Mama B - A Time to Dance (Book 2) (6 page)

We found seats
in the theater, the lights dimmed and the movie previews started right away. I
thanked God we wouldn’t have to do all that awkward get-to-know-you-talk. I
focused my attention on the screen and got ready to see Mr. Freeman in action.

One thing about
me and watching stuff on screens—I don’t like no whole bunch of talking
while the show is on. Apparently, Dr. Wilson didn’t either. He kept his mouth
shut and so did I.

The first few
scenes of the movie didn’t too much suit my fancy. Stuff blowin’ up and people
shootin’ one another. I did have to lean over and ask Dr. Wilson, “What is this
movie rated?”

“PG-13, I
think,” he answered.

He thinks?
I sure hope he ain’t brought me to no
Rated-R movie.

Turns out, my
favorite actor only had a few lines. He died right away, and the rest of the
movie was just a whole lot of cussin’ and shootin’. ‘Bout half-way through, I
stopped paying attention and started to think about other things—like how
this man call himself a Christian and he watchin’ all this filth?  What
kind of lady he must think I’m
not
to bring me to something like this?
He
got the wrong woman by his side tonight!
And Dr. Wilson was just
a-hee-hee-heein’ at those cursing jokes!

In a way, I was
glad, though. Now I had good reason for not going out with him anymore: We
obviously didn’t have the same taste in entertainment. Libby wouldn’t argue
with me on that one.

Somehow, the
fact that I’d written Dr. Wilson off lifted a burden. No more pressure to do
whatever it was I thought I had to do. Now, it was just me and this heathen man
sitting in the movie theater. Well, I guess Dr. Wilson wasn’t a heathen. He was
one of those Christian types who don’t have the ten commandments—only the
ten
suggestions
.

Shoot, I would
have ordered me some popcorn if I’da known this about him earlier.

Soon as the
credits started rolling, I hopped out of my seat and headed toward the exit.
Over my shoulder, I heard Dr. Wilson asked if I enjoyed the movie.

“It was
interesting,” I mumbled without looking back at him.

As we were
walking down the crowded aisle, my foot kicked something hard. I looked down
and deciphered, by the string of lights on the floor, I’d happened upon a
wallet. Dr. Wilson must have seen it at the same time. He bent down, picked it
up, and flipped it open.

He examined the
license. “I think I saw this guy when we were standing outside in line. Then,
he glanced around, I guess looking for the owner. “Let’s take it to security,”
he said.

This time, I let
him get in front as he marched straight to the concession stand and asked for a
manager. Just as we were about to explain the situation, a young man walked up
with a frazzled look on his face and jumped ahead of Dr. Wilson.

“Ma’am,” the
upset boy hollered at the manager, “I need you to turn on the lights inside one
of the theaters. I just lost my wallet.”

Dr. Wilson
tapped the man on the shoulder. “Is this it?”

He turned, with
worry still twisting his face, and looked at the wallet Dr. Wilson presented.

The young man
snatched the wallet from Dr. Wilson’s hand. “Dude, you tryin’ to take my
wallet?” He took a step forward into the doctor’s personal space.

No, he
didn’t!
This boy was
young enough to be my grandson. Tell you, I felt like pinchin’ his ear off,
talking to his elders like that! I don’t care what all kind of tattoos he got
on his neck, a good ear-pinchin’ will bring anybody down.

Dr. Wilson stood
his ground. He stuck his chest out and spoke, “I’m trying to
return
your
wallet, young man. Why do you think I’m here getting the manager’s attention?”

I guess the
young man must have been a little slow because it took him a minute to put two
and to together. Finally, he muttered, “You straight.”

“You’re welcome.
God bless you,” Dr. Wilson added.

The young man’s
face softened with a smirk. “Hmph. I sure need a blessing right now.”

“All you have to
do is ask. He’s always listening,” Dr. Wilson offered in an encouraging tone.

This time the
boy gave a genuine “thank you” and walked away, stuffing the wallet into his
back pocket—probably the same place it just fell out of.

I had to commend
Dr. Wilson. “You sure handled that well.”

He briefly set
his hand on my back as we turned toward the doors to leave. “These young men
today have so much pressure and anger built up toward the world. He probably
didn’t know how to process an act of kindness.”

“That’s one way
of looking at it,” I agreed as I felt the adrenaline ebb out of my system. This
was way too much adventure for one night.

Dr. Wilson
walked me back to my car and asked if I’d like to follow him to a restaurant
for supper. Even though we already had this planned out, I appreciated the way
he asked again. For all he knew, I might have wanted to go home. And I
did—except I was hungry by then.

“I’ll be in a white
Range Rover,” he said.

Chile, if I
hadn’t heard the name of that brand of car a million times! Son and his wife
like ta split up their home one time because he had to have himself a Range
Rover. Soon as he got it, that thing spent more time in the shop than on the
road. Served him right, though, buying that car before talking to his wife
about it.

When I saw Dr.
Wilson’s SUV pull past me, I backed out my
MiniCooper
a
nd rounded out our caravan to what I call restaurant row. This was
probably the first citified area after Peasner. Always full of city folk trying
to escape downtown and country folk trying to get a taste of the big town.

On a
weekend night
, those restaurants
were always crowded. I just knew we’d have to wait half an hour before getting
a seat. But when we walked inside and approached the waitress booth at Bubba’s
Crab Shack, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that Dr. Wilson had called
ahead to put us on the waiting list.

“Your booth will
be ready in just a few minutes,” the short, spunky-haired host chirped.

Moments later, I
was sitting across from Dr. Wilson in a small booth in one of the quieter
corners of this otherwise loud restaurant. And either Libby’s prayers were
working or I was completely checked out of this evening because I felt no
jitters whatsoever.

