This Place of Men (Chapters 1 - 5)
Chapter I
Sometimes he saw things when he drank. But that was only when he drank too much. He didn’t drink often, but sometimes he would become careless of his burden when he sat before a glass, and the one glass would become a full bottle until his head would fill and the visions would come.
They had been happening most of his adult life, the visions. They began to occur while he was in prison. They started as reflections he would have at night; then they transformed themselves into quick momentary sightings during the day until finally turning into resonant narratives that gripped him whenever he was inebriated. He wanted to tell people who looked at him when he was drunk that once, when he was younger, he had dreams. He had had dreams like every young man, but now he saw things, no dreams. And sometimes he even wondered if calling the images visions was appropriate, so he would have told them he simply saw things. That’s what he would have told them if he spoke to them, but he rarely spoke to anyone about his life.
Once he saw a man stumbling through an alley with his throat slit. It was one night while he was getting his dick sucked. At first he didn’t notice the man; he was watching the kid’s head going back and forth at his crotch. Probably some student from NYU whose parents didn’t know they had sent him all the way to New York to suck dicks.
It was the kid who saw the man first. He fell back against the wall and gasped, ‘Oh my God!’, his eyes wide with terror.
He turned to see what had startled him, and there he was. A man was stumbling, his hand to his throat. It was too dark to see the wound, but he saw the blood, like searching fingers down the front of the white shirt and he knew by the position of the man’s hand and by the hollow wheeze that rose through the closed hot alley what had happened.
The boy jumped up and ran from the alley, but he had stood for a second and assessed the matter. Then, realizing his own possible endangerment and the fact that the kid had run out without paying him, he too ran towards the street.
At least that’s what he thinks happened. He knew there was a man who stumbled through the alley, and he knew it had startled him and the boy, but he was never sure if the man’s throat had been cut. He never heard the sirens or saw the EMT racing to the alley as he stood a bit away, or the gathering of a crowd; in fact passersby moved across the entrance of the alley with no awareness of the assault. It was times like that when he would assume that what he saw had not really happened.
But all his visions were not so gruesome. Some of them would be pleasant. They would be of better times so long ago: sitting in his car, his arm around him, watching the tops of trees against the remaining light of day, neither one speaking; the soft lime glow of the radio dial against their faces. The low music, warming them in spite of the chill of a winter’s eve, and how they would talk of their love for each other. . . but at that point the silence would set in; it always set in, the dark, covering silence. And he would drink more to fill that silence, the darkness and the pain.
But today he wouldn’t drink much. In fact, he hadn’t drunk too much in the last few weeks in anticipation of his return. He knew he would need everything in tact for his return. So now he sat and looked out the window of the bar and assessed the changes of his hometown. It had been a long time since he left home, but now he was back. He had arrived in Cincinnati two days ago but hadn’t let anyone know he had returned except for his younger sister with whom he was staying. He chose to lay low because he knew he would have to account for the years away; and after all those years away people might want to know the reason for his return. The first deed wouldn’t be too difficult to explain. After all, everyone knew of the circumstances that drove him away. But it was the second question that would be hard to answer because he wasn’t sure why he returned.
He turned the glass that held his drink and watched as the amber liquid splashed against its sides. How many times over the years had he done that? How many times had he held the same thoughts that now crowded his head? He was tired of nursing drinks and memories. Things would be different now.
Raising the glass to his mouth he finished his drink with one swallow. Then rising from the bar, he turned and walked out onto the street. Yes. Things would be different now.
Chapter II
“Daddy, momma said you better git up an start gittin’ ready!” Abassi was calling at the top of his lungs and giggling into his father’s pillow that was playfully wrapped around his head. Suddenly tossing off the pillow, Terrell reached out and grabbed his son and wrestled him to the bed. Abassi screamed and kicked as he engaged in what had become a morning ritual. Terrell looked down at his son in the morning sunlight that shone through the window.
He knew he would miss them and their mother over the next few weeks. They were leaving for Atlanta for Karen’s family reunion. Terrell wasn’t able to leave just yet. He had to remain behind and oversee the budget for the construction of the new church.
“Daddy, when are you coming down?” Kenya asked as Terrell loaded the last piece of luggage in the car.
“In two weeks, baby.”
“Well, hurry up.”
Terrell laughed, “Yes ma’am.”
On the way to the airport, Karen went over last minute details. Her hands moved emphatically as she recounted the number at which she and the kids could be reached, the meals he should cook to make sure he ate well, and how to do laundry without fading the clothes. Terrell just smiled and nodded his head to her instructions.
At the gate, Terrell kissed Karen and the kids. “I’m gonna miss you,” he said as he held Karen to his chest.
“Me too. Just hurry up. Okay?”
“Okay.” Then he kissed them again before they boarded the plane.
“Bye Daddy!” Kenya and Abassi yelled as they pulled their mother along the walkway.
“Bye,” he waved.
The plane lifted to the sky as Terrell continued to wave his good-byes. After it had disappeared into the depth of the sky he stood a little longer, his face to the window, then he turned and made his way to the car.
The drive back to Mason wasn’t too long so he decided to kill a little time. He expected he’d make it back in time to receive Karen’s call letting him know they had made it to Atlanta. Then he would wait for the call from Bishop Abrams.
It was a hot, lazy day with a sun that sat white and high against a blue sky. He guided the car silently onto the streets of downtown Cincinnati where the sun shone bright and vigorous and heated the large buildings that seemed to push against the sky.
Next he drove to The West End where he watched a game of pick up basketball. At first he felt uneasy as he walked up to the court. He had never had the experience of playing basketball. He’d always felt he just wasn’t made for it. But he had always been astounded by the sheer grace and athleticism of the guys as they moved with quick starts and stops, sudden twists and turns and then sudden leaps, their dark lean bodies, like stilettos, jabbing the rim.
But soon he gained confidence and leaned against the link fence at the edge of the court, his fingers gripping the links. He could hear the grunts and the taunts of the players, and he could hear, almost feel, the contact of their bodies as they pressed at each other. One of the young men glanced over at him before turning on the heat, driving past his opponent and slamming the ball through the rim. The rim shook under the force of the dunk and the young man came down gracefully before springing backwards and pointing his finger triumphantly at the guy who had attempted to guard him.
Terrell laughed and shook the fence, “Woo!” The suddenness of his own voice startled even himself.
The young man looked at Terrell then broke into a wide grin as his dark brown face glistened under the sun. Terrell couldn’t help but grin back.
After a while, Terrell looked at his watch. He had been at the court longer than he thought, so he hurried to the car. As he got in the car he looked back at the court. The young man looked at him and raised his head slightly to bid him goodbye.
It was late when he arrived home. He pushed the key in the lock and just as he unlocked the door his cell phone rang. He answered it, “Hello?” He knew who it was.
“Where are you?”
“Home. Sorry Babe. It was such a beautiful day and all, so I just took my time getting back. Sorry.”
“I called the house twice and you weren’t there,” Karen said. Then she clicked her tongue. It was almost two hours since she and the kids had arrived at her parents’ home. “You know, you could at least be by the phone to find out if we made it okay.”
“I knew you’d be okay. I mean…” He stopped short as he realized he had no excuse for his behavior.
After a short silence, Karen spoke. “Terrell, for once, try to think about others. Okay?”
“What’re you talking about?”
She let out a sigh. “Never mind. Just be careful. You know there’s a lot going on out there these days.”
“Karen, please. Don’t start it.”
“Look. Let’s not get into this. I love you and I just become concerned sometimes.”
“I know Babe. And I love you too.”
“Then you might want to show it. That and a little responsibility. Try to focus on your family just for once, okay?”
Terrell didn’t respond. She always knew the right words to say to cut him short. They were words that she carried with her, words like sharp things she’d collected over their years together: pins, needles and glaring shards of glass that she would pull out at need and hold him hostage.
That said, she ended the conversation.
“Well I have to go now. Good bye.” The deed was done.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Terrell said.
This time she didn’t respond. She just hung up the phone.
He stood for a second with the phone in his hand. Then he laid it on the kitchen counter. Would she ever let go? This thing she held over his head. It was in the past. Way before he’d even met her. He was young and crazy then. Things change. He often wished he’d never told her about his past. But she wasn’t alone. Everyone who knew him, family and friends alike still had that look in their eyes that never seemed to go away. The shame they held for him always stood somewhere in their deepest stares and in the faintest sorrow their voices carried when they spoke to him. It never seemed to end.
Sitting down to the meal he had prepared, the one marked ‘Monday’ in bold letters, he began to eat his dinner. Then he placed his bible alongside his plate, opened it and began reading the first passage his eyes fell upon:
‘… seat two men, unprincipled men, near him, and have them testify, “You cursed God and the king,” and then take him out and stone him to death.’
After a while Terrell closed his bible and sat in the fading sun that moved to the corners of his den.
It was exactly eight o’clock when the bishop called. “How are you this evening, brother Mitchell?” He spoke in his usual manner, a tone deliberate in its compassion. Sometimes, when Terrell playfully imitated the minister for his wife he imagined the years of studied compassion to which some ministers must adjust. But he never told his wife of his musings. Though he jested about Bishop Abrams’ style, to demean him would be akin to heresy. After all, it was the bishop who had stood by his side and deflected Terrell’s detractors years ago when it was suggested that he was less than a victim of the incident. And it was Bishop Abrams who made sure the proper party received its just reward. From that time on the bishop influenced Terrell’s life, and his parents were grateful for the intervention. However, their were times when Terrell wanted to be out of the shadow of the powerful man, to remove the albatross from around his neck. But at the same time he was reminded of what he might have become if it hadn’t been for the bishop. And it was this gratitude that bound him to the man.
“I’m doing fine bishop.”
“How are Sister Mitchell and the kids doing? Oh yeah, they’re in Atlanta now, aren’t they?”
“Yes, they are. They left today. I talked with Karen this evening. She and the kids are staying at her parents’ and all are doing fine.”
“Give them my love. So have you straightened out the budget matter with the contractor yet?”
“Yes I have. Actually it was a trivial matter and they were more than willing to comply.”
“Well I’m sure that in dealing with you they had no choice.”
“We-l-l-l…”
“Come on now. Why do you think you’re managing this project?”
“Because I’m a penny pincher.”
“Well that too,” Bishop Abrams chuckled. “So what do you think of their work? I mean really think of it. I’ve seen some of their work and it looks good, but is it quality stuff? You know I do want a black-owned business constructing the church, but not at the expense of shabby craftsmanship. We want to raise the roof during services, not have it come down, you know.” The bishop laughed.
“I know what you mean,” Terrell chuckled. “But really, they’re good. They’re the ones who constructed Mission Baptist. They really did a good job with that. I think they’ll do us proud.”
The bishop hummed in agreement. “You got the ball on this. By the way, speaking of Thurman Brothers, I might need some occasional input from you and Karen concerning the Black Ministers Coalition and the Stanton Thurman race. It won’t take much of your time. I figure with Karen’s background in history and your financial background, we might just need some advice every now and then. Just to keep you two on notice in case we need you.”
