Boaz Brown (34 page)

Daddy said the “joker” must be ugly since I wouldn’t bring him around the family.

Truth was, Stelson wanted to meet my family, but I wasn’t ready for all that. No need in getting the family all riled up for what might turn out to be nothing. Yet, I could no longer deny that this thing with Stelson was working its way up to something substantial.

I’d put off telling my parents by convincing myself I was still “praying” about it. But I already knew what I had to do. Sooner or later, I would have to get real.

Deniessa was dying to meet Stelson, so I agreed to bring him to the spring Greek Show at Paul Quinn College. The workweek had worn us both down, but we agreed to put a little pep in our step and get out on a Friday night.

I was way too old for the Greek Show scene, but since Deniessa was the sponsor of an undergraduate AKA chapter, I gave myself permission to hang out with a bunch of youngsters at the competition. I was all Delta’d out—T-shirt, shoes, and hat.

Stelson arrived on my doorstep wearing khakis, a T-shirt bearing the American flag, and a pair of loafers. Despite the
fact
that the name Stetson brought about a feeling rather than a visual image, it was nice to get a good look at the handsome man standing before me.

“You
look nice, babe.” I winked at him.

“So do you.”

We arrived well after dark, which meant we had to walk halfway across the campus to get to the gymnasium. We heard the Greek calls long before we even got to the door.

“Why are they screaming?” Stetson asked.

“They’re not screaming; they’re cheering,” I explained. “Think of it as Mardi Gras. It’s gonna be wild, loud, and a lot of fun.”

“I trust you.” He pushed the hair off his forehead. We found seats on the non-Greek side, squeezing in behind what was obviously a group of male pledges. The gym was packed with young, promising black students, and their elation was contagious.

Being there took me way back, back to a time when being black meant everything to me. The sanctity, the safety, and the oneness of being black always seemed tangible at Greek Shows. Sitting there in the gym, cheering the Deltas on as I had years earlier, I didn’t feel any less black because Stelson was with me.

Even though people were giving us that somebody-would-have- to-bring-a-white-person-to-a-Greek-show look, I was still Shondra. That much would not change.

It occurred to me that while I was well-versed in what to expect at events where the crowds were predominantly Caucasian, Stelson was sorely unprepared for the Greek Show. He sat there with his eyes wide open, taking it all in as though he was seeing a side of America he never even knew existed.

Deniessa’s chapter was the last to perform. She squatted down near the edge of the platform and paid close attention. When it was time, she brought out the canes they needed for the dance portion of their routine. I think I clapped louder than the AKA’s when they were finished. Their show was good, but I knew that their routine wouldn’t beat the Deltas from Paul Quinn.

After the winners were announced, the DJ cranked up the music, and the Greeks did their struts on the floor. Social clubs and other non-Greeks were not to be outdone in their strutting and dancing. I called out with the Deltas a few times before Stelson and I descended from our places in the stands. Deniessa fought the traffic and met us midway down.

“Stetson, I’d like for you to meet Deniessa,” I said. “Deniessa, this is Stelson.”

“Hello, Deniessa.”

“Hi, Stelson. It’s nice to meet you. Shondra talks about you all the time,” she said, with every intent to embarrass me.

“Oh?” He seemed surprised. “That’s nice to know.”

I looked down and noticed she was wearing the engagement ring. “And what’s this?” The ring was breathtaking, even with gymnasium lighting.

“I said yes.” She bobbed her head and looked toward the sky, beaming with pride.

“I knew you would!” I hugged her. “You go, girl!”

Stelson congratulated her as well.

“Well, I’ve got to go check on my girls and make sure everybody’s got a ride back,” she said.

“Thanks for coming. It was nice meeting you, Stelson.”

“Same here.”

As we walked back to the car, Stelson remarked, “That was interesting.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yes, I did. Thanks for inviting me,” he said, looking past my shoulder. “Move over. This car is coming pretty close.” He tugged my arm and then let his hand slide down my arm and into my hand.

I grabbed his warm hands. Strong. I felt the hair on the back of his hand. Definitely masculine. Almost automatically, he laced his fingers between mine.

We stopped for dinner at what was fast becoming our restaurant of choice—Abuelita’s. Afterward, Stelson ordered dessert. “I think I’m gonna try something sweet this time.”

“I’m stuffed,” I said, turning down the waiter’s request for my order.

When Stelson’s glazed flan arrived, my stomach suddenly made a little more room for dessert, and I wished that I had ordered after all. My eyes must have told the story.

“You want some?” Stelson asked.

“Oh, no, thank you,” I politely refused his offer.

He shifted forward. “You know you want some.” Then he started licking the back of his spoon as if he had no manners on earth, giving me the go-ahead to grab my spoon and dive in, poor manners and all.

“You gonna save some for me?” he asked as I took my third bite.

“Look, I don’t play with dessert.”

“I guess I’ll know next time, won’t I?” he teased. He put both elbows on the table, exposing that hideous lion tattoo.

“Stelson,” I ventured to ask, “what on earth possessed you to get a tattoo?”

He let out a full, smooth laugh. “Oh, man. I knew
it
was coming.” He blushed with embarrassment.

I thought
it
interesting to actually be able to see how he felt through the change in his skin color. I tilted my head to the side, smiling, and waited for his response.

