I Left My Back Door Open (10 page)

Tyeesha looked at me with compassionate eyes.

“Luckily, abortion had just become legal in the whole country.” I sighed. “Otherwise I would've had to scrape up the money to go to New York.”

“Did the guy stand by you?”

I groaned. “I was stupid, it was just some dude I went home with after a fraternity party. I didn't even know his real first name, let alone his last name. Everybody called him Hooty. I knew he probably wouldn't give a hoot, either.”

“Probably wouldn't,” Tyeesha agreed.

“I was careless and I got caught. I was too embarrassed to even tell him. Your mother was the only one I confided in.
She
stood by me. She held my hand through it all.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Of course I regret being so stupid. And yeah, sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing. I wonder if the fact that I ended up with fibroids and had to have a hysterectomy was payback. I got rid of the only child I probably ever would've had. But I was young and scared and so ashamed. I felt like I had to choose between being a statistic and getting an education. Abortion just seemed like the best solution.”

“Didn't you think about keeping it or putting it up for adoption, even?”

“I thought about everything. I fantasized about having a girl. I fantasized about having a boy. I even had a nightmare about having twins. I just knew that if I carried it, I would keep it. And I didn't want to be another black girl struggling with a baby with no father. Instead, I wanted to see the look on my mother's face when I presented her with my college degree.” I paused. “I made my choice and I've had to live with it.”

“Fairy godmother, it seems like life is full of problems.” Tyeesha sighed, and put her arm around my shoulder.

I turned and hugged her against my chest. “Life is not a problem to be solved, my child. It is a gift to be opened.”

seven

“I'm concerned this morning,” the preacher declared. “I said, I'm concerned this morning!”

“Yassuh!”

“I'm concerned this morning, because some of you are going to hell,” the pastor said, searching the faces in the congregation. I felt Jason's little body come to attention. He was sitting between Sarita and me. I hoped the preacher wasn't scaring him. But on the other hand, maybe a little fear wasn't the worst thing these days.

“I repeat, some of you are going to hell,” the minister said solemnly.

“Lord, have mercy!”

“You can't give the devil a ride,” the preacher continued. “I said, you can't give the devil a ride.”

“Amen, Reverend!”

“Because if you give the devil a ride, then he's gonna wanna drive.” He pretended to be steering.

“Amen, Reverend!”

“Let the church say amen!”

“Amen!!!!”

“And if you let the devil drive, you're gonna end up in a wreck. I said, if you let the devil drive, you're gonna end up having a wreck. And the only insurance that the devil carries is a one-way ticket to hell!”

“Lawd have mercy!”

“Hallelujah!”

The organist started up and a male soloist belted out “I'd Trade a Lifetime for Just One Day in Paradise.”

After church, I changed into some old clothes and rode the exercise bike in Sarita's basement. She sorted piles of laundry on the floor nearby.

“Girl, the way you sang out in church this morning, I thought you were gonna outdo the choir,” Sarita teased.

“I have a feeling that I'm about to be blessed, so I made a joyous noise.” I pedaled steadily.

“I guess if Skylar actually calls you, next thing you know, you'll be speaking in tongues.”

“No, I won't go there. I could never speak gibberish in public,” I said, pedaling faster.

“If the Holy Ghost gets into you, you have no choice. He speaks through you.”

“Why does the Holy Ghost always choose Priscilla Crockett?” I asked. “I know it's wrong to say it, but I wish she would shut up sometimes.”

“You're speaking against the Holy Ghost now. That's blasphemy.”

“But it's scary, listening to her screaming and crying, like she's been traumatized. And nobody understanding what she's saying. Why is it, that when two people are speaking in tongues, neither one can understand what the other one is saying? Seems like there should be a universal tongue language.”

“There are mysteries that we don't understand.”

