by Love Belvin
So, no. This evening wasn’t the darkest of days, but like Lillian, I didn’t want to rehash it. My phone rang.
“Hey, Ms. Remah.”
“Pablo here,” she hushed.
“And?” my eyebrows met.
“And he talking about some piece he need to fix the leak and I ain’t got the money today.”
“Well, did he say he needed the money from you now?” I was still confused.
“No.”
Then what was the damn problem? The difficulty in dealing with my dear Ms. Remah was her stubborn rigidness. She was overly cautious at times and had been worse lately.
“Can you put him on the phone?” I asked and caught Lillian swinging her head in my direction. She must’ve sensed my annoyance.
“Hello?”
“Pab—” I corrected. “Juan. What’s up?”
“I’m here with Ms. Remah.” I heard the amusement in his chuckle. “I was just checking out the problem. I think I can get it done tonight. I just need a certain split ring stand off hanger. It’s a short connection boss for closer installation. I’m about to head out to pick one up now.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. I may have had thirteen dollars in my account. “Do you need anything to get it? Is it expensive?” I asked, afraid of the answer.
“Not right now. I’ll let you know when it’s done.”
Relief flushed in. “Thanks, Juan.”
“De nada,” he assured. “Why is she pouting like I stole something?”
I slapped my forehead, envisioning that threatening glare. “Because that’s just Ms. Remah. You know to ignore her.” I caught his snicker. “Could you put her back on, please?”
“Yeah,” she growled.
“Listen,” I couldn’t soften my tone if I wanted to. She’d caused me to panic unnecessarily. “You let him do his job without interference. Just back away. Go sit down. Take your meds and relax. Okay?”
“Yuh nuh the boss of me, Lexi! Yuh nuh my mother! I nuh on yuh tit!” she screamed and ended the call…in my ear.
“What’s going on over there?” Lillian asked, alternating her deep chocolate gaze between me and the road. Clearly Ms. Remah was that loud.
She reminded me of a child, she was so short and petite. It could’ve been because of my massive height, but even more, Lillian was short. She pushed her lavender frames up on her face. I never shared with Lillian the financial woes of Ms. Remah and me. That’s something I kept private. Besides, it was a conflict of interest seeing Lillian was her niece and Ms. Remah wasn’t exactly close to her family.
With my head toward my lap, I logged into my pathetic online bank account just in case I had more than twenty dollars and could withdraw from an ATM. I guess Lillian wanted some sort of response because she pushed again.
“I don’t know how you deal with that woman.”
“Me either,” I murmured while typing away. “But I also don’t know what my life would be like if I didn’t have her with me. She really is a nurturer.”
“Yeah,” I heard Lillian concede next to me. “Maybe it’s the nurse in her.”
Yup! Thirteen dollars and seventy-two cents. Shit me!
“Yeah,” I breathed, secretly frustrated.
“You know she’s why I became a nurse?”
That was a mood stimulator. “Really?”
“Yup,” she replied coolly, looking to her left before making a right at an intersection. “As weird as my aunt Remah is, I’ve always had a strange connection to her that I never had with my own mother.”
“Really?” I asked again, this time shrieked it. “I never even knew you guys had a personal relationship.”
“We have our own way of expressing mutual respect. And I do respect her. I love her and I really do honor her. She’s different than my mom and their other sister. There’s a pain about her, but there’s also something that’s extremely loyal. She never made a big ‘to do,’ but always slipped me money when I needed it, helped me to prepare for my skills technique exam when I was in the nursing program, coached me on how to stay above the fray with the snotty doctors and stuff like that.”
“Well, that’s one thing we can agree on.” I snapped my phone off once I saw we’d turned onto the block where the church was. “Ms. Remah is a good person.”
“And Lex,” she called out with a stern tone, reminding me of her Caribbean roots. I met her gaze. “She’s extremely fortunate to have you, as are all the women and men you serve at the rec center.”
