Under the Peach Tree (11 page)

After about five minutes of walking, I slowed, finally in control of my own emotions. I didn't look at Dante but I knew he was still beside me. We were close to downtown; the houses had turned into buildings. The traffic was packed, cars zoomed by, blowing their horns and shouting at drivers ahead of them. People passed by on bikes and skateboards. A group of nuns smiled as they walked by.

“Do you know where we are?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said, matching my slowed pace. “Close to the church. It's around the corner. You wanna go check it out? I know how to get inside when it's closed.”

“No. I don't do church. Ever,” I said. “I wish people would stop asking me. You know what I want to do? Go to a party, be young, have fun, and get it crackin'!” I turned to him, inspired and excited. “Do you know how to get us in a club?”

“No,” he said. “I don't do that stuff. I stay home and read my Bible. God said—”

I moaned and kept walking. “You sound like Faith.”

“Who's Faith?”

“My sister. She always quotin' the Bible, too scared to go out and party. Square. And you remind me of Carlton from
Fresh Prince.
” I looked at his clothes. He always wore dress pants pulled a little too high over his stomach and his shirt was always tucked in. He walked like he had something stuck up his behind.

“I like to compare myself to David, because he was always after God's own heart.”

I laughed. “No, you're worse than Faith. And annoying.”

He ignored my comment. “I want to be a preacher.”

“Good for you,” I said sarcastically.

“Why are you so mean?” he asked, seemingly hurt.

“You ain't seen mean. I used to beat up all the neighborhood kids . . . only because they would pick on me, but I still beat them up. I beat up they older sisters, cousins, aunties. Anyone who wanted it got it. I ain't weak. I been through hell and back and I'm still strong. You try being homeless for almost a week.” I studied him, going over his soft, boyish features. He had a cute face and if he cut his hair and wore better clothes, he'd have actually been very attractive. He also seemed unconfident, innocent, and too trusting. I bet he was a virgin, too.

“You a virgin?”

His light cheeks blushed. “Um . . .”

I laughed. “You are! How old are you, Dante?”

“Eighteen.”

If I had been drinking water, I would've spit it out. “You're eighteen and you're a virgin? What did your momma do, keep you locked up?”

He blinked. “Actually, she did. I went to an all-boys Catholic school until she passed away a few years ago. I graduated early and came home.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. I felt lost and started going to different churches in search of something, and I was left empty-handed each time. But then I went to Rising Faith and listened to Pastor May preach. It was like she was talking to me. I been at that church ever since, helping her out in any way I could.”

“May has a way of attracting people.” I smiled. “I love her already.”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“So, what do you do for fun if you don't party?”

“Read my Bible.”

“Lame.” I laughed. “Why are you so lame? It should be a crime.”

“There are so many biblical references I could make due to that comment but I'll let it slide.”

I snorted. “Good, because I was shaking in my boots.”

“Sarcasm is ugly on a girl.”

I stopped, dramatically gasping at his comment. I wanted to laugh but forced a straight face. “So now I'm ugly?”

“No!” He shunned himself. “No, that's not what . . . I mean, I don't think you're, um . . . you're—”

“Go ahead and say it. I have a big butt and a nice walk? You should see how I pick up men, how they drool and fall all over me.”

“I wasn't gonna say you had a . . . big . . . bottom.”

“But you were thinking it.”

“No, I wasn't.”

“All men think about it,” I said as a matter of fact. “Go ahead and look at it. I'll let you get away with it just this once.”

His eyes shifted, like he was trying to force himself to stare me straight in the eyes. “I will not sin.”

“How is that sinning?”

“Lust.”

“You can't look at my butt without lusting?”

His cheeks blushed. He was so light, he actually blushed. It was the cutest thing about him.

“Fine,” I said, walking again, making sure that I twitched. I heard him sigh behind me as he caught up.

He kept his eyes straight ahead . . . on Jesus, I reckoned.

I fell into a nice routine. Every day I'd go over to May's house and help her out. I'd playfully argue with Dante after his checker game with May, and after he left, I'd do more cleaning and cooking and then watch TV while May napped. Once Norma got to the house, I'd help her kids with their homework and head back to my motel.

One day, May was sitting on the porch when I arrived. She knew I was there before I even said anything. There was something joyous in her expression.

“Hey, Mrs. May. How's your back feeling today?” I asked, rubbing her shoulder and taking a seat.

“Can't complain,” she said, smiling. Today, she didn't wear her shades. I studied her beautiful gray eyes. I'd wondered if they'd always been gray or if that was an effect of the beating she suffered. “I was thinking, you've been paying to stay in that motel for nearly a month. At that rate, you'll spend all of that money. Why won't you come live here at least until you're eighteen? You shouldn't be living on your own. We can get you back in school, too.”

