What a Sista Should Do (3 page)

Obviously, I was not clear when I said that the meeting would start promptly at 7:30 p.m., because I’m the only one here. I wipe some of the frost off of the window to see if anyone else has pulled into the church parking lot. So far my car is the only one, and after only a half hour it’s already covered with snow.

We probably won’t have much of a turnout tonight because the snow is really coming down. Some of these folk have been in Cleveland their whole lives and they still get excited about snow.

I had to adjust to this cold weather when I moved here from Atlanta. The very first winter that I was in Cleveland we had a blizzard that put about a foot of snow at my doorstep. I’d only seen snow maybe once or twice in my whole life. I cried every time I walked out of the door and almost crashed my husband’s new car trying to get to the grocery store.

When I met Luke, he was nineteen years old and traveling with his pastor. I was eighteen, fresh out of high school, and ready to face the world. At the time, I didn’t have any intentions of going to college, even though my mama begged me to attend Spelman. She never had the chance to attend college, but she’d always wanted to go. I was the exact opposite of Mama. I hated school, and only did just enough to earn my diploma. Besides, my daddy convinced me that I was pretty enough to get a rich husband and never have to work a day in my life. I believed him. All I wanted to do was find a good church boy, settle down and get married. And there Luke was, looking fine as wine.

I fell for Luke almost immediately, mostly because he didn’t sound country. He spoke so eloquently. He was attending Bible College. I knew he was going to end up being a pastor someday, and he will too, if Pastor Brown ever sits his old butt down and retires. Don’t get me wrong, I love Pastor Brown, but there comes a time when you have to pass on the mantle.

Anyway, Luke swept me right off my feet. We only courted for about a month before he asked me to marry him. Yes. It was a whirlwind romance, and I loved every second of it. Everyone back home said that it was too soon, but Luke said that God told him I was his wife.

We got married right in my pastor’s office. We didn’t even have rings to exchange, but I didn’t care. Who needed a cheap gold band or a big white wedding dress when I had the man right there in flesh and blood?

It came as a shock to me when Luke told me we were moving to Cleveland. For some reason, it had never occurred to me that Luke wouldn’t want to stay in the South. I objected to the move, and even threatened to divorce him, but Luke let me know in no uncertain terms that I belonged to him.

I remember screaming at the top of my lungs and wanting to go back to my mother’s house. Luke had continued packing our bags like he didn’t even hear me. I knew that I was acting like a little girl, but I threw an all-out tantrum. I started throwing dishes and knickknacks across the room. Luke continued right on ignoring me. I didn’t like being ignored, so I picked up one of Luke’s heavy textbooks and hurled it across the room, aiming for his head. He ducked out of the way in the nick of time, but I had certainly gotten his attention. But after I’d gotten it, I realized that I didn’t really want it.

Luke came across that room like a demon-possessed man. He grabbed me by my long hair and pulled me down to my knees. He slapped me three times across my face and told me to get it together.

Never in my life had I been hit by a man. My daddy hadn’t believed in whipping girls, although my mama had a different philosophy. I was afraid that I had opened a whole box of worms and that Luke would be hitting me for the rest of our marriage. I didn’t know what to do. I was terrified of leaving my family behind and going to a strange city where I knew no one, especially if my husband was gone be whipping me.

After a few hours passed by, Luke apologized for hitting me. He vowed to never do it again, and that was enough for me. I was to blame for his outburst anyway, and I promised myself that I wouldn’t ever push his buttons like that. In twenty years Luke has never again laid a hand on me.

Getting used to Cleveland was difficult for me. Since I didn’t have any friends, I got active in the church. Most of the girls my age were going to college or working, and they thought I was old-fashioned to be tied down to a husband at such a young age. Luke didn’t want me working, so I didn’t. I went out with the missionaries, visiting the sick and shut-in and praying with them. It didn’t bother me to be hanging around with a bunch of church mothers. The giggly, young, single sisters got on my last nerve anyhow.

Those church mothers imparted a lot of wisdom to me, and I believe that’s why my marriage has lasted this long, when it seems like everyone else is getting separated and divorced. I know what kind of work it takes to keep a marriage together. The sisters taught me how to clean my house until it sparkled. I already knew how to cook, and I made sure that Luke never came home without his dinner waiting on the table. And in the bedroom—well, let’s just say that I ain’t never had a headache.

