Cover Girls (8 page)

The air conditioning in the car was going full blast, but Tonya could feel heat creeping up her neck to her face and ears. “You saw her, God. She acted like I had smacked her in the face and insulted her. There she was in the middle of the office yelling at me . . . calling me everything but a child of God.” An audible sob—not too loud, but just like a baby before it drifted off to sleep—came from Tonya’s throat. “And all those people were looking at me, Lord. Looking at both of us like we were crazy. I just don’t understand it, Lord. I don’t understand it.”

The Lord said nothing.

“She hates me. Michelle hates me for no reason. I try to be nice to her. I pray for her. I tried to smooth things over for her with Mrs. Judson—not to mention that I’m going to need someone to smooth things over for
me
with Mrs. Judson after this.” Tonya sighed as she checked her rearview mirror. “I’m tired, Lord. I can’t keep doing this and all the while Michelle just keeps kicking me in my face.”

In her heart, Tonya heard the Lord speak.
Keep doing what you’ve been doing, daughter.

“Lord?” Tears slipped from the corners of Tonya’s eyes and burned her face. “Lord, she hates me. You know she hates me. Michelle acts like I’m trying to hurt her. Like I’m trying to kill her. And, Lord, You know that I’ve been praying for her. You know that I’ve stuck up for her when Mrs. Judson has wanted me to let her go—even to the point where now Mrs. Judson is threatening both of us.

“Lord, I just need peace. I just need peace somewhere—at home, at work, anywhere. Some place where there is peace. I’m so tired, God. I’m just tired.”

It’s hard, my daughter, to kick against the pricks.

Her tears dried quickly. Tonya took three deep breaths. The Lord never said a lot when He spoke to her heart. He was thrifty with words; He was efficient. But what He said always got the point across.

Kicking against the pricks.
Tonya knew what it meant. It was what the Lord had said to Saul when he was having his Damascus Road experience. She knew the King James passage by heart.

Kicking against the pricks.
It was those times when God was giving His people—a son or a daughter—information, or requiring one of His children to behave in a way that went against common sense, against experience, against book learning, even against home training. Tonya remembered when she had first read the passage. In the account, something unseen had caused Saul to fall from his horse. There was a great light around him, and he heard a voice.

“Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?” Saul had answered, “Who art thou, Lord?” and the Lord had said, “I am Jesus whom thou persecutest: it is hard for thee to kick against the pricks.” Saul, trembling and astonished, had answered, “Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?” And the Lord had said to him, “Arise, and go into the city, and it shall be told thee what thou must do.”
²

Paul, who had been Saul, had known the same struggle that educated men and women face when they wrestle in their minds with notions of God as superstition, while even in their hearts, minds, and spirits they witness that there is something greater, something infinite, that they cannot explain.
Kicking against the pricks.
It was those times when, like Paul, God was saying something that went against the teachings of friends, of family, even against one’s own mind.

It was those times when God was leading in one direction and one of his stubborn children—like an ox in a yoke—tried to go in another. Tonya knew that the Lord was telling her that the pain she was feeling was the spiritual equivalent of the pain that oxen experience when they pull against the direction of the person leading them and are wounded by a yoke or collar of thorns—by the pricks. The Lord was telling her to stop causing her own pain, to surrender and stop fighting, to trust Him. He had a good plan, a plan to bless her and Michelle, not to cause them harm.

Right now, though, it didn’t feel like it. It hurt.
Kicking against the pricks.
Tonya definitely felt like she was being knocked from her horse, or at least from her desk, by something she knew, and her name was Michelle. She felt like she was in an unwanted spotlight at work. But she just wasn’t so sure that God was speaking with her like he did to Saul, or that she knew the plan.

“God, I spent money I don’t have, for nothing.” Tonya took a deep breath. “It hurt my feelings, God, and it embarrassed me.”

Finally, there it was—the truth. It wasn’t about the money. Tonya was hurt and humiliated.

Then she felt the Lord draw near. It was the closeness of a loving father taking his child on his knee. The tenderness of a father consoling a child when she is heartbroken or injured. It was the kindness of a father who is infinitely, faithfully, and unequivocally concerned about the welfare and happiness of his children.