Much of what Terrell knew of Stanton Thurman came from the construction deal, campaign ads and from what he’d read in the papers. He did know enough about him to know he shared many of the bishop’s political views. However, Terrell wasn’t sure if he wanted to be part of this campaign, if not because he hadn’t made up his mind whether or not he shared Thurman’s views, a fact that the bishop hadn’t taken into account, but of the fact that he was beginning to feel he was being pulled into a world in which he wasn’t sure he belonged.
“I’m not sure what I can do. But I’ll do my best.”
“That’s what we need. I’ll get back with you later this week to check on things. Give Sister Mitchell and the kids my love. Good night Brother Mitchell.”
“Good night Bishop.”
Chapter III
“So do you still love him?”
His sister’s question floated from the kitchen and coupled his shoulders in search of a reply and he knew, from the sincerity with which she spoke that she deserved an answer. He leaned forward on the railing of the balcony and watched the perfect evening that was growing around him. The sharp white day and stifling heat was now turning into a quiet warm sunset.
“What do you mean?” He spoke as he turned to face her.
“You know, do you love him - - at least a little?”
“Girl, don’t ask me any questions like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Because what?”
“Because I don’t feel like talkin’ ‘bout that,” he said as he turned back to the balcony. It had been years since the subject had been broached and years just to get over the feelings he held for him. So that now he’d just as soon leave that part of his past in the shadows.
“Oh. So let me get this right. So you just come back here after being away for twenty years and say you don’t feel like talking.” Courtney put down the head of lettuce she had been shredding and walked into the living room. “Has it occurred to you that this is the first time in my life that I can recall ever seeing you in person? I was only three years old when you left. All I ever saw of you for the past twenty years were photographs. So excuse me if I ask you questions.”
He stood silent for a moment before finally replying. “Yeah. You’re right.” He turned back around and leaned against the railing of the balcony. “And to answer your question... I really don’t know, y’know? It’s been twenty years. It ain’t about me and him no more. It’s about everything. It’s about being hurt… big time and spending the last twenty years of my life trying to sort it out.”
“Why didn’t you just come on home?”
“To what? A father who couldn’t look me in the eye? And Mama. All the time fighting to make people respect me. She couldn’t force anybody to respect me. Everybody hated me. Nah,” he said, shaking his head.
“Or we could’ve gone up to see you. Me and Mama were always trying to get you to let us come up.”
“I couldn’t let y’all see me that way.”
“What way?”
“I had it rough when I first got to New York. No, I couldn’t let y’all see me that way.”
“But twenty years?” Then she sighed, “Well, whatever the case, I’m just glad you finally came home.” She spoke as she walked over to her brother and hugged his tall, athletic form. “And I’m sure everybody else will be too. But you know what’s scaring me about all this? The silence. It’s the silence that scares me.”
His dark complexion deepened even more as he stared into the space before him, “Everything’ll be alright,” he mumbled as he stroked his sister’s hair.
* * * *
That night he lay awake and stared at the ceiling. He reflected on his conversation with his sister. She was right; there were a lot of questions to be asked. But he had survived for so long by avoiding questions that now answers didn’t come easy.
She just didn’t know what he’d been through, the true nature of his agony. She didn’t understand that the pain hadn’t ended upon his release from prison; it simply took on a new face. That was why he didn’t come home after his release. He didn’t know what to do with all the pain and he wasn’t about to put any of it on his family. They had been through enough. So instead of returning home he headed for New York.
He recalled the day he arrived in New York City; his mix of fear and anticipation as he stepped off the bus in Port Authority. He looked around the huge terminal at all the faces that seemed to have someplace to go and he wondered what would be his next move. He knew that outside of the terminal was his chance to make things right, but he had no plans on how to make it all happen.
He took the escalator up a few flights and got off in the main lobby of the terminal. The sheer size of the building was fascinating. He looked across the lobby, past all the people and the indoor shops, at the doors that led outside and wondered which one he should walk through. He knew that one of them would lead him to a better life, while the others…
Finally, he gathered his meager belongings and took a chance. He stepped through one of the doors and found himself standing outside. The dizzying rush of people and the din of the mid-town traffic immediately overwhelmed him, so he stood for a moment and gathered his senses. He didn’t know which way to go, so he took a deep breath and stepped into the currents and became washed along the shores.
No, Courtney couldn’t know of these things. He would never let her know. She would never know how it felt to sleep on benches, to go for days on paltry handouts of food, to feel so much grime on your skin until it cut through the flesh. She would never know how it felt to hide with shame from condescending glances, to hear the cries of the insane or to fall into the scope of predators.
“… You must work out…”
“…I used to…”
“…You ever play football?...”
“…Mm hm…”
(A tug at the waist. The sound of a belt buckle.)
“…Nah man. I don’t wanna get undressed…”
“…Just a little bit. Come on…”
(The sound of a zipper. He closes his eyes)
Those were memories he’d rather forget. He didn’t need any answers. He just needed to forget.
The next morning he sat in the living room and looked out the balcony window. Courtney had left for work but not before stopping by his room to check on him. He had told her everything was all right; and now he sat with the phone book in his lap. He knew time was running out, that soon he would have to return to New York.
His hand moved with slight hesitation as he fingered the light sheets of the phone book, each page creating a soft swishing sound as they passed his view. Then the name came to him. It rose lightly from the page of the phone book and floated, airily, before his eyes causing the mists of memory to lift. A breath of relief escaped his mouth as he realized he had taken that step into the past, that he was going even deeper along the journey he dreaded most.
“Terrell.” He whispered with disbelief as if he’d never expected to see the name again. Then he stared off into the distant morning. He wasn’t sure how he felt about seeing Terrell’s name. At times he despised him, and at times he still cared for him.
Picking up the tablet and a pen, he scribbled down the information. Then, laying the instruments aside, he stood and walked across the living room to a point far from where he had been sitting. There he stood in the cool shadow of the room as if the glare of his past was too much to bear.
Sometimes he frightened himself with his attachment to his past. He wanted to leave it alone, but like a wounded animal it always returned to its home in search of nurturing. Yet unlike an animal, mortally wounded, it never died. He was often unsure about how he would treat the elements of his past if he ever came in contact with them again. That is what frightened him most. But that fear wasn’t enough to overshadow his need for resolution, and that need to end his nightmares is what now took him from the shadows back to the phone book as he whisked through another set of pages. Another name:
Abrams, Walter, Bishop
Chapter IV
“So while the cat’s away the mice will play.”
“What?” Terrell looked at Harlan who had come into his office and had securely closed the door.
“You know. You are a single man. Well at least for the next couple of weeks.”
“Harlan, I’m not a single man; my wife’s out of town. That’s all.”
“Well call it what you want. But look, you gotta make the best of it while you can.”
Terrell smiled and shook his head.
Harlan looked around Terrell’s office, “What? She got spies lurking around here?”
“Man, whatever.”
“So you gonna go out with us for a few drinks after work?”
“On a Wednesday?”
“On a Wednesday?” Harlan mocked as he walked across the office. He was short and had a dark complexion; and with his shaved head and bowed legs, he looked like a panther cub. “Hell yeah. Who says we have to wait until Friday to go out for a couple of drinks. Come on, bruh,” he said as he punched Terrell’s chest.
“I can’t. I got a meeting tonight.”
“Oh yeah.” Harlan spoke incredulously.
“No, really.”
“What time?”
“Seven-thirty.”
“Man you can still make that. Now say yeah so I can win this bet.”
Terrell laughed, “That figures. Yeah. Tell the Nubians yeah, I’ll step out with them tonight. But only for a moment.”
“Cool.” Harlan turned and headed for the door.
“And since you just won a bet, the drinks are on you,” Terrell advised.
“Damn. Me and my big mouth. See you at five.”
Terrell and his colleagues arrived at Donny’s where they took a table out on the patio.
“I got first round,” Melvin said as he waved his large hand in a sweeping motion. “Whatcha havin’?”
“CC and seven.” Jasper was quick to order as he loosened his tie from his skinny neck.
“Damn boy. Slow down,” Harlan jokingly reprimanded. “I’ll have a gin and tonic,” he said.
“Terrell?” Melvin asked.
“A coke.”
They all looked at Terrell with exasperation.
“I have a meeting. What can I say?”
“He’ll make up for it on Friday. Right?” Harlan looked at Terrell for agreement.
“Yeah. I guess so.”
The other three rolled their eyes and laughed.
Melvin leaned slightly over the table and tapped his pointer finger on its top, “She got you on a chain my brotha.”
“Let’s not start that again,” Terrell moaned.
“She does,” Melvin persisted.
“How do you know it’s Karen? Maybe it’s just that I like spending time with my family.”
“Oh, oh, oh,” the other three called out.
“So now you’re trying to say we don’t like to spend time with our families.” Jasper cocked his head a bit as he spoke.
“Nah, nah. I’m just saying I tend to do most of my socializing with my family and my church. I never did do much hangin’.”
“Not even as a young buck?” Harlan asked.
“Nope.”
“Now you know we don’t believe that.”
“So just how did you live your buck years? I never hear you talk about nobody but Karen. I mean she’s a down sister. Don’t get me wrong. But she’s not the first one is she?” Melvin grinned.
“Wait, wait. This ain’t no high school truth or dare. I came out tonight to hang with y’all and you givin’ me the tenth degree. Now what’s up with that?”
The other three men looked at each other.
“You’re just so sneaky, man; but not in the bad way.” Jasper said.
“Private.” Melvin corrected.
Terrell turned his head from Melvin to Jasper, then back again. “Privacy’s good. Or haven’t the two of you learned that?”
“You’re right,” Harlan spoke up. “Ain’t none of our damn business. I mean, why do I wanna know about his younger years anyway? I got mine on. That’s all that matters to me.”
“And that is all that matters,” Terrell chuckled.
Melvin and Jasper looked at each other.
“Hey. It’s cool with us- - that you used to sleep with dogs.” Melvin kidded. Then they all burst into laughter.
“So look, you know they’re asking where we go when we hang out.” Jasper said, changing the subject.
“Like who?” Terrell asked.
“Matt, Leonard.”
“Yeah. Even Mr. Bartlett made some comment last week,” Melvin said.
“What did he say?” Harlan asked.
“You guys going to hang out again this evening?”
“I told him ‘yeah’. I wanted to say, ‘why’? Nat Turner’s dead. We ain’t gonna burn this firm down. Relax. Shit.”
They all laughed.
“So that means we really gotta go out Friday. Drive ‘em crazy,” Terrell said.
“It’s on.” They all laughed and hit their fists together.
In a while, Terrell looked at his watch. “Hey look y’all. I gotta make it. Got that meeting.”
“Yeah, I gotta head on out too,” Melvin said as he glanced at his watch.
“Got you on that chain, huh?” Terrell laughed.
“Ahhh…” Harlan and Jasper laughed as they pointed at Melvin.
“Yeahh,” Melvin sighed.
* * * *
Terrell arrived a bit early at the church. He tapped on the bishop’s office door. “Hold on,” he heard the bishop say to someone.
“Come on in,” the bishop called through the door.
