Welcome to The Soap Opera Series where over the course of the next several weeks I will feature one of my books in its entirety, a segment at at time, right here on my blog...for free! So stop by every Wednesday and Saturday beginning August 14, 2013 for new episode postings. Kicking the series off is my novel: A Little Hurt Ain't Never Hurt Nobody. Enjoy it!
A Little Hurt Ain't Never Hurt Nobody
Continued
Continued
That Sunday, I awoke early, and lay in bed just staring at the colored page I’d taken to bed with me a few nights before. As soon as I thought she was up, I picked up the phone and dialed Tweet’s number.
“Hello,” she answered after three rings, sounding as if she were already up.
“Good morning, I need a huge favor.”
“Yeah, I can tell because you’re calling on a Sunday morning. What’s wrong?”
“Do you have plans today, I need you to open the store up for me; I’m not going to be able to make it until this afternoon.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. I just need to take care of something that I've been putting off for a while.”
“I really wasn’t planning on doing anything besides catching up on some reading and doing a little cleaning. I guess I can put both of those on hold.”
“I would appreciate it."
“No problem.”
Pulling myself from bed, I stretched then padded to the closet and looked through my church clothes section to find something to wear, quickly settling on a Calvin Klein black suit trimmed in satin and black satin trimmed pumps to match. With that out of the way, on I began to hum a tune to myself, feeling more encouraged than I’d had in months as I glided down the steps and into the kitchen. Only a few minutes had gone by before the delicious aroma of cinnamon battered sourdough bread stuffed with bananas and orange date compote, scrambled cheese eggs and chicken apple sausage wafted upstairs , tickled Cadelynn’s and CJ’s noses, and conned them from their sleep. Cadelynn made it down first, still in a pajama shorts set that was about an inch away from having her behind exposed. She still had a scarf tied her full head of bendable rollers.
“We’re having company?” she asked suspiciously as her eyes jumped from one serving platter to another.
“Nooo, I sang jubilantly. “Just wanted to enjoy breakfast with my children.”
“But mom, this is breakfast on a whole ‘nother level.” She grabbed a plate from the cabinet and began piling on food.
“Can you pour some juice please and wait for your brother to come down.” She huffed just low enough that I wouldn’t say anything as she sat her plate down, went back to the cabinet and got three glasses.
“CJ! Come eat!” she hollered. Well, that was one way to do it.
I sat the platters on the table, poured myself some coffee while Cadelynn placed two other plates down for me and her brother, then grabbed forks and knives.
“Good morning mommy,” CJ said brightly. “I brushed my teeth already, see!” he exposed as many of his twenty teeth as he could then glanced at the table. “Wow! It looks like a restaurant in here! You cooked this?” he asked in disbelief.
“Yes and what’s with you two that I can’t cook breakfast without you both thinking something’s going on.”
“Because you don’t hardly ever cook. You used to cook a lot when daddy was still alive, but you don’t anymore. Cadelynn just normally fix me a bowl of cereal.”
I gulped down a mouthful of guilt and chased it with a swig of coffee before I spoke again. “Well I’m giving your sister a day off.” Cadelynn plopped into a chair and picked her fork up to start digging in, but I stopped her. “Let’s say grace first.”
Her eye brows shot up in surprise as she shrugged. “Okay.”
“I wanna say it,” CJ offered as he held his hands out towards us for us to grab. I nodded, giving him the go ahead. “Thank you Lord for the food we eat and fresh clean water that we drink. Thank you Lord for rest and care and little children everywhere. And thank you for letting mommy stay home and have breakfast with us and that I don’t have to have cereal today. But thank you for letting Cadelynn take care of me when mommy is busy.”
Where did this little boy get all this prayer power from? We ate breakfast while Smokey Norful sang across
the small Bose system that sat on the kitchen counter.
“If I call and here's no answer in the midst of my despair, I can still say Lord you been good,” Cadelynn began singing along in a voice I hadn’t even realized she had. The girl brought tears to my eyes right there at the table. I had to excuse myself to run to the bathroom and pull it together.
As the three of us cleared the table, I let them know that I’d be going to church that day rather than to the shop. “I’ll be back right after service is over. I’m not going to go to the shop at all today,” I announced.
“Whaaat?” Cadelynn drew out. “You’re actually taking a day off?”
“Yep. Don’t you think I deserve one?”
“You just never take one, that’s all.”
“When did you start singing like that?”