We ate our
dinner in relative silence. There was plenty entertainment going on around us,
though. Birthday songs, somebody in a back room sound like they was doing
karaoke. A few quick yes-and-no questions. Dr. Wilson was really trying to talk
to me, but I figured this would be our first and last time going somewhere
together. I didn’t want to get the man’s hopes up.

“You sure are
quiet tonight,” Dr. Wilson commented as he took the last bite of his shrimp.

I laughed.
“Well, we’ve never been out before. How you know being quiet ain’t normal for
me?”

“Libby says
you’re a master conversationalist.” He smiled – surely at his own
exaggeration.

“Libby is a
character sometimes,” I had to chuckle. “But she don’t mean no harm.”

“I know. So,
what did you think of the movie?” he switched subjects.

“Mmmm,” I
hesitated, “it was a movie. Not what I expected from one of my favorite actors.
I don’t usually watch too much cussin’ and shootin’ and carryin’ on. You sure
that show wasn’t rated R?”

He raised his
eyebrows. “No. I really don’t think much about ratings. I see a good preview, I
go watch the movie.”

Our waitress
brought drink refills down and, again, tore off the bottom of our straws. She
left the top so we could perform the particulars and keep germs down to a
minimum. I’d be sure to give her a nice tip for that one.

“Well, you
already know I’m a believer,” I reminded him, “so I had hoped you would take
that into consideration before you picked the movie.”

He tipped his
head. “I understand. You do realize you’re talking to your brother in Christ,
right?”

I gave a slight
nod. The word, “Okay,” came out with a question mark on the end of it.

“Let me guess.
You grew up in a Pentecostal church?” he asked.

“Half-way. My
Daddy was Church of God in Christ. He died when I was young. My mother’s family
was Baptist, so I spent the last part of my growing years in Baptist churches,”
I proudly informed him. “But I don’t think that has anything to do with why I
don’t test the Spirit in me by listening to vulgar language and putting
violence before my eyes.”

He set his glass
on a napkin and squinted at me. “You realize that the omnipresent Spirit of God
has heard every curse word and witnessed every sin that’s ever occurred, and
yet He has managed to remain holy.”

Chile, you could
have knocked me over with a piece of lint! I hadn’t never thought about it like
that.

Still, I know
the word says to guard the eye gate and the ear gate. So I asked, “You think
it’s okay with God to sit up and watch all kind of foolishness on the screen?”

He shook his
head. “No, I’m not saying God is pleased by everything we say or do or see. But
I
am
saying that the Spirit of God is tough. He has to be.

“Back in my
younger days, I worked in trauma—saw some of the worst bodily mutilation
possible. Saw and heard people in their worst moments. Had a mother cuss me out
because we couldn’t save her son’s life. But God graced me to deal with that.
So, no—I don’t think I’m any less of a believer because I’m not as
sensitive to profanity. I don’t think any less of you as a believer for your
preference, either. I just know the Holy Spirit won’t run out of me because I
watch a rated PG or R movie.”

Hmph
. Something didn’t sound right about his
philosophy. Then again, something
did
. All my life, I heard people talk
about how we shouldn’t offend the Spirit because He’s sensitive. He’s like a
dove—fly away at the slightest upsetting movement. And now, here come Dr.
Frank Wilson saying the Spirit is “tough.” Sometimes, believers disagree on the
particulars, I suppose, but I wasn’t going to let his thoughts change mine.
He’d probably say the same, too.

I wiped my mouth
with a napkin and set it on the table. “You sure have given me some food for
thought.”

“That wasn’t my
goal. I was hoping you’d be able to say that I gave you a pleasant time at the
end of the evening. So pleasant you’d like to try it again.” He flashed his
perfect smile.

I know it’s
wrong, but I had to wonder if his teeth were real or not. Sometimes you can
look at ‘em and tell they’re dentures or implants from a mile away. But Dr.
Wilson’s teeth…I couldn’t be sure. Either he’d been brushing and flossing all
his life, or he’d found himself top-notch dentist.

“Frank, I can’t
say whether this evening was particularly pleasant or not.” I shook my head.
“To be honest, I tuned out way back at the movie.”

“Fair enough,”
he conceded, setting his napkin on the table as well. “Hey, no worries. All
thing work together for good, right?”

“Right,” I
agreed.

“If nothing
else, the Lord let you happen across the young man’s wallet so I could minister
to him tonight. That was divine.”

“Indeed,” I
agreed again. Come to think of it, the Lord had been showing up all evening
– from the moment I broke down in the car up until now, as a little
inkling of a revelation had begun to form in me. And Dr. Wilson had played a
part in it all.

“Frank, let me
take back my previous statement. I did have a pleasant evening with you. And
I’d be glad to do it again sometime.”

The light that
spread across his face was contagious. I found myself smiling at him, knowing
he must have felt like he was getting somewhere with me. But I hadn’t made no
promises, just another time out.
Sometime.
I was thinking maybe in
another couple of months, around Christmas when everybody’s inviting folks to
get-togethers and such.

“How about next
week?” He jumped on my suggestion.

“Well, I—”

“No rated PG
movie. I promise.” He held up the scout’s honor sign.

He tickled me
with his quick wit. “No movie, huh? What else you got in mind?”

“Dancing,” he
said with a sly grin.

“Dancing?”
Should
have stuck with my first mind.
“Now I know you done lost your religion now.
You think I’m going to a club with you?”

“Not a club,
Beatrice. Salsa dancing. I’m taking a class. I need a partner. At our age, I
can’t find many women mobile enough to hit the floor with me.”

“Frank, I don’t
know how old you think I am, but I’m much younger at heart.”

“I sense that
already. What do you say?” He balled up his fists and swing them back and forth
as he danced a little side-to-side jig in place.