turned into the corner near the doorjamb and whispered, “Bye, Tah-Ny!” Tony was caught off guard and before he could say anything, Cabby turned and buried himself into Maggie’s arms, giving her a huge hug.

  “My goodness,” expressed Maggie. “Cabby, are you okay?”

  He looked up and nodded, smiling with his wide heart-filled grin.

  “Good!” said Maggie. “Now, if you need me, someone will come get me, but I’ll be back regardless in a little while.”

  “ ’Kay!” he acknowledged, and then he waited.

  As Maggie had done a thousand times before, she leaned down and let Cabby kiss her forehead. This time she felt a breeze sweep through her body. Wow, she thought. Holy Spirit, I will have more of that, please! and after giving Cabby another squeeze, headed toward the service.

  Tony was sliding again.

  He knew instantly what had happened, but only now figured out the jump’s catalyst. It was the kiss that allowed him to slide. It felt exactly the same as before, face up and back, warm and embracing, and then he was viewing the world through Maggie’s eyes. The childlike wonder and simple colors—bright reds and greens and blues—of Cabby’s soul had been exchanged for an older, more crafted environment, with deep textures and patterns, complexity, along with a breadth of space and maturity.

  Maggie, oblivious to the intrusion, decided to stop off at the powder room on her way to the sanctuary. She nodded hellos and greeted many of the other women before she checked herself out in the mirror, made a last-minute adjustment to her dress, and was about to leave when she decided she had better pee. One never knew for certain how long these services might last, and once started she didn’t want to miss anything.

  Tony panicked. Maggie was just about to undo the necessities when he yelled, “Stop!” He did not know what else to do.

  That is exactly what Ms. Maggie Saunders did. She stopped—stopped breathing, stopped moving, stopped unbuttoning, stopped everything, for almost five seconds. Then she screamed at the top of her voice, “Man! There’s a man in here!”

  Like a cannon blast full of confetti, the women exploded out of the ladies’ room in individual and corporate disarray. Somehow in the exiting wave, Maggie successfully buttoned up. Gesticulating and hyperventilating, she attempted to explain to a cluster of women who stood outside the door and to the three ushers who had come running because of the commotion. They calmed her down somewhat, got her story, and approached the bathroom with considerable caution. What followed was a careful search of every stall, including the mop closet at the back of the room, turning up nothing. She made them look again, reiterating that a man had certainly spoken to her, even though none of the other women had heard anything, excepting Georgia Jones, who was ever hopeful a man would talk to her.

  After confirming there was no man in the women’s restroom, the ushers gathered around Maggie.

  “Maybe it was the Lord, Ms. Maggie?” offered one of the ushers, trying to be helpful. “We looked everywhere, and there is no way for a man to get outta there without being seen.”

  “I am so sorry,” she apologized. “I really don’t know what to say, but I did hear a man in there and he did say, ‘Stop,’ I’m sure of it.”

  Since there was nothing else that could be done, the group began to disperse. None of the women who had exited, however, were inclined to reenter the ladies’ room. None except Maggie. Thoroughly embarrassed, she was determined to go back in there and see for herself. If Tony could have banged his head against a wall, he would have. What was with this woman?

  Her careful exploration of the entire restroom confirmed th
ere was no man in there. Finally she gave up and ran some water to cool her face and calm herself. Glancing in the mirror to ensure no one snuck up behind her, she took deep breaths and began to ease herself from the grip of adrenaline. As her body relaxed, she remembered what she had been doing before the uproar and reopened one of the stalls, preparing again to unbutton her personals.

  “For crying out loud, Maggie, stop!”

  Maranatha Holy Ghost Church of God in Christ is sedate and civilized compared to folks down the road at the Full Gospel Redeemer Fellowship, who had a reputation as authentic Holy Rollers. So nobody in the sanctuary filled with people quietly meditating on the holiness of the Almighty was prepared when Ms. Maggie erupted a second time from the ladies’ room like a crazed woman, arms waving and purse flying. They had certainly witnessed the activity of the Holy Ghost many a time, and a few regulars were predictably slain in the Spirit. But while they could whip up a presence when led, they were only moderately active and always polite, making sure that if a woman went down under the power she was properly covered, especially if the youth group full of gawking teenage boys was in the service.