Terrell stuck his head in the office and saw that the bishop was on the phone. “I’ll just sit out here until you’re finished,” he whispered.
The bishop winked and nodded his head.
Then Terrell walked back into the sanctuary. It was quiet. Charles, the janitor, had finished for the evening and had taken off. Soon choir members would be arriving for Wednesday practice. Terrell never understood why Charles cleaned the church before choir rehearsal instead of afterwards. He assumed it was because rehearsal ended so late; but with Charles there was no telling. He looked at the rows of empty pews, and in his mind’s eye he saw the faces of the congregation: Mother Abrams, Deacon Morliss, his own parents, and many others. He also saw the years he’d spent at Savior’s Temple. This church, this place of worship, was all he’d ever known. It was home and the faces that had come and gone over the years would always be his family. Then, for reasons he couldn’t explain, his mind began to drift back until it settled on a particular evening twenty years ago when he had stood in the same spot; only that time the feelings were different.
Savior’s Temple had always seemed like a large church to him, full of love and warmth; and of laughter and fiery sermons meant to extol the spirit. But it had never seemed so cold as it had that evening as Terrell sat alone in the sanctuary waiting to be summoned to the bishop’s office. He looked around at the stained glass windows that radiated from the pristine walls of off white and he breathed in the warm scent of the wooden pews that shone dark and polished. All the years of his life had been spent in there, from his christening through his baptism and he’d always had fond memories of being a part of the church family until now. Now his place in the family was being called into question and his standing in the eyes of God suspect. He had been told that he was an abomination, though he didn’t feel like one. All he knew was he was in love. He remembered how he had just wanted everyone to leave him alone. He recalled looking up at the painting of a compassionate Christ that looked at him from a radiant nimbus, and wondered why God made him if He knew it would be like this?
His thoughts were interrupted by the bishop. “Brother Mitchell, come on into the office.” He spoke just the way he had at that moment twenty years ago.
“You were a bit early.”
“I know. I called myself beating the traffic and must have beat myself as well.”
Bishop Abrams laughed. Then he looked at the clock on his desk. “Actually, you’re still a little early because Stanton called and said he’d be running a bit late.” Then he motioned for Terrell to sit.
“Oh. Okay.”
“I was talking to Bishop Clemmons up in Detroit. We were thinking of holding a convention here sometime this year.”
“Where?”
“Hopefully the convention center.”
“That’s cutting it kind of close bishop. I’m sure it’s going to take at least six months to get everything moving.”
“That’s what I was telling Bishop Clemmons, but he’s persistent.”
“Next year, maybe spring or summer, would be more feasible.”
“I agree. By then we’ll have the new church finished and can host some of the convention there.”
Terrell nodded his head.
“I would like to telecast portions to those members of the organization that might not be able to make it,” the bishop continued.
Again, Terrell nodded in agreement, “That’s an idea. We’ll have to start making arrangements to do that.”
“I know. And that’s part of the reason you, me and Stanton are meeting tonight. You see, I would like to build a production and telecasting facility in the new church.”
Terrell raised his eyebrows which caused Bishop Abrams to grin, his hazel eyes sparkling. “It can be done.”
“Yessir. But so late in the game...”
“It’s never too late. I’ve already run it past Stanton and he says it can be done.”
“So I just have to go over the budget to see where to get the money.”
The bishop smiled and nodded his head. “We’ll be the talk of the town. Probably the talk of the nation with an on site state-of-the-art production and telecasting facility. Some white churches have things like that; but I don’t know of any black churches that have that.”
Terrell rubbed his chin, “We got a lot of planning to do.”
“I’ll say.” Again, the bishop grinned.
The sound of a door opening came from the sanctuary.
“That must be Stanton.”
Stanton came up the steps and walked briskly into the office. He was a tall husky man with a striking face and unusually smooth skin for someone who was in his mid-fifties.
“Hi bishop, Terrell.” He spoke from gleaming white teeth.
“Hi Stanton.” They both spoke as they shook his hand.
“I was just telling Terrell about our conversation about the production and telecast facility.”
“Yeah. It can happen. No problem,” Stanton spoke in his baritone voice as he settled in the chair next to Terrell.
“So how much is all this going to cost?” Terrell asked.
“I’m not gonna lie. A lot.”
“But it’s an investment. We can recoup the money sooner than you think.” The bishop joined in.
Stanton measured Terrell’s response, which was one of silence. Then he pulled out the paper work. “I’ve already started checking into possible suppliers. Surprisingly, there’s quite a few here in town.”
“But are they the best?” The bishop inquired.
“Now that’s what I’ll have to find out. I’ve already enlisted the services of someone who knows a lot about that stuff. We’ll go over each respondent with a fine tooth comb.” He shuffled through the papers and laid a folder on top of the pile. “Now here is a rough draft of the RFP.” He said this while distributing copies to the bishop and Terrell. “I figure we can start looking it over and Terrell, you can make notations regarding cost… and anything else you might see.”
“Bishop, you don’t think we’re moving a little too fast, do you?”
The bishop took off his glasses and gave Terrell a stern look. “If you’re talking about running it past the board, it’s no problem. You know they’ll see it my way. Anyway, who in the world would deny that this is what we need to expand our reach,” he said as he put his glasses back on his nose. “Now let’s get going with this fellas.”
It was nine-o’clock when they finished the meeting.
“Look, you two go ahead,” the bishop said. “I have to make one other phone call to L.A. I have to get all my work out the way before I leave here. Mother Abrams becomes quite bothered when I take work home,” he chuckled.
Terrell and Stanton bade the bishop good night and headed outside.
“You can probably tell the bishop is adamant about this project.” Stanton said. They stood by Terrell’s car.
“Yeah.”
“There’s a reason for that, you know. You see, Bishop Abrams is getting old. And he knows it’s just a matter of time before some young minister, standing in the wings, will replace him. I mean, hell, I’m sure you’ve probably heard the rumblings yourself. ‘He’s too old,’ We need somebody who can reach out to the younger crowd’. Hell they’re probably even complaining about the type of music he prefers to have played. But Mahalia’s gone. And so is James Cleveland. It’s a brand new day. Everybody knows that- - even Bishop Abrams. So he just wants to do this one last thing, to leave his mark.”
“Yeah. And I guess what happened at Zion doesn’t make the bishop feel too comfortable,” Terrell agreed.
“Yeah. Had the sheriff’s department come in and move ol’ Reverend Smallwood from the church. His own congregation. Now you know that’s sad.”
“Yeah. So I guess we gotta make this happen, huh?”
“I think so, man,” Stanton said as he nodded his head. Then he looked at his gold watch, “Well look, I better get goin’. Let’s try not to let the bishop down, okay?” He shook Terrell’s shoulder, then walked to his car. “Oh, and Terrell, I hear you might be interested in helping with my run for city council.”
“Well, I said I’d think about it.”
“Well, I hope you decide to. We could use your talents. Talk at you later.” Then he disappeared into the large black sedan and drove off into the night.
Chapter V
The sight of The Crutchfield Motel was a forewarning of what he would see upon his return home. The abandoned motel, with its modern angles, rose like a ghost ship out of a sea of abandoned cars that covered the lot; a bleak greeting to visitors as they crossed the city limits. He remembered when the motel was a place of constant activity, dubious, but alive. But now it sat quiet and served as an echo of its former self.
Turning off Shepherd Lane, he headed for Steffens Street, which was once the center of town, and saw that it too had fallen. He remembered when he used to sit along the curbs or on top of cars with his buddies and drink sodas while watching the busy traffic there and coming on to the girls who passed by in tight bell bottoms and sporting large afros that shimmered in the sun from an abundance of Afro Sheen, and a smile traveled across his face because he knew that regardless of the changes that had taken place over the twenty years he was away, Lincoln Heights would always be home.
He was never quite sure of the history of Lincoln Heights. He knew when it came to be, around nineteen forty-seven, but he wasn’t sure how it came to be or why. He’d heard that it had started as a company town for the defense plant just east of the city and that when the war ended the black folks who had settled there to work in the plant remained. But he was never sure. All he was sure of was the memories of growing up in a town with all black faces; and that was special enough for him.
The sky was gray and hung low the day Otis returned home; so low that it seemed to rest on top of the small houses that lined Jackson Street. He pulled into the driveway of the one floor house he grew up in and sat for a moment in the car. He didn’t remember the house being as small as it now appeared. A new roof and fresh siding covered the outside and thermal windows had replaced the old ones; but other than that, little had changed. Even one of his father’s dump trucks was parked to one side of the narrow driveway the way he used to park years ago. It was as if his parents had been holding everything at bay until he returned.
As he walked up to the door he heard his mother’s voice come from inside, “Lord, Jesus!” then the front door swung open and she grabbed him round the neck and began to sob uncontrollably, “Thank you Lord, Thank you Lord!”
Otis was overcome by his mother’s tears and began to cry as well; and for the first time since he left he felt a real sense of guilt.
After a while, his mother loosened her embrace and took him by the hand where she led him into the living room. She turned on a lamp and looked at him, her eyes moving over his face, “Sometimes I wondered if I would ever see my child again, Lord. But you knew, you knew.” Then she began to cry again.
Otis put his long arms around her shoulders, “It’s alright Ma. It’s alright.” He rocked her and rubbed her shoulders. The plumpness of her body brought back memories of her warmth and the guilt in him rose even more.
Finally his mother looked up at him and smiled. Then she shook her head. “When you called me last night and told me you were here I almost fainted. I just couldn’t believe it. But Lord, here you are. My child is home.” She stood there for a while longer and assessed him. He wanted to hide his face, unsure of what damage the years had done. Then she hooked her arm in his, “Come on. Let me get you somethin’ to eat” and led him to the kitchen.
Otis watched his mother as she sat a plate in front of him. “Where is everybody?”
“It’s just me, your daddy and Munny. Jun lives in Paddock Hills.”
“Paddock Hills?”
“Mm hm. Got a nice home there. And Dana lives in Pleasant Ridge.”
“Well alright.” He spoke in a lukewarm tone.
“Daddy ain’t in yet?” Though he asked about his father, his anticipation of him was lessened by memories of how his father had treated him while he was going through his ordeal. When the accusations arose and the incident came to light, his father had hardened like the after-thought of a transgression, never looking his son in the eye, even rarely standing in the same room as him. Conversation with his son had diminished; terse replies, done only in passing, and grunts of disapproval became common. For any needful communication he employed his beleaguered wife as emissary. Even during the sentencing his father had fixed his eyes straight ahead and did not look at him.
The years had softened his anger towards his father, but the darkness remained.
“No. Munny ain’t either,” his mother added. “They usually come in around the same time. Munny works at Ford. Been there seventeen years.”
“And still living at home, huh? She just won’t leave y’all’s side, will she?”
His mother poured some punch into the glass in front of him and then into one that sat alongside her own plate. “No. Munny is still Munny. Gonna be no matter what happens,” she said as she seated herself. “She and your father should be comin’ in soon.”
She looked in Otis’ face once again. Then she smiled and put her hand on top of his, “You really look good. I know you sent pictures over the years, but seeing you is better than pictures any ol’ day. A mother’s got to see her child grow.”