Cadelynn smiled a bit and hunched her shoulders as she ran a sinkful of dishwater without being asked. “I don’t know. I just opened up my mouth one day, and that’s what came out.”
“She sings all the time mom. Sometimes I want her to shut up for a little while.”
“Why don’t you shut up!” she ordered. “With your big head!”
“Alright you two. That’s enough,” I injected, stopping the banter before it had gotten started good. “Anyway, I’ll be back after church is over. Next week we’re all going together so be ready.”
It took me close to an hour, a jar of super hold gel, and a hard bristled brush to get my hair in some kind of presentable order. I’d brushed edges until my head was sore and still looked like a trip to Ree-Ree’s kitchen salon would have done me some good. I wasn't going to let that stop me from going to church though. As I pulled on my panty hose, it snagged on a broken nail sending a run from my waist down to my heel. I ripped them off and decided to go bare legged with a pair of open toed stilettos instead of my pumps. I looked high and low for my bible and finally found it hidden under a stack of Essence magazines by my bedside. “At least it’s not dusty,” I mumbled to myself, then headed out the door.
Not wanting to go to my own church to avoid the stares and questions I was sure I’d get for being gone so long, I picked a very large church where I could easily get lost in the crowd. I arrived thirty minutes before the service was scheduled to start and was glad to find that the organist was already in place, and playing a medley of hymns that had begun to seep into my soul. I watched others shuffle in and begin to get seated, some talking quietly while others spoke quiet words of praise. I had to admit, it felt good to be in church again.
With my eyes closed, I found myself on the verge of tears as I sang the lyrics to Sweet Hour of Prayer. “In seasons of distress and grief, my soul has often found relief and….” I had begun whispering the words aloud when I was interrupted by a woman’s voice.
“Excuse me.” She tapped my shoulder lightly, bringing me out of what was beginning to turn into worship.
I looked up into the smiling and overly made up face of a heavy set woman dressed in a copper taffeta and lace skirt suit with large gold buttons. Copper and gold colored sequined pumps covered her feet and were accommodated by the matching clutch purse. Not a single hair on her head was out of place, even though it was easy to see that it was a wig or freshly done weave. Beside her stood a man wearing a suit which coordinated perfectly with her outfit. He held a metallic gold handkerchief in his hand, folded into a neat square, and dabbed at his brow every two seconds. Four children, two boys and two girls trailed behind him, also neatly outfitted in copper and gold, the boys in suits and the girls in elaborate poofy dresses with gold tights and black patent leather shoes.
“Sure,” I answered, maneuvering my knees to the side to allow her and her family enough room to pass in front of me.
“No, no, no sweetie; I mean you’re sitting in our seats,” she informed me with a hint of arrogance.
I absolutely hated when someone called me sweetie. To me, sweetie was a term of endearment for a five year old child, or at least a person’s own children. I was neither so I took offense at both the term and her condescending tone and cringed slightly. “I’m sorry?”
“Sweetie, do you not know who we are? Do you know how much property we own in this and the neighboring seven cities? Didn’t you see our names posted on the side of this pew?” She took a step back and read to me the engraved gold plate. “Mr. Alberto and Dr. Genevieve E. Fauntleroy - Platinum Contributors 2004-2008. You’re going to have to move, dear,” she stated with finality.
“Excuse me?” Was I at church or at a concert with assigned seating?
“I said;” she emphasized the word said. “You are going to have to move.” She began patting her foot as she folded her arms across her chest and stared straight ahead. “Devil I rebuke you right now, you not gone mess my spirit up. I will be in my rightful place today!” she declared.
“You can’t be serious,” I questioned, looking back and forth between her and her husband’s faces. She only cleared her throat and continued to wait. My eyes darted around looking to see who was watching this mini fiasco unfold. I saw a few seemingly disgusted faces, which seemed to say “that’s a shame.” expressed by rolling eyes or shaking heads. Nonetheless no one, not an usher, minister, associate pastor, senior pastor or lay member came over to ask either of us to consider sitting somewhere else. Coincidently, we both spoke the exact same words at the exact same time which forced our eyes to meet.
“You see this, right Lord?” After a few seconds of staring, I finally gather my things to move.
“Thank you Lord! You’re a faithful God,” she had the audacity to say. “Did you see her Alberto? She didn’t even have the class and womanly grace to put a pair of stockings on! I’m going to have to talk to the board of trustees about who they let in this sanctuary! After all, this is the house of God.” I was apparent that she’d wanted me to hear her comment.