I didn’t feel much like a blessing. I was broke and couldn’t provide for anybody, much less myself. I offered her a wry smile as we pulled into the large parking lot of Redeeming Souls for Abundant Living in Christ church.
Service was in full swing as we were being ushered to a pew. The place was massive. It was the largest chruch in Harlem and one of the largest mega churches in the Northeast. One thing I could appreciate about it was the assortment of members. There were people of almost every shade known to man, quite a few identifiable ethnicities and an influx of young people. I began taking note of this recently because the volume of diversity had been increasing. The building wasn’t your typical steeple on a box, but a contemporary structure instead. The place was a former warehouse that was rehabbed and expanded in structure on a long city block. Inside the sanctuary were the traditional furnishings of a church.
I understood the draw of large churches, just didn’t get how such an enormous flock of people could be serviced by one man, the pastor. Similar to the reasons I preferred the size of the rec center versus the others in Harlem that were more sophisticated in design and technologically advanced however, had no soul…no substance. But my theory regarding the church had changed once I saw the benefit of slipping in and out when I needed to.
I didn’t grow up in church. I’d started attending years ago after I met Ms. Remah and she introduced me to her niece, Lillian, who was just two years younger than me. This was her thing and my ass had nothing better going on socially, so I would attend with her from time to time. Four years ago, my attendance slowed even more because I’d returned to school full time at night and on weekends.
Lillian called me on Sunday, inviting me tonight after sharing her plans of moving forward with grassroots efforts to start an organization geared toward helping women return to school and/or complete it. She was my motivation when I decided to get off my ass at twenty-five to get my bachelors in Sociology. It had truly been a challenge over the past four years, but my perseverance is why I would be graduating in a few short months.
The choir sang Fred Hammond’s “I Will Trust.” This I knew because it’d captured my attention when I was here a few months ago, so much so that I secretly used the Shazam app from my phone to find the information for it. The song was beautiful. Another bonus of attending this church when I did was the unbelievable musicianship of the choir and band. It was like being in the studio with the actual recording artists, if not better at times.
After sitting through another song, a slower tempo one, it was offering time according to the elder. Fuck! As soon as I went for my purse on the floor, I froze. I gave Kema the last of my money until Friday. In an attempt to save face, I continued for my bag and swept the bottom for change. Thank goodness I had almost a palmful. If there was one thing I didn’t do, it was public humiliation from not having money. I’d survived poverty all my life until I became an adult and was able to fend for myself. There was no excuse for being out and broke at the same time. If you had no money, stay your ass home. People complain about the church robbing poor people, but that had never been an issue for me. I never gave more than I could afford to. It was that simple. I believed in donating to causes. The church thing was new to me, but the idea of it was benevolent, so I didn’t mind.
When the bucket came around to me as the church sang a festive song, I quickly dumped my handful of change in there and passed it to the right of me where, without paying me so much as a glance, Lillian slipped in the traditional env
elope. Because she has cash. I sulked inside. There had to be a better way. I’d figure it out. Until then, I’d enjoy this moment of calm at Bible study. I shifted to a comfortable position in my seat, prepared to sit through an hour long sermon. This was the part of service that didn’t resonate with me: the speaker. The pastor of this church, Bishop Carmichael, was an older man who preached from his gut, often yelling about how to get to heaven. Most in the church got caught in high passion with him, cheering him on, but I didn’t get it. I needed instruction on how to survive here on earth and not do anything to survive that would get me cast into the pit of hell. There was never a connection for my life in his sermons. So, now was when I prepared to just sit.
I felt a nudge from my right. It was little Lillian. God, I must look like a tree next to her and the kid to the left of me. I glanced down at her expectantly.
“He’s here again!” she whispered, giddy.
“Who?” My face wrinkled.
“Stenton Rogers…and his wife! Ooooh!” Lillian cried. “And there’s little Jordan. He’s such a cutie!” she squealed.
