The Retreat (17 page)

When Will awoke the next morning, he was free from the burden of his previous life. He ignored all the calls from home and from his boys. He was not sure what to do next, but this overwhelming feeling made him believe that nothing was out of the realm of possibility.

He went into the conference room where all the men had assembled. Will could not believe that all of these men had gotten up and gathered at five in the morning. The plan was to meet and then head back to Long Beach in an effort to make the eleven-thirty service at Greater Anointing.

“What size?” Brother Evans asked.

Brother Evans held up a black and gold T-shirt of two men side by side holding up the cross. Will pointed to a XXXL and threw the shirt over his shoulders as he had a seat. The men formed a circle around Pastor Dawkins, who paced around the circle in his T-shirt.

“God has certainly revealed a lot about who we are and where we are in relationship to Him. Now, this is usually the part where we go home and make vows to be better men. But I'm wondering, what can we do to sustain that transformation?” Pastor Dawkins asked rhetorically.

Will had learned that Pastor Dawkins liked to ask a lot of rhetorical questions.

“It is crucial that we make a long-term commitment to change. I am going to encourage you to form a bond with the men in this room because we are going to need each other and God in order to get to the next level.”

All the men clapped, and Will clapped with pride for Pastor Dawkins and for his new God.

 

Jamal always looked forward to returning to church on the Sunday of the Men's Retreat. As a tradition, the men who attended the Retreat would lead the congregation into praise and worship.

Sixty men of different walks of life filled the choir stand, and they shouted and praised God with their hands lifted and smiles on their faces. It was truly remarkable. The women certainly enjoyed watching their husbands, sons, relatives, and prospective suitors praise God.

“Oh, what a sight to behold. Men coming together to praise God,” Pastor Dawkins said as he approached the podium in his black and gold T-shirt.

His words were greeted with shouts and aggressive claps. Pastor Dawkins set his Bible and notes down on the podium. He looked back and saw the men in the choir stand still praising God.

“You don't have to stop on my account.” Pastor Dawkins walked away and the musicians revved up the music, allowing men to dance in their seats. Some started to dance on the floor right in front of the pulpit. Even the women in the congregation joined in on the praise as they started to fill the aisles and dance.

Pastor Dawkins then returned to the podium with a smile on his face, and leaned against the pulpit with the microphone in his hand. “All right now, I've got to eat at some point today.” Pastor Dawkins paused for a moment to laugh. He then turned to the men in the choir, who stood tall and proud. “You can be seated.” Pastor Dawkins turned back to face the congregation.

“As you can see, we had a marvelous time in the Lord this weekend, and He revealed some things in us that we needed to change. What's important to know is that God is always in the business of changing us. There is no condemnation for those who are in the Lord, what there is is an opportunity to become better and serve as a better example to others.”

Jamal scanned the congregation, and, to his surprise, Chantel was in the pews with Jamir sitting next to her. Chantel was not much of a churchgoer, but she did believe that religion was vital in a child's formative years, so she allowed Jamal to take Jamir every Sunday. Seeing Chantel in church without an invitation was a minor miracle.

“I would submit to you that the choice to become men or women of God lies ultimately in you,” Pastor Dawkins continued.

The congregation started to holler and shout. At the end of service, when altar call was announced, even Chantel and Jamir went down to the altar. Jamal went to stand beside Chantel and Jamir. He heard the prayer that he had wanted to hear for quite some time: the prayer of Chantel giving her life over to God.

When the prayer concluded, Chantel and Jamir both embraced Jamal. They felt like a family. This should've been Jamal's family, but maybe this was part of his punishment for betraying his best friend, to be close but to never actually be a family. Jamal recalled reading about this in Dante's Inferno. Though he could not remember the circle, he did remember reading about two lovers who could never be together. They were like tornadoes that bounced off each other. Jamal would not consider his situation hell, but he could empathize with the analogy.

“It's a blessing to see you here,” Jamal said to Chantel as they walked out of the church with a sleepy Jamir draped over his shoulders.