Otis gave a weak smile, “Yes ma’am.”
“Sometimes I would take all the pictures you sent me over the years; and I would lay them out across the table here, and I would just look at them trying to keep up with you. And I would see the changes,” she grinned as she waved a finger, “but I needed to see you.”
“I wanted to see you too.” He looked at his mother’s expression and saw the questions behind her eyes. “I just had too much going on.”
“But ain’t that what life’s all about, Otis? Things going on?”
“Yeah. But I didn’t know what to do about it. There was so much happening in my mind that I just wanted to get away.” He paused, and looked down at his plate, “To tell you the truth, I was ashamed.”
“Ashamed? Look I know what you did… what happened back then was on everybody’s lips, but so what? Wasn’t any of them gonna live your life for you, so why should you care what people think?”
“Ma, that’s easy to say until the shoe’s on the other foot.”
“Mm, mm, mm. Boy, you act like you the only one with problems.” Then she waved her hand towards him, “Eat.”
A slight smile came to Otis’ lips as he watched his mother. She had always been easy to talk to. She was perceptive and wise beyond words; and she had always been one to limit judgment because she realized that no one could possibly know everything. She had always been that way. She had even been that way that night years ago when she questioned him about Terrell.
The two of them had been sitting on the patio. It was a warm night and the air was still; the sound of crickets rose from the grass and mixed with the sound of the radio that drifted from the kitchen. He wasn’t sure why he had come to the patio at that time, but something seemed to summon him. He found his mother strangely silent that night as she sat and gently rocked in one of the patio chairs. She was so quiet that it made him uncomfortable. Suddenly she spoke, “Your friend ain’t called here in a while.”
Her words startled him. “Ma’am?”
“Your friend,” she repeated, “That boy who’s always callin’ here.”
Otis’ eyes widened. He had no idea his mother paid any attention to Terrell’s phone calls. He stared at her for a bit; her profile, dark in the night, framed by the light from the back door, the light that spilled out onto the patio, and he licked his lips, “We… we ain’t that close no more.”
“Why not?”
“We kinda had a fallin’ out.”
“Mmh. That’s too bad. Seems like y’all were close,” she said as she continued to look past him.
Otis lowered his eyes to the ground.
For a while, neither of them spoke. Then his mother moved her large, sturdy hands across her full thighs, smoothing the soft fabric of her dress. “Is that the reason you been so moody lately?”
He remained silent.
Finally her hands came to rest in her lap, one covering the other.
“Then she lifted her dark face a bit and looked out into the night, “He’s special to you, ain’t he?”
Still, Otis couldn’t reply. His eyes continued to stare at the ground. He moved his mouth, but nothing came out. He gave one more attempt. This time a sound came, “Ma?” And again his voice left him.
“He’s special to you in that way. I can tell. How long y’all been knowin’ each other?”
“Ma…”
“Otis.”
“Eight months.”
His mother expelled a short breath and clasped her hands.
Otis looked at her, “I’m sorry, Ma.”
“Well, sorry ain’t gonna help nothin’ is it?” Then she turned to him, “And you might as well hold that head up. ‘cause looks like you gonna have to do that a lot.”
Otis raised his head slightly, but he still couldn’t bring himself to look at her.
Then she continued, “Is he the only one?”
“Ma…”
“Boy will you stop callin’ me? Now I asked you a question. Is he the only one?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Then why, Otis? Why you wanna start actin’ that way?”
Otis blew a sharp breath as he moved his head side to side, “Ma I ain’t startin’ to act that way. I always been this way.”
“No you haven’t. I know my child.”
“Yes I have, Ma. I just ain’t never told nobody.” Then he calmed his breath, ‘It’s true. I always been that way. When I was the little bad ass kid on the block I was that way. When I was hangin’ with my cats.” Then his voice softened, “Even when I was with Tangey.” Then he fixed his eyes on his mother, “And all the times we laughed and talked, Ma… I was that way.”
His mother closed her eyes as if she needed a respite from the truth. Then after a short while she slowly opened them. “Your father never wanted me to work. Always said I should stay home with the kids. But I wanted somethin’ more for the family.”
“Ma that ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.”
His mother just shook her head. Then she loosened her hands and placed them palms down on her thighs. She looked out into the night. “I done been around. And I’ve known some people like that. Homosexual. They all said they didn’t choose to be that way. And I kinda believe ‘em. Ain’t nobody in they right mind would choose such a hard life. Everybody hatin’ ‘em and all.” Finally she sighed, “But I never thought the Lord would visit this on my family.”
Otis sat back hard in his chair. It seemed despondency was becoming his attendant in life.
His mother continued, “You know, a part of me wanna say I wish this wasn’t happenin’. But if I do that, then it’s like wishin’ you away. And I don’t wanna do that. You’re my child and I love you. That’s all I know. That’s all I’m supposed to know. But baby, I can tell you, you have some rough times ahead of you. You know that don’t you?”
Otis didn’t answer.
“Now I ain’t tellin’ you to live that kind of life. That’s between you and the Lord. Who knows? Maybe it is okay bein’ that way. I don’t know. Only He knows. But all I can tell you is you gotta keep livin’ the best you can. Keep your head up and your eyes on the Lord. Listen to Him. And you know that you can always count on me to be there for you. ‘cause I know my child. And I know he’s a good person.”
Otis sat for a while and took in his mother’s blessing. Then he leaned forward and folded his hands, “Yes ma’am. Ma? I know you probably don’t wanna hear this, but Terrell is a nice guy. We been good to each other.”
“I believe that. He seems like a nice boy.”
“And what I’m sayin’ is- - Ma, I love him.”
“I believe that too.” Then she got up and started towards the house. “And I love you too.”
She had always been there for him, and now he felt as if he had betrayed her. How could he have hurt her all those years?
Suddenly, the sound of a car was heard.
“That must be your father. I can tell his car anywhere. He said he was goin’ to let Big John take over for the rest of the day.”
His father came through the door, “Where my boy! Where my boy!” He was laughing as he made his way through the living room.
“Right here, Daddy!”
The two of them rushed into each other’s arms and held one another tight. At first the contact of his father’s body frightened him; it frightened him because the years of anger had warned against ever getting close to him again. But he calmed himself and held onto the man.
His father stood there in silence, but Otis could hear him through his body and his embrace.
“What took you so long?” his father finally whispered, he tightened his embrace. When he finally let go he stood back and shook his head. His eyes were moist, “Boy…”
Otis looked in his father’s face and saw the subtle changes that had come over the years. The pictures his mother would send him were descriptions of the family; but they weren’t able to speak of feelings, ever so slight, almost unnoticeable.
“I’m just glad to be home,” Otis smiled.
“You?” His father laughed as he slapped his son heavily across the shoulder.
“Clarence. Look at all that dirt you trackin’ across my floor.” Otis’ mother interrupted as she went over to the utility closet and retrieved a mop.
“See? Some things just never change,” Otis’ father laughed.
“Yup.”
“Let me go and wash up. You stayin’ for dinner?”
“Not tonight. I told Courtney I would pick her up when she got off from work. But I’m gonna come over tomorrow and spend the night.”
“Well stick around for a little bit.” With that, his father left the kitchen and headed down the hall to clean up.
“This is the happiest I seen your father in years,” Otis’ mother said, glancing uneasily at him as she splashed a little water from a glass onto the floor.
“Here, let me do that Ma.” Otis took the glass and mop from his mother and began mopping the floor. He didn’t have an answer for her. It wasn’t that he refused to give her an answer, he simply had none.
At that moment the back door opened and his sister walked in. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen holding her lunch box and looked at Otis.
With her caramel complexion, short hair and strong jaw, she looked very much like her mother’s father in some of the family photos Otis had seen.
“Munny.” Otis greeted through the years that had gone before them.
She smiled and walked over to her brother and put her arms around him. “Good to see you.” Her embrace was lax and her voice lukewarm.
“You too. It’s been a long time little sis.”
“Yeah.”
“Otis is comin’ over for dinner tomorrow and he’s gonna spend the night.” Their mother spoke after a quick second of assessing the mood.
“That’s good. How long you here?” Munny asked. She seemed to have posed her question more in search of an agreement than an extension of an invitation.
“For a few weeks.”
“That’s good. Give us time to do some catchin’ up.”
“Yeah.”
“You stayin’ for supper?”
“No. Like I was tellin’ Daddy, I have to pick Courtney up from work.”
“Oh. Well I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“Oh yeah.”
“Well I gotta make a phone call. Glad you’re back,” she said as she patted him on his arm, then exited down the hall to her room.
A silence fell over the kitchen as Otis and his mother searched for words to resume the afternoon.
“So Big John is still with Daddy, huh?”
“Oh yeah. He ain’t goin’ nowhere. He wouldn’t make that kind of money if he left your father, and he knows that. Although I don’t think he’d leave Clarence anyway. Your father’s been too good to him.”
“Who dat callin’ my name?” his father joked as he returned to the kitchen. The bright fragrance of soap rose from his skin.
“Ma was just telling me that Big John is still with you.”
“Oh yeah. He ain’t goin’ nowhere. Want a beer?”
“Yessir.”
His father went over to the refrigerator. “And let me kiss my ol’ lady before she hit me with that frying pan,” he laughed as he kissed his wife on the cheek. Then he took out two bottles of beer and held them by the neck in his large hand. “Let’s go on into the living room. Get outta your mother’s way here. You gotta tell me about New York. I ain’t been there since God knows when.”
It was a while before Otis rose to leave. “Ma, I better get on outta here so I can pick Courtney up.” He walked back into the kitchen and kissed his mother.
“You goin’ so soon? You got a little while before Courtney gets off from work.”
“You know how traffic can be. But we’ll be back over tomorrow.” The smell of chicken frying filled his nostrils. “Yep, we sure will.”
“Okay baby.” And give that child of mine my love.
“I will.”
His father walked him to the front door.
“Well Daddy, I’ll see you tomorrow. Oh and tell Munny I’ll see her too.”
“Okay. Look, you better hurry and beat that traffic before it starts rainin’” his father said as he looked at the sky.
“Yeah. You’re right.”
Otis made it to the car just as the clouds opened. Large drops of rain splashed against the windshield forming great sunflower shapes, then ran down the pane forming liquid stems.
“Whose house is this?” Terrell stood in front of the French doors that opened up onto the balcony. Outside the rain fell with a steady rhythm.
“Don’t worry about it. Now c’mon and sit down,” Otis said as he patted the sofa. The bottle of wine sat on the table in front of him. It was warm, and so was the room.
“Otis- -”
“Look, you blockin’ my view, man. I didn’t open those doors for nothin’. Now c’mon.”
Terrell walked over to the sofa and Otis took his hand and gently pulled him down.
“Look, you said you like rainy days, and I said I do too. So let’s just groove with this.”
He pulled Terrell to his chest. “A’ight?”
Terrell looked at him for a second before laying his head on Otis’ chest. “Alright.” Then he looked back up at Otis, “You crazy. You know that?”
“Yeah. That’s what they say.”
