No Weapon Formed (Boaz Brown) (18 page)

When the headaches came back
a few months later, Stelson didn’t tell me. He didn’t
have
to. Walking
past me and the kids without acknowledging us when he came in from work was all
the clue I needed. Not to mention he’d started texting me rather than returning
phone calls.

Ain’t this somethin’?

I sent Terrie an email the
week before Christmas break, reminding her to keep me in the loop. My in-laws
usually joined us for Thanksgiving, but he had told his mother about the
headaches and she’d decided it best not to come up this time around. Normally,
I would have welcomed a nice, quiet Thanksgiving at home. The last thing I
wanted this holiday, however, was some alone time with my five year old, my 9 month
old, and my grouchy husband.

Attending church on Sundays
gave me a slight reprieve; although we couldn’t sit in our regular spots
because Stelson needed to put distance between himself and the loud speakers at
the front of the sanctuary.

The one thing I had to look
forward to for Christmas was Peaches and her family coming home. Their flight
arrived on the twenty-third so I’d had plenty of time to get fed up with the
Brown household between Seth’s school break and Stelson’s decreased business
hours due to the holiday.

On the way to Peaches’
parents’ house, I darn-near gave Stelson a lecture about how to behave. Told
him if he couldn’t act cordial, I didn’t want him to come.

“You think I’m a heathen?” he
defended himself.

“No. I just…don’t want
another argument.”

“What do you think you’re
starting right now?” he questioned.

I sighed. I was tired of
going in circles with this man. He knew he wasn’t himself, and yet he expected
everyone else to adjust their expectations about normal, everyday common
courtesy due to his frequent headaches.

“All I’m saying is, if you
are in too much pain and you don’t think you’ll be good company, you shouldn’t
go.”

“If I stayed home with every
headache, I’d never leave the house.”

We certainly can’t have
that happening, buddy.

We had gone to another doctor
who’d tested for allergies. Another one tested for pinched nerves. All to no
avail. After the third specialist, we were referred to a psychiatrist to find
out if Stelson’s problem was psychosomatic.

He had been incensed.
Insulted that doctors were insinuating the pain was all in his head, mind over
matter.

After seeing all those
physicians, I wasn’t sure what I believed anymore. I knew Stelson was hurting
physically. But with so many physical causes ruled out, perhaps the root was
psychological. I didn’t want to think that maybe my husband was having a
nervous breakdown. And yet his attitude…

Christmas Eve was the first
time I’d seen my best friend in almost three years. We held on to one another
for dear life. Or at least I did. “Girl, girl, girl! I could kiss you!”

“Don’t get carried away,” she
joked.

While Peaches and I continued
to hug, our husbands shook hands. After properly greeting Peaches’ parents,
Seth took off running toward the sound of all the other children in the house and
with all of Peaches’ kids plus nieces and nephews, there were plenty.

Zoe squirmed to get out of
Stelson’s arms and lean over to Momma Miller’s thick arms. She smothered our
daughter with kisses and took her to the kitchen where Zoe was sure to be
passed around from aunt to aunt. She’d gotten more social since learning to
crawl.

Peaches’ husband, Quinn,
almost didn’t make the trip. He had fractured his ankle in a 3-on-3 basketball
tournament at their church and undergone emergency surgery the week before. For
some reason, I almost hoped Quinn would be as cranky as Stelson. I guess, then,
Peaches and I could have vented together.

However, Quinn showed no
signs of ill temper. His bright smile portrayed a man as sweet and kind as my
husband used to be. “Hey, LaShondra.”

“Hey, Quinn. So good to see
you again. I see you’ve been keeping my girl busy in Philadelphia.” I raised an
eyebrow. “I hardly ever get to speak to her.”

“You, too?”

Peaches poked him in the
side, but she might as well have been poking me. Watching their playful
interaction reminded me of how Stelson and I were, once upon a time. We used to
smile. Touch. Enjoy each other’s company.

“We’ve got the game on back
here,” Quinn invited Stelson to join the menfolk.

“Sure thing.” Stelson
followed as Quinn hobbled along.

Peaches and I made a round
through the house. The aroma of the women’s cooking wafted through every square
inch. Two televisions two rooms apart competed for center stage as the menfolk
watched sports and the teenagers danced to gospel music videos. Peaches’
smallest children weren’t so small any more. She introduced me to them and I
gushed over them, though they didn’t recognize me.

I spoke to all her family
members, including aunts, uncles, and cousins I hadn’t seen since Peaches’
wedding. Peaches’ oldest son, Eric, who also happened to be my godson, was
visiting his biological father. I’d have to wait until later to catch up with
him,
if
he was so inclined. Seventeen-year-old boys aren’t always fond
of having their cheeks pinched.

Peaches and I ended up back
in the front parlor. Finally, we were alone. “Girl, you look sooooo good,” I
complimented and squeezed her again. Her short, coily hair was the perfect
accent to the sharp angles of her face. Her well-moisturized, deep cocoa skin
reflected slivers of light from her gold and rhinestone earrings. The added
touch of gloss made her lips go “pop” and my self-esteem go “poop”. Thankfully,
one
of us was keeping herself together. For once, I felt like the unkempt
one.

“Having babies back-to-back
ain’t no joke. They stole all my poor little calcium. I got three crowns. Can
you tell?” She lifted her top lip with her fingers.

I inspected her teeth, on my
toes, then dipping to observe from below. “They look real to me.”

“Good,” she exhaled. “I knew
you
would tell the truth.”

“Well, the guys are watching
a game. The kids are fine. Whatcha wanna do?”

I thought she’d never ask.
“Get away from everybody, for real.”

Peaches rubbed my arm as her
face knotted in concern. “I hear you, Shondra. Let me say bye to Momma.”