“Don’t laugh, but my mother asked me what I wanted for graduation, and I told her I wanted a tattoo.”

That was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard. “Why not a class ring or a. . . anything but a tattoo!”

“Well, she wasn’t too happy about it, but she’d given me her word, so she gave my uncle permission to take me to the tattoo parlor. I had planned to get this huge tattoo of an eagle—I mean, it was going be spectacular.

But the minute that needle hit my arm, I had second thoughts. So, the guy did the best he could to turn it into something recognizable. When I got home, my uncle told my mom the whole story. She never let me live it down.”

“Man. . .” I shook my head. “The things we did back in the day.”

“Hey, I’ve been wanting to ask you something.” He squinted at me, as though he had been examining my face. “May I see you without your glasses?”

I removed them slowly. I couldn’t see a thing without them, but I felt like a gawky nerd miraculously converted to a princess.

“LaShondra, you are absolutely beautiful.” He nodded. “Everything about you—the shape of your eyes, your skin, everything. I was looking at you tonight and thinking, how did I get so blessed? How did I earn her companionship, and how do I keep it?”

I melted. The butterflies in my stomach found their wings and began to flutter. They’d been working overtime since the walk after the Greek Show. “Thank you, Stelson.” I leaned over and kissed him softly. “Just keep on being the wonderful man you are.”

“So, you think I’m wonderful?” He stuck out his chest.

“Yes.” I stroked his ego with a soft tone. “I happen to think that you are very understanding and kind, and you have patiently and prayerfully jumped through all my hoops.”

We were almost finished with the flan when my cell phone rang. “Hello.”

“LaShondra,” my father’s frantic voice called, “it’s your grandmother.”

“What’s wrong, Daddy? What happened?”

“Uncle Fred found her. She died in her sleep. Just come on over here. We’re all at her house.”

I turned my phone off, laid it on the table, and then stared at it, as if it were a foreign object.

“What’s the matter?” Stelson asked.

I looked up at him, my heart racing. “It’s my grandmother. My uncle found her dead. I’ve got to get to her house.”

“Oh, LaShondra, I’m so sorry.” Stelson took my hands in his. He quickly paid the check and we walked back to his SUV.

“I’ve got to hurry and get over to my grandmother’s house,” I said to myself again as we hurried across the parking lot. My thoughts scattered and then gathered again as my shoes scraped and scurried the loose gravel on the ground.

“I’ll take you,” Stelson offered.

“Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do that.” I shook my head, holding my hand up.

“You didn’t ask. I’m offering.”

“Okay,” I accepted. “She lives on the south side, near Wellesley and Oak Park.”

I had known my grandmother was not in the greatest health. But we had all been expecting at least to have some warning—a progressive illness or a short hospital stay prior to her dying. You know, some kind of sign “time is running out.” Not that I would have wished pain and suffering on her. Just that I would have had a chance to say good-bye to the woman who scared me into doing things right. Selfish, when I thought about it.

It was hard to believe someone I’d known my entire life was suddenly gone—no matter how old she was. Grandmomma Smith had loved me in her own way, and I don’t think I ever told her “thank you.”

The more I thought about my grandmother, the more frenzied I became. I tried to lay my hand on the center rest, but the trembling wouldn’t stop.
I
clasped my hands together in a last-ditch effort, but that didn’t work, either. Stelson reached over and took my hand. “May I do something for you I always do in a situation like this?”

“Okay,”
I
said, not giving a second thought to whatever it was Stelson was about to do.

He began reciting the Twenty-third Psalm aloud, and we laced our fingers for the second time that evening. His words were smooth, sincere, calming. I joined in, saying the words with him, getting into the rhythm of the familiar beats and pauses of the psalm. My heart knew this place, these words, this comfort. My breath was coming back to me.

“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life. And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Amen.”

The prayer was over, but Stelson kept holding my hand. I don’t know how he got from that restaurant to Grand- momma Smith’s house in fifteen minutes flat, driving with one hand, but he did.

“Right there.” I pointed as we approached Grandmomma Smith’s frame house. There were already several cars parked along the curb near her house. The porch light was on, and her rocking chair sat empty. Any other night, her wheelchair would have been right next to the rickety rocker, and she would have been rocking in it. She did that sometimes until late in the evening, despite everybody’s warnings.

“LaShondra.” Daddy met me on the walkway, with Momma following behind him. He looked so small, so fragile. He’d obviously been running his hands through his salt-and- pepper hair and wiping his reddened eyes. The lines in his face seemed deeper, sunken.

“Oh, Daddy.” We embraced and, for the first time in my life, I felt myself holding my father up, keeping him from collapsing or losing himself. It was strange. I’d never seen my father “weak” in any form or fashion.

Grandmomma Smith was everything to my father. We all knew he was her favorite, and Momma had always known that Daddy was nothing but a big momma’s boy. Daddy bore down on me, and Stelson stood behind me, holding us both up.

Momma stood behind Daddy, patting him gently on the back. She looked at me, then at Stelson, then back again at me. I closed my eyes and hugged Daddy tighter.

Daddy was careful to steady his breathing before he rose up. In doing so, he finally noticed Stelson’s presence. His lip quivered as he asked, “Who’s he?”