Boaz Brown (45 page)

Ask any teacher—time flies after spring break. That goes double for administrators. Between March and May I had about a million and one things to do: get notices to parents about missing textbooks, library fines, and school property lost throughout the year; have conferences with the parents of students who might be retained; interview new teachers; look at staffing for the following school year; reestablish end-of-year procedures; make sure that the students’ cumulative files were ready to go on to the high school; and deal with the never-ending referrals from students who had caught spring fever and were acting as if they didn’t have good sense.

There was also the added pressure from Mr. Butler, which had become more concentrated than before. I prayed every morning, as usual, but he made me add a little extra for strength at work.

The only good thing on my desk that semester was a wacky picture of Stelson and me taken at Six Flags over Texas. We were standing on either side of Bugs Bunny, with Bugs Bunny holding up bunny ears behind our heads. Just thinking about that day and all the time we spent together eased the pressures of work.

Outside school, I couldn’t have asked for a better spring. Stelson and I were becoming an item—attending church services together, eating a few Sunday dinners at my parents’ house, planning our weekends together, and calling each other every night.

He remained a faithful tutor at my church on Wednesday nights and often stayed for service afterward. Slowly the church members were beginning to know and accept

“Brother Brown.” I fell in love with Saturday Night Live at his church. We both attended and volunteered to serve the youth regularly.

Stelson made a few more business trips that spring, and he always brought me something back. I never asked him to—he just did it. In His own time, God opened my heart fully to the idea of having a serene, peaceful, minimal- drama relationship. Not perfect, not without its idiosyncrasies, but victorious nonetheless.

The news of Mr. Butler’s official notice of retirement was music to my ears. I personally helped his secretary stuff the teachers’ boxes with invitations to his retirement party at the administration building. I mean, I was counting the days till he packed up his boxes and drove off the lot. Sure, there would be other Mr. Butlers and Mr. Donovans in my life, but it was a relief to get
these
antagonists out of my life and to know that, hopefully, I’d have Stelson with me to face the challenges ahead.

I was able to get things organized in my office and close out the year smoothly. Stelson took a vacation during the second week in June. His family had a reunion, and I finally got the chance to meet his “peoples,” as Daddy would say. Most of Stelson’s immediate family still lived in Louisiana, but the reunion was in Dallas because his mother’s eldest sister lived there and she had nine children; thus, her offspring accounted for half the living family tree.

Stelson’s mother and brother got in town Friday evening and stayed with Stelson the whole weekend. One of his sisters, her husband, and their two kids didn’t get in until late Saturday afternoon, but they stayed with Stelson as well. I was a little apprehensive about hanging out with them because I didn’t want to infringe upon their family reunion.

“Nonsense, baby,” Mrs. Brown told me in that sweet, airy voice that I hoped I’d have in my golden years. “You go far back enough down anybody’s family tree, and you’ll find out we’re all family anyways.”

Stelson treated his mother with the utmost respect. He waited on her hand and foot and went out of his way to make sure she felt comfortable in his home. He even bought a special comforter and pillows. He tried to cook for her, but she fussed so much that he finally gave up and let her have full charge of the kitchen. She made a pot of gumbo that converted me forever to Cajun food. I ended up taking a bowl of it home.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Stelson laughed.

“Yes, baby, but I didn’t think it would be like
this.”

After the weekend of the reunion, Stelson hung around my office some during the day, helping me rearrange things and take care of business. It was nice having him there. He was pretty good at getting things organized and prioritizing our list of things to do.

He installed some programs on my computer and did something to my files to get them organized in my computer’s filing system. He even put a shortcut to a gospel radio station on my desktop screen. I was impressed.

The morning of my interview for the newly vacated principal’s position at my school, he brought me fresh fruit and a carton of grape juice. “What’s all this healthy stuff?” I asked him.

“Nothing wrong with eating healthy every now and then.” He shrugged. “Besides, you need a good breakfast before you go off to an interview.”

I took a deep breath. “Don’t get me all nervous.”

“You’re gonna be great, sweetheart.” He pulled me close and gave me a power hug.

“Thanks,” I said. And then it plopped out of me. “I love you, Stelson.”

Who said that? Did I just say that?

He just looked at me and smiled. “I love you, too, LaShondra.”

I reached up and kissed my Boaz. His face touched mine slightly in our embrace. I loved him. I loved him as I’d never loved anyone before. My whole heart was exposed. For once, all my defenses were down. There was something completely serene about
it,
but at the same time I felt vulnerable. I felt as though I was giving myself to him. Letting him go to a place in my heart that I didn’t think any person was capable of inhabiting. It was a fresh corner of my soul that had long wished to be filled—until this morning, and Stelson was in
it.
He was in that place that I didn’t really know existed, at the level that I couldn’t even have imagined before that moment.

It wasn’t just the kiss, the embrace, or his touch that let my spirit go there. It was the fact  I knew Stelson loved me with the love of God and I loved him with the same perfectness that had already linked us eternally through Jesus Christ. I don’t know how long we kissed, but when we stopped, my face was wet with tears.

