Boaz Brown (9 page)

Our waitress, a young white lady with a vibrant smile, ushered us to a booth for two. Peaches relieved herself of her sweater, revealing perfectly toned arms and the bones that protruded just below her neckline. I’d seen her in that dress before, but it always amazed me to see the degree of transformation the human body can undergo given a change of habits. Her makeup was perfect, as usual, and her handbag matched her red, strappy shoes.

“Are you going to the retreat?” she asked me later, twirling pasta around her fork. Her church always held a dynamic Spirit-filled women’s retreat in early December.

“I don’t think so. I’m in charge of career day at the school next week. I haven’t confirmed all the presenters. I’m still looking for someone with a career in math or science—preferably an engineer.”

“Well, if you find one, give him my number.”

“Girl, please—you! What about me?” I held up my hand to stop her. “Anyways, I think I’m
 
gonna
 
invite a female engineer. And an African-American one at that,” I informed her.

“You go, girl.” She leaned back and smiled, dabbing the corners of her lips with a white linen napkin. “I wish they would have brought in some black people to talk to us when we were in school. Maybe we would have had a little more vision.”

I echoed her sentiment with a touch of natural black attitude in my voice. “Be for real, Peaches.
 
Those white folks
 
wudn’t
 
thinkin’ ‘bout us.
 
They wouldn’t even hire a black teacher, so you know they were not about to bring in no black role models
 
makin’ mo’ money than them.”

We shared a laugh and carried
 
on,
 
catching up on each other’s lives. I watched her brown eyes light up and dance when she told me about Eric’s upcoming basketball season and how she had found the cutest little high-tops for him. She also let me know that Raphael made good on a promise to take Eric to Six Flags.

“Really?”

“But why did he come up to my doorstep with another woman?” She glared at me with her neck and lips stuck out.

“What?”

“Some girl from his job, he said,” she went on. “I think Raphael is just using Eric to win her. You know, trying to make it seem like he’s the good type of brother doing the right thing for his son. But I’ll take it for what it’s worth. God is doing His thing in His own way in His own time. All Eric knows is that he spent the day with his daddy. Oh, girl, let Eric tell it, they had the best day on earth.” She’d tried hard, but the sarcasm still came through in her tone.

“I’m proud of you, girl,” I encouraged her. “The
 
old
 
you would have snatched Raphael up in a heartbeat! Isn’t it funny how we’re changing?”

“It is.” She grinned with me. “Regardless of what I think about the situation, what
 
matters most is the relationship Eric has with his father.”

“And that is so important.” I tossed my curls back and leaned in to her. “Our men already have issues. Every black boy needs a black male role model.”

“A
 
good
 
black male role model,” she clarified, striking the air with her fork. “My brothers already do a good job of mentoring Eric. Whether Raphael is the best role model for Eric is still questionable.”

We ordered light desserts and savored the familiarity a little longer. The restaurant filled quickly as the dinner hour progressed. The same waitress seated two white men at the table next to Peaches and me.

“Don’t look now”—Peaches lowered her voice—”but one of ‘em
 
is staring at you.”

“Girl, please,” I sighed. “He ain’t about to get none of
 
this
 
chocolate drizzled on his sundae.”

“You
 
betta
 
get that white man,” she teased.

“There is nothing a white man can do for me except fix my computer, okay?”

“So what’s been going on with you?” she continued, not giving their table another look.

“Girl, the Lord has got me reading a lot of stuff on love,” I told her with the same puzzled look that I had when I discovered, through the process of straightening up the books on my bookshelf, I’d begun collecting books on love. “It’s really interesting because it’s
 
like,
 
I always thought I knew what love was. I mean, I work in a school and teach children’s church—how can I
 
not
 
be a loving person? But the more I learn, the more I realize I didn’t know.”

“That’s serious.”

“I know. There is so much work to be done,” I admitted. “But I know He’s
 
gonna
 
do it.”

“Look, if he can deliver me from chocolate, anybody can be delivered from anything!” Peaches roared, and the other customers looked at us like we were a little crazy. You had to know Peaches to understand how much chocolate meant to her. It was the one thing that had kept her overweight more than anything else. She believed God for perseverance in diet, endurance in exercise, and deliverance from chocolate when she lost eighty pounds. Of course, that led to the other stuff with Raphael.

