Under the Peach Tree

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I give all of my thanks and the glory to God. This is the first of many great works God has given me that He had set out from the beginning for me to do. And who am I but just a sinner who God has looked down on and found favor? I thank you, Jesus! I thank you for bringing wonderful people into my life who have helped bring this book to life.

Like my best friend, Star. She has helped me with ideas and story plotting whenever I got stuck in the story. She's listened enthusiastically to every brainstorming moment and epiphany, especially the ones that came while she was watching TV or doing something important. She's kept me motivated by being my number one fan, for believing in my story when I began to second-guess. She promotes me and my book everywhere we go, like she is my spokesperson or personal cheerleader! LOL. If it weren't for God giving me such a supportive best friend, this book may have not been written.

I would also like to thank God for my mom and dad . . . and their genes. They had three talented, smart daughters who are inclined to write. If it had not been for my sisters Nikki's and Tisha's poems and stories, I would have not been inspired to be just like them and write. They were the girls who graduated top of their class, with published poems and beautiful writing skills. I hope that I can now encourage the both of them to continue writing, as they have done with me.

God has placed other people in my life who have helped me with this book deal. I'd like to give thanks to Renea Collins, author of
From the Extreme
and
I Repent,
who was kind enough to refer me to her editor, Joylynn M. Ross, so that I could pitch my book for a possible book deal. Joylynn, I thank you for believing in my book and taking it on as my editor, when I had been turned down by two other publishing companies. I want to thank Urban Books for publishing my first novel.

Many blessings to the people who I haven't mentioned who have helped me with this book in some way. I want to thank all of my supporters who are reading this book. I ask that Jesus allows this book to touch hearts all around the world, to deliver and minister to those in need, to break chains and generational curses, to heal past hurt or regret, and to allow forgiveness to manifest in the hearts of those reading. Thank you, Jesus! All glory to God!

I felt a presence behind me, or maybe I felt the wind blowing past. However, I turned around and saw Momma. She was much older than I remembered, with wrinkles swallowing her fragile face. It had only been ten years and yet her back was hunched over from working so hard. Instinct told me to run to her, take her in my arms, and hold her. It'd been years since I saw her face. However, I couldn't bring myself to hug a woman who never seemed to love me.

I smeared tears into my skin as I tried to wipe them away.
Faith.
I needed my sister. “Momma, where's Faith?”

The tree casted an eerie shadow over Momma's face as she slowly shook her head. I knew what she'd say even before the words slurred out of her mouth: “Faith is gone. She went to be with the Lord.”

The memory of an incident becomes faded with time. It's the pain that lingers, a venomous snake waiting for an opportunity to strike. I was sure that if my soul were visible, it'd have been masked with battle wounds. But I wore those scars proudly. They were reminders that I'd made it, that I was still making it. The devil was not successful in his pursuit to destroy me.

However, there was a time in my life where I would have said otherwise.

Even at the age of nine, I understood there was a favorable difference between me and my twin, Faith. Children shouldn't have to experience favoritism from their parents, but I did. Momma would always put Faith in the prettiest of dresses, brush her fine hair into a silky bun with a little ribbon, and get her toenails painted. Faith got to go to church with Grandma on Sundays while I stayed at home, nappy-headed and dirty from fighting the neighborhood boys. I didn't get the chance to know who Jesus was, but Faith did.

Maybe that's why Momma named her Faith and me Hope, because faith is greater than hope. Everyone has hope, but it's their faith that sees them through. Momma must've known early on that the lighter twin, who came first out of her womanhood, would be the good twin.

I remember the day when I realized the difference between the two of us. Faith was twirling in the living room, admiring her pretty pink dress as Momma combed through my naps. I watched her twirl, wishing I had a dress that pretty, wishing Momma would put my hair in that bun.

I looked at her black shiny dress shoes scuffing the wood floor. Faith's socks were white and pink with pretty ruffles at the top. She looked like a poster child from an Easter catalog. Momma always put her hair in a bun because it was too thick and curly to manage. My hair was too short and nappy for a bun, so all Momma would do was put it into a few pigtails and snap barrettes at the ends. My hair used to stick up each and every way; I remember the kids making fun of me for it. But Momma never cared about me; she'd still send me outside looking like a boy.

“Hope, watch how my dress puffs up when I twirl!” Faith said, demonstrating her perfect spin again. It reminded me of the ballerinas I watched on TV. I tried to jump up and twirl with her, but Momma snatched my hair and yanked my head back.

“Sit down, Hope!” she warned, her voice low and steady. It was the voice she used whenever a spanking was around the corner. The memory of my most recent butt whoopin' made my bottom sting. “I'm 'bout tired of you.”

Faith stopped twirling and took a seat on the couch. She was waiting for Grandma to come pick her up for church. Grandma usually came on time unless she was trying to look extra spiffy for the church folk. I once heard that everybody at the church tried to out-dress each other. Grandma used to think she was so fly but I always thought she looked casket ready. I once told her that and got smacked upside my head.

“Momma,” I said carefully, making sure my head didn't move an inch. I didn't want to get smacked with the brush. “Can I go to church with Faith today?”

“You don't got a dress.”

“I can wear one of Faith's dresses. She got a lot,” I said enthusiastically.

“You too chunky for her dresses. If you try to squeeze into it, them church men's gonna look at you the wrong way.”

