I Left My Back Door Open (37 page)

“Do you know what ambivalent means?” I asked.

“Yeah, Mommy says it's when you have mixed feelings. My daddy had mixed feelings about me.”

“Well, if he ever did, it was before you were born. Your daddy fell in love with you the instant he laid eyes on you. He told me that.”

“He did?” Brianna asked with a smile.

“Yes. Your father loves you more than anybody in this world.”

“Even you?”

“Yes, of course. Your father definitely puts you first. And I'm sure your mother feels the same way about you. Brianna, you're number one.”

Brianna stood up on the bed. “I'm number one!” she bragged, holding up a finger. She bounced up and down on her bed and chanted, “I'm number one! I'm number one!”

“Girl, you'd better sit your butt back down in that bed,” I scolded playfully. “You're supposed to be sick, remember.”

“I'm glad that they let me be born,” Brianna said, sitting down and hugging a couple of Beanie Babies.

“A lot of people are glad that you were born, Brianna,” I heard myself say. “And I'm one of them.”

“You are?”

“Yes,” I said, suddenly feeling a flood of maternal feelings. I sat down on part of Brianna's bed. “I've never said this to you before. But Brianna, I love you.”

Brianna looked up at me with her liquid green eyes and answered, solemnly, “I recognize that.”

No hug, no “I love you, too,” just, “I recognize that.” Spoken like a true Californian, I thought to myself, as I wiped away a joyful tear.

On Sunday morning, I woke up to a blanket of fresh snow. Skylar had invited me to attend church with him and Brianna. I swung by and picked them up after digging my car out. Brianna was excited by the sudden, late winter wonderland. It was the first time in over a week she'd really had enough snow to play in. Later this afternoon, she planned to make a snowman.

The church that Skylar and Brianna attended was a progressive, predominantly black church that billed itself more as a spiritual center than as a religious institution.

The three of us were lucky to find seats. The pews were packed with people and their heavy winter wraps. I felt touched when Brianna announced that she wanted to sit between Skylar and me.

I felt uncomfortable when I noticed in the program that the title of the sermon was forgiveness. I wasn't in the mood to have anybody preaching forgiveness at me just yet. I still had a high degree of pissosity in my system toward my stepfather. But I good-naturedly joined the choir in singing “This Joy That I Have.”

“We're partying for the Lord twenty-four-seven, three hundred and sixty-five days a year,” the regally dressed woman minister declared after we finished singing. “I woke up this mornin' with my mind stayed on spirit,” Reverend Cassandra Taylor added. “And I wanna talk about forgiveness this mornin.'”

Well, I'm not sure I want to hear about it
, I thought, folding my arms and readying my defenses.

“Last week, I had to go to court and face the boys who gave my grandson the alcohol at the fraternity party that killed him,” the minister continued, her voice choked with emotion. “I prayed to God to give me the strength to see past my own grief and be able to forgive. I asked the Lord to let me find it in my heart to forgive these boys. That's not to say that I didn't want them to receive some form of punishment. But I didn't want to continue carrying hatred in my heart for them.” Reverend Taylor paused. She was a commanding figure. Even Brianna's eyes were fixed on her.

“While I was praying for the strength to forgive those boys,” Reverend Taylor continued, “all of a sudden I saw in my mind the face of this man who had wronged me several years ago. Now I could forgive the boys who gave my grandson the alcohol, because although they acted recklessly, they did not purposely kill my grandson. But I had no intention of forgiving this other man. What he'd done was purposeful. He'd done my daughter dirty.” She paused and narrowed her eyes and raised her right arm. “You know, there's a group over here that you can kind of smooth over what they did and forgive them, but then there's another group over here that you can't.” She raised her left arm. “When I saw that other man's face in my prayers, that man I had no intention of forgiving, I said, God, I ain't ask you nothing about forgiving this man. I asked you about forgiving these boys. Lord, now you meddling.”

Many people in the congregation laughed, including me. But my smile quickly changed to a serious expression as I pondered whether I would ever be able to forgive my stepfather in my heart for what he'd done to me. I could forgive my mother for not knowing and not sensing, because she was in denial. But I wasn't sure I could've forgiven Daddy Sherman even if he'd begged me on his deathbed. Although I would've liked to have seen him do it.

The pastor's words interrupted my thoughts. “I read once that when I forgave someone, I set a prisoner free—and the prisoner was myself. I said, and that prisoner was myself.

“Forgiveness can be a powerful thing,” Reverend Taylor continued. “It can be a truly liberating experience.”

You have to be
ready
to forgive, I was tempted to shout out. And only you have the right to make that decision.

“But forgiveness ultimately has to be a choice,” the minister added firmly, as if she were reading my mind. “We often make kids kiss and make up, but sometimes life isn't like that.” She shook her head. “Sometimes we're not ready to forgive. Sometimes it takes time. And maybe for some things, we're never ready.

“Some people are unable to forgive until after the person dies. I've heard of people going to someone's grave site and forgiving them. Some people even write a letter to a deceased person. It's more powerful if you can forgive a person when they're alive, but it's never really too late to forgive. Because whenever you forgive, you're ultimately doing it for yourself.