Then they laid back and listened to the falling rain.
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Sometimes he saw things when he drank. But that was only when he drank too much. He didn’t drink often, but sometimes he would become careless of his burden when he sat before a glass, and the one glass would become a full bottle until his head would fill and the visions would come.
They had been happening most of his adult life, the visions. They began to occur while he was in prison. They started as reflections he would have at night; then they transformed themselves into quick momentary sightings during the day until finally turning into resonant narratives that gripped him whenever he was inebriated. He wanted to tell people who looked at him when he was drunk that once, when he was younger, he had dreams. He had had dreams like every young man, but now he saw things, no dreams. And sometimes he even wondered if calling the images visions was appropriate, so he would have told them he simply saw things. That’s what he would have told them if he spoke to them, but he rarely spoke to anyone about his life.
Once he saw a man stumbling through an alley with his throat slit. It was one night while he was getting his dick sucked. At first he didn’t notice the man; he was watching the kid’s head going back and forth at his crotch. Probably some student from NYU whose parents didn’t know they had sent him all the way to New York to suck dicks.
It was the kid who saw the man first. He fell back against the wall and gasped, ‘Oh my God!’, his eyes wide with terror.
He turned to see what had startled him, and there he was. A man was stumbling, his hand to his throat. It was too dark to see the wound, but he saw the blood, like searching fingers down the front of the white shirt and he knew by the position of the man’s hand and by the hollow wheeze that rose through the closed hot alley what had happened.
The boy jumped up and ran from the alley, but he had stood for a second and assessed the matter. Then, realizing his own possible endangerment and the fact that the kid had run out without paying him, he too ran towards the street.
At least that’s what he thinks happened. He knew there was a man who stumbled through the alley, and he knew it had startled him and the boy, but he was never sure if the man’s throat had been cut. He never heard the sirens or saw the EMT racing to the alley as he stood a bit away, or the gathering of a crowd; in fact passersby moved across the entrance of the alley with no awareness of the assault. It was times like that when he would assume that what he saw had not really happened.
But all his visions were not so gruesome. Some of them would be pleasant. They would be of better times so long ago: sitting in his car, his arm around him, watching the tops of trees against the remaining light of day, neither one speaking; the soft lime glow of the radio dial against their faces. The low music, warming them in spite of the chill of a winter’s eve, and how they would talk of their love for each other. . . but at that point the silence would set in; it always set in, the dark, covering silence. And he would drink more to fill that silence, the darkness and the pain.
But today he wouldn’t drink much. In fact, he hadn’t drunk too much in the last few weeks in anticipation of his return. He knew he would need everything in tact for his return. So now he sat and looked out the window of the bar and assessed the changes of his hometown. It had been a long time since he left home, but now he was back. He had arrived in Cincinnati two days ago but hadn’t let anyone know he had returned except for his younger sister with whom he was staying. He chose to lay low because he knew he would have to account for the years away; and after all those years away people might want to know the reason for his return. The first deed wouldn’t be too difficult to explain. After all, everyone knew of the circumstances that drove him away. But it was the second question that would be hard to answer because he wasn’t sure why he returned.
He turned the glass that held his drink and watched as the amber liquid splashed against its sides. How many times over the years had he done that? How many times had he held the same thoughts that now crowded his head? He was tired of nursing drinks and memories. Things would be different now.
Raising the glass to his mouth he finished his drink with one swallow. Then rising from the bar, he turned and walked out onto the street. Yes. Things would be different now.
Chapter II
“Daddy, momma said you better git up an start gittin’ ready!” Abassi was calling at the top of his lungs and giggling into his father’s pillow that was playfully wrapped around his head. Suddenly tossing off the pillow, Terrell reached out and grabbed his son and wrestled him to the bed. Abassi screamed and kicked as he engaged in what had become a morning ritual. Terrell looked down at his son in the morning sunlight that shone through the window.
He knew he would miss them and their mother over the next few weeks. They were leaving for Atlanta for Karen’s family reunion. Terrell wasn’t able to leave just yet. He had to remain behind and oversee the budget for the construction of the new church.
“Daddy, when are you coming down?” Kenya asked as Terrell loaded the last piece of luggage in the car.
“In two weeks, baby.”
“Well, hurry up.”
Terrell laughed, “Yes ma’am.”
On the way to the airport, Karen went over last minute details. Her hands moved emphatically as she recounted the number at which she and the kids could be reached, the meals he should cook to make sure he ate well, and how to do laundry without fading the clothes. Terrell just smiled and nodded his head to her instructions.
At the gate, Terrell kissed Karen and the kids. “I’m gonna miss you,” he said as he held Karen to his chest.
“Me too. Just hurry up. Okay?”
“Okay.” Then he kissed them again before they boarded the plane.
“Bye Daddy!” Kenya and Abassi yelled as they pulled their mother along the walkway.
“Bye,” he waved.
The plane lifted to the sky as Terrell continued to wave his good-byes. After it had disappeared into the depth of the sky he stood a little longer, his face to the window, then he turned and made his way to the car.
The drive back to Mason wasn’t too long so he decided to kill a little time. He expected he’d make it back in time to receive Karen’s call letting him know they had made it to Atlanta. Then he would wait for the call from Bishop Abrams.
It was a hot, lazy day with a sun that sat white and high against a blue sky. He guided the car silently onto the streets of downtown Cincinnati where the sun shone bright and vigorous and heated the large buildings that seemed to push against the sky.
Next he drove to The West End where he watched a game of pick up basketball. At first he felt uneasy as he walked up to the court. He had never had the experience of playing basketball. He’d always felt he just wasn’t made for it. But he had always been astounded by the sheer grace and athleticism of the guys as they moved with quick starts and stops, sudden twists and turns and then sudden leaps, their dark lean bodies, like stilettos, jabbing the rim.
But soon he gained confidence and leaned against the link fence at the edge of the court, his fingers gripping the links. He could hear the grunts and the taunts of the players, and he could hear, almost feel, the contact of their bodies as they pressed at each other. One of the young men glanced over at him before turning on the heat, driving past his opponent and slamming the ball through the rim. The rim shook under the force of the dunk and the young man came down gracefully before springing backwards and pointing his finger triumphantly at the guy who had attempted to guard him.
Terrell laughed and shook the fence, “Woo!” The suddenness of his own voice startled even himself.
The young man looked at Terrell then broke into a wide grin as his dark brown face glistened under the sun. Terrell couldn’t help but grin back.
After a while, Terrell looked at his watch. He had been at the court longer than he thought, so he hurried to the car. As he got in the car he looked back at the court. The young man looked at him and raised his head slightly to bid him goodbye.
It was late when he arrived home. He pushed the key in the lock and just as he unlocked the door his cell phone rang. He answered it, “Hello?” He knew who it was.
“Where are you?”
“Home. Sorry Babe. It was such a beautiful day and all, so I just took my time getting back. Sorry.”
“I called the house twice and you weren’t there,” Karen said. Then she clicked her tongue. It was almost two hours since she and the kids had arrived at her parents’ home. “You know, you could at least be by the phone to find out if we made it okay.”
“I knew you’d be okay. I mean…” He stopped short as he realized he had no excuse for his behavior.
After a short silence, Karen spoke. “Terrell, for once, try to think about others. Okay?”
“What’re you talking about?”
She let out a sigh. “Never mind. Just be careful. You know there’s a lot going on out there these days.”
“Karen, please. Don’t start it.”
“Look. Let’s not get into this. I love you and I just become concerned sometimes.”
“I know Babe. And I love you too.”
“Then you might want to show it. That and a little responsibility. Try to focus on your family just for once, okay?”
Terrell didn’t respond. She always knew the right words to say to cut him short. They were words that she carried with her, words like sharp things she’d collected over their years together: pins, needles and glaring shards of glass that she would pull out at need and hold him hostage.
That said, she ended the conversation.
“Well I have to go now. Good bye.” The deed was done.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Terrell said.
This time she didn’t respond. She just hung up the phone.
He stood for a second with the phone in his hand. Then he laid it on the kitchen counter. Would she ever let go? This thing she held over his head. It was in the past. Way before he’d even met her. He was young and crazy then. Things change. He often wished he’d never told her about his past. But she wasn’t alone. Everyone who knew him, family and friends alike still had that look in their eyes that never seemed to go away. The shame they held for him always stood somewhere in their deepest stares and in the faintest sorrow their voices carried when they spoke to him. It never seemed to end.
Sitting down to the meal he had prepared, the one marked ‘Monday’ in bold letters, he began to eat his dinner. Then he placed his bible alongside his plate, opened it and began reading the first passage his eyes fell upon:
‘… seat two men, unprincipled men, near him, and have them testify, “You cursed God and the king,” and then take him out and stone him to death.’
After a while Terrell closed his bible and sat in the fading sun that moved to the corners of his den.
It was exactly eight o’clock when the bishop called. “How are you this evening, brother Mitchell?” He spoke in his usual manner, a tone deliberate in its compassion. Sometimes, when Terrell playfully imitated the minister for his wife he imagined the years of studied compassion to which some ministers must adjust. But he never told his wife of his musings. Though he jested about Bishop Abrams’ style, to demean him would be akin to heresy. After all, it was the bishop who had stood by his side and deflected Terrell’s detractors years ago when it was suggested that he was less than a victim of the incident. And it was Bishop Abrams who made sure the proper party received its just reward. From that time on the bishop influenced Terrell’s life, and his parents were grateful for the intervention. However, their were times when Terrell wanted to be out of the shadow of the powerful man, to remove the albatross from around his neck. But at the same time he was reminded of what he might have become if it hadn’t been for the bishop. And it was this gratitude that bound him to the man.
“I’m doing fine bishop.”
“How are Sister Mitchell and the kids doing? Oh yeah, they’re in Atlanta now, aren’t they?”
“Yes, they are. They left today. I talked with Karen this evening. She and the kids are staying at her parents’ and all are doing fine.”
“Give them my love. So have you straightened out the budget matter with the contractor yet?”
“Yes I have. Actually it was a trivial matter and they were more than willing to comply.”
“Well I’m sure that in dealing with you they had no choice.”
“We-l-l-l…”
“Come on now. Why do you think you’re managing this project?”
“Because I’m a penny pincher.”
“Well that too,” Bishop Abrams chuckled. “So what do you think of their work? I mean really think of it. I’ve seen some of their work and it looks good, but is it quality stuff? You know I do want a black-owned business constructing the church, but not at the expense of shabby craftsmanship. We want to raise the roof during services, not have it come down, you know.” The bishop laughed.
“I know what you mean,” Terrell chuckled. “But really, they’re good. They’re the ones who constructed Mission Baptist. They really did a good job with that. I think they’ll do us proud.”
The bishop hummed in agreement. “You got the ball on this. By the way, speaking of Thurman Brothers, I might need some occasional input from you and Karen concerning the Black Ministers Coalition and the Stanton Thurman race. It won’t take much of your time. I figure with Karen’s background in history and your financial background, we might just need some advice every now and then. Just to keep you two on notice in case we need you.”
