by K. T. Richey
The next day, during her planning period, she was called to Mr. Davis’s office. When she entered the room, she saw Roger sitting in a chair, crying. “I’m sorry. I’ll come back.” She turned to leave the room.
“No, Ms. Holloway. This concerns you. Come in and have a seat,” he said stoically.
Misha walked into the office. Mr. Davis closed the door and returned to the chair behind his desk. Roger was looking out the window, sniffing. Now there was anger welling in her belly. She knew he was up to something dirty. How dirty was yet to be seen.
“Ms. Holloway, Roger tells me the two of you have a history. He’s still pretty shaken up about yesterday.”
“Yesterday? What do you mean yesterday?” She looked over at Roger, who was still looking out the window.
“He said you showed up at his church uninvited and tried to force him to let you preach. He said there are a number of witnesses who will testify to this.”
“Testify? Roger?” She looked over at Roger again. He was sitting in his chair with his head lowered. Misha knew he was only pretending he was upset. Her heart began to beat fast. Sweat beaded on the palms of her hands. She wanted to go off on him but she could tell by the look on Mr. Davis’s face it wasn’t the time.
“Mr. Davis, Roger invited me to his church to preach. He even called me Saturday night to see if I was coming. When I got there, I found out it was men’s day and our father in the ministry was preaching. If he said I showed up uninvited, it’s not true. Is it, Roger?” she asked sternly.
Roger still did not look up. Misha shook her head in disgust, a frown forming on her face. Now Roger was trying to get her fired. “Roger, tell him the truth. You invited me. Tell him.” Misha pleaded for Roger to tell the truth.
“Ms. Holloway,” Mr. Davis said. “I’m trying to keep this between us. However, I cannot accept this type of behavior in my school. Because the incident did not happen on school property, there is really nothing I can do about it. But, if you bring it to my school, or me, then it will become a problem. You have been a good teacher. I nominated you myself for rookie teacher of the year. In all my years of working with the school, I have never had a problem like this before.”
“He’s lying. He invited me. Roger, how could you do this to me? We dated for almost four years and now you are treating me like this?” Misha exclaimed, not hiding her disbelief. “I haven’t done anything to you. I’ve even tried to help you by referring students to your program. I know you are a good worker. I don’t understand why you’re treating me like this. I thought you were bad when you had Gloria come up to me and threaten me, but this is stooping too low.”
“Gloria? What does she have to do with this?”
“Apparently, she and Roger have something going on.”
“Is this true, Roger?”
He shook his head no.
“Ms. Holloway, I have to warn you I cannot allow this behavior in my school. I won’t put this in your personnel records. But if something like this comes up again, I’m going to have to notify the district.”
Misha was so upset she trembled. Her SWATs roots were deep in her soul and were about to show up. Girls from southwest Atlanta are too strong and don’t take a whole lot of crap from people. Roger was about to push her back over the edge. Her hands gripped the armrest, preventing her from reaching over and choking him. Mr. Davis asked Roger to leave them alone. Roger exited the room without saying a word.
“Look, I know how hard it is to end a friendship. Roger said you were only friends. Just stay away from him. Don’t have anything to do with him. I would hate to lose you as a teacher. You’re a good educator and that’s hard to find these days. Now, pull yourself together. Would you like some water?”
She shook her head no. “Mr. Davis, you have to believe me. He invited me. He said his speaker cancelled and he needed someone on short notice. I wouldn’t have gone if he didn’t say he was in a tight fix.”
Mr. Davis wiped his face with his hand. “Just try to stay away from him. Please, I beg you. Leave him alone.”
“You don’t have anything to worry about. I didn’t fool with him after we broke up over a year ago, and now with all of this, I definitely won’t have anything else to do with him again.”
Misha walked out of the office feeling emotionally drained. She walked into the teacher’s lounge to try to get herself together, until she saw Roger and Gloria sitting closely at a table, laughing and talking. He looked as though he got over his emotional breakdown quickly. They stopped talking when she walked through the door and stared at her. She turned around and walked to her classroom. Why would he do something so childish to her? It was as if they never meant anything to each other. Her grandmother saw it from the beginning. She should have listened to her.
His antics did teach her one thing—to no longer accept any invitations to speak that were not in writing. She had nothing to prove he had, in fact, actually invited her to preach. She had no defense. It was his word against hers. She vowed never to be in that situation again, not only with Roger, but also with anyone who asked her to preach.
Misha walked down the hallways that were decorated for Spirit Week, trying to hold back her anger. Revenge would be so sweet—cut his tires, sugar in the gas tank, set up a “watch out for rats” Web site with his picture. So many crazy thoughts ran through her head she had to laugh at them. Amber came out of a classroom, interrupting her thoughts.
“Ms. Holloway, you’re coming to the game Friday, right? Remember, you promised to help the homecoming committee with the parade.”
“Sure, Amber. I’ll be there. You better get to class before the bell.”
