Boaz Brown (35 page)

“Daddy, Momma, this is Stelson Brown,” I said in a professional, automated tone. “He’s . . . we . . . we’ve worked together.”

The warmth of Stelson’s palm left the small of my back, suddenly replaced by a cool breeze.

“Mr. Smith and Mrs. Smith, I’m so sorry for your loss. My condolences to you and your family.” Stelson shook both of their hands.

Momma shot me a glance that could have killed.

“Thank you.” Daddy rolled his lips up and looked Stelson over. He was not pleased.

“Stelson. . .” I turned to him. Nothing could have prepared me for the expression of disappointment in his eyes. I could barely look at him. “Um, I. . . thanks for bringing me.”

Stelson took a deep breath and summoned his booming professional tone. “It was nice meeting you both. And again, my condolences. Good-bye, Miss Smith.”

Stelson pivoted and walked away, and my heart shattered into a million pieces. The sight, the thought of him walking out of my life was unbearable.
Did he really mean good-bye?

Daddy walked toward the house. I stood at the center of the walkway for a moment, contemplating my next step— whether it would be toward the house or toward Stelson. I wanted—no, I
needed—
to
talk to Stelson. Momma watched me for a second and then tagged behind Daddy.

The wind brushed my face as I nearly broke my ankle trying to catch up with Stelson before he got to his car. “Stelson, wait.”

“LaShondra, I’m tired of waiting,” he said without turning around. “What ever happened to ‘you’re so wonderful’ and ‘you’ve jumped through all my hoops’?”

“I meant what I said, Stelson. But you can’t expect me to tell my father about us
tonight.
That would be a little too much for him,” I reasoned.

“The problem is not tonight. The problem is
every
night. You know, if you’d told him about us earlier, we wouldn’t be in this predicament. We’ve been dating exclusively for months now, LaShondra. Months. I’m beginning to think this is a little too much for
you.
You can’t admit our relationship to
yourself
let alone your father.” He talked to me over his shoulder, striding toward his ride.

“Stelson, you’re right, okay? I’m sorry. I should have told him before now. But I cannot do it tonight. Not under the circumstances.”

“I understand why you can’t do it tonight.” He stopped at his door, pulled his hair back, and held it at the crown. “What I don’t understand is why you couldn’t have done it
before
tonight.”

“I’m under a lot of pressure here, Stelson.” My defenses jumped to the rescue, my mouth working overtime. “Not just from our relationship—from my job, my friends, myself, even God. And now my grandmother is dead. Everything is happening at once.”

He let his hair fall and slowly turned to talk to me as I drew near him. “LaShondra, I know this is a lot to handle. And so does God. Have you ever stopped to think maybe that’s why He placed me in your life?”

I thought for a moment about what he’d said.
Ding! Ding!
Then I threw my head back in a soft laugh, feeling the tendons in my neck stretch upward toward the starlit sky. “No, Stelson. I never thought of it like that.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time He sent help in the form of a problem.” Stelson kissed my chin. “Pray about that tonight. Good night, LaShondra.”

“Good night. I’ll call you tomorrow,” I told him.

“No,” he said. “Call me when you’re ready to see past the color of my skin.”

He waited until I was safely in the house before he left.

Grandmomma Smith’s house was just the way I remembered it. The hard wood floors creaked with every step. A portrait of her parents and of the legendary Uncle Eddie George hung in the short hallway that led to the family room. There, on the glass coffee table none of us dared to touch, were pictures of decades gone by. She and Grandpa Smith along with their five children in front of the old house in Ellerson. A picture of Jonathan and me. Pictures of my cousins and other relatives, some I didn’t even know.

Grandmomma Smith had a curio cabinet filled with antique dolls, most of which she’d made herself. (We couldn’t play with those, either.) Despite all the children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren who had come through her house, everything was still intact. Still exactly where she’d put it. Exactly where she’d left it in the forbidden living room. I guess every grandmother has one of those rooms—the one where you can’t sit down unless you’re an ordained minister or a licensed insurance salesman.

“Where’s Momma?” I asked Daddy upon entering the second living room.

“She’s in there with your aunt Debra Jean and everybody.” He pointed toward the kitchen.

“Daddy, it’s going to be all right.”

“I know.” He forced a smile. “She’s with Jesus now.” And he turned, leading me on into the family room.

Did my daddy just say that?

It was a little after midnight when my parents dropped me off at my house. They were oddly silent all the way, careful not to pinch each other’s emotions.

“Hey,” Daddy said to me as I left the car, “I already called Jonathan. He’ll probably be in by Wednesday.”

By the time I got home, it was nearly midnight, but I needed a hot shower and a good prayer to get to sleep. It had been a long, stressful Friday.

On nights like this, I simply broke down at my Father’s feet and meditated on Him. His love, His patience. The lessons He taught me in life. I laughed again at Stelson’s revelation, and how I’d almost missed the lesson completely. The epitome of my perceived natural-born enemy had come to love me, to support me in my time of need. In the process, I’d gained a new perspective on life and humanity. And love.