My eyes roved over to where she pointed. It took a few seconds but eventually, because of his extreme height, I located him. I’d heard he visited Redeeming Souls for Abundant Living in Christ from time to time.
“You see?” Lillian asked with a big ass Kool Aid smile.
I nodded. “Wonder what he’s doing here?” I murmured under the sounds of the elder introducing the pastor to speak.
“He’s a member of one of our smaller churches in Jersey. His wife goes to that one. He comes every now and then. I don’t know why he’s here tonight.” She ended our invasive whispers with that and turned ahead.
I grabbed the Bible from the back pocket of the pew in front of me. I didn’t own one and would only ever use it in church to appear engaged if I did at all. I didn’t understand the Bible half the time. Again, I could never get with the older man’s whooping and hollering. However, I could play the part. I’d just zone out.
“Good evening, people of God,” a deep, self-possessed and rasped tenor drizzled over me smoothly. My spine shivered and breath escaped into my throat, exiting through my mouth on a clumsy snort. My eyes went wild in a hurried search for the source of this…melody. “I am quite ecstatic to be in the tabernacle on tonight,” he droned. In my fog, I couldn’t decide if that was just my perception of the sound of his voice.
The church burst into an enthusiastic applause. I’d never seen anything like it before. I had to remember I was sitting in church and not a concert. The reception to this man was more than a gesture of welcome, it was celebratory.
My eyes bugged out of their sockets, racing to each corner of the front of the sanctuary until they landed on him. I couldn’t discern his height immediately from afar, but could quickly decide he was a lot taller than the pastor. In spite his of distance, I could make out a thick dark beard and neatly manicured mustache, hair covering half his face. He was dressed in a blue suit, yet pulled off a casual look by wearing a white dress shirt with an unbuttoned collar. He kept one hand in his pant pocket and the other on the glass podium as he stood observing the audience with an imperceptive expression. There was something stark about his response—or lack thereof—to the eager room. His scouring of the expansive and regal sanctuary was eerie. It was downright rude and… Friggin’ hot!
Wait! Was I aroused?
Is that possible from a man whose face I couldn’t completely make out from this distance?
“Do you mind if I guide your psyches in the absence of your pastor tonight, Redeeming Souls for Abundant Living in Christ?” he posed coolly. The room went up again, a few whoops and hollers accompanied.
Then he smiled.
And…oh my fuck—oh no! I was most definitely aroused in the house of God! The mere sight of the size-differential relationship between his teeth, mustache and beard had me shifting in my seat. How could this be happening? Is it even possible? Because it damn sure isn’t right. Of that, I was sure. And why of all days, didn’t I have a closer seat? I wanted to see more of him. All of him.
It wasn’t just about the man’s physical features so much as it was about the odd charismatic quality he possessed and pulled the entire room into after only speaking a handful of words.
“Somebody delights when their pastor is out. When the cats away…” he smirked with full confidence in his charming engagement. “I won’t be before you long. That’s the fun in being about my Father’s business…when being about my father’s business; I can quickly impart and end the party at a decent hour.” That elicited a round of laughter. Unfazed, he continued, “Let’s seek His presence.” His eyes closed and hand went into the air. “Father, we come before You with an open mind and heart. We ask that You meet us in a place of emotional and intellectual reception so that we can yield to Your impartation. We ask that not one utterance of Your word return void, but that it be sent out to do what You intended. In Jesus’ name we pray.”
The churched echoed, “Amen.”
I never bowed my head. I could only manage to close one eye. I used the other to squeeze keenly in on him. Why was I so captivated? I’d never been drawn to church men. They never appealed to me. I’d grown up with hustlers and street fighters. They were an opposite energy from a Bible-toting man. But this man. This—
I tapped Lillian on the shoulder and whispered, “Who is he?”
Without meeting my gaze, she returned, “Ezra Carmichael.”