I slowed down on the bike. “I used to spend my summers in Alabama with my grandparents and cousins. And we went to a li'l old frame church perched on top of a hill. There was this woman, Sister Bertha Fullilove. They used to call her Big Bertha behind her back. Anyway, she got
happy
every Sunday, right before they took up collection. That's why she never had to tap the plate. You could almost set your watch by her. Big Bertha would go to shouting and commence to do a Holy Dance. There were others, of course, but Big Bertha got the spirit in a bigger way than most,” I said, my pedaling speeding up again.

“So, what was wrong with that? That's what church is for. It's an outlet.”

“I agree. Most folks worked as domestics and sharecroppers and whatnot. And they needed a release after a long week of having the white man's or the white woman's foot on their necks. But the problem was Big Bertha would always head for the back door behind the pulpit, which let out on the top of the hill. She'd get a running start and when she got up to the door, she'd yell, ‘Hold me back! Hold me back!' And, of course, the deacons would struggle with her, until they got her back to safety,” I said, huffing and puffing on the bike.

“But after awhile they got tired of wrestling with Big Bertha,” I continued after catching my breath. “And the deacons complained at their monthly meeting that Big Bertha was getting too much for them to handle. They were afraid that one Sunday she would overpower them and head down that hill out of control and hurt herself. The deacons were at wits' end to come up with a solution. My grandfather suggested that the next time Big Bertha headed for the door and shouted, ‘Hold me back,' nobody should budge. There were protests of concern, but Grandpa was head of the deacon board, and he promised to take responsibility for the outcome. So, Grandpa prevailed.” I stopped pedaling altogether.

“What happened?”

“That next Sunday as usual, Big Bertha got
happy
and headed straight for the door. When she got there, she flung her arms forward like she was fixin' to run a race and shouted, ‘Hold me back! Hold me back!' as usual. But this time, nobody got up, not the deacons, not the ushers, not even the nurses. Everybody just sat and looked. Even the Amen Corner was calm as a can of lard. Big Bertha repeated, twice more, ‘Hold me back,' but still nobody budged.”

“What did she do then?”

“She straightened her floppy hat and went on back to her pew and sat down, she and the Holy Ghost.”

“Did she ever get the Spirit again?”

“Oh yeah, but from then on, the Spirit had a better sense of direction.”

Phil ducked his head into the basement stairwell.

“Y'all sure y'all don't want to go to the ball game?”

“Lord knows I shouldn't be working this hard on a Sunday. But after I get this wash in, I just wanna be a good girlfriend this afternoon. I'm not interested in sitting out in the ballpark. I need a break from being an overworked mother and a regimented wife.”

“Oh, please.” Phil groaned.

“Besides, you and Jason need some father-son time,” Sarita continued.

“Yeah, plus I get bored right after the seventh inning stretch,” I admitted.

Phil joined us in the basement. “I'm glad to see somebody making use of that bike,” he said. “It usually just collects dust. And Sarita just
had
to have it.”

“So what? Sarita paid for it with Sarita's money,” she retorted.

“You hear that, Dee Dee? Her money is her money, but my money is our money. Now, I ask you, is that fair?”

“Life isn't fair,” I answered, continuing to pedal. “That's why I'm on this bike.”

Sarita walked to the foot of the stairs and shouted, “Jason, stop running over people's heads!”

“Are you going to see the White Sox or the Cubs?” I asked Phil.

“What a question,” Phil said, reaching for a Sox baseball cap on the table. “We're Southsiders, what do you think?”

“I guess I wasn't thinking. I'm so used to being closer to Wrigley Field. I forgot where I was.”

“You mean you forgot where you came from,” Sarita said, going back to her clothes.

I rolled my eyes at her.

“Baby, did you tell Dee Dee that the house across the street is on the market? Maybe she wants to rent out her condo and move back down here with her people,” Phil teased.

“You need to get out more,” I answered. “Times have changed. My neighborhood is integrated with all kinds of people.”

“It still ain't home,” Phil replied. “Home is the 'hood.”

Sarita shook her head as she loaded laundry into the washing machine.

“It would take a crowbar to pry Dee Dee off the North Side.”

“I need to be able to come in and out at night and feel relatively safe,” I explained for the hundredth time.