Even now, after twenty years, I still serve my husband in the same way, and he loves and appreciates me for it. I keep myself looking good too. Some of these sisters in our church have one or two kids and just let themselves go. They get fat and lazy and then wonder why their husbands are stepping out on the side. I understand putting on a few pounds, but they have no excuse to be walking around nappy-headed. That’s why they make Dark & Lovely. I know my husband gets everything he needs at home. I’m not bragging either. It’s just what I know.

I see Sister Pam Lyons. It’s a good thing too, because in another five minutes I was going to head back home. I should’ve known that she’d be the first one to show up. That girl has more problems than anyone I know. She’s one of those career women. I told her that she needs to quit that job and stay home with her babies. It isn’t natural for a man to just let a woman take care of him, but her husband hasn’t had a job in over a year. Not a real job anyway. She says he’s a record producer, but I think he’s a dreamer. Don’t get me wrong, now, there is nothing wrong with dreaming. Not as long as you wake up and take some action. If you ask me, Mr. Lyons is just sleeping his life away, and Pam is nothing but a crutch. If he came to church other than on Easter and Mother’s Day, he just might get delivered.

Looks like Pam’s business suit is getting a bit snug. She’s either stressed or prospering, but I believe it’s stress. She’s been fighting that battle of the bulge for a while now; I hope she wins soon. I think she’s about one meal away from being plus-sized. She’s got a cute haircut, though, and some red highlights in all that curly hair of hers. I’ve never been bold enough to do anything like that to my hair. I like it long and I like it thick. Most of the time it’s just pulled back into a bun, but it’s a comfort to know it’s there.

“Praise the Lord, Sister Yvonne. I’m sorry I’m late. I had to feed my daughters when I got home today,” says Pam in a lackluster tone. She sounds tired.

“Hey, Pam! He’s worthy. Girl, you obviously aren’t the only one running a little late.”

Pam peers out the window. “Yes, I see. It’s probably the snow. Maybe we should’ve canceled.”

“Mmm-hmm. How are things going with you?”

Pam plops down into a seat. “I’m truly blessed, sis. I just got promoted at work. I answer to a vice president now.”

I clap my hands together. “Well, bless God! We need black women in strategic places in these companies. Maybe you can help someone get hired.”

Pam responds hesitantly, “Maybe so. If they’re qualified, of course.”

“Of course. Well, it looks like it’s just going to be us tonight. I was really hoping that Sister Taylor would come. She’s been looking kind of down lately.”

“Really? She’s never been to one of our meetings. Why did you think that she’d be here tonight?”

“I invited her. Sister Lang said that the girl didn’t even have enough money to buy her baby a winter coat.”

Pam looks as though she doesn’t believe me. But I happen to know that Sister Lang is a very good source who always double-checks her stories.

“Are you sure? I wonder why she didn’t mention it to anyone. I know somebody in the church has some hand-me-downs for little boys.”

I roll my eyes and respond, “Maybe she needs to get the child’s father involved.”

Pam waves both hands in the air. “Hey, that’s none of my business, Yvonne. I’m sure she has her reasons for what she’s doing.”

I don’t know what Pam is thinking, but as her sister in Christ I think it’s my duty to get involved. It’s what the Lord has called me to do. Some of these young women need guidance. Everyone knows that she refused to tell Pastor Brown about her partner in crime. She needs to be getting a check so she can buy that little boy what he needs.

“She needs help.”

“Well, if she doesn’t come to me on her own, all I can do is pray for her,” says Pam decidedly.

I have a response for Pam, but I keep it to myself, because Sister Rhoda Peterson and Sister Rochelle Andrews walk in. The two of them just come to the meetings to get the latest gossip. Most of the time, they’re the ones who bring all the news—good and bad. There’s a big difference between being concerned and being nosy. Being nosy is nothing but sin, plain and simple.

I greet them both. “Praise the Lord, Sister Peterson and Sister Andrews.”

“Praise him!” Rhoda replies. “You all are not going to believe where we’re coming from.”

I say, “We probably won’t believe it, but go ’head and tell us anyway.”

“We just left from Sister Barb Davis’ house,” Rochelle says gleefully. “She done put her husband out.”