“Please stand and repeat after me,” the minister instructed.

I reluctantly stood, prepared to mouth whatever I was commanded to say. I rarely felt comfortable with people putting words in my mouth. I expected that I might end up feeling like a robot.

“God is the only power in my life,” Reverend Taylor pronounced decisively. The congregation, including me, repeated her words in unison. The pastor stretched her arms high above her head.

I knew that God was the highest power in my life, but I wasn't sure that God was the
only
power in my life, I thought skeptically.

“Nothing from without can touch the perfect life of God within me,” the minister continued.

That's a nice concept
, I conceded.

“No past experience has power over me.”

I wish
, I thought cynically.

“I am a perfect child of God.”

I like the sound of that
, I acknowledged.

“And nothing that anyone has ever done or said can interfere with my divine inheritance.”

That's reassuring
, I thought.

“The power of God is greater than any circumstance in my life.”

That
is
empowering
, I agreed.

“The strength of God is mine to use.”

That's comforting
, I admitted.

“Turning away from all feelings of inadequacy, I discover that all I need is within me right now.”

That's good to remember
, I told myself.

“As I forgive the past I find that I have nothing to atone for and nothing to run away from.”

I sighed, feeling compassion for myself.

“Casting off the old me, I discovered my true self.”

I took a deep breath. I felt a sense of hope.

“I take dominion in my life.”

I planted my feet more firmly on the floor and nodded in agreement.

“Old habits have no power over me,” the minister continued.

“Conditions have no power over me.

“Personalities have no power over me.

“I take dominion.

“I'm whole.

“I'm free.

“I'm complete.

“Now and forever more.

“And so it is!

“Say yes!”

“Yes!!!!” I shouted with the enthusiastic congregation. My voice sounded vibrant. I had indeed been inspired.

“Hallelujah!”

“I'm whole! I'm perfect and I'm free!”

“Now and forever more!”

“And so it is!” the minister proclaimed jubilantly. A tenor soloist stepped forward from the choir and sang “I Believe I Can Fly.”

The congregation joined in, still on its feet. My voice rang out clear and strong.

Brianna clutched Skylar's and my hands and swung them in time with the music.

I could picture the three of us riding the Ferris wheel together in the spring.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I couldn't have pulled this book off by myself. A million thanks to my main reader and dear friend, Susan Holper, for her valuable input. We discussed the work in progress over many long, delicious lunches of Pakistani food at the Village Restaurant in Berkeley, California. A big thanks also to my other reader and close friend, Judy MacLean, for her helpful feedback. Kudos to everyone at Hyperion, especially my editor, Leslie Wells; she is an author's dream come true. She's always supportive and usually right. My agent, Winifred Golden, now at the Castiglia Agency in Del Mar, California, is way past cool and won't be satisfied until my work is on the big screen. Thanks also to the Margret McBride Literary Agency for their continued support.
Muchas gracias
to Kimberly Rosa, director of the Conflict Resolution Program of the Central Coast in San Luis Obispo, California, for lending her expertise. I also wish to acknowledge two other friends, for introducing me to the East Bay Church of Religious Science in Oakland, California. I have truly been inspired by the choir, congregation and the minister, Reverend Eloise Oliver. I am also grateful for the heartfelt fellowship I have received at St. Andrew Presbyterian Church in Marin City, California. A special thanks to my aunt Allison Gunter, for providing me with a cozy place to chill and write on location in her Chicago home. Thanks also to my aunt Jean Gunter, for our long chats and sharing her stories over the years. And I will always have a special place in my heart for my talented cousin Eric May, for encouraging me since jumpstreet and introducing me to the family of Columbia College in Chicago where he teaches creative writing. Last but not least, a huge thanks to my readers for their warmth, loyalty and support!

About the Author

April Sinclair is the acclaimed, award-winning author of three novels. Her debut,
Coffee Will Make You Black
, was named Book of the Year (Young Adult Fiction) for 1994 by the American Library Association, and it received the Carl Sandburg Award from the Friends of the Chicago Public Library. The sequel to
Coffee Will Make You Black
, titled
Ain't Gonna Be the Same Fool Twice
, was published in 1995 followed by the novel
I Left My Back Door Open
. Sinclair has been a fellow at the Djerassi, Yaddo, MacDowell, and Ragdale artist colonies. She worked for fifteen years in community service programs, and has taught reading and creative writing to inner-city youth. Born and raised in Chicago, she currently lives on an island connected by bridges and a tunnel to Oakland, California.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Grateful acknowledgment is made for the following permission to reprint previously published material: “God Is the Only Power in My Life,” a prayer from
Your Needs Met
by Jack and Cornelia Addington. Copyright 1966 and renewed 1973, 1997. Reprinted by permission of DeVorss & Co.

Copyright © 1999 by April Sinclair

Cover design by Kat Lee

ISBN: 978-1-5040-1867-8

This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

345 Hudson Street

New York, NY 10014

www.openroadmedia.com