Rhythms of Grace (5 page)

Miss Eva’s doughy fingers touched my neck. “No need to go pouting now. I still love you. You just mind me and we’ll all make out fine. Isn’t that right, Brian Michael?”

Coating the last roll with the peach preserves he’d dug out from the back of the cabinet, Brian nodded. He waited for Miss Eva to turn back to the stove. “Listen to what she says,” he whispered, bringing my hand to a keloid scar behind his ear. “That stove is nothing to mess with.” He broke his roll in half and put it on my plate, grimacing as his fingers grazed the mess already there.

I took the bread and smiled, thinking of the scars already covering my own body. Mama wasn’t nothing to mess with either. I’d take this place over that one any day, stove and all. “Thanks, Bri.”

The newspaper stayed up. “Anytime.”

After years of watching Miss Eva and Brian through the blinds on their way to Mount Olive Missionary Baptist Church, I was finally making the walk with them, as I’d done so many times in my mind. During revivals, I’d put my ear to the wall, listening to the music that poured over the neighborhood from their little tent. Like the mysterious talking rolls from Brian’s kitchen, the people in his church could sing like nobody I’d ever known. I’d been too far away to make out the words, but I knew the tunes. There was one melody that always made my eyes water. It sounded deep down, like when Brian used to play his drum.

Sad even, like a dirge, the last word in Brian’s crossword this morning. I don’t know how he can hold them all, so many words, but today I wasn’t a dirge. I wasn’t sad. I was a happy song, like in one of those commercials where everybody holds hands over pop or something. Today, in Brian’s old suit, with a belly full of good food, I was going to see God himself.

“Watch this,” Brian said, with a nod in his mother’s direction.

I couldn’t believe it. When we got to the church steps, Miss Eva tipped right up them like a young girl. She even beat Brian and not one of the flowers on her hat even moved. I looked up at the sun, but it looked the same as always: round and hot. Still, I knew its secrets.

“She was moving, wasn’t she?” Brian said as we reached the top. “It trips me out every Sunday. I forgot to warn you about that part.”

I nodded. “I should have known anyway. It’s the sun.”

My friend looked at me like I was totally crazy. “What?”

I sighed. Brian could be so smart about things that didn’t matter, but he was a dunce at the obvious. “Women. They’re different at night than in the day—”

“No. It’s Jesus, man. I’ll explain it to you later. Come on.”

Not to take anything away from Jesus, I still stood by my theory. Either way, there was no use arguing with Brian. He always won.

I straightened my clip-on tie and wondered whether or not to tell Bri that his afro, which had been a perfect circle when we left home, was drooping on the right side. Nah, I decided. Best not to mention it. Brian’s afro is a big deal to him, his allegiance with the sixties “Black is Beautiful” movement. Or something like that. We joke that he was born a few years too late.

We followed Miss Eva to the double doors at the front of the church. We arrived just in time to save her from a treacherous-looking fellow with a pile of papers in his hand. Probably the programs Brian had told me about.

On further inspection of the shiny-shoed villain, I realized it was the school janitor, scrubbed until he glowed like a hazelnut. I grabbed Brian’s arm, wrinkling his suit with my grip. “Is that Mr. Terrigan?”

Brian peeled my fingers off his suit and accepted a program before pulling me inside. “Yes. That’s him. Those Terrigans run this place. There’s a million of them. I heard they’re going to put Jerry, the big one, in our class.”

“The big one?” I looked around. Everybody here looked big to me: tall, strong, and smooth.

He pulled me again. “People are saying he’s the one, that he’ll go to the NFL. He doesn’t do tests well, so they put him down a grade. You know how it is.”

“Yeah.” I wish I didn’t know. Miss Joyce who taught dance at the rec was our teacher now, and she said I could catch up, but I didn’t see how. I’d missed so many days the past few years it seemed like I’d never catch up.

Miss Eva was still behind us, lingering at the door. I looked back, shocked to see her give me a wink.