Much of what Terrell knew of Stanton Thurman came from the construction deal, campaign ads and from what he’d read in the papers. He did know enough about him to know he shared many of the bishop’s political views. However, Terrell wasn’t sure if he wanted to be part of this campaign, if not because he hadn’t made up his mind whether or not he shared Thurman’s views, a fact that the bishop hadn’t taken into account, but of the fact that he was beginning to feel he was being pulled into a world in which he wasn’t sure he belonged.
“I’m not sure what I can do. But I’ll do my best.”
“That’s what we need. I’ll get back with you later this week to check on things. Give Sister Mitchell and the kids my love. Good night Brother Mitchell.”
“Good night Bishop.”
Chapter III
“So do you still love him?”
His sister’s question floated from the kitchen and coupled his shoulders in search of a reply and he knew, from the sincerity with which she spoke that she deserved an answer. He leaned forward on the railing of the balcony and watched the perfect evening that was growing around him. The sharp white day and stifling heat was now turning into a quiet warm sunset.
“What do you mean?” He spoke as he turned to face her.
“You know, do you love him - - at least a little?”
“Girl, don’t ask me any questions like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Because what?”
“Because I don’t feel like talkin’ ‘bout that,” he said as he turned back to the balcony. It had been years since the subject had been broached and years just to get over the feelings he held for him. So that now he’d just as soon leave that part of his past in the shadows.
“Oh. So let me get this right. So you just come back here after being away for twenty years and say you don’t feel like talking.” Courtney put down the head of lettuce she had been shredding and walked into the living room. “Has it occurred to you that this is the first time in my life that I can recall ever seeing you in person? I was only three years old when you left. All I ever saw of you for the past twenty years were photographs. So excuse me if I ask you questions.”
He stood silent for a moment before finally replying. “Yeah. You’re right.” He turned back around and leaned against the railing of the balcony. “And to answer your question... I really don’t know, y’know? It’s been twenty years. It ain’t about me and him no more. It’s about everything. It’s about being hurt… big time and spending the last twenty years of my life trying to sort it out.”
“Why didn’t you just come on home?”
“To what? A father who couldn’t look me in the eye? And Mama. All the time fighting to make people respect me. She couldn’t force anybody to respect me. Everybody hated me. Nah,” he said, shaking his head.
“Or we could’ve gone up to see you. Me and Mama were always trying to get you to let us come up.”
“I couldn’t let y’all see me that way.”
“What way?”
“I had it rough when I first got to New York. No, I couldn’t let y’all see me that way.”
“But twenty years?” Then she sighed, “Well, whatever the case, I’m just glad you finally came home.” She spoke as she walked over to her brother and hugged his tall, athletic form. “And I’m sure everybody else will be too. But you know what’s scaring me about all this? The silence. It’s the silence that scares me.”
His dark complexion deepened even more as he stared into the space before him, “Everything’ll be alright,” he mumbled as he stroked his sister’s hair.
* * * *
That night he lay awake and stared at the ceiling. He reflected on his conversation with his sister. She was right; there were a lot of questions to be asked. But he had survived for so long by avoiding questions that now answers didn’t come easy.
She just didn’t know what he’d been through, the true nature of his agony. She didn’t understand that the pain hadn’t ended upon his release from prison; it simply took on a new face. That was why he didn’t come home after his release. He didn’t know what to do with all the pain and he wasn’t about to put any of it on his family. They had been through enough. So instead of returning home he headed for New York.
He recalled the day he arrived in New York City; his mix of fear and anticipation as he stepped off the bus in Port Authority. He looked around the huge terminal at all the faces that seemed to have someplace to go and he wondered what would be his next move. He knew that outside of the terminal was his chance to make things right, but he had no plans on how to make it all happen.
He took the escalator up a few flights and got off in the main lobby of the terminal. The sheer size of the building was fascinating. He looked across the lobby, past all the people and the indoor shops, at the doors that led outside and wondered which one he should walk through. He knew that one of them would lead him to a better life, while the others…
Finally, he gathered his meager belongings and took a chance. He stepped through one of the doors and found himself standing outside. The dizzying rush of people and the din of the mid-town traffic immediately overwhelmed him, so he stood for a moment and gathered his senses. He didn’t know which way to go, so he took a deep breath and stepped into the currents and became washed along the shores.
No, Courtney couldn’t know of these things. He would never let her know. She would never know how it felt to sleep on benches, to go for days on paltry handouts of food, to feel so much grime on your skin until it cut through the flesh. She would never know how it felt to hide with shame from condescending glances, to hear the cries of the insane or to fall into the scope of predators.
“… You must work out…”
“…I used to…”
“…You ever play football?...”
“…Mm hm…”
(A tug at the waist. The sound of a belt buckle.)
“…Nah man. I don’t wanna get undressed…”
“…Just a little bit. Come on…”
(The sound of a zipper. He closes his eyes)
Those were memories he’d rather forget. He didn’t need any answers. He just needed to forget.
The next morning he sat in the living room and looked out the balcony window. Courtney had left for work but not before stopping by his room to check on him. He had told her everything was all right; and now he sat with the phone book in his lap. He knew time was running out, that soon he would have to return to New York.
His hand moved with slight hesitation as he fingered the light sheets of the phone book, each page creating a soft swishing sound as they passed his view. Then the name came to him. It rose lightly from the page of the phone book and floated, airily, before his eyes causing the mists of memory to lift. A breath of relief escaped his mouth as he realized he had taken that step into the past, that he was going even deeper along the journey he dreaded most.
“Terrell.” He whispered with disbelief as if he’d never expected to see the name again. Then he stared off into the distant morning. He wasn’t sure how he felt about seeing Terrell’s name. At times he despised him, and at times he still cared for him.
Picking up the tablet and a pen, he scribbled down the information. Then, laying the instruments aside, he stood and walked across the living room to a point far from where he had been sitting. There he stood in the cool shadow of the room as if the glare of his past was too much to bear.
Sometimes he frightened himself with his attachment to his past. He wanted to leave it alone, but like a wounded animal it always returned to its home in search of nurturing. Yet unlike an animal, mortally wounded, it never died. He was often unsure about how he would treat the elements of his past if he ever came in contact with them again. That is what frightened him most. But that fear wasn’t enough to overshadow his need for resolution, and that need to end his nightmares is what now took him from the shadows back to the phone book as he whisked through another set of pages. Another name:
Abrams, Walter, Bishop
Chapter IV
“So while the cat’s away the mice will play.”
“What?” Terrell looked at Harlan who had come into his office and had securely closed the door.
“You know. You are a single man. Well at least for the next couple of weeks.”
“Harlan, I’m not a single man; my wife’s out of town. That’s all.”
“Well call it what you want. But look, you gotta make the best of it while you can.”
Terrell smiled and shook his head.
Harlan looked around Terrell’s office, “What? She got spies lurking around here?”
“Man, whatever.”
“So you gonna go out with us for a few drinks after work?”
“On a Wednesday?”
“On a Wednesday?” Harlan mocked as he walked across the office. He was short and had a dark complexion; and with his shaved head and bowed legs, he looked like a panther cub. “Hell yeah. Who says we have to wait until Friday to go out for a couple of drinks. Come on, bruh,” he said as he punched Terrell’s chest.
“I can’t. I got a meeting tonight.”
“Oh yeah.” Harlan spoke incredulously.
“No, really.”
“What time?”
“Seven-thirty.”
“Man you can still make that. Now say yeah so I can win this bet.”
Terrell laughed, “That figures. Yeah. Tell the Nubians yeah, I’ll step out with them tonight. But only for a moment.”
“Cool.” Harlan turned and headed for the door.
“And since you just won a bet, the drinks are on you,” Terrell advised.
“Damn. Me and my big mouth. See you at five.”
Terrell and his colleagues arrived at Donny’s where they took a table out on the patio.
“I got first round,” Melvin said as he waved his large hand in a sweeping motion. “Whatcha havin’?”
“CC and seven.” Jasper was quick to order as he loosened his tie from his skinny neck.
“Damn boy. Slow down,” Harlan jokingly reprimanded. “I’ll have a gin and tonic,” he said.
“Terrell?” Melvin asked.
“A coke.”
They all looked at Terrell with exasperation.
“I have a meeting. What can I say?”
“He’ll make up for it on Friday. Right?” Harlan looked at Terrell for agreement.
“Yeah. I guess so.”
The other three rolled their eyes and laughed.
Melvin leaned slightly over the table and tapped his pointer finger on its top, “She got you on a chain my brotha.”
“Let’s not start that again,” Terrell moaned.
“She does,” Melvin persisted.
“How do you know it’s Karen? Maybe it’s just that I like spending time with my family.”
“Oh, oh, oh,” the other three called out.
“So now you’re trying to say we don’t like to spend time with our families.” Jasper cocked his head a bit as he spoke.
“Nah, nah. I’m just saying I tend to do most of my socializing with my family and my church. I never did do much hangin’.”
“Not even as a young buck?” Harlan asked.
“Nope.”
“Now you know we don’t believe that.”
“So just how did you live your buck years? I never hear you talk about nobody but Karen. I mean she’s a down sister. Don’t get me wrong. But she’s not the first one is she?” Melvin grinned.
“Wait, wait. This ain’t no high school truth or dare. I came out tonight to hang with y’all and you givin’ me the tenth degree. Now what’s up with that?”
The other three men looked at each other.
“You’re just so sneaky, man; but not in the bad way.” Jasper said.
“Private.” Melvin corrected.
Terrell turned his head from Melvin to Jasper, then back again. “Privacy’s good. Or haven’t the two of you learned that?”
“You’re right,” Harlan spoke up. “Ain’t none of our damn business. I mean, why do I wanna know about his younger years anyway? I got mine on. That’s all that matters to me.”
“And that is all that matters,” Terrell chuckled.
Melvin and Jasper looked at each other.
“Hey. It’s cool with us- - that you used to sleep with dogs.” Melvin kidded. Then they all burst into laughter.
“So look, you know they’re asking where we go when we hang out.” Jasper said, changing the subject.
“Like who?” Terrell asked.
“Matt, Leonard.”
“Yeah. Even Mr. Bartlett made some comment last week,” Melvin said.
“What did he say?” Harlan asked.
“You guys going to hang out again this evening?”
“I told him ‘yeah’. I wanted to say, ‘why’? Nat Turner’s dead. We ain’t gonna burn this firm down. Relax. Shit.”
They all laughed.
“So that means we really gotta go out Friday. Drive ‘em crazy,” Terrell said.
“It’s on.” They all laughed and hit their fists together.
In a while, Terrell looked at his watch. “Hey look y’all. I gotta make it. Got that meeting.”
“Yeah, I gotta head on out too,” Melvin said as he glanced at his watch.
“Got you on that chain, huh?” Terrell laughed.
“Ahhh…” Harlan and Jasper laughed as they pointed at Melvin.
“Yeahh,” Melvin sighed.
* * * *
Terrell arrived a bit early at the church. He tapped on the bishop’s office door. “Hold on,” he heard the bishop say to someone.
“Come on in,” the bishop called through the door.