“It’s my lunch break. So, I’m cool. Besides, we still have work to do on the float. I’ve got to look good after they crown me homecoming queen.”
“You’re so sure of that. The students don’t vote until lunch Thursday.”
“Oh, I’m going to be homecoming queen, then Miss Westdale High. I rule.” Amber began doing one of her cheerleader kicks, waving her arms in the air—her blond hair waving with her movements.
“That’s enough of that. Now get to the cafeteria.” Misha was glad she ran into Amber in the hallway. Her upbeat attitude and cheerful, positive outlook and silliness made her smile and for a brief moment made her forget about Roger.
The rest of the day passed by slowly as Misha continued to keep her mind on her work. She debated to herself if she should talk to somebody about the incident. She knew the only one she could trust was her grandmother. She did not want to tell her because of the way she felt about Roger. But she needed to talk with someone. She did not want to talk to Judy. For some reason, she felt Judy had some drama of her own. She didn’t have a pastor she could talk to. She had to talk to someone. At the end of the school day, she took a deep breath and headed to her grandmother’s home, deciding that was her only option.
Misha could see her grandmother in the front yard, raking leaves. She pulled into the driveway and got out of the car.
“Hey, Grandma. What’cha cook?” She tried to sound cheerful.
“Got some turkey neck bones and rice.”
“You’re the only one I know who cooks that kind of stuff. Do you have any left?”
“It’s on the stove. Come on. I fix ya a plate.” The two of them walked into the house and Misha quietly fixed herself a plate. “You’re quiet today.”
“I got things on my mind.”
“Well, child, nothing a good meal won’t fix.”
“I wish it was that easy, Grandma. I think Roger is trying to get me fired.” Misha began telling her grandmother about the invitation and the men’s day program. She told her how embarrassed she was to be called to the principal’s office and how she felt seeing Roger there crying like a little girl. “He was trying to make me look crazy. Like some lunatic stalking him. I hadn’t talked to him or seen him in months until he came to my school to work. He’s even got one of the teachers threatening me.”
“I
don’t see why you fool with him anyhows. Tell he ain’t no count.”
“He was good to me.”
“If he was, I ain’t seen it. He talks to you so bad, almost made me cuss.”
“I didn’t realize it then. Looking back, now I do. He was real critical of me. How could I have gotten mixed up with him? I feel so stupid.”
“Don’t beat yo’self up. We all make mistakes. It’s going to be all right. We’ll pray him outta there. That’s what we’re gonna do. You needs your job. That’s a good job.”
This made Misha happy. If anyone could get a prayer through, it was her grandmother. She knew it wouldn’t be long before Roger was completely out of her life. She began to attack her food like she did when she was a little kid. She loved her grandmother’s food, even though she would never admit to anyone she ate neck bones. She licked her fingers and talked at the same time. “Grandma, I’m going to the Remnant Church Sunday. You wanna go?”
“Remnant? That one of those churches . . . What y’all call them?”
“Mega church.”
“Whateva. Too big for me. What you going there for?”
“I don’t know. It’s been in my spirit to go. Maybe it’s where the Lord is leading me.”
“Well you just do what God tells you. I’m fine. The bus pick me up Sunday.”
“Okay. Well, if you change your mind, give me a call.”
“I sho’ will. You tell yo’ mama?”
“Now, Grandma, you know I don’t tell her anything.”
“You gon’ hafta learn how to get along wit’ yo’ mama. She spoil but you spoil, too. I spoil both ya. I’m not gon’ be ’round fo’eva.”
“Stop talking like that. You ain’t going nowhere.”
“Chile, we all got to die. I feel a whole lot betta if you and yo’ mama got along.”
Misha scraped the last bite of food off her plate and forked it into her mouth. Her grandmother was right. It was time to call a truce with her mother. She had to forget all the things that was done and said in the past. Life was fragile and too short to hold a grudge.
Chapter 14
Sunday arrived and Misha woke up early to pray. She had never been to the Remnant Church before and she was looking forward to going. Although she had never attended the church, she felt an urgent need to go after seeing the pastor on television.
She wanted to make sure her hair and clothes were well presentable. The Remnant Church was known for its classic style. She unwrapped her hair and tried on several outfits before deciding on a navy blue pants suit. She wanted some bacon and eggs, but she ate cereal. She didn’t want to go to a new church smelling like bacon.
She got into her car, reviewed her directions again, and started her journey to the church. When she got there, she could see people dressed in bright orange vests standing in the road, directing traffic. She followed their directions and pulled into a parking space. As she got out of her car, she could see people of many different races going into the large auditorium-styled church. Several people rushed past her without speaking. One lady almost knocked her over and did not apologize. However, Misha did not think much of it. She wanted to believe the lady was anxious to get into the presence of God.
Misha walked into the sanctuary and noticed how chaotic the atmosphere was. Some people were laughing and talking loudly to other people. Some people were crying and praying. There were some people in bright pink leotards and net skirts, running around, waving flags. There were others dressed in black, running around with electrical cords trailing behind them and carrying large video cameras. There was even a guy running around with a Jewish prayer cloth wrapped around his head. The music was so loud Misha could hardly hear herself think and service had not even started.