“Jamir and I missed you this weekend and we wanted to see you.” This was the first time that Chantel had ever included herself in the mix of Jamir and his longing to be with Jamal.

“My father is having a cookout today. I was wondering if you'd want to go.”

“I don't know. I might pass.”

Even before this week, Chantel and Jamal's father's relationship was so-so. Jamal could understand why Chantel would be apprehensive around his father, especially given the recent revelations.

“Come on, you know my pops can throw down on the barbeque. It will be fun, I promise.”

Chantel fidgeted for a moment, but a smile emerged. “Okay, let's go, but I don't want to stay long.”

 

On Sunday mornings, Otis could not be found in any church, but he could be found in front of his flat-screen TV, and if it was a beautiful, clear day, then he could be found in front of his barbeque pit. Otis would sacrifice slabs of ribs to the gods of good food. With a football game, good food, and friends from his job at Hudson Automotive, Jamal knew that his father felt like a king. The whole crowd gathered around the grill. Of course, Otis also took pleasure in poking fun at his Christian son.

“Go ahead and bless the food,” Otis said once most of the food had been prepared.

Jamal bowed his head and closed his eyes. “Father, in the name of Jesus—”

“Jesus weep, let's eat!” Otis started to hand his friends pieces of ribs from his tinfoil pan.

“Dad, don't disrespect God like that!” Jamal hissed.

“Ain't nobody disrespecting God. We just know that you pray long and we need to be considerate of the fact that people are hungry.”

By the time three pieces of ribs with hickory barbeque sauce were placed alongside Jamal's plate of potato salad and baked beans, Jamal had forgiven his father's offense. There was no sense in starting a fight. Jamal had had a great time at the Men's Retreat, and he had come to a decision that it would be in his best interest to accept the promotion. There were some positives to more money. Jamal maneuvered his second plate, and instead of his father putting on ribs, he glanced over Jamal's shoulder to where Chantel sat.

“So what? You done put an apron on my son now? What's wrong with your legs?” Otis asked.

“Dad, don't even start,” Jamal said.

“What you mean don't start? This is my house.”

“It's okay, Jamal, I'm not even hungry.” Chantel helped Jamir wipe his face as he devoured corn on the cob.

“See? She's not hungry.” Otis turned around and continued to pull meat from the flame and put it in the pan.

“What's wrong with you?” Jamal snapped ferociously.

“I should be asking you the same thing. Why are you still messing around with this slut?”

“Excuse me, I heard that!” Chantel replied.

“I wanted you to hear it!” Otis turned back and said.

“Hold on, hold on! Pops, you are crossing the line. She's a guest of mine.” Jamal was seething with anger at this point.

Otis tossed a towel over his shoulder and placed his hands on his hips. “You know, sometimes I wonder about you. I don't know about your religion or this silly little girl over here, but you're acting like a little girl. Man up!”

Rage flowed through Jamal's veins and his fist balled up. Jamal was at a crossroads between what his two fathers had taught him. His biological father taught him not to ever let another man disrespect him and to never run away from a fight. His Heavenly Father taught him to turn the other cheek. It was clear which ideology was winning out at the moment.

“What, you want to do something?” Otis turned off his grill and took off his towel with his fists balled. The standoff caught the attention of the other partygoers.

The tension drowned out the music and all the witty banter.

“Come on, Jamal, let's go.” Chantel took Jamal by the arm, and being aware of his frailty, Jamal decided to follow along.

“That's right, follow your little slut like the broad you are.” Otis waved Jamal on toward the direction of Chantel.

With all his fury, Jamal swung, vowing to hit anything on the other end of his fist. His fist found his father's rock-hard jaw, but even his jaw nearly shattered upon impact with Jamal's fist. Otis fell back and landed on his butt next to his barbeque pit. Otis was on the ground rubbing his jaw, shocked from what had just happened.

All Jamal could think of was how his father had better not get up, because all of those years of his father beating him over the head with his male propaganda had boiled over.