Stelson looked down. “Why are you crying?” His hands quickly went to my cheeks and wiped the tears away.

“I’ve said that I don’t know how many times,” I laughed at myself. “But I never had an inkling of what it meant until now.”

He laughed, too. “I felt the same way when I told you that night on the veranda. Felt like laughing and crying and screaming and praying and shouting all at the same time.”

“I know,” I agreed. “It’s like you’ve finally arrived. Like you’ve found the person that God has. . . has given you to make this life on earth more bearable until it’s time to go home.”

“Like you’ve found the one your heart loves.” He quoted the Song of Solomon.

“I love you,” I told him again.

“I love you, too.”

We said it over and over again until we both began laughing. I started getting that bubbly feeling—like I was too old to be acting so silly, but too young at heart to care. I loved and was undeniably in love with Stelson Brown.

“Okay,” I wiped the last tears away, “I guess I’ll see you later at the church tonight?”

“Yes, I’ll see you later, Principal Smith.”

I could have shouted right there. Seriously, there’s nothing like having your man speak into your life.

The interview went well, and I was not one bit surprised when they called me back for a second interview three days later. I finally learned that I’d gotten the appointment just before we took the three-week break. I was elated to finally be in a position to allow God’s hand to rule in that school through me.

Now I could spearhead some of the initiatives I’d wanted to put in place but never could because the school had been running on the good-ol’-boy system. It was truly a blessing that I could foresee affecting generations—not to mention that I’d gotten a considerable raise. I knew just what I was going to do with the first chunk of extra money: buy a much-needed TV-VCR combination for my children’s church class. My kids were always sitting around straining to see what was on that little thirteen-inch screen we had. I’d requisitioned another one, but the budget was too tight to get one out of the youth department’s funds. It was
on
now!

Stelson treated my parents and me to dinner the night after I got the good news. We went back to Abuelita’s.

“My baby!” Momma sat up tall and rocked on her behind. “A principal.”

“Kick those kids into shape,” Daddy said, smiling. I couldn’t recall a time I’d seen him smile like that. Ever. My Daddy, smiling, laughing, enjoying himself. He folded his lips in, them poked them out. “I’m proud of you, Shondra. Always have been.”

Thank You, Lord.

Stelson asked us if we didn’t mind him ordering a family- size plate of chicken fajitas. We agreed to the order.

Stelson excused himself to go to the restroom, and Momma cornered me about him. “Shondra, you better hold on to him,” she said, giving me that same eye she used to give me when I was talking in church.

“Momma, I know Stelson is great. And we both love each other very much.”

“You ain’t got to tell me that.” She smiled. “I can feel it just sittin’ here.”

I was surprised Daddy hadn’t put his two cents in yet. “Okay, Daddy, what do you have to say about all this?”

“Nothin’.” He looked away.

“That’s not like you,” I said.

“Shows how much you know about me.” He respectfully tipped his head to me.

Momma gave me a look that said
leave it alone,
so I did.

Stelson came back, and we carried on as though we hadn’t been talking about him the whole time he was gone. The fajitas came, sizzling and spreading a mouthwatering cloud around our whole table.

Stelson asked Daddy to bless the food. Momma and I looked at each other, and I was just about to nudge Stelson when Daddy agreed to pray.
Miracles never cease!

The fajitas were delicious. We sat around for a few minutes after we’d finished, talking about Jonathan and about Stelson’s family. Daddy asked Stelson if he knew any of the Mohares from Louisiana.

“I graduated from high school with a girl named Beatrice Mohare,” Stelson offered.

“What was her father’s name?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know, Mr. Smith.”

“Did she have any brothers or sisters?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Yeah, that was probably them,” Daddy surmised. Let Daddy tell it, he knew everybody’s peoples.

The band had gone around to a few tables to sing happy birthday, so when a few members came down from the stage again, I didn’t think twice about it. But when they stopped at our table, I wondered what was going on.

“Señorita Smith?” the leader asked me.

“Yes.”

“This song is for you,” the leader said, signaling for the band to play. Then he started singing something in Spanish. I didn’t know what he was saying, but it was a beautiful song. I winked at Stelson and then turned back to give my full attention to the leader. As they sang to the chorus, I began to recognize the song—the slow, rhythmic beat, the sound of the guitar.

“Cásame, por favor, mi amor. Cásame, por favor, mi amor.”

It was the same song they sang to the woman in red the first time we’d eaten there! My mouth opened so wide, I know I looked crazy. I turned to face Stelson, but he wasn’t in his seat. He was kneeling down before me, holding the most beautiful solitaire I’d ever laid eyes on.
Taa-dow!

The band finished its song, and the whole restaurant hushed.

“LaShondra Smith, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” he asked, holding my hand. The diamond seemed to catch every ray of light, sparkling brilliantly atop a thick gold band with dainty wisplike engravings covering the band.

“Yes!”

The whole restaurant cheered and hollered and screamed for a good minute as Stelson and I embraced. My hand trembled as he slid the ring on. It fit perfectly. We kissed tenderly as the noise died down to its normal rumble.

“I love you,” I told my future husband.