I sat back in my seat, feeling loved. Extremely loved. But the feelings of being loved never lasted long for me. Life had a way of messing that up and laughing in my face. I was afraid to get too attached to May, Norma, the kids, and even the Bible-hugging Dante. But the more time I spent with all of them, the more I loved them. They were like family and I would bathe in my happiness until the devil tried to snatch it. But there was one thing. I couldn't go to school and help May out as much as I wanted to, so I lied.

“Okay, I want to, but I dropped out of school,” I told her, waiting for her to say that I couldn't stay unless I was in school.

May frowned and then nodded. “I won't press your education if it's your personal choice not to go, but I strongly encourage you to reconsider.”

“Okay,” I said. “Can I still stay here?”

May smiled. “Of course.”

“Thank you, May! I'm so grateful.”

“Don't thank me, thank God.”

I hesitated, but knew it would bring her happiness to say it. I would do anything to make May happy. “Thank you, God!”

Later that morning, Dante came strutting down the street with three cans of paint and a bag full of brushes. I stood on the porch with folded arms, intrigued. When he saw me, he smiled. He always smiled.

“What's that?” I asked him.

“Paint.”

“Duh, I mean what's it for?”

“The house,” he said. “Wanna help me paint it?”

“The whole house?” I asked in disbelief.

“No just half of it,” he said sarcastically, making me laugh. I was rubbing off on him.

“Sure.”

We started on the front of the house. Dante grabbed an old boom box from the shed and turned the radio to a gospel station. Every now and then, I'd turn it to a hip hop station just to make him mad. Most of the time we just painted in silence; but every now and then, Dante would ask me about my life, and I'd always find a way to change the subject. Eventually, he got fed up.

“Why don't you ever talk about your past?”

“Because I don't like to bring it up. Why focus on the past when you can be creating a future?” I asked, stroking my brush against the house in a smooth rhythm.

“I bet it's because you used to be ratchet,” he said.

I immediately stopped painting. “Where did you learn that word?”

“Some YouTube video,” he said.

“Goofball. So, tell me more about yourself, Dante.”

I learned that Dante was an only child. His mother was wealthy and sent him away to school at six. She remarried a few years later to a white man who had two children who were also sent away to school. Dante said he wasn't able to come home on holidays and would go at most a year without seeing his mother. His summers were great. When he got the chance to come home, his mother would take him to different parts of the world. He said his favorite place he'd visited was Israel. Once he started talking about the biblical places he'd seen, I grew bored and tuned him out.

He picked back up with telling me about his passion in music. Said he was singing before he learned how to talk. When I asked him to sing, however, he shied up and began painting silently. He told me that the day he'd sing would be the day I opened up about my past. I guessed I'd never hear him sing.

I eventually headed back inside to clean up and then headed back to the motel to get all of my belongings. May was waiting for me when I returned. She handed me a key and guided me upstairs to the first room that was always locked. She stood aside and allowed me to unlock it.

“This room ain't been used in years,” she said, choking on her own words. “My youngest daughter used to stay here and help me out until she passed away ten years ago.”

“How?” I put the key in the lock, but didn't open it.

“Car accident.” Her words were final. I could tell she didn't want to discuss it further. We were alike in so many ways.

I nodded and opened the door. It was a beautiful room with different shades of blue. There was a queen-sized bed, two nightstands, and a small TV that sat on top of a large dresser. I walked in the room, instantly feeling grateful. I turned around to thank May, but she was already gone. I decided to unpack all of my clothes and lie in bed, and watched TV until I fell asleep.

Dante barged into my room that next morning, tears covering his face. I heard a lot of commotion below us. I sat up abruptly. Before I could even ask, Dante rushed to my side.

“It's Pastor May.”

 

 

Two hours later, I sat beside Norma and Dante at the hospital waiting for the news. The doctor hadn't told us much. They only thing I knew was that Dante had come over like he did every morning to play checkers, and found May passed out on the porch, unresponsive. He immediately called the ambulance and waited for them to come. He then remembered that I was upstairs and came to get me. They wouldn't allow us to ride to the hospital with May, so we had to call Norma to come get us.

None of us really said a word to each other. What was there to say? May was an old woman, eighty-five to be exact, and could pass away at any moment. None of us were prepared for it. We'd deny the possibility until the doctor told us otherwise. But it was obvious that the thought was what was keeping us quiet.

I looked over at Norma, who clutched the chair so violently I was afraid she'd break her hand. Dante leaned forward in his chair, both hands joined together in a fist, his head hung low and his legs shaking. It felt weird to be mourning over a woman I barely came to know, but May was more than a woman. She offered me a new life that I was forever indebted to. Even though I hadn't known her long, I loved her. Now would've been a good time to pray, but I couldn't bring myself to pray to a God who'd never seemed present before. Why start now? So instead, I envisioned May walking up to us, smiling, saying she fainted due to dehydration and was okay to leave.