Next, I told Peaches about my battles at work. As a vice principal, I often felt pressured to uphold so many ideals and principles as a professional, a woman, an African- American, a role model, and a supervisor. My students weren’t really the problem. Most of my conflicts involved parents or colleagues.

“Girl, I had this woman, Mrs. Donovan, up in my office last week talking about how she’s
 
gonna
 
go up to the board because her daughter flunked math and can’t play basketball for the next three weeks.” I stuck my lips out and waited for Peaches’ question.

“And?”

“That’s exactly what I said! She can go to the board, the superintendent, the Lord Himself, but a rule is still a rule. The girl had a fifty-eight. She wasn’t even close to passing!”

“Then what did she say?”

I put on my best prissy, proper voice to imitate Mrs. Donovan: “Miss Smith, I don’t know if you’re aware or not, but my husband is a major contributor to the booster club. We do a lot to support this school.”

“What color was she—white?”

“You know she was.” I stuck my neck out and gave her a smug stare. “I told her, in so many words, that her daughter’s education was not for sale, and that the little girl would have to bring up her average in math before she would be allowed back on the court again.”

“She was hot when she left, wasn’t she?” Peaches grinned.

“Girl, she was hotter than fifty Mexicans in the front seat of a Pinto.”

Peaches almost choked on her water. That was right about the time a still, tiny
 
Ding! Ding!
 
warning bell went off inside me. I felt it, almost tangibly. But why?
 
This old joke had never caused the bell to go off—until now.

I decided to talk about something else. “Then I had this little black boy that this white teacher sent down to my office because he had a straw in his mouth.”

“What?”

“A straw, girl.
 
Like it was a knife or something.”

“That’s crazy.”

“I sent him right back up there with a little note to her saying
 
Handle this with your classroom consequences.”

“When are you
 
gonna
 
quit that job and come to
 
Northcomp?” Peaches asked me. “You know I’m director of personnel. You could be making two or three times what you’re making now, with half the stress,” she offered for the billionth time.

“Because
 
our
 
kids need us,” I replied, running a finger across my forearm. “I’m the only spot in administration at the school. It’s important for our kids to see somebody black running things. I wouldn’t trade it for a million dollars. Education is my calling. You know that. Besides, I don’t have the degree for your field.”

“Girl, please,” she fussed, waving her hand.
 
“All those white people up in there with little or no education!
 
And even the ones who have degrees aren’t necessarily competent.
They
made up the buddy employment system—it’s about time
 
we
 
got some people in high places so we can have it like that, too.”

As we rose to leave the restaurant, the white man that Peaches referred to earlier quickly cleared the corners of his mouth with his napkin and stood as well. He took a few steps toward me and held out his right hand, shoving the left one deep into his pocket.

“Hello. My name is David Moore.”

I’m sure my face said,
 
“And?”
 
but in the interest of my good home training, I shook his hand and introduced myself as well. “LaShondra
 
Smith.”

“I. . . I was just admiring your smile.”

Peaches poked me hard in the back and almost caused me to have a muscle spasm. “Ow—oh. Thank you.”

Apparently, it took him
 
a
 
moment
 
to get the message that I had absolutely no interest in pursuing the conversation any further.
 
 
“Well, it was nice meeting you, Miss Smith,” he said with a quick nod.

“Same here, Mr. Moore.”

“You have a nice day.”

I watched him return to his table and grab his glass, his hopes of a forbidden fling with a black woman dashed.

It was still early when I got home. My soul was both thirsty and curious. Why had I heard that little voice in my heart over something as innocent and familiar as our Mexican joke? I’d never felt bad about it before.
 
There really isn’t any harm in two old girlfriends sharing an inside jest.
 
Or was there?

I had been talking and thinking and meditating on love lately. And I’d begun to feel uneasy instead of peaceful about an area that I had always thought was pretty well covered in my life.
 
What am I misunderstanding about love, Lord?

When I got inside, I called Peaches to let her know I’d made it home. After washing my face, brushing my teeth, and tying my hair in a satin scarf, I made my way to the prayer closet for my last words of the day with the Lord.

I approached the room with some degree of apprehension. I didn’t like feeling as though I was missing out on God’s voice. I fell to my knees and started out with praise; thanking God for His blessings and praising Him for who He is.