  But no one had ever, even when they snuck down to Full Gospel Redeemer, seen the Spirit take hold like this. Like a small atomic bomb, Ms. Maggie Saunders burst into the sanctuary during the second chorus of “Oh Happy Day,” and tore down the center aisle shrieking, “I’m possessed! I’m possessed!”

  Some later said they thought it mighty coincidental that she went flying down the aisle aimed right at Elder Clarence Walker, the most eligible bachelor in the congregation, a veritable saint and pillar of the church.

  Elder Walker stood, as all good elders should, when he heard the ruckus, but made the mistake of stepping into the center aisle to better see the problem. Once there, he froze as the rushing torrent of woman came at him like a train off its tracks. Just as she reached maximum velocity, one of her heels snapped off, launching her unceremoniously through the air and into the open arms of Elder Clarence. Though he had a few inches on her, she had a few pounds on him, and down they went in a tumbling heap, decorum and sanctification spilling everywhere. Clarence had the breath completely knocked out of him and there she sat straddling him, shaking his shoulders, and screaming, “I’m possessed,” into his face.

  The choir was completely baffled, although a few of them tried to continue the third chorus of “Oh Happy Day.” It happened so fast that at least half those present only heard something but didn’t actually see it, and most of those were not sure whether to shout amen or wave hankies in acknowledgment of the work of the Holy Ghost. A few in the back rows went down on their knees, believing a revival had started. Ushers and a few congregants seated nearby descended quickly on the entangled pair, hoping to help, some praying in tongues and reaching out their hands. It was pandemonium.

  One bruiser of a young man clamped a firm hand over Maggie’s mouth until she quit screaming, and with the help of two others separated her from the barely breathing Elder Clarence. Both were promptly escorted to the side prayer room, as the quick-thinking music director started the choir and congregation in a calming rendition of “Amazing Grace.”

  Maggie finally settled down enough to sip some water, while a couple of women patted her hand and repeatedly uttered, “Bless God” and “Praise Jesus.” She was utterly mortified. Maggie had heard the man’s voice—twice. But it didn’t matter. All she wanted now was to move immediately back to Texas with her distant relatives, to live in obscurity and die unremembered.

  Tony was both horrified for what he had caused and experiencing sheer glee at the unexpected turn of events. He could still hear the touching chords of “Amazing Grace” from behind the shut door, but for the first time, he was ready to hoot and howl in church. The second adrenaline rush that had blown through Maggie had lit him on fire, and he was giddy in its aftermath. If this is church, he thought, I’ll have to go more often.

  Elder Clarence slowly regained his breath and composure, and once recovered enough to speak without wheezing, sat in front of Maggie and took her hands. She couldn’t look at him. They had known each other for some time, and this behavior was totally inconsistent with the woman for whom he held undeniable affection, albeit platonic and reserved.

  “Maggie…” He paused. What he wanted to say was, “Maggie, what the hell is going on?” but he spoke quietly and in a fatherly manner. “Maggie,” he began again, “can you explain to me, to us, what happened?”

  Maggie wanted to die. She had once hoped for something more with this man, but she had killed all hope, body-slammed it to the carpet in the main sanctuary in front of God and everyone. She took a deep breath, and with abject humiliation, keeping her eyes glued to the floor, she said she had been in the bathroom and a man had spoken to her and then the ushers had searched it finding no one, and how one of the ushers thought it might have been God… She offered this last bit hoping it might be an option that Clarence would bite on, but he ignored it. It would have been a lie anyway, she thought, probably not the best idea at the moment. So she continued, how after searching and finding nothing, she had gone back in and the voice spoke to her again.

  “Clarence… I mean, Elder Walker, it had to be a demon.” She finally looked up at him, pleading with her eyes to have him believe her, or at least offer some plausible explanation. “What else…?”

