My Sister's Ex (33 page)

I beat my fists against the concrete and howl until there’s nothing left in me to scream about.

— 20 —
R
ACHEL

Daughter, You Are Forgiven

It’s one week later
. Marlene, Aunt Perry, and I are at Solomon’s Temple. We’re sitting in the pews surrounded by hundreds of females and a few dozen men who are filling in as ushers and attendants so the women can enjoy this Women’s Conference. I feel so numb. Yet I had to get out of the house. Jeff’s funeral was yesterday. I didn’t want to attend, but Blinky encouraged me to go.

Everything happened so fast that night. The fire trucks, ambulance, police cars soon surrounded the restaurant. I could barely talk intelligibly to the officers. I didn’t know what to say. Couldn’t understand what had happened. But Marlene explained it all to me. She saw way more than I did. She told me that while I was busy trying to get to Jeff, the SUV pulled up next to my car. A pretty but crazed-looking woman got out of the SUV and tapped on the passenger window. She knew who Marlene was. Said her name was Felicia. She and Jeff had been together the night he came to see my sister. Said they got into a fight. She was sick of his ways. Felicia told Marlene that she found out Jeff was dating other women and borrowing money from her to pay for all his hot dates. She accused him of being selfish and greedy for hoarding his own money yet sweet-talking her out of her own money so he could be a
baller. Felicia was furious when she learned how she’d been used. They’d known each other three months but had been engaged only a couple of weeks. But last night Jeff took the eighteen-carat white gold engagement ring back from her. Said he was in love with another woman. She followed him to my and Marlene’s place and waited outside in the car, fuming mad and plotting her revenge. Then she blankly stared at my sister and told her, “Stay away from my fiancé.”

That’s when Felicia got back in the SUV and sat a couple of minutes before gunning the engine and ramming her vehicle into Jeff’s. Marlene never did get her purse, wallet, or cell phone. Jeff never paid her money back, either, but all that is replaceable. She has her life, her self-esteem, and more important, Marlene still has her soul.

Felicia was arrested on the spot. Jeff is now six feet in the ground. And my sister and I are trying to get our lives straight. Trying to make sense of the craziness.

So here we are. At church. Listening to speakers. Desperate for a change.

Sister Palmer is standing in front of the church. She walks and talks, stops and looks at the audience. She’s bold, powerful, fiery, and honest. “I’m all about women power,” she states. “Women have got to start having each other’s back instead of stabbing each other in the back. Yes, you want to have the love of a man, but no, ladies, that love doesn’t have to come from another sister’s man. You don’t have the right to flirt with, sleep with, hang out with, and follow up on some guy’s attraction to you just because. Leave her man alone and happiness will spring in your direction. The things you give out are going to come back to you. You messing with someone’s man? You may find your own man someday, and lo and behold, a sister ten years younger than you is going to develop a secret relationship with your guy. She will
feel it is her right; she will become to your husband what you were to someone else’s husband ten years ago. It’s a vicious cycle, but it can be broken. Get up right now, walk across this room, and apologize to every woman who has a husband who you’ve flirted with, texted, posted flirty comments to on his MySpace page, or given a ‘church’ hug that was a little bit too tight. Go on, get up; don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

Sister Palmer turns around and faces everyone and says, “Watch this.” She walks over to the first pew and stands before the first lady of the church, Mrs. Solomon, and hugs her. Tells her “I’m sorry. Pastor is yours, not mine, he’s not mine.” One by one teary-eyed women get up out of their seats and awkwardly line up in a single row to hug the pastor’s wife. I can’t believe all those ladies openly admit they lust after the pastor.

While I know I’m not qualified to get up and hug Mrs. Solomon, I look around and search the crowd for someone else. Sister Maria Johnson sits alone dabbing at her eyes with her closed fist. I take a deep breath and find myself purposely sitting next to her. I stare in her eyes, so afraid to talk. She looks at me, eyes enlarged. When I nod, her head drops to her chest. I place my hand on her arm, fingers trembling. I tap and nudge her, and she finally stands up and falls into my arms.

“I’m sorry, so sorry, Sister Maria.”