She searched for a seat. When she sat down, an usher rudely asked her to move. She moved to another seat and a woman sat down beside her. The lady set her large bag and purse down in the seat between them. She began to yell at someone on another aisle. Then she began searching wildly through her bag. Misha wanted to move again, but service was beginning. The woman was too weird with her bright red hair that was as chaotic as the church and the constant mumbling she was doing.
A slim white man with spiked, bleached hair walked onto the podium and began screaming in the microphone. “Praise God. This is a church on fiyah this morning. Praise Him. Praise Him. Praise Him.” He began waving his arms in the air as people ran to their seats.
A group of singers walked onto the stage, holding microphones in their hands. Another man stepped out onto the podium with a large shofar and began blowing into the ram’s horn. Misha placed her fingers in her ears because it sounded like large explosions. Three large screens, positioned at the front of the church, showed pictures of fireworks displays. Then the music started. It was louder than the music when she came in. The lights were dimmed and the people in the sanctuary began jumping up and down, screaming and clapping their hands.
The loud music was beginning to give Misha a headache. She picked up her Bible and purse and move toward the back of the church. She found a spot in the back of the first level that seemed much calmer. There were not many people there. From this viewpoint she could see people dancing in the aisle, both white and black. But, this was not a dance she was used to seeing. There was an influx of dancers with flags running up and down the aisle. The voices of the singers sounded like birds fighting. She prayed to herself that she receive what God had sent her there for and that she’s wasn’t self-righteous or judgmental as she watched the whole scene.
The pastor of the church stood to give his remarks and it seemed as if the people were over-exaggerating their laughter. The whole scene looked so choreographed to Misha. She felt very uncomfortable as she listened to the pastor. She had heard that same sermon somewhere. As she continued to listen to him, she realized it was Shante Patrick’s sermon. She listened as this white man stood on the stage, talking about growing up in a church that sounded like a black church. He was even trying to imitate black deacons and black preachers.
Misha looked around the sanctuary at the people of different races standing up, laughing at what the preacher was saying. How in the world could these black people listen to this message? It seemed so racist to her. Then when the preacher told a joke about a girl name Shequana winning a “frigerator” on The Price Is Right and pretended to act like her, Misha was fed up. She stood to leave but she heard, stay, in her spirit. She sat back down and anxiously waited for the service to end.
Misha continued watching the service as people began walking, some running, toward the altar and throwing money at the altar.
This is not me.
The people running and throwing money on the altar were distractions to Misha. She was puzzled. Why were they doing this? Didn’t they put their offering in the baskets when the ushers passed them down the aisle? She was no longer able to focus on the message the pastor was preaching.
The pastor gestured to the musicians. They began playing a fast, upbeat praise song. The congregation began their frenzy all over. The pastor then said something that didn’t sit right in her spirit.
“Look over at your neighbor and do a hallelujah check. If they don’t say hallelujah and not up praising God, then you need to get up and move. Tell them, ‘I don’t want to sit beside you. I want to be by people who are on fire for God.’”
A woman grabbed Misha’s arms and tried to pull them in the air. Misha shook her arms away from the lady. She tried to get them again. “Don’t put your hands on me,” Misha said. She looked intently at the woman.
The lady began mumbling or speaking in tongues, Misha did not know which. The lady tried to rebuke Misha.
This is not me.
Misha picked up her purse to leave. Before she could step out into the aisle she heard it again.
Stay.
She sat down and continued watching the service. “God, why am I here?” Her head was still pounding from the loud music.
Once again the p
astor gestured to the musicians and the music slowed. Large groups of people stood and ran to the altar. Several very large men with earpieces in their ears jumped up and surrounded the pastor. They looked like bodyguards. They blocked people from reaching the pastor as he continued speaking. A group of people fell to the floor and began rolling around. Others fell on their knees and cried loudly. Some just stood in front of the men with their hands outstretched.
The pastor walked up to a man and laid his hands on his head and immediately the man fell backward. He was caught by a collection of the ear-plugged men and gently laid on the floor. This continued one by one until several people were lying motionless on the floor.
Misha stood when the people on the floor began convulsing as if they were having seizures. What in the world was going on?
This is not me.
Finally, the service ended and Misha rushed to her car. Something about that place was making her sick. It did not feel right in her spirit. There was a strange smell in the air, almost like the pungent smell of sulfur. Delighted when she reached the door, Misha kicked up her pace to her car.
She reached her car, got in, and closed the door. She took deep breaths as if it were the first burst of fresh air she had all day. Her ears were ringing from the extra loud speakers in the church. Her head felt like someone had a hammer banging on it from the inside out. She got into the long line of cars exiting the parking lot.
“God, why did you want me to come here?” Misha prayed out loud in her car as she waited her turn to exit the parking lot.