Instead of journeying to another seat, I let my feet take me straight out the door. Needless to say, the next Sunday, and the Sunday after that, and the Sunday after that found me at Sweet Jream’s from open to close.
“Hello,” she answered after three rings, sounding as if she were already up.
“Good morning, I need a huge favor.”
“Yeah, I can tell because you’re calling on a Sunday morning. What’s wrong?”
“Do you have plans today, I need you to open the store up for me; I’m not going to be able to make it until this afternoon.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. I just need to take care of something that I've been putting off for a while.”
“I really wasn’t planning on doing anything besides catching up on some reading and doing a little cleaning. I guess I can put both of those on hold.”
“I would appreciate it."
“No problem.”
Pulling myself from bed, I stretched then padded to the closet and looked through my church clothes section to find something to wear, quickly settling on a Calvin Klein black suit trimmed in satin and black satin trimmed pumps to match. With that out of the way, on I began to hum a tune to myself, feeling more encouraged than I’d had in months as I glided down the steps and into the kitchen. Only a few minutes had gone by before the delicious aroma of cinnamon battered sourdough bread stuffed with bananas and orange date compote, scrambled cheese eggs and chicken apple sausage wafted upstairs , tickled Cadelynn’s and CJ’s noses, and conned them from their sleep. Cadelynn made it down first, still in a pajama shorts set that was about an inch away from having her behind exposed. She still had a scarf tied her full head of bendable rollers.
“We’re having company?” she asked suspiciously as her eyes jumped from one serving platter to another.“Nooo, I sang jubilantly. “Just wanted to enjoy breakfast with my children.”
“But mom, this is breakfast on a whole ‘nother level.” She grabbed a plate from the cabinet and began piling on food.
“Can you pour some juice please and wait for your brother to come down.” She huffed just low enough that I wouldn’t say anything as she sat her plate down, went back to the cabinet and got three glasses.
“CJ! Come eat!” she hollered. Well, that was one way to do it.
I sat the platters on the table, poured myself some coffee while Cadelynn placed two other plates down for me and her brother, then grabbed forks and knives.
“Good morning mommy,” CJ said brightly. “I brushed my teeth already, see!” he exposed as many of his twenty teeth as he could then glanced at the table. “Wow! It looks like a restaurant in here! You cooked this?” he asked in disbelief.
“Yes and what’s with you two that I can’t cook breakfast without you both thinking something’s going on.”
“Because you don’t hardly ever cook. You used to cook a lot when daddy was still alive, but you don’t anymore. Cadelynn just normally fix me a bowl of cereal.”
I gulped down a mouthful of guilt and chased it with a swig of coffee before I spoke again. “Well I’m giving your sister a day off.” Cadelynn plopped into a chair and picked her fork up to start digging in, but I stopped her. “Let’s say grace first.”
Her eye brows shot up in surprise as she shrugged. “Okay.”
“I wanna say it,” CJ offered as he held his hands out towards us for us to grab. I nodded, giving him the go ahead. “Thank you Lord for the food we eat and fresh clean water that we drink. Thank you Lord for rest and care and little children everywhere. And thank you for letting mommy stay home and have breakfast with us and that I don’t have to have cereal today. But thank you for letting Cadelynn take care of me when mommy is busy.”
Where did this little boy get all this prayer power from? We ate breakfast while Smokey Norful sang across the small Bose system that sat on the kitchen counter.
“If I call and here's no answer in the midst of my despair, I can still say Lord you been good,” Cadelynn began singing along in a voice I hadn’t even realized she had. The girl brought tears to my eyes right there at the table. I had to excuse myself to run to the bathroom and pull it together.
As the three of us cleared the table, I let them know that I’d be going to church that day rather than to the shop. “I’ll be back right after service is over. I’m not going to go to the shop at all today,” I announced.
“Whaaat?” Cadelynn drew out. “You’re actually taking a day off?”
“Yep. Don’t you think I deserve one?”
“You just never take one, that’s all.”
“When did you start singing like that?”
Cadelynn smiled a bit and hunched her shoulders as she ran a sinkful of dishwater without being asked. “I don’t know. I just opened up my mouth one day, and that’s what came out.”
“She sings all the time mom. Sometimes I want her to shut up for a little while.”
“Why don’t you shut up!” she ordered. “With your big head!”