“Good morning, Miss Eva,” the janitor imposter said, looking Brian’s mother up and down. “I see that the Lord is keeping you as beautiful as ever. Having a son late in life must be keeping you young.”

Brian elbowed my side. Our eyes met, confirming we were thinking the same thing:
Can you believe this guy
?

Evidently Miss Eva could. It took her awhile to answer, but the way she smoothed her seersucker suit with one hand and straightened her already-straight hat with the other said it all. Finally, she flashed a smile. “You go on, Deacon Terrigan. With all those children you and Ruth have, you should know.” She turned to us. “We’d better get inside.”

And inside we went, walking past rows of long wooden benches until she reached the second row. Front and center, Brian had warned me. That’s how Miss Eva liked it. I craned my neck in every direction, taking in the climbing hair, the shiny suits and ties, Brut, Old Spice, and bacon grease tangled together into a song of smells and colors, rocking to the beat of a little girl’s hair beads knocking together on the row in front of us.

Miss Eva tapped the little girl and gave her a stern stare. The girl went still, like she’d been frozen with a freeze ray. I marveled, staring at the ceiling. There wasn’t any sunlight in here, but the church definitely had intensified Miss Eva’s powers. I straightened my back against the rough wood, hoping she wouldn’t zap me next.

A purple satin cloth with a gold cross and gold fringe dangled over the podium. Several wooden chairs perched behind it in a semicircle, with a huge one in the center like a pine tree, with armrests that jutted out like branches. I figured Jesus would be tall, but could anybody’s arms be that long?

“That’s where the preachers sit,” Brian whispered, barely moving his lips.

I nodded, a little annoyed. Brian’s the type of person who thinks he’s got everything down. He figures his job on earth is to tell the rest of us fools how to get along. He’s kind of right in a way, but still it’s annoying. There’s lots of things that he doesn’t know, things that can only be seen and heard from the window in my bedroom on a day when I’m hurt and alone and can’t move. Things like the dirge. I didn’t wish that on anybody, especially somebody who’d been eating heaven all his life.

He saw that I was a little mad and smiled at me. I smiled back. Maybe the way things were wasn’t so bad—heart for me, head for Brian. Between the two of us, we had most things covered.

“Look,” he said, pointing out the glass door he’d told me about.

The baptismal.

On the wall behind the pulpit were six words: One Lord. One Faith. One Baptism. Each sentence was staggered at various heights with “One Lord” above them all. I didn’t quite understand why you had to count the lords, faiths, and baptisms, but it sure looked nice. The gold lettering made a nice contrast with the purple satin and gold fringe. With the shiny glass doors underneath, it was like the lipstick of the room, the only color besides the rainbow of suits and dresses. Some of the people wore no color at all: long, black skirts and tight hair buns made them look like water, all the same. I’d learn today that they weren’t the same, that sometimes color can burst out of plain-clothed people without them even knowing. I’d learn it today, but not yet. Not yet.

I looked back at the baptismal, realizing that the little window was half-filled with water. It dipped a little in the center somewhere, right under “One Baptism.” They’d certainly thought that through.

Brian saw me looking and took it upon himself to offer further explanation. “They just got that last year. We used to go down to the river and they’d sing ‘wade in the water, children’ . . .”

His sing-song voice reached Miss Eva’s notice and she gripped her pocketbook sweetly and gave him the same look she’d given the little girl in front of us.

He sat back against the pew, and his voice went back to a whisper. “Don’t tell anybody, but I liked that better. Going to the river, I mean. That water looks fake, like they put food coloring in it or something.”

I closed my eyes, imagining the people rising up out of the river like the big chair on the stage, like trees. I liked that better too. And I liked that song Brian was singing. I knew that one for sure. It always came through my window clear. Once, during a bad time with Mama, they’d been singing it and I’d dived under it like the bright blue water in the baptismal, floating through the pain, swimming around her horrible words. I took a breath and opened my eyes. This was what I’d come for—to see with my eyes what I’d felt so many times with my soul. I leaned over to Brian. “When does Jesus come in?”