She buries her head in my shoulders, covering her tear-streamed face with her hands, just nodding over and over again.

A flood of memories causes me to squeeze her harder. Sister Maria is a widow, but my little flirtation with her husband happened when I was almost out of my teens. He was a deacon and I was a shy girl who thought he looked cute. He started talking to me after church when no one else was
around, trying to bring me out of my shell. His attention made me feel special, important, cared about. So one Sunday afternoon when we thought no one was looking, I kissed him back when I saw his lips coming toward mine. He held me tight in his arms, and I imagined that he was my first boyfriend, my first lover, my husband to be. It was the second time I had felt a man’s tongue in my mouth. It felt good, yet it felt bad. I pushed him off me after the kiss lasted too long. We never touched each other again, but I could never look his wife in her face after that. She was always so sweet and kind, and I felt so guilty knowing I had this secret.

That’s another reason why it became too hard for me to continue going to church with a clear conscience. I knew God was aware of what I did, and I was too afraid of being exposed. Yet right now, the feeling of being exposed along with so many other women doesn’t feel as horrible as I’ve imagined all these years. It feels like I’ve stepped inside a great big shower. It’s like buckets of clean water are splashing on top of me and rinsing me off from head to toe. The bad feeling is being washed away, and my heart feels much lighter, less burdened than it has felt in years.

Soon I stop concentrating so much on myself, and my ears tune in to the noise in the room. Women weeping, ladies perched on their knees, some bending over clutching their stomachs moaning and groaning, sounding like slaves wailing on a plantation. Shamefaced women crying out to God begging, “Save me, Lord. Forgive me, Lord, cleanse me, oh God.” My legs start shaking uncontrollably. What’s wrong with me? I thought this feeling would be over by now, yet my body can’t possibly be displaying what I’ve tried to hide inside of me.

Suddenly a lady who I don’t know walks over to me, staring at me as she walks in a circle.

“Sister, may I pray for you?”

I just nod, too scared to say anything.

She steps up to me and lays her hand on my forehead while quietly praying, which makes me feel thankful. I hear her say, “God give your daughter direction, wisdom, and guidance; oh Father, strengthen her with your peace, your joy and your truth. Make her the strong woman you created her to be. And release her from any guilt, any age-old guilt she may feel.”

Legs still shaking, I nod my head with my eyes closed tight. The lady stops praying and holds me in her arms as if I were a baby. “Daughter, you are forgiven.”

Listening to her makes me feel like God is speaking directly to me.

I thank her and turn around to go back to my seat. Quietly reflecting on what just happened and what it means. If God can forgive me, I can forgive my mama. I won’t forget what she did, but we’re going to get past it. Plus, I need her. I still love her.

Soon the sounds of crying and wailing fall to complete silence.

You could hear a pin drop. We all wait in utter anxiety about what is to happen next.

With her hands clasped together, Sister Palmer strides to the front of the church and stands in silence for a full five minutes. When she does speak, she boldly eyes the audience.

“Ladies, I am so grateful and so encouraged by what happened here today. Do not let this moment pass; don’t let it be in vain. You’ve gained knowledge and strength that will positively affect you for the rest of your lives, just don’t get caught up anymore. Make it your business to enjoy the newness of your empowered spirit from this moment forward. But I must say that I sense that many of you have questions. I sense in the spirit that some of you wonder why woman are agreeing to be accountable for flirting with the brothers, with
someone’s husband or boyfriend. And you wonder why men don’t have to also watch what they do with other woman. Why you ask, is it a woman’s responsibility?