“Alright you two. That’s enough,” I injected, stopping the banter before it had gotten started good. “Anyway, I’ll be back after church is over. Next week we’re all going together so be ready.”
It took me close to an hour, a jar of super hold gel, and a hard bristled brush to get my hair in some kind of presentable order. I’d brushed edges until my head was sore and still looked like a trip to Ree-Ree’s kitchen salon would have done me some good. I wasn't going to let that stop me from going to church though. As I pulled on my panty hose, it snagged on a broken nail sending a run from my waist down to my heel. I ripped them off and decided to go bare legged with a pair of open toed stilettos instead of my pumps. I looked high and low for my bible and finally found it hidden under a stack of Essence magazines by my bedside. “At least it’s not dusty,” I mumbled to myself, then headed out the door.
Not wanting to go to my own church to avoid the stares and questions I was sure I’d get for being gone so long, I picked a very large church where I could easily get lost in the crowd. I arrived thirty minutes before the service was scheduled to start and was glad to find that the organist was already in place, and playing a medley of hymns that had begun to seep into my soul. I watched others shuffle in and begin to get seated, some talking quietly while others spoke quiet words of praise. I had to admit, it felt good to be in church again.
With my eyes closed, I found myself on the verge of tears as I sang the lyrics to Sweet Hour of Prayer. “In seasons of distress and grief, my soul has often found relief and….” I had begun whispering the words aloud when I was interrupted by a woman’s voice.
“Excuse me.” She tapped my shoulder lightly, bringing me out of what was beginning to turn into worship.
I looked up into the smiling and overly made up face of a heavy set woman dressed in a copper taffeta and lace skirt suit with large gold buttons. Copper and gold colored sequined pumps covered her feet and were accommodated by the matching clutch purse. Not a single hair on her head was out of place, even though it was easy to see that it was a wig or freshly done weave. Beside her stood a man wearing a suit which coordinated perfectly with her outfit. He held a metallic gold handkerchief in his hand, folded into a neat square, and dabbed at his brow every two seconds. Four children, two boys and two girls trailed behind him, also neatly outfitted in copper and gold, the boys in suits and the girls in elaborate poofy dresses with gold tights and black patent leather shoes.
“Sure,” I answered, maneuvering my knees to the side to allow her and her family enough room to pass in front of me.
“No, no, no sweetie; I mean you’re sitting in our seats,” she informed me with a hint of arrogance.
I absolutely hated when someone called me sweetie. To me, sweetie was a term of endearment for a five year old child, or at least a person’s own children. I was neither so I took offense at both the term and her condescending tone and cringed slightly. “I’m sorry?”
“Sweetie, do you not know who we are? Do you know how much property we own in this and the neighboring seven cities? Didn’t you see our names posted on the side of this pew?” She took a step back and read to me the engraved gold plate. “Mr. Alberto and Dr. Genevieve E. Fauntleroy - Platinum Contributors 2004-2008. You’re going to have to move, dear,” she stated with finality.
“Excuse me?” Was I at church or at a concert with assigned seating?“I said;” she emphasized the word said. “You are going to have to move.” She began patting her foot as she folded her arms across her chest and stared straight ahead. “Devil I rebuke you right now, you not gone mess my spirit up. I will be in my rightful place today!” she declared.
“You can’t be serious,” I questioned, looking back and forth between her and her husband’s faces. She only cleared her throat and continued to wait. My eyes darted around looking to see who was watching this mini fiasco unfold. I saw a few seemingly disgusted faces, which seemed to say “that’s a shame.” expressed by rolling eyes or shaking heads. Nonetheless no one, not an usher, minister, associate pastor, senior pastor or lay member came over to ask either of us to consider sitting somewhere else. Coincidently, we both spoke the exact same words at the exact same time which forced our eyes to meet.
“You see this, right Lord?” After a few seconds of staring, I finally gather my things to move.
“Thank you Lord! You’re a faithful God,” she had the audacity to say. “Did you see her Alberto? She didn’t even have the class and womanly grace to put a pair of stockings on! I’m going to have to talk to the board of trustees about who they let in this sanctuary! After all, this is the house of God.” I was apparent that she’d wanted me to hear her comment.
Instead of journeying to another seat, I let my feet take me straight out the door. Needless to say, the next Sunday, and the Sunday after that, and the Sunday after that found me at Sweet Jream’s from open to close.
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