“Out as in outdoors?” I ask.

Rhoda answers, “Out as in ‘get out of my house, you lazy fool.’ Out as in ‘hit the road, Jack, and don’t come back no more.’”

Pam gasps, “She can’t mean that! They’ve been married for ten years at least.”

“Twelve,” says Rhoda matter-of-factly. “And they were supposedly very happy.”

Rochelle adds, “Yeah, you know. Them be the ones.”

I don’t know if Pam notices, but to me it seems that Rhoda and Rochelle are just too excited about sharing their news. They ought to be ashamed of themselves. I happen to know for a fact that Barb and Percy were very happy. If Percy is cheating he’s nothing but a fool if I ever saw one. Rhoda and Rochelle are sitting over there looking tickled pink. I wonder if they even prayed with or for Sister Davis or any of the other church members about their marriages. What am I saying? I know they probably haven’t, but neither have I.

Pam says, “I know they’ll work things out. I’m sure of it.”

Rochelle chuckles. “If they don’t, I know quite a few empty beds that would welcome Percy Davis. Barb better be careful what she wishes for.”

Rhoda and Rochelle are the only ones laughing at Rochelle’s tasteless joke. They don’t even notice Sister Taylor lingering at the doorway. At first glimpse she looks like one of those girls in a rap video. Her clothes are fine—a jean skirt and a button-down blouse. It’s just that her body is a little bit too voluptuous for them. The girl has more curves than the law allows, and it seems like she got curvier after she had her baby. That jean skirt is hugging all kinds of hips and behind. I’m a little bit jealous. I could never fill out clothes like that with my bird legs and flat chest, although Luke never complained. I’m not sure what’s going on with Taylor’s hair. She’s got enough blonde hair weave on her head to give joy to about twenty ponytail-wearing wannabes. And don’t get me started on that makeup. No wonder she was late . . . she was at home putting her face on.

“Well, are you coming in?” I ask, drawing everyone’s attention to Taylor.

She answers, “Yes, Sister Yvonne. Thank you for inviting me. I thought you all had a big group. For a minute I thought I was at the wrong room.”

Pam grabs her hand. “We usually do have more in attendance, but you know how some people get when they see a little snow. Come on in and get comfortable. There are refreshments over there on the table.”

“Thank you.”

If you ask me, Taylor looks exhausted, but anyone could still see that she is a beautiful girl. She’s got big bags under her eyes, and she’s all slumped over. That’s probably why she’s wearing so much makeup. But no amount of face paint can disguise that kind of weariness. She doesn’t look like a twenty-six-year-old woman. I’m glad she decided to let us help her.

Rhoda and Rochelle calm down and take seats near me. It’s my guess that they really don’t want to miss what Taylor has to say, if anything. There’s a lot of stuff going around the church about Taylor and her son. I doubt that Taylor is going to give any answer to the rumors, though. To her credit, she has been really low-key during her whole ordeal. Some of these girls get pregnant and flaunt it—like it’s cute or something—but Taylor is different. She’s a quiet type.

“So has the meeting started?” Taylor asks. “Is there some type of formal discussion or something?”

“Not really. If someone has a prayer request, then we pray for her. If someone wants to share a struggle that she’s going through, we talk about that.”

“Oh, okay. Well, I’ll just sit back and listen for now.”

Since it’s obvious that Taylor is not about to spill her guts, Rhoda continues to give all the details on the Davises’ situation. It seems that she suspects that he’s cheating with one of the young single sisters in the church. Sister Davis doesn’t know who the mistress is, but she caught him talking on the telephone late at night. Apparently, when she picked up the phone, she heard a young woman’s voice.

Taylor shifts in her seat and concentrates on her cookies. Rhoda’s commentary appears to be disturbing her. At first I think that she may be Brother Davis’ mistress, but the expression on her face is not the least bit guilty. She looks quite peeved, to be exact. With every word that Rhoda speaks, Taylor’s eyebrows become more and more furrowed. Pam stares across the room, determined to not share in a gossiper’s sin.

When Rhoda is finished, I ask, “Sister Taylor, is there something bothering you? You look a little angry or irritated or something.”

Taylor looks up at everyone in the room. Her head moves in a slow semicircle, sizing up the women. I guess I look like I’m the ringleader, because she directs all of her anger at me.