Tonya pulled into her parking space in front of her and her son’s building in the apartment complex. She sat in her car for a few minutes, just until one of her favorite gospel songs ended—just until Tonya could get herself together.

Then she slipped from the car and went inside.

“Hey, Malik. I’m home,” she called to her son when she stepped through the front door.

“Hey, Moms. What’s up?” Her seventeen-year-old son was back in his bedroom, but she imagined she could see him—headphones half on and half off his head, a video game controller in his hand.

“How was school?” There was no point in bringing her office problems and laying them at her son’s feet. He had enough to deal with on his own. Instead, when he surfaced from his bedroom, Tonya listened to him talk about school. She washed the dishes that had been left in the sink—
Malik, I told you to wash whatever plates, glasses, or silverware you use so they won’t be left here for me when I get home
—and began like single parents and mothers everywhere to cook dinner without ever sitting down to rest.

That night, when everything that could be done was done, she fell asleep before her body hit the bed, and she dreamed about Michelle.

The office looked the same, except Michelle’s desk was bigger and more ornate than anyone else’s desk. Tonya sat in her space, trying to do her work and mind her own business, but Michelle kept snatching everything she wanted. It was as though Michelle was able to follow Tonya’s eyes, determine what Tonya wanted, then grab the item before Tonya’s fingers could grasp it. Or she would check Tonya with her body to keep her from what she desired. When Tonya reached for a stapler, Michelle grabbed it before she could get her hands on it. Michelle snatched a folder, a chair, even a window office—all things that rightfully belonged to Tonya— the instant before Tonya could reach them.

Then, in that way that happens in dreams, they were instantly transported to Tonya’s apartment. Michelle took pictures off the walls, hustled plates and food off the table, and took Tonya’s car keys off the hook near the door. Michelle even took her husband.

That’s when Tonya relaxed. That’s when, even though she was still dreaming, she determined that she was having a nightmare.

Richard was already gone.

Chapter Eleven

T
onya pulled into her spot in the parking lot near the building where she worked, walked to the red metal slotted box at the entrance to the lot, and inserted her five-dollar bill to park for the day.
If parking gets any higher, I’ll just have to stay home.
She smiled, thinking about her son. She’d enjoy getting to see Malik more. He was a good kid—he was going to be a good man.

As she got closer to the building, her breathing became more shallow and her palms began to sweat.
This is the day that the Lord has made, I will rejoice and be glad in it.
Tonya was glad for the solitary walk to the office building. It gave her time to shore herself up.

What a way to begin a week. Mrs. Judson was going to be boiling after the blowup on Friday.

“Tonya,” she had said evenly on Friday afternoon, “one of the qualities I look for in managers is just that—that they are able to manage the employees they supervise. And that they, with decisiveness, be able to determine that an employee is unmanageable, whereupon the manager quickly takes steps to dismiss him or her.”

There were lots of things Tonya could have said to Mrs. Judson. Things about compassion and about patience, not to mention that she was just a team leader with no authority, not a supervisor.

As though she’d read Tonya’s thoughts, Mrs. Judson had gone on. “Of course, I know, Tonya, that you are not yet a manager, but I’ve observed your willingness to work long hours, to tackle difficult assignments, even to get along with difficult people. But this situation with Michelle must come to some sort of resolution. Quickly. I’m not prepared to make a decision this afternoon in the emotion of this situation, but I think we should meet Monday morning before our usual staff meeting.”

I can do all things through Christ, which strengthens me.
Tonya pushed the glass door of the office building and stepped inside. She spoke to the security guards like she always did as she walked to the elevator and pushed the button.

All weekend Tonya had relived what happened in the office. She tried to figure it out and explain it to herself.

One second Michelle had been smelling the flowers. She was smiling, even smiling at Tonya—something that almost never happened. Michelle had opened the card and read. She actually seemed to be glowing. Tonya was sure Michelle was glowing. Finally, she’d thought, something had broken through Michelle’s hard shell.