“Is he—”
“The son. Yeah,” she pushed her glasses into her face as she answered my uncompleted question, still peering ahead. “I heard he’d be speaking soon, but didn’t know about tonight. He’s been back in the states for a few years now, but generally keeps on the low.”
Hmmmmm…
I hadn’t been coming regularly, so that could explain why I’d not seen him, but I never even knew he existed. Shaking off my stupor, I tuned back in, not wanting to miss a word.
“This evening, I’d like to speak about the spirit of expectation. When was the last time you exercised your faith and expected God to act on your behalf?” The room went silent, clearly hanging on to his guidance into the homily. “I mean, where are my Hannahs wanting a son? Where are my Abrahams needing to save Sodom and Gomorrah? Jairuses seeking healing for their daughters? My Centurions needing healing for their fellow-man? The women with the issues of bleeding?” Carmichael stopped as to wait on a rhetorical response. “Where are your expectations of El Shaddai?” he pronounced with a curvy tongue.
As he spoke, I watched with rapt interest. My face tightened in confusion when I caught the beads rotating through his left index and middle fingers and thumb. That act was reminiscent of a Catholic priest. His facial appearance resembled a member of the Nation of Islam. However, his delivery was all of a self-assured, poised, orator and the message conveyed with sound knowledge. That was evident by his scripture references and how he expounded on each. I was actually learning the Bible and how to apply it to contemporary times. The stories were no longer historical, but abstract lessons that were still relevant. God honored those with expectations of Him, and the only way to demonstrate that is through faith that He could deliver.
Hmmmmm…
As he hit the climax of his message, still in a controlled and unmoved demeanor in his delivery as he paced the stage, I wondered what his other climax personas were like. Did I just think that in church? This is absurd! I rolled my eyes and let out a heavy sigh at my lusting in the house of God. Just then, from the corner of my eye, I noticed a woman take to the pulpit and strut purposefully in what could have been five inch heels over to the acrylic podium and collect the leather enclosed tablet Ezra referred to from time-to-time during his message. Who is she? The caramel beauty had pageant-like posture and a curly mane bouncing with each step as she took, shifted and completed an about-face to leave. She appeared discreet, however, Ezra was aware of her presence. This was clear when he paid her a cursory glance an
d quickly returned to the crowd without disrupting his cadence. She was expected, but not a part of the show. Was that his wife?
By the end of the sermon, my tightened jaw hung toward the floor. I was completely captivated. Church was dismissed and people moved to and fro around me, but I couldn’t shake my daze to leave my seat.
“Hey, Lillian,” someone called out behind me. I was still glued to my seat, trying to gather my bearings. “Are you still holding the meeting next week?”
“Yeah,” Lillian answered over my head as I pulled my purse into my lap, packing up to go. “Next Tuesday, but I’m trying to get more people to sign up. You think we can get someone from the clergy team to attend?”
“I don’t know about that.” The Asian woman supplied a wry smile.
“Oh, look,” Lillian’s tone turned excited. “There’s Miranda! I wonder if she’d be interested.”
When Lillian called her over, I began to piece together the premise of this exchange. She was preparing to launch her Women Learn Now! organization. The focus would be on encouraging and navigating adult women to higher education. She’d been talking about it for years. It was her passion. In all honesty, it was because of Lillian that I returned to school after trying to figure out life with just a high school diploma for so many years. She’d been a huge proponent of finding programs and funding for re-entry. So, when she asked for my involvement months ago, I was gung-ho; however, I didn’t realize the first meeting was next week.
“Miranda!” Lillian called over the excited crowd. “Miranda!” she shouted with urgency again, her little hands attempting to wave over heads.
After searching the area of the gargantuan room Lillian drew her attention to, I realized, who she was calling out to. The girl looked our way and froze for seconds long, eyes wide as though she didn’t recognize either Lillian or the Asian girl.
“Can I have just a moment of your time?” Lillian shouted, but not at a crass volume.