“You've lost your mind!” Otis jumped up and ran and tackled Jamal.

The wind got knocked out of Jamal as he wrestled to get distance between himself and his father. Several of his father's friends managed to separate Jamal and his father.

“Get out my house!” Otis said while being restrained.

“Gladly! Let me give you what you deserve. Because all you've ever done is hurt the people closest to you. You ain't no man, you're a fifty-year-old boy!”

“Daddy!”

Jamal turned around and saw Jamir with tears in his eyes. He became aware that his actions were reprehensible for his son to witness. He still had difficulties seeing Jamir as anyone other than his son.

“He ain't your daddy. Your mother was running around loose,” Otis yelled.

“Shut up!” both Jamal and Chantel said.

Jamal and Otis had calmed down enough for Otis to grant them safe passage out of his home. But the damage was done, and though Jamir was too young to understand, his ex-grand-father had just exposed him to the truth.

It was a typical Sunday after the Retreat. Quincy felt like the moment was on borrowed time. In his black and gold T-shirt, he sat at the dinner table as Karen cooked him a good meal. The salmon had been marinated and grilled. Karen looked really good, and he knew that she was going to put on a full-court press to win him back.

“You know, I used to love whenever you came home from the Retreat. You always had a glow and a swagger,” Karen complimented him.

“I always have swagger, ever since I first saw Sammy Davis Jr. perform,” Quincy said.

“Yeah, but the swagger God gives not even Sammy can match.”

He did not want to ruin the meal Karen had offered to cook him after church, but he did not feel the need to delay in getting to the real reason he'd accepted Karen's offer.

“I found out that it was Minister Jacobs,” Quincy said.

Karen put her head down in shame. “So that's it?”

“Karen, I forgive you for what you've done. I wasn't the best husband. But I cannot lie and say I've forgotten or I'm ready to move on.”

“I'm sorry. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to work this out,” Karen said with sincerity.

“I don't know that we can. All I know is that when I see you, I see your betrayal. But I haven't been a saint, either. I went to Vegas and had an affair.”

Quincy could not believe that Karen had the nerve to be upset over his admission to an affair.

“Who was she?” Karen's voice was feeble.

“Don't even try it. Don't even try to put me in the same category as you. I had sex with an escort. That's nothing more than high-priced masturbation. You actually formed a relationship with someone outside of your marriage. There's a difference.”

“I'm willing to forgive you; why can't you be willing to forgive me?”

It seemed so simple. We both cheated, so why don't we just start fresh and move on? But this was not something that Quincy could just overlook. He had been humiliated in front of other men at a Retreat. His pride had been destroyed; Quincy could not overlook this infraction. “I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm going through with the divorce.”

“What? But what about this weekend?”

“This weekend only showed me the truth. The truth is that you always came second to my business and I always came second to your ministers. I'm sorry for calling you a whore and for how I've treated you over the past week. You don't deserve that, but I'm too hurt to move on.”

Quincy got up and pushed his plate away. He then made his way toward the door.

“He had a vision,” Karen yelled.

Her statement stopped Quincy dead in his tracks. He turned to see a mixture of pain and anger on Karen's tearful face.

“Minister Jacobs had a vision that God was going to allow his testimony to change young men's lives. You built your vision without me even being in it. You just wanted me to show up to the appointed places at the appointed times to show me off, but I've never fit into your world.”

Maybe Karen was right. Quincy had developed tunnel vision, and during most of their marriage he'd run on autopilot. That still did not give her a reason to go down to a man of God to get a vision to stand behind.

“You were a part of my vision. I wanted to lay everything at your feet and I was willing to do it for as long as you would remain faithful to me.”

Quincy lost his stomach for combat. He now had a face of his wife's lover. Between him imagining the minister preaching against sin, and then turning around and sexing Karen up, at that moment Quincy couldn't stand to be in the same room with her. Neither could Karen, because she got up and walked out of the room. There was no attempt to go after Karen and bring her back. No romantic moment, just a husband who had submitted to the fact that his marriage was broken without prayer.