  “Shhh, calm down, Maggie.” He was still calling her by her first name; at least that was something. “What did this voice say to you?”

  Maggie thought back. It was all a blur and she wasn’t sure. “I think he said, ‘Christ is outside. Stop, Maggie!’ That’s what I remember, but it happened so fast.”

  Clarence looked at her, wishing he could think of something that might help or comfort, but he was drawing a complete blank.

  Knowing he was at a loss for words, she tried to prompt something. “Elder Walker, why would Christ be outside? And why do I have to be stopped?”

  Clarence shook his head, stalling while praying silently for some wisdom, but nothing was coming. He thought he might try another tack. “So you really think it was a demon?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just what popped into my head. Wouldn’t a demon do that, pop a thought like that into your head? Do you think I have a demon, Clarence, uh, I mean, Elder Walker?”

  “I am not a demon!” Tony interjected emphatically. “I’m not sure what a demon is, but I am not one of those.”

  “Oh my God.” Maggie swooned, her eyes growing big as saucers. “It’s talking to me!”

  “Who?” asked Clarence.

  “The demon,” answered Maggie. Anger rose and flushed her face. “Don’t you be talking to me, you demon from the pit o’ hell… Sorry, not you, Brother Clarence; I was talking to the demon.” She averted her eyes to an empty space behind the elder and where none of the others were standing. Where else could she look? “In the name of Jesus—”

  “Maggie,” interrupted Clarence. “What did he say?”

  She looked back at him. “He said he wasn’t a demon. Wouldn’t you just expect that is what a demon would say, that he wasn’t a demon?”

  “My name is Tony,” added Tony to be helpful, but enjoying this immensely more than he probably should.

  Maggie put her hand over her mouth and added through clenched fingers, “He says his name is Tony.”

  Clarence tried not to laugh out loud. “You have a demon who says he’s not a demon, whose name is Tony?”

  She nodded.

  He bit the inside of his mouth, but then asked, “Maggie, does your demon have a last name?”

  “My demon?” The insinuation stung. “He is not my demon, and if I got a demon, I got him in your church.” She instantly regretted what she had said and quickly attempted to recover. “Of course he doesn’t have a last name. Everyone knows that demons don’t have last…”

  “Sure I do,” volunteered Tony. “My last name is…”

  “Shush,” muttered Maggie. “Don’t you be te
lling me you have a last name, you lying demon from the pit o’ hell.”

  “Maggie,” continued Tony, “I know you are friends with Molly, and I know about Lindsay and Cabby.”

  “Oh my God.” She gripped Clarence’s hand tighter. “It’s a familiar spirit. He just told me he knows all about Molly and Cabby and…”

  “Maggie, listen to me,” said Clarence, gently removing his hand from hers. “I think I need to pray for you right now… uh, we all do. You know that we love you. I don’t understand the kind of pressure that you’re going through right now, but I want you to know that we are here for you. Whatever you or Molly or Lindsay and Cabby need, all you have to do is ask.”

  And with that Maggie knew that Clarence and the others were not going to ever believe her about the demon who was talking to her. The more she said, the worse it was getting. It was time to shut up before they called in professionals.

  They all gathered around her, and she let them anoint her with some sweet-smelling oil from the Holy Land. They then had a lengthy time of prayer, the kindness of people trying to find the right words to assist God with this strange event. And it did help. Maggie felt something, a quiet that came over her and a peace that everything was going to be better somehow, as impossible as that seemed in the moment.

  “Oh my, look at the time. I really must be getting Cabby before it gets any later,” she said as they all stood. A few hugged her while others tried not to look as though they feared being contaminated by whatever she had. Maggie tried to look an apology at Clarence, who was gracious as he smiled and hugged her back. She held him a second longer than she probably ought to, but she figured it was likely their last and wanted something to remember. “Thanks, everyone, for your prayers and support.” But not for understanding, she thought. She didn’t even understand herself. Someday this would be a good story, but for the moment she didn’t want to see another living person, except Cabby and Molly. Molly was going to flip.