None of the books or tapes she had given Michelle had helped—and Tonya had only given Michelle gifts and books that had actually helped her dig herself out of her
own
situations. The gifts only seemed to make Michelle angry.

But the flowers and the card had seemed to be working.
Thank You, God,
she had whispered to herself. She was happy she had been obedient and had bought the flowers. She’d leaned forward in her seat, enthralled by the enjoyment that Michelle’s happiness brought her.

Just as soon as Tonya had relaxed, though, Michelle frowned. And then Michelle was in her face, waving the card at her. Michelle was yelling, shouting and carrying on, and she was so dangerously close Tonya could feel the other woman’s breath on her chin. Michelle was yelling something at Tonya about minding her own damned business, something about being “holier than thou” and about
kicking
something even if she was in an office.

The elevator door opened. She was glad the car was empty and that there were twenty-four floors to her office. She stepped inside. Normally the slow-moving elevator irritated her. Today she was grateful for the time. Maybe she would have it all figured out by the twenty-fourth floor. Right.

Cinnamon cappuccino. That’s what she had smelled on Michelle’s breath. Tonya felt her mind wandering again. What was happening had to be a nightmare. Michelle hadn’t really yelled at her in front of everyone in the office. Mrs. Judson hadn’t really stood in her doorway watching the whole thing. It had to be a dream.

Only it wasn’t a dream.

Michelle had pushed up on her so close—hands on her hips, nails flicking in Tonya’s face, jumping up and down, screaming like a crazy woman—and she had seemed to be trying to move even closer. It was fighting language. Fight-or-flight language. Either you were going to run from the yelling or you were going to stand and fight. Tonya knew Michelle had expected her to run.

That was the thing about being saved. It was the thing about being labeled. People didn’t know who you were—or who you had been, for that matter. Some people seemed to think that her choice to live in peace and to minimize confrontation came from fear.

What Michelle didn’t know was that there was a day—a day not long ago—when Tonya would have been more than happy to go to fist city with her, to knock her out. Tonya put her one hand on her hip and used the other to hide a quick smile as she remembered the old days.
Michelle better ask somebody! She better recognize!
Tonya sighed and dropped her hands. It was another one of those things people didn’t understand.

Even she didn’t know how to explain to people what having an intimate relationship with the Lord had done to her. Some days she didn’t know herself why she wasn’t slapping people when they got on her nerves, but something had happened after she had gotten closer to the Lord that had changed her life. Before, she would have pounded Michelle . . . joyfully. Now she cried to the Lord about her verbal beatdown—and she waited and trusted
Him
to work it out. Though more times than not, Tonya still thought she could give the Lord just a little bit of help.

Fourteenth floor. Going up.

Lord, maybe You want me to get fired from this job. That’s where things seem to be headed. But what I’m hoping for is just some kind of sign, or some kind of breakthrough. Michelle doesn’t have to be my best friend, Lord. But I need something. Something!

Fifteenth floor.

The elevator doors opened.

“Hey, baby girl!”

It was Shadrach. Tonya’s shoulders relaxed.

“How’s it going?”

Tonya didn’t know why she began telling Shadrach everything, but she did. She really didn’t know Shadrach well. But he seemed to be one of those people who took his job seriously—he was on time, he was always working and coaching other employees. There was a certain determined optimism about him. Determined because everyone knew, without saying it, that optimism and joy were not respected in the workplace. Comedies don’t receive Academy Awards and joyful people rarely become executives.

She didn’t know why the story came spilling out, but it did. Shadrach listened for a minute. Then he nodded.

“Let’s push some of these buttons so that this thing will slow down while we talk.” He punched buttons so the elevator would be forced to stop every few floors on its way up.

There was a joy vacuum where they worked. Some folks had never, it seemed, had any joy. Others had had the joy sucked right out of them, while others had just given it up, or packed it away in order to get promoted or to fit in. They had taken on the sour look, the turned down mouth that some CEOs—and even some preachers, for that matter—seemed to affect to make people think they were “serious” or “deep.” Whichever the scenario, all the gladness was pulled out of any new people and out of the few that still fought to hold on.