Terrell stuck his head in the office and saw that the bishop was on the phone. “I’ll just sit out here until you’re finished,” he whispered.
The bishop winked and nodded his head.
Then Terrell walked back into the sanctuary. It was quiet. Charles, the janitor, had finished for the evening and had taken off. Soon choir members would be arriving for Wednesday practice. Terrell never understood why Charles cleaned the church before choir rehearsal instead of afterwards. He assumed it was because rehearsal ended so late; but with Charles there was no telling. He looked at the rows of empty pews, and in his mind’s eye he saw the faces of the congregation: Mother Abrams, Deacon Morliss, his own parents, and many others. He also saw the years he’d spent at Savior’s Temple. This church, this place of worship, was all he’d ever known. It was home and the faces that had come and gone over the years would always be his family. Then, for reasons he couldn’t explain, his mind began to drift back until it settled on a particular evening twenty years ago when he had stood in the same spot; only that time the feelings were different.
Savior’s Temple had always seemed like a large church to him, full of love and warmth; and of laughter and fiery sermons meant to extol the spirit. But it had never seemed so cold as it had that evening as Terrell sat alone in the sanctuary waiting to be summoned to the bishop’s office. He looked around at the stained glass windows that radiated from the pristine walls of off white and he breathed in the warm scent of the wooden pews that shone dark and polished. All the years of his life had been spent in there, from his christening through his baptism and he’d always had fond memories of being a part of the church family until now. Now his place in the family was being called into question and his standing in the eyes of God suspect. He had been told that he was an abomination, though he didn’t feel like one. All he knew was he was in love. He remembered how he had just wanted everyone to leave him alone. He recalled looking up at the painting of a compassionate Christ that looked at him from a radiant nimbus, and wondered why God made him if He knew it would be like this?
His thoughts were interrupted by the bishop. “Brother Mitchell, come on into the office.” He spoke just the way he had at that moment twenty years ago.
“You were a bit early.”
“I know. I called myself beating the traffic and must have beat myself as well.”
Bishop Abrams laughed. Then he looked at the clock on his desk. “Actually, you’re still a little early because Stanton called and said he’d be running a bit late.” Then he motioned for Terrell to sit.
“Oh. Okay.”
“I was talking to Bishop Clemmons up in Detroit. We were thinking of holding a convention here sometime this year.”
“Where?”
“Hopefully the convention center.”
“That’s cutting it kind of close bishop. I’m sure it’s going to take at least six months to get everything moving.”
“That’s what I was telling Bishop Clemmons, but he’s persistent.”
“Next year, maybe spring or summer, would be more feasible.”
“I agree. By then we’ll have the new church finished and can host some of the convention there.”
Terrell nodded his head.
“I would like to telecast portions to those members of the organization that might not be able to make it,” the bishop continued.
Again, Terrell nodded in agreement, “That’s an idea. We’ll have to start making arrangements to do that.”
“I know. And that’s part of the reason you, me and Stanton are meeting tonight. You see, I would like to build a production and telecasting facility in the new church.”
Terrell raised his eyebrows which caused Bishop Abrams to grin, his hazel eyes sparkling. “It can be done.”
“Yessir. But so late in the game...”
“It’s never too late. I’ve already run it past Stanton and he says it can be done.”
“So I just have to go over the budget to see where to get the money.”
The bishop smiled and nodded his head. “We’ll be the talk of the town. Probably the talk of the nation with an on site state-of-the-art production and telecasting facility. Some white churches have things like that; but I don’t know of any black churches that have that.”
Terrell rubbed his chin, “We got a lot of planning to do.”
“I’ll say.” Again, the bishop grinned.
The sound of a door opening came from the sanctuary.
“That must be Stanton.”
Stanton came up the steps and walked briskly into the office. He was a tall husky man with a striking face and unusually smooth skin for someone who was in his mid-fifties.
“Hi bishop, Terrell.” He spoke from gleaming white teeth.
“Hi Stanton.” They both spoke as they shook his hand.
“I was just telling Terrell about our conversation about the production and telecast facility.”
“Yeah. It can happen. No problem,” Stanton spoke in his baritone voice as he settled in the chair next to Terrell.
“So how much is all this going to cost?” Terrell asked.
“I’m not gonna lie. A lot.”
“But it’s an investment. We can recoup the money sooner than you think.” The bishop joined in.
Stanton measured Terrell’s response, which was one of silence. Then he pulled out the paper work. “I’ve already started checking into possible suppliers. Surprisingly, there’s quite a few here in town.”
“But are they the best?” The bishop inquired.
“Now that’s what I’ll have to find out. I’ve already enlisted the services of someone who knows a lot about that stuff. We’ll go over each respondent with a fine tooth comb.” He shuffled through the papers and laid a folder on top of the pile. “Now here is a rough draft of the RFP.” He said this while distributing copies to the bishop and Terrell. “I figure we can start looking it over and Terrell, you can make notations regarding cost… and anything else you might see.”
“Bishop, you don’t think we’re moving a little too fast, do you?”
The bishop took off his glasses and gave Terrell a stern look. “If you’re talking about running it past the board, it’s no problem. You know they’ll see it my way. Anyway, who in the world would deny that this is what we need to expand our reach,” he said as he put his glasses back on his nose. “Now let’s get going with this fellas.”
It was nine-o’clock when they finished the meeting.
“Look, you two go ahead,” the bishop said. “I have to make one other phone call to L.A. I have to get all my work out the way before I leave here. Mother Abrams becomes quite bothered when I take work home,” he chuckled.
Terrell and Stanton bade the bishop good night and headed outside.
“You can probably tell the bishop is adamant about this project.” Stanton said. They stood by Terrell’s car.
“Yeah.”
“There’s a reason for that, you know. You see, Bishop Abrams is getting old. And he knows it’s just a matter of time before some young minister, standing in the wings, will replace him. I mean, hell, I’m sure you’ve probably heard the rumblings yourself. ‘He’s too old,’ We need somebody who can reach out to the younger crowd’. Hell they’re probably even complaining about the type of music he prefers to have played. But Mahalia’s gone. And so is James Cleveland. It’s a brand new day. Everybody knows that- - even Bishop Abrams. So he just wants to do this one last thing, to leave his mark.”
“Yeah. And I guess what happened at Zion doesn’t make the bishop feel too comfortable,” Terrell agreed.
“Yeah. Had the sheriff’s department come in and move ol’ Reverend Smallwood from the church. His own congregation. Now you know that’s sad.”
“Yeah. So I guess we gotta make this happen, huh?”
“I think so, man,” Stanton said as he nodded his head. Then he looked at his gold watch, “Well look, I better get goin’. Let’s try not to let the bishop down, okay?” He shook Terrell’s shoulder, then walked to his car. “Oh, and Terrell, I hear you might be interested in helping with my run for city council.”
“Well, I said I’d think about it.”
“Well, I hope you decide to. We could use your talents. Talk at you later.” Then he disappeared into the large black sedan and drove off into the night.
Chapter V
The sight of The Crutchfield Motel was a forewarning of what he would see upon his return home. The abandoned motel, with its modern angles, rose like a ghost ship out of a sea of abandoned cars that covered the lot; a bleak greeting to visitors as they crossed the city limits. He remembered when the motel was a place of constant activity, dubious, but alive. But now it sat quiet and served as an echo of its former self.
Turning off Shepherd Lane, he headed for Steffens Street, which was once the center of town, and saw that it too had fallen. He remembered when he used to sit along the curbs or on top of cars with his buddies and drink sodas while watching the busy traffic there and coming on to the girls who passed by in tight bell bottoms and sporting large afros that shimmered in the sun from an abundance of Afro Sheen, and a smile traveled across his face because he knew that regardless of the changes that had taken place over the twenty years he was away, Lincoln Heights would always be home.
He was never quite sure of the history of Lincoln Heights. He knew when it came to be, around nineteen forty-seven, but he wasn’t sure how it came to be or why. He’d heard that it had started as a company town for the defense plant just east of the city and that when the war ended the black folks who had settled there to work in the plant remained. But he was never sure. All he was sure of was the memories of growing up in a town with all black faces; and that was special enough for him.
The sky was gray and hung low the day Otis returned home; so low that it seemed to rest on top of the small houses that lined Jackson Street. He pulled into the driveway of the one floor house he grew up in and sat for a moment in the car. He didn’t remember the house being as small as it now appeared. A new roof and fresh siding covered the outside and thermal windows had replaced the old ones; but other than that, little had changed. Even one of his father’s dump trucks was parked to one side of the narrow driveway the way he used to park years ago. It was as if his parents had been holding everything at bay until he returned.
As he walked up to the door he heard his mother’s voice come from inside, “Lord, Jesus!” then the front door swung open and she grabbed him round the neck and began to sob uncontrollably, “Thank you Lord, Thank you Lord!”
Otis was overcome by his mother’s tears and began to cry as well; and for the first time since he left he felt a real sense of guilt.
After a while, his mother loosened her embrace and took him by the hand where she led him into the living room. She turned on a lamp and looked at him, her eyes moving over his face, “Sometimes I wondered if I would ever see my child again, Lord. But you knew, you knew.” Then she began to cry again.
Otis put his long arms around her shoulders, “It’s alright Ma. It’s alright.” He rocked her and rubbed her shoulders. The plumpness of her body brought back memories of her warmth and the guilt in him rose even more.
Finally his mother looked up at him and smiled. Then she shook her head. “When you called me last night and told me you were here I almost fainted. I just couldn’t believe it. But Lord, here you are. My child is home.” She stood there for a while longer and assessed him. He wanted to hide his face, unsure of what damage the years had done. Then she hooked her arm in his, “Come on. Let me get you somethin’ to eat” and led him to the kitchen.
Otis watched his mother as she sat a plate in front of him. “Where is everybody?”
“It’s just me, your daddy and Munny. Jun lives in Paddock Hills.”
“Paddock Hills?”
“Mm hm. Got a nice home there. And Dana lives in Pleasant Ridge.”
“Well alright.” He spoke in a lukewarm tone.
“Daddy ain’t in yet?” Though he asked about his father, his anticipation of him was lessened by memories of how his father had treated him while he was going through his ordeal. When the accusations arose and the incident came to light, his father had hardened like the after-thought of a transgression, never looking his son in the eye, even rarely standing in the same room as him. Conversation with his son had diminished; terse replies, done only in passing, and grunts of disapproval became common. For any needful communication he employed his beleaguered wife as emissary. Even during the sentencing his father had fixed his eyes straight ahead and did not look at him.
The years had softened his anger towards his father, but the darkness remained.
“No. Munny ain’t either,” his mother added. “They usually come in around the same time. Munny works at Ford. Been there seventeen years.”
“And still living at home, huh? She just won’t leave y’all’s side, will she?”
His mother poured some punch into the glass in front of him and then into one that sat alongside her own plate. “No. Munny is still Munny. Gonna be no matter what happens,” she said as she seated herself. “She and your father should be comin’ in soon.”
She looked in Otis’ face once again. Then she smiled and put her hand on top of his, “You really look good. I know you sent pictures over the years, but seeing you is better than pictures any ol’ day. A mother’s got to see her child grow.”