“Men, you have a responsibility, too. Think about it. Every time a man lies to his woman he binds her up. It’s like taking a thick rope and wrapping it around her ankles. This is what you’re doing to your wife, your girlfriend, every single time you tell her a lie. And what happens to that woman? She is paralyzed, she can’t move, she’s not free, she is trapped. And men, the only way to reverse what you’ve done to her—what you keep doing to her each time you lie—is to tell the truth. When you tell the truth, you release one thread of rope that’s wrapped around her ankles, that’s wrapped around her mind and her heart. Never underestimate a woman’s intuition. God gave us that, it is a gift, and we didn’t ask for it, we don’t have to pay for it. It’s free to each and every woman so she can decipher a man’s BS. It means that God is trying to help us wade through the BS if we want to wade through it. But some of ya’ll don’t want to hear the truth. You prefer to hear the lies, and that’s on you. But you’re living a lie, and loving a liar is no way to live. Living a lie is no way to live, either. So brothers, set your wives free and tell the truth. And if telling the truth means you’re going to lose too much or that you’ll be in the doghouse with the wifey then stop doing what you’re doing. Then you don’t have to lie. If you’re not really out with the boys but with your little girlfriend, you need to dump the girlfriend, so that when you’re really out with the boys, you don’t have to call up Ralph and ask him to cover for you. Because a cover is really a see-through cover when it comes to God. The eyes of the Lord are in every place beholding the evil and the good. Can I get an amen tonight?”

Not long afterward, the service comes to a close. I stand to my feet and hug Marlene with all my might. I gently tell
her, “Sister, you are forgiven.” She gives me a look of gratitude and whispers, “Sometimes you seem like the older sister.” I nod; I understand.

When we begin to leave our pew and walk out of the sanctuary, Marlene taps my shoulder and points. My mama and Loretta are seated a few rows over. They’re crying and holding hands and are so engaged in talking that they don’t notice us slowly pass by. Marlene stops walking and I do, too. I overhear Loretta tell my mama, “I feel compelled to counsel women because of the guilt I feel for the scandalous things I’ve done, from one woman to another. This is my way of covering my mistakes, by being honest with women and hopefully steering them in a better direction than the road I chose to take. Now I realize I have to come at them with more gentle honesty. I want something better. I want to be the best woman by having more respectful relationships with both men and women. With my daughter and my stepdaughter. And if it means I have to leave Blinky to achieve something better, then so be it.”

I swallow a thick, sore knot lodged in the middle of my throat. And I can’t help myself.

“Mama,” I squeak. The two ladies are so busy embracing that Marlene has to loudly clear her throat a couple of times. Mama turns around, locks eyes with me, yelps, and wildly gestures at me. I go sit next to her on the pew. Using the tips of my fingers, I dab at the wet streaks that are on her face.

“I love you, Mama. I’m sorry.”

Mama nods, shakes her head, too overwhelmed to get out the words she’s trying to say. But I understand. It feels so good to understand.

After we daughters share long and tight hugs with our mamas, we depart from the sanctuary and eventually reach
the parking lot. The brilliance of the sunny sky lifts my spirits so high I feel like I want to take flight. I am so amazed, so thrilled that deep inside, a powerful sense of happiness has overtaken my heart and completely filled it with peace. And to know my contentment has absolutely nothing to do with a man is one of the most gratifying and remarkable discoveries I’ve ever experienced. I feel complete without Mr. Right Now by my side. Right now, I am acceptable and fulfilled just as I am. I want to sing, I want to shout, I want to share this happiness with the world.

“So,” Marlene asks me. “Did you enjoy the service?”

“It was one of the best experiences of my life. It has helped me discover who I am as a person, as a woman.”

“That means a lot coming from you.”

“I’m glad you invited me. I want more.”

“Does that mean you may want to come back and check out the Singles Ministry?”

“I think that might be a strong possibility.”

She beams at me, and I smile back. “Marlene, may I ask you a question?” We slowly start walking toward her car, which is parked way on the other side of the huge lot.

“Ask away.”

“Um, do you regret getting that tat?”

She stops walking and playfully rolls her eyes. “Girl, stop tripping,” she pouts. “Even though I never told you before, that M and J tattoo stands for Marlene and Jesus.”

“Marlene and Jesus?” I give her a full-blown grin. “That’s freaking
brilliant
. Girl, you are one of the smartest women I know. I mean that.” We continue walking and chitchatting.

I take my sister’s hand and raise it toward the sky.

Acknowledgments

I had so much fun writing this novel and have loads of people to thank:

GOD—Every day I still feel like I am in the midst of a wonderful dream. I am so thankful to be living the biggest dream I’ve ever had in my life.