“I don't know why you don't just get a gun and move back home. Most of the people around here are packing,” Phil said matter-of-factly.

“Yeah,” Sarita agreed. “The only reason we don't own a piece is because I'm wary, having a child around, especially a boy.”

“There's nothing happening down here,” I protested. “The South Side is dead, except for Hyde Park. All you can do down here is buy a house, raise a family and go to church and …”

“And pray you don't get killed, huh?” Sarita frowned.

“You said it, I didn't. I just said the South Side was dead, no pun intended.”

“So, what they giving away on the North Side?” Phil asked sarcastically.

“Nothing, but there are all kinds of restaurants, different cultures, nightspots, art galleries, recreational facilities. I'm not far from most of the blues clubs.”

“We don't need to sit up in a club to experience the blues,” Phil said. “We got all kinda blues around here. Mama across the street is on the pipe. There's a grandmother trying to raise her daughter and her son's kids. The daughter is sprung and the son is locked up. Several folks have got cancer. We got a boy across the alley who got shot six times and he's in a wheelchair. We got plenty of blues around here. We ain't no strangers to the blues.”

“None of us are,” I answered. “But what you described is really sad.” I sighed and stopped pedaling.

“It's maddening!” Phil said, pulling off his baseball cap. “That's why I'm in Mad Dads. We walk these streets. We try to turn people around. But despite our best efforts, some of them fall through the cracks. I'm taking a couple of boys to the ball game with us today who don't know what a father is. That's the norm now. Maybe I can make a little bit of difference.”

“The truth comes out.” Sarita winked. “Phil wanted us to be chaperones. Tried to stick us with Bay Bay's kids.”

Bay Bay's kids was a black expression for bad-ass ghetto kids. There was a low-budget movie with a single mother named Bay Bay who had kids who were outta control. And even though most people hadn't actually seen the movie, the expression “Bay Bay's kids” had spread across Black America.

“You always got to be negative.” Phil groaned. “Did you give Dee Dee her surprise?”

“What surprise?” I asked.

“I forgot,” Sarita said apologetically. “Let me get it.”

Sarita returned and held up a T-shirt. “It's a belated birthday present from Phil. Don't laugh.”

“‘
I LOVE BLACK MEN
'? You all expect me to walk around with a T-shirt proclaiming in big bold letters
I LOVE BLACK MEN
?”

“What's wrong with that?” Phil asked.

“I'm a little shy, believe it or not.”

“Show your love for the brothas.”

“People have to earn love,” Sarita insisted.

“There you go again, being negative. That's why we in the shape we are today, cause y'all don't know how to support nobody.”

“We're in the shape we're in today because the white man gave y'all the load to tote and y'all turned around and put it all on your women,” Sarita snapped. “Too many brothas out here only care about their dicks and their bellies, excuse my language on a Sunday, but I'm just telling it the way it is. Being a faithful husband and a responsible father doesn't even cross some of their minds.”

“Preach, sista, preach,” I said.

“That's not me, though,” Phil said. “I'm a strong black man. And I'm a strong family man. I don't run from my responsiblities. And there are plenty like me, but we just don't get the spotlight. You can't tell me I don't do my part.”

“You do
a
part, I will grant you that,” Sarita said, cutting her eyes. “But you could do more around the house.”

“I try and help out. We just have different standards when it comes to cleanliness, that's all.”

“Okay, I believe in giving the devil his due,” Sarita conceded. “You're a good husband and a good father and a good man.”

Phil clapped his hands. “Congratulations. You were able to say all that without choking. Baby, you're on a roll. Now, repeat after me: ‘Phil, you're the best thing that ever happened to me! You're the cream in my coffee. You're the sugar in my tea.'”

Sarita cut her eyes again. “Don't make me curse on a Sunday.” She threw the
I LOVE BLACK MEN
T-shirt at Phil.

Phil caught it and said, “Dee Dee, you wear this shirt, and I guarantee you'll get results. Remember, you can attract more flies with honey than with vinegar.”