Page 4 of João
“I wasn’t the one thirsting after the beleza singing.”
“Ain’t no one thirsting,” I replied back, reaching my car and opening the door.
“Irmão, you forgot what thirsting is, obviously. I mean, when’s the last time you had a girl? Not a sub, an actualgirlfriend. So this is why I’m here to remind you that what you just did…it’s called thirsting. And at Pai’s funeral. Damn, won’t He do it?” Joaquim said, already bouncing back from the melancholy of a few minutes ago. To have that emotional capacity…
“I was just admiring her voice. It’s gorgeous, nothing more,” I said, pulling off the curb and onto the paved street. Joaquim shrugged, finding something to listen to, leaving me to my thoughts. Maybe my brother wasn’t yet ready to bounce back.
Maybe he felt the same thing I had while listening to her voice.
Maybe he realized laying Julio to rest meant it was just us now.
the grocery store
GISELE
Amonth later…
The folded letter in my hand trembled as I placed it on the Rector’s desk. His assistant, Mrs. Brownson, had allowed me to walk in and drop off my message, probably assuming it was vestry work instead of what it actually was.
The small office was crowded, filled with books in piles and photos of different parishioners all standing with Father Weaver: smiling faces, blessed faces, judgmental faces. Mahogany furniture darkened the room, giving it an old, comfortable feel. A twinge of regret assaulted me as I walked out of the office. Father Weaver had been a wonderful rector with us for five years now and always encouraged me to grow in my stewardship to the Lord with faith and simplicity. If only the rest of the congregation were like him, I might not be leaving my work and my home church behind. But after a year of pretending everything was fine, I couldn’t do it any longer.
Coming to church every Sunday for 7:00 a.m. mass had become a dreaded part of my week. The whispers, the condemnation, the gossip, the expectation for me to be thebetter person. All of it had become a burden I wasn’t certain the Lord wanted me to carry anymore.
“Thanks, Ms. Brownson,” I said, heading out.
“Where you going, child? The vestry meets in half an hour.”
Nausea rolled, my stomach not ready to contend with the decision I’d already made in the quiet of my own conscience. No matter how right this was for me, the thought of curtailing my responsibilities, my duty…
“I…I won’t be part of the vestry anymore,” I said as Mrs. Brownson’s eyes widened.
“Oh no! I done told Jackson these good-for-nothing busybodies finna run that sweet child away from the house of the Lord. They don’t know what they do, child; they just yap their mouths to have something to say. And you don’t gotta do nothing you don’t wanna do. The choir will be just fine with you not singing in that wedding, and I told your momma that.”
People like Mrs. Brownson were the ones I’d miss, the ones that made this decision so difficult when it should have been simple. I could find another church. Another congregation not invested in my love life, one that hadn’t had front-row seats to the past two devastating years of my life.
“Thanks, Mrs. Brownson. I really mean that, from the bottom of my heart. I’ll miss working with you, but this ain’t Jesus’ only residence and it’s my time to go.”
“See, Jackson gon’ curse up a storm. That’s why he stopped coming, y’know. When he divorced his wife and my late husband passed away, people just had plenty to say when Jackson and I found solace in each other a few months later. Talking about it’s too soon, we hadn’t mourned our losses long enough. And I remember yo’ Daddy tryna do good but getting run outta here too, him and that boy that he was mentoring. But see, they not the ones at night in the dark when the shadows come. Oh, child, Father Weaver finna be devastated.”
Mrs. Brownson meant well, but I couldn’t handle the guilt from her words anymore.
“He’ll understand. And I’ll always come by to visit. This is just… I need a new home. This is best for me.”
“I hear you, child, I really do. What that man did…nasty business, I tell you. Nasty. Clearly, it was not a decision made under the light of the Lord. But well, you know, people do have clay feet. Don’t you forget that, you hear? And stop by any Sunday night at my home. I’ll make you some good cooking.”
My eyes watered at the kind offer. I rushed to the desk next to Ms. Brownson, my heart brimming with sadness, and she stood up immediately, understanding what I needed. Her bony arms encircled me and with surprising strength, she gathered me as I shook with uncontrollable sobs.
This was the church that watched me grow up. This was my home for so long. The place of my baptism, my confirmation. The place I thought I’d get married, baptize my own children.
“Oh, child, hush, it’ll all be alright. Gone now before the rest arrive and wanna be in your business. Go easy, child.”
Snacks.
I needed plenty of snacks tonight. The plan was to veg out in front of my TV, watching reruns ofLiving Singleand eating all the goodies I could manage until sleep claimed me. The goal was to stop thinking about tomorrow morning and not having somewhere to go to worship. Sleeping in on Sunday would be a nice treat for a change. The chill of the dairy aisle raised thehair on my arms as I aimlessly wandered around, aisle by aisle, grabbing whatever looked appetizing.
My cart had grapes, cool ranch Doritos, cheese dip, cashew nuts, cookies and cream chocolate bars, pretzels, chocolate-covered almonds, and trail mix. I’d only open one or two and the rest of the items would languish in my pantry, but I wanted choices. And I had no idea what I’d be in the mood to eat once my couch and I merged into one.
My chest cavity gaped, hollow. A current of nervous, unresolved energy raced through my veins. The items on the shelves needed to be my focus and not the decision I’d just made. I’d find a new place. It was not the end of the world. But it sure felt like it.