Otis gave a weak smile, “Yes ma’am.”
“Sometimes I would take all the pictures you sent me over the years; and I would lay them out across the table here, and I would just look at them trying to keep up with you. And I would see the changes,” she grinned as she waved a finger, “but I needed to see you.”
“I wanted to see you too.” He looked at his mother’s expression and saw the questions behind her eyes. “I just had too much going on.”
“But ain’t that what life’s all about, Otis? Things going on?”
“Yeah. But I didn’t know what to do about it. There was so much happening in my mind that I just wanted to get away.” He paused, and looked down at his plate, “To tell you the truth, I was ashamed.”
“Ashamed? Look I know what you did… what happened back then was on everybody’s lips, but so what? Wasn’t any of them gonna live your life for you, so why should you care what people think?”
“Ma, that’s easy to say until the shoe’s on the other foot.”
“Mm, mm, mm. Boy, you act like you the only one with problems.” Then she waved her hand towards him, “Eat.”
A slight smile came to Otis’ lips as he watched his mother. She had always been easy to talk to. She was perceptive and wise beyond words; and she had always been one to limit judgment because she realized that no one could possibly know everything. She had always been that way. She had even been that way that night years ago when she questioned him about Terrell.
The two of them had been sitting on the patio. It was a warm night and the air was still; the sound of crickets rose from the grass and mixed with the sound of the radio that drifted from the kitchen. He wasn’t sure why he had come to the patio at that time, but something seemed to summon him. He found his mother strangely silent that night as she sat and gently rocked in one of the patio chairs. She was so quiet that it made him uncomfortable. Suddenly she spoke, “Your friend ain’t called here in a while.”
Her words startled him. “Ma’am?”
“Your friend,” she repeated, “That boy who’s always callin’ here.”
Otis’ eyes widened. He had no idea his mother paid any attention to Terrell’s phone calls. He stared at her for a bit; her profile, dark in the night, framed by the light from the back door, the light that spilled out onto the patio, and he licked his lips, “We… we ain’t that close no more.”
“Why not?”
“We kinda had a fallin’ out.”
“Mmh. That’s too bad. Seems like y’all were close,” she said as she continued to look past him.
Otis lowered his eyes to the ground.
For a while, neither of them spoke. Then his mother moved her large, sturdy hands across her full thighs, smoothing the soft fabric of her dress. “Is that the reason you been so moody lately?”
He remained silent.
Finally her hands came to rest in her lap, one covering the other.
“Then she lifted her dark face a bit and looked out into the night, “He’s special to you, ain’t he?”
Still, Otis couldn’t reply. His eyes continued to stare at the ground. He moved his mouth, but nothing came out. He gave one more attempt. This time a sound came, “Ma?” And again his voice left him.
“He’s special to you in that way. I can tell. How long y’all been knowin’ each other?”
“Ma…”
“Otis.”
“Eight months.”
His mother expelled a short breath and clasped her hands.
Otis looked at her, “I’m sorry, Ma.”
“Well, sorry ain’t gonna help nothin’ is it?” Then she turned to him, “And you might as well hold that head up. ‘cause looks like you gonna have to do that a lot.”
Otis raised his head slightly, but he still couldn’t bring himself to look at her.
Then she continued, “Is he the only one?”
“Ma…”
“Boy will you stop callin’ me? Now I asked you a question. Is he the only one?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Then why, Otis? Why you wanna start actin’ that way?”
Otis blew a sharp breath as he moved his head side to side, “Ma I ain’t startin’ to act that way. I always been this way.”
“No you haven’t. I know my child.”
“Yes I have, Ma. I just ain’t never told nobody.” Then he calmed his breath, ‘It’s true. I always been that way. When I was the little bad ass kid on the block I was that way. When I was hangin’ with my cats.” Then his voice softened, “Even when I was with Tangey.” Then he fixed his eyes on his mother, “And all the times we laughed and talked, Ma… I was that way.”
His mother closed her eyes as if she needed a respite from the truth. Then after a short while she slowly opened them. “Your father never wanted me to work. Always said I should stay home with the kids. But I wanted somethin’ more for the family.”
“Ma that ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.”
His mother just shook her head. Then she loosened her hands and placed them palms down on her thighs. She looked out into the night. “I done been around. And I’ve known some people like that. Homosexual. They all said they didn’t choose to be that way. And I kinda believe ‘em. Ain’t nobody in they right mind would choose such a hard life. Everybody hatin’ ‘em and all.” Finally she sighed, “But I never thought the Lord would visit this on my family.”
Otis sat back hard in his chair. It seemed despondency was becoming his attendant in life.
His mother continued, “You know, a part of me wanna say I wish this wasn’t happenin’. But if I do that, then it’s like wishin’ you away. And I don’t wanna do that. You’re my child and I love you. That’s all I know. That’s all I’m supposed to know. But baby, I can tell you, you have some rough times ahead of you. You know that don’t you?”
Otis didn’t answer.
“Now I ain’t tellin’ you to live that kind of life. That’s between you and the Lord. Who knows? Maybe it is okay bein’ that way. I don’t know. Only He knows. But all I can tell you is you gotta keep livin’ the best you can. Keep your head up and your eyes on the Lord. Listen to Him. And you know that you can always count on me to be there for you. ‘cause I know my child. And I know he’s a good person.”
Otis sat for a while and took in his mother’s blessing. Then he leaned forward and folded his hands, “Yes ma’am. Ma? I know you probably don’t wanna hear this, but Terrell is a nice guy. We been good to each other.”
“I believe that. He seems like a nice boy.”
“And what I’m sayin’ is- - Ma, I love him.”
“I believe that too.” Then she got up and started towards the house. “And I love you too.”
She had always been there for him, and now he felt as if he had betrayed her. How could he have hurt her all those years?
Suddenly, the sound of a car was heard.
“That must be your father. I can tell his car anywhere. He said he was goin’ to let Big John take over for the rest of the day.”
His father came through the door, “Where my boy! Where my boy!” He was laughing as he made his way through the living room.
“Right here, Daddy!”
The two of them rushed into each other’s arms and held one another tight. At first the contact of his father’s body frightened him; it frightened him because the years of anger had warned against ever getting close to him again. But he calmed himself and held onto the man.
His father stood there in silence, but Otis could hear him through his body and his embrace.
“What took you so long?” his father finally whispered, he tightened his embrace. When he finally let go he stood back and shook his head. His eyes were moist, “Boy…”
Otis looked in his father’s face and saw the subtle changes that had come over the years. The pictures his mother would send him were descriptions of the family; but they weren’t able to speak of feelings, ever so slight, almost unnoticeable.
“I’m just glad to be home,” Otis smiled.
“You?” His father laughed as he slapped his son heavily across the shoulder.
“Clarence. Look at all that dirt you trackin’ across my floor.” Otis’ mother interrupted as she went over to the utility closet and retrieved a mop.
“See? Some things just never change,” Otis’ father laughed.
“Yup.”
“Let me go and wash up. You stayin’ for dinner?”
“Not tonight. I told Courtney I would pick her up when she got off from work. But I’m gonna come over tomorrow and spend the night.”
“Well stick around for a little bit.” With that, his father left the kitchen and headed down the hall to clean up.
“This is the happiest I seen your father in years,” Otis’ mother said, glancing uneasily at him as she splashed a little water from a glass onto the floor.
“Here, let me do that Ma.” Otis took the glass and mop from his mother and began mopping the floor. He didn’t have an answer for her. It wasn’t that he refused to give her an answer, he simply had none.
At that moment the back door opened and his sister walked in. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen holding her lunch box and looked at Otis.
With her caramel complexion, short hair and strong jaw, she looked very much like her mother’s father in some of the family photos Otis had seen.
“Munny.” Otis greeted through the years that had gone before them.
She smiled and walked over to her brother and put her arms around him. “Good to see you.” Her embrace was lax and her voice lukewarm.
“You too. It’s been a long time little sis.”
“Yeah.”
“Otis is comin’ over for dinner tomorrow and he’s gonna spend the night.” Their mother spoke after a quick second of assessing the mood.
“That’s good. How long you here?” Munny asked. She seemed to have posed her question more in search of an agreement than an extension of an invitation.
“For a few weeks.”
“That’s good. Give us time to do some catchin’ up.”
“Yeah.”
“You stayin’ for supper?”
“No. Like I was tellin’ Daddy, I have to pick Courtney up from work.”
“Oh. Well I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“Oh yeah.”
“Well I gotta make a phone call. Glad you’re back,” she said as she patted him on his arm, then exited down the hall to her room.
A silence fell over the kitchen as Otis and his mother searched for words to resume the afternoon.
“So Big John is still with Daddy, huh?”
“Oh yeah. He ain’t goin’ nowhere. He wouldn’t make that kind of money if he left your father, and he knows that. Although I don’t think he’d leave Clarence anyway. Your father’s been too good to him.”
“Who dat callin’ my name?” his father joked as he returned to the kitchen. The bright fragrance of soap rose from his skin.
“Ma was just telling me that Big John is still with you.”
“Oh yeah. He ain’t goin’ nowhere. Want a beer?”
“Yessir.”
His father went over to the refrigerator. “And let me kiss my ol’ lady before she hit me with that frying pan,” he laughed as he kissed his wife on the cheek. Then he took out two bottles of beer and held them by the neck in his large hand. “Let’s go on into the living room. Get outta your mother’s way here. You gotta tell me about New York. I ain’t been there since God knows when.”
It was a while before Otis rose to leave. “Ma, I better get on outta here so I can pick Courtney up.” He walked back into the kitchen and kissed his mother.
“You goin’ so soon? You got a little while before Courtney gets off from work.”
“You know how traffic can be. But we’ll be back over tomorrow.” The smell of chicken frying filled his nostrils. “Yep, we sure will.”
“Okay baby.” And give that child of mine my love.
“I will.”
His father walked him to the front door.
“Well Daddy, I’ll see you tomorrow. Oh and tell Munny I’ll see her too.”
“Okay. Look, you better hurry and beat that traffic before it starts rainin’” his father said as he looked at the sky.
“Yeah. You’re right.”
Otis made it to the car just as the clouds opened. Large drops of rain splashed against the windshield forming great sunflower shapes, then ran down the pane forming liquid stems.
“Whose house is this?” Terrell stood in front of the French doors that opened up onto the balcony. Outside the rain fell with a steady rhythm.
“Don’t worry about it. Now c’mon and sit down,” Otis said as he patted the sofa. The bottle of wine sat on the table in front of him. It was warm, and so was the room.
“Otis- -”
“Look, you blockin’ my view, man. I didn’t open those doors for nothin’. Now c’mon.”
Terrell walked over to the sofa and Otis took his hand and gently pulled him down.
“Look, you said you like rainy days, and I said I do too. So let’s just groove with this.”
He pulled Terrell to his chest. “A’ight?”
Terrell looked at him for a second before laying his head on Otis’ chest. “Alright.” Then he looked back up at Otis, “You crazy. You know that?”
“Yeah. That’s what they say.”
Then they laid back and listened to the falling rain.
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