Chapter
17

I
remember my parents’ earlier years as husband and wife. They were both in their thirties when they got married, and had me two years later. I witnessed much of the turmoil of their newlywed years. They claim their first real fight was over what to name me. They were in agreement that a boy would be named Jonathan Jr.

But if I was a girl Momma wanted to name me LaShondra and Daddy wanted to name me Shannon. “I told your momma, it was bad enough you were gonna
be
black,” my daddy replayed the argument for me. “You didn’t need a black name, too. If you had a white name, you could at least get a foot in the door for the interview before the white man sees your face.

“See, I know how the game is played. The further you get without being detected, the better off you’ll be. I told her, the only reason I got this job now is ‘cause my name is Jonathan Smith. But your momma had to be like everybody else and give you one of those soulful names!” (Back then the popular name for African- American baby girls was LaAnything.)

“Your momma threatened to put my tires on flat if I named you before she woke up. I told her if she put my tires on flat I would put her eye on flat!”

Momma hollered in from the kitchen, “Yeah, and I told him that if he ever laid a hand on me, it would be the last hand he laid anywhere!”

“Yeah, leave it to your momma and her Ebonics to name my firstborn,” Daddy shook his head.

“Excuse me. I have an excellent command of the English language, which I employ at will,” she bragged with perfect diction. “But I choose the mode of expression that I feel most comfortable with during informal conversation, you hear? Now, take that to the bank.”

Momma did have a totally different tone and set of vocabulary for talking to white people out in public or on the phone.

“Oh, give me a break,” Daddy said. “That’s just like illegals coming over here and trying to make Spanish more than what it is. When you go somewhere, you ought to learn the language and use it correctly—and don’t go naming your kids all kinds of mixed-up names if you expect them to make it in the main society. Simple as that.”

And they both told the story so affectionately.

* * * * *

I was exhausted on Saturday morning, but I knew I had a ton of work to do. My family would be expecting several relatives and old acquaintances to drop by, and I looked forward to fellowship and food with everyone. Maybe a game of spades and a slice of sweet potato pie.

Momma called me a little before ten. “You goin’ over to your grandmomma Smith’s house today, ain’t you?”

“Later on,” I said.

“What you gonna do today?” She was snooping.

“Relax.”

“Humph. Well, I do expect to see you at your grandmomma’s house some time today, spending time with your family during our time of bereavement.” Translation: get your jigglin’ butt over to Grandmomma Smith’s house so they won’t be saying that Jonathan’s kids think they’re too good for the family.

“I will be there, Momma.”

Stelson was next on my list. I’d thought long and hard about what to say to him, and I was expecting a good day or two of the silent treatment—which is exactly what I would have given him if the shoe had been on the other foot. But he welcomed my call with his usual upbeat attitude.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Not so great,” I said. “I owe you a huge apology, Stelson. I know I’ve been—”

“I accepted your apology last night,” he cut me off. “What I want to know now is if you’re ready to jump through
your
last hoops. At this point, it’s up to you to let the people in your life know that you’re seeing a white man. I just pray you do it in love, and soon.”

“Okay, Stelson. I know this is my issue. And I am going to tell them as soon as I get the chance.”

“And how do you define ‘soon’?” he asked.

I didn’t mind the pressure, but I didn’t want an ultimatum. “I can handle my family, Stelson. Just let us get through the funeral, okay?”

“Fair enough. Are you up for karaoke tonight?”

“Karaoke?”
I know he didn’t just say karaoke.

I agreed to the outing, partly because Stelson had been open to attending the Greek Show. Well, plus the fact that I really wanted to see him.

Momma didn’t say much to me at Grandmomma Smith’s house. But she watched me. I wanted to pull her aside and talk about Stelson, but there was too much going on; people coming in and out of the house, food to keep warm, and children underfoot. It was nice reuniting with my more animated relatives. They had plenty to laugh about from the days in Ellerson. I learned that I had a cousin who used to play with Ray Charles. Somebody else had fallen asleep drunk in the bathtub and almost drowned. The Smiths could keep any party going with their storytelling skills.

For a while Daddy was his old self again—loud, boisterous, obviously the favorite of his brothers and sisters. Their family dynamics often puzzled me. There was something about Daddy that they all liked. He’d had a good job, he was the first to get a house, and I think he raised the bar for economic achievement with the Smiths. Not that we were rich, just that we never wanted for much.

But then, there was something about him that they didn’t like. I couldn’t put my finger on it—whether it was jealousy or resentment, I couldn’t tell. Whatever it was certainly got filtered on down to Jonathan, Momma, and me. I got the feeling they were proud of me, too, but they would never say it to my face.

Bringing Stelson into the picture wasn’t going to help anything. Still, I missed him. I looked forward to the day when I could share my family with him and vice versa. Maybe, someday, they would accept him. But even if they didn’t, I still wanted him right next to me at times like these.

I left Grandmomma Smith’s at six in order to be ready for Stelson’s karaoke by seven. I tried not to pass judgment on this little hole-in-the-wall Stelson took me to, but it was hard. The room was abuzz with neon beer signs and flashing stage lights. There was the faint odor of cigarette smoke, and a fencelike wooden railing that ran throughout the building, giving it a Western feel. There were only three black faces in the crowd, and those were obviously in the company of white friends or lovers.