“Man, I told you. He’s here now. It’s not like that.” He gave me a look as though I were the one who had no understanding of the obvious.

I tried not to pout or stare or any of the other things I did wrong, but I wasn’t doing very well with it. House of God means house of God. That much I could figure out on my own. For a guy who read so much, Brian still had a lot to learn. “Whatever.” I’d find Jesus on my own. He had to be around here somewhere.

“I told you to listen last night. You don’t know anything about this. Church is different. It’s like, like . . . a school play that never ends. Everybody plays their parts over and over every week.”

A raspberry rattled my lips before I knew what I was doing. I really wanted to do something else, but even stupid me knew that wouldn’t be good to do in church. Miss Eva swatted me with a fan from a funeral home. Why would you have funeral home fans at church? Dead people didn’t need God. This was past stupid and I was starting to think that maybe I shouldn’t have come at all.

Brian smoothed his jacket. “You mark my word. As soon as you smell chicken, the music is going to start. Three bars of ‘Amazing Grace’ and the pastor is going to come out and—”

Miss Eva tapped both our shoulders. “Hush. And Brian Michael, I hope you’re telling Rodney about the wonders of Christ’s love and how glad we are to have him this morning. That is what you were saying, right, son?”

I stifled a laugh. The wonders of Christ’s love? Brian didn’t even know what
he
was here for, let alone me.

“Yeah, Mama. Sure.”

The orchid on Miss Eva’s hat tipped in our direction.

“I mean, yes, ma’am.”

The funeral fan went into overdrive. My eyes started to water. Miss Eva must have thought I was moved by the Holy Ghost because she offered me a tissue and told me that it was okay to cry, that sometimes the Holy Ghost just moved on folks like that. Brian looked like he was about to scream when she said that, but I paid him no mind. I was far too confused to give him attention.

They have ghosts too? I thought they weren’t into that.

It was all so confusing. And then, I smelled something. It floated down the pew, smothering the lingering aromas of pressing oil and aftershave. Brian unbuttoned his jacket and gave me a nod as I recognized the scent: fried chicken.

Like a band following a scented conductor, the organist struck up a chord. Feathered hats and starched suits shot upward all across the church. The deacon who’d flirted with Miss Eva stopped to give me a sour look before seating someone at the end of our row. I dropped my head, staring at the man’s reflection in his unreasonably shiny shoes. The brown double-breasted suit and light skin blurred together like an ice-cream cone. I could even guess the flavor: lemon custard. Daddy’s flavor, Mama had told me once when she was drunk. My mouth tasted sour at the thought of him.

And her.

A voice like rock hitting bottom in a deep well pried me away from the ice-cream parlor I’d never been in, from the gravesite of a man I didn’t remember, but a man my mother remembered all too well.

The voice, the one that pulled me away, rang so clear, so deep, that it seemed like the building should have been shaking; but it wasn’t. “A-ma-zi-ing Gra-a-a-ce. How . . . swe-et th-e sounnnnnd . . .”

I don’t remember when my mouth dropped open, but I know it did because Brian elbowed me to close it. What I do remember was when the tallest, blackest man I’d ever seen stepped to the podium. His robe billowed even though the air was still. I’m surprised I didn’t stand up and run to him.

Jesus.

Right here in Testimony, Ohio, wearing a green robe with a string hanging off his sleeve and “One Lord” right over his head. And he sang the way it must sound in heaven; the way Miss Eva’s rolls tasted.

I knew he would come.

“Cut it out,” Brian whispered between verses. “You’re staring again.”

I concentrated until I heard my teeth click together. But in my head, in my heart, I was still staring. Looking into the face of God. And Jesus didn’t seem to mind. My staring earned me a big smile. A knowing look. My heart leaped in my chest. It was all true. The cross, the Bible, the whole thing. I’d been pretty sure. Almost a hundred percent sure. But now, I was sold.