I didn't understand what she meant. Yes, I was chunkier than Faith. Momma said I was already starting to develop at nine, but I fit in those dresses fine whenever Faith would let me play dress-up in her room.

“Can you buy me a pretty dress, then?”

Momma smirked. “So you can go to church and act a fool? No. Your grandma will only take one of you, the good twin. She said so herself.”

Her words stung but I knew she was right. Grandma didn't seem to like me as much as Faith. I folded my arms at the same time Faith did, and her face also fell to match my own, hurt.

Later that day, after Grandma picked up Faith for church, I went outside in a shirt and dirty jeans to play. Momma knew I was rough outside and didn't dare dress me in anything pretty. I fought too much. I had to. The neighborhood boys always picked on me. Faith said it was because they liked me, but I didn't believe that. They always said I was ugly.

I was sitting near my favorite peach tree, listening to the church choir sing. It was the typical white country church with white pillars, a big bell that sat on the roof, a white picket fence, and a cemetery in the backyard. I always wanted to see what was inside, but Momma would never let me go, and since I couldn't go, I just enjoyed it from the outside. I had a favorite song they would sing almost every Sunday. The church sat half a mile down the street, but in the country, loud noises traveled and fast.

“‘Nobody knows de trouble I've seen . . . nobody knows de trouble but Jesus!'” I didn't know who Jesus was, but they always sang about him. “‘Nobody knows de trouble I've seen, Glory Hallelujah!'”

“Shut yo' butt up, singing like you at church!”

I didn't have to turn around and look to know who stood behind me. It was Jordan and his four friends. I heard them snickering in the background. I finally turned around and met trouble with my head high.

“Well, one day I will sing at church and all you ugly boys gonna feel stupid,” I spat. They didn't scare me. Jordan still had the black eye I gave him a few days ago. Just remembering the butt whoopin' I got by my momma made me shiver, but I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Boys like him deserved to get beat up every day.

“No, you ain't, ugly. I heard my momma talkin' on the phone about how your grandmomma only takes the pretty twin to church to show off in front of them church folk! My momma said you can't go to church no how because the devil can't enter the holy place.”

The word “devil” triggered something deep inside, angering me beyond belief. I had been called the devil too many times in my life. I noticed a thick rock lying by the tree. I picked it up and threw it at his head. I smiled as the rock made impact with a loud thud. I sneered as Jordan fell to the ground, holding his head. “Don't nobody call me the devil except my momma!”

At the time, I didn't know that it was wrong even for Momma to say it.

 

 

“Here,” Faith said, handing me some ice for my cheek. She had changed out of her Sunday dress and set it on my bed. She started playing with her fingers the way she always did whenever she had something on her mind. “I heard Momma tell Grandma that she had to smack the mess out of you because you busted Jordan's head open, so I brought you some ice. What did he do to you, Hope?”

I placed the ice on my cheek, temporarily relieved. Momma had done a lot more than just smack me, but I didn't tell Faith that. “Jordan and his friends came messing with me today, talking about how I can't go to church because I'm the devil.” I paused, feeling sadness sweep over me. I heard Momma say it so many times but I didn't think other people would say it too. If everyone thought I was the devil, then it must've been true. “Faith, do you think I'm the devil?”

“No, Hope, you ain't the devil. You an angel,” Faith said. She sat down on my bed and began playing with the dress she set on my bed earlier. “The preacher at church always talking about the devil; said he was an angel that fell because he was really bad.”

“Well what did he fall off of?”

Faith laughed. “He fell from heaven, which is where God and all the good angels live. It's where you and me gonna go live one day.”

I thought about what she said for a moment and then turned to her. “Why would God let me go to heaven if Momma won't even let me go to church?”

“Well, the preacher said that God loves everybody.”

“Does that mean Momma don't love me?” I asked.

“No, Momma loves you, just in a different way than she loves me.” Faith was so sure of it and reminded me every day. Momma loved me, just differently. Well, even at nine years old I knew loving two kids unequally wasn't right. But there was nothing I could do about it except try to make Momma love me. I sighed, watching Faith set her pink dress in my lap. “Here, I wanna give you my new dress.”

I held back my tears, which was something I learned to do whenever I got picked on or whooped, and that was often. Momma whooped me at least two times a day. Sometimes I didn't even know what I did.

“But Momma just got this dress for you,” I said.

“I want you to have it. It's too big on me, and I think it will look prettier on you.”

I stood up and began undressing as quickly as I could. Faith always knew what to do to make me happy again. It's how it'd always been. I was always down and Faith would come along to pick me back up. Whenever those boys called me ugly, it was Faith who told me I was pretty. When my momma would call me fat, Faith would tell me I was the perfect size. Whenever Momma said I had nappy hair and wished my hair was like Faith's, my sister would tell me that there was no such thing as good or bad hair. Deep down, I always believed everyone else. Faith was just being nice to me. It's what sisters did. They looked out for each other.

After I had the dress on, I turned around to Faith so she could see. She examined me and smiled like I was the most beautiful person in the world.

“It looks so pretty on you!” she said, even though I couldn't zip it all the way up in the back. “You look like a baby doll! Do you wanna play momma and daughter?”

I nodded cheerfully. It was my favorite game because Faith always pretended to be the momma I always wished I had. Faith held me in her arms and kissed my sore cheek. “You're so pretty, baby. Momma's little girl. I love you so much!”

“I love you too, Momma!” I smiled and melted into my twin's arms.