 As a courtesy, I texted
Stelson to let him know we were leaving the house.

Peaches grabbed her purse and
we were off. “Where to?” she asked, starting the ignition in their rental SUV.

“Anywhere with adults. No
sing-along songs, no baby-changing stations,” I demanded.

She stared me down. “What?
You wanna go to happy hour?”

“If I drank, I would
so
be
there,” I said.

She threw the car in reverse.
“I gotcha. How about age twelve and over?”

“That’ll work.”

“Cool. I was planning to go
to this place with Quinn, but since he’s on crutches, he’s out. You’re in. But
don’t ask me any questions until we get there.”

“I’m down for an adventure.”
Wherever she was taking me had to be better than where I’d been for the
previous weeks, so I didn’t ask any questions.

“How’s your Daddy?” she
asked.

“Same old. Still trying to
make Seth appreciate his African descendants.”

Peaches laughed. “What,
exactly, is Daddy Smith doing?”

“Girl, teaching him negro hymns
and spirituals. Buying him black action figures,” I told her.

“Shoot, I can’t find black
action figures for my boys. Where’s he getting them from?”

“Who knows? Probably some
place he delivered to. I don’t have a problem with Daddy introducing Seth to
his black heritage. But we have to watch him so the message doesn’t turn
hateful and make Seth feel like he’s fighting an uphill battle.”

“Well, he will be,” Peaches
sided with Daddy.

“I get that, but does he need
to start fighting it at five? I mean, dang, can he please have an innocent
childhood first?”

She tilted her head. “I
guess.”

“When did you have the black
talk with Eric?”

She bit her bottom lip. “Hmm.
I guess shortly after he was diagnosed with dyslexia. I just laid everything on
the table for him. You’ve got a reading disability, you’re black—you’re
going to have it hard, dude. But you can make it. And that’s exactly what he’s
done. He’s graduating with honors, getting ready for college.”

“Yeah. Eric’s amazing. You
done good, girl,” I congratulated her.

She streamlined onto I-35 and
then I-75, taking us into north Dallas. We talked about trivial things and
laughed like sixteen year olds again. I wanted to tell her how angry I was with
Stelson, but I didn’t want to ruin her trip home. Ruin our time together. So I
shoved all of my problems aside, hoping to savor every moment with my best
friend.

When she parked outside of a
place with bright, colorful lettering—JUMPUP!—on the outside of the
building, I protested. “I said no kids tonight!”

“There are children present.
But there will not be anyone under the age of twelve in our dodgeball game
tonight.”

“Dodgeball?”

“Yes. Dodgeball. On
trampolines.” She pumped her eyebrows up and down.

My word, what has she
gotten me into?

The gym-like atmosphere,
noisy and energetic, took ten years off my age from the start. Reminded me of
my high school days, when life was carefree and I had an adventure ahead of me.
Hopeful, joyous, giddy with anticipation.

There was a 12-and-older game
already in progress, which gave me an opportunity to scope out our strategy
before we entered the arena while Peaches signed us up.

These grown-ups were serious.
Way too serious.

“You watchin’?” Peaches asked
when she returned, her eyes as much glued to the action as mine.

“Yeah. Looks like you need to
just keep bouncing at all times. Always a moving target,” I surmised, studying
the gray-haired gentleman who hadn’t been hit the whole time. He was good. I
hoped he wouldn’t play again because I didn’t want to hurt an old man.

The game’s timer fizzled down
to five minutes. “It’s time,” Peaches ordered.

We stuffed our shoes and
purses into a cubby. She locked it and safety-pinned the key on her shirt. “Let’s
do this.” We fist-bumped and gathered near the entrance of the giant
trampolines, where a teenager explained the rules and safety precautions. No
sitting. No climbing on the walls, no aiming at the head, etc. We also had to
sign waivers releasing the facility from liability for any medical mishaps we
might incur.

Six other
people—including two noticeably attractive African-American
men—joined our group. They were somewhat younger, dark-skinned, probably
brothers, judging from their matching dimples. One of them looked up from his
paperwork and smiled at me.

I smiled back with far more
toothage than I’d consciously intended to display.

And then it was time for our
game. The older man was still in there. On the other side. Looking like he
wanted to smite us with a big, red ball.

Again, the employee reminded
us of the rules. He gave four balls to each team of eight and pointed out a
general “time out” area where we could recuperate when necessary.

The timer started, and the
first thing I felt was rubber against my arm.
No he didn’t!
That elderly
man got me! One of the handsome brothers avenged me immediately, throwing his
ball hard across the rows of trampolines. Our nemesis dodged, however.

“Dang! I missed him!” the
brother hissed.

“Next time,” I encouraged
him.

I bounced over to Peaches.
She caught one of the balls and managed to bop a librarian-looking lady square
on her behind.

“Yes!” I screamed. A second
later, my hip got hit.

“Keep bouncing,” Peaches
reminded me. “Moving target.”

Honestly, I didn’t care to
hit anybody. I was just doing my best to stay mobile and dodge the balls coming
at me. I pretty much used my teammates as shields and bounced like crazy, but
it was fun jumping higher and higher with everything in me.

As children, Jonathan and I
had begged our parents for either a trampoline or a pool. All we got was a
swing set. It didn’t even have a slide. Daddy told us if we weren’t grateful
for what we had, he’d take it down and give it to someone else.

My brother and I had joked
that Daddy could never make good on the threat since the poles were cemented
into the ground. That was Daddy for ya. All bark and no bite. I hoped Seth
would soon learn to take what his grandfather said with a grain of salt while
remaining respectful.

Bam!
“Ow!” I hollered as the rubber bounced
off my upper shoulder.

“Hey! No aiming at the head!”
my self-appointed guardian hollered at the other side.