Eventually, the doctor came, wearing his blue scrubs and a cap to cover his hair. He smiled when he saw us. I was hoping it was a good sign. “Who is Ms. Norma Baker?”

Norma stood. “I'm Norma.”

“Hi, I'm Dr. Manning.”

“Is she okay?” I asked, standing up, cutting the doctor off from what he was going to say.

“She's resting now, but she'll be okay. She had a minor stroke. We ran an MRI and her brain is functioning properly. There is no damage that we can see. We'll keep her for a few days to run some more tests.”

“Thank God!” Norma said, hugging Dante.

I walked up to the doctor. “Can we see her?”

“Yes, family can see her. Are you family?”

I stepped back slightly. No, I wasn't family. Disappointment stretched across my face.

“Yes, she's family,” Norma said. “We all are.”

The doctor nodded. “One at a time please.”

I turned to Norma to show my gratification. Norma nodded, letting me know that she understood. She walked off with the doctor to see May.

Twenty minutes later, I stood before May, unsure of what to say to a sleeping woman. I pulled a chair up and sat next to her, taking her hand in mine. I hadn't realized I'd been crying until I felt the tears soak through my shirt.

“Momma May . . . that's what Norma said all your grandchildren call you. I think I'll start calling you Momma May too. You're more of a mother than my own momma.” I sighed, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. “I don't think I ever thanked you for giving me a place to live, for giving me a new life. I know I've only been around for a few months, but I feel like it's been years. I think I owe you by telling you the truth. I know you can't hear me, but I'm going to practice telling you now, so that when you wake up, it'll be easier.”

I stopped, gathering my thoughts. “I have a twin named Faith. She was always Momma's favorite. She got gifts for her birthday, for Christmas, and for no occasion at all. All I got were beatings and a reason for why I didn't get gifts. It was always something. Once, it was our birthday and I forgot to brush my teeth. Momma said I didn't deserve a gift because I was stupid. Only stupid people didn't brush their teeth. After that day, I started brushing my teeth four or five times a day, thinking I could earn a gift. It didn't work. Momma never noticed all of my attempts. So I stopped caring. I was angry and reckless by the time I hit my teens. I'd sneak out of the house to talk to boys. Once, I stole my sister's homecoming dress because I didn't get one. I started to blame Faith, secretly hating my own twin for Momma's actions. Faith tried to make things equal. She'd give me dresses, let me play with her toys, give me her food and say she wasn't hungry, but it still wasn't enough.

“About a year ago, Momma's boyfriend, John, started living with us. At first I didn't like him. I don't like any man I first meet. But he grew on me. He was really sweet and favored me more than Faith. I liked the attention I got from him, so fatherly, so genuine. I don't know, I guess I confused the love he had for me. I started to get a crush, thinking about him sexually, wanting him all for me. I used to fantasize about us running away together and getting married when I turned eighteen.” I paused, looking at Momma May to see if she was upset yet, but her face was calm.

“I came on to him and he rejected me like any good man would, but Momma went out of town for a while, and they were goin' through some things. He was weak and I took advantage of it. We started doing it. I felt happy, alive, free. I felt like a woman. Secretly, I liked knowing what I was doing to Momma. It was a way to release all of my anger I held in for her. I wanted her to find out, to know that I was sleeping with her man. I wanted to see the pain on her face, show her what it felt like to be hurt.” I paused, afraid to admit what I was about to say, afraid I would be judged. I sighed, knowing Momma May deserved the whole truth, and continued. “I got pregnant, something that had never crossed my mind. I didn't know anything about babies and the symptoms of pregnancy. I used to get sick all of the time. Well, Momma caught on and made me take a test. Everything came to light then. I told her all about the affair. I rubbed it in her face proudly. It felt like a victory.

“I told John to choose between me and Momma. I thought he would be happy that we were having a baby, but he just stood there, speechless.” I choked on my own words, feeling a rush of emotion surge through me. I squeezed May's hand, needing strength to continue. “Momma laughed when John chose to stay with her, and then she beat me. She dragged me down her porch steps and kicked me out. I remember Faith just standing there, watching Momma dog me. I thought she would at least cry for me and quote the Bible. I thought she would tell me to stay strong, that God was still with me. But I don't even know if I believe in Him. Faith got to go to church when we were little. I wasn't allowed to go. The closest I got to church was under the peach tree.” I sniffed. “That's why I don't like church. That's why I don't go, because I felt like God never loved me. God never came to my house to save me, why should I go to His?”

I sat there crying softly, hoping May wouldn't wake up. I could've imagined it, but I felt May tightened her grip around my hand. I could've sworn she was trying to comfort me. Perhaps that was her way of letting me know that she was there for me, even if God wasn't.