I look down at myself and I’m ready for church and I hear the girls singing some Bible song out in the hall, and I don’t know how I arrived here. I also don’t know how to speak French, but those words come back to me about destiny, and I remember where I heard them.
The Stranger.
I rub my eyes, stretch, yawn, wiggle around. Anything to shake off my early-morning ordeal. I stare at my reflection in my li’l vanity mirror. I don’t know if that was all a dream. That would make the most sense, but why didn’t I wake up in my nightgown, sleep crustin’ the corners of my eyes, if it was only a dream?
I slide the neckline of my dress down slightly, exposing my upper arm.
And why do I have a sore, purple bruise where the haint dug her fingers into my shoulder?
This morning’s sermon has something to do with reachin’ for higher ground when the devil wants to pull you down to his level. I’ve heard this sermon before. More than once. No need to listen to it again. Anne Marie and her parents are in the front row, and she seems riveted. Bless her heart.
On the way here, I was relieved that everything on the streets looked the way it always had and not like what I saw in my dream-vision. The horrors I experienced this morning feel far away. Mostly. That I heard the Stranger’s words in the mouth of a haint fills me with dread. But I try to put it outta my mind for now. There are more important things to focus on.
Like Clay. He came to church with us today and sits next to me. Just bein’ near him makes me feel safer. He ain’t payin’ attention to this sermon any more than I am, but he’s leafing through the hymnal, so he at least appears to be engaged. I stretch and stare at the parishioners in the pews all around us and try to spot the ones noddin’ off. Clay starts scribblin’ something, and I can’t imagine he’s takin’ notes, and I sure hope he ain’t defacin’ the hymns!
On my left, Coralene’s head falls into my side, passed out like she’s drunk. I adjust her head so her barrettes aren’t diggin’ in my ribs. I wish I knew what time it was, cuz it feels like we’ve been here for four hours already. Reverend Henry hits a high note, and folks chime in with “amen” and “yes, Lord,” and Clay taps my arm to show me what he’s been working on. He’s made a stick-figure drawing of Jesus with a conk and shades, playin’ the sax. A bubble coming from his face says, I’m king of the Jews and king of the JAZZ!
I snort-laugh a little too loud. Mama leans over from my far left and gives me the evil eye. While she’s there, she pokes Coralene awake. I cover my mouth and sit back against the pew to avoid her face. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that Clay’s tryna show me somethin’ else, but I just stop him with my hand and shake my head without lookin’ at him, tryna get rid a the damn giggles. I don’t want my mother to decide he’s a bad influence.
Unfortunately, once I get the giggles, gettin’ rid of ’em is a real challenge. I stare at the floor and try to focus on the sermon for a few minutes.
“I bet some a y’all were tempted by the devil just last night,” Reverend Henry says. “The devil loves Saturday nights! The devil wants you to get in all kiiiiiiiinda trouble with him, don’t he? He wants you to go out drinkin’ and chasin’ loose women with him when he knows you got a wife and four kids to raise. Ladies, the devil wants you to wear your tightest dress and strut all around town with him while your husband works the night shift.”
I’m still lookin’ down at the scuffed-up hardwood floor when Clay slides another drawing into my view. This one is the devil with a sad face, a teardrop in his eye, and a bubble that says, Please come and make trouble with me. I’m very lonely. This time I lose it. A legit loud laugh erupts outta me. I cover my face completely so I don’t see the scowls, but mostly so I don’t see Mama, who is surely ready to strangle me right now. I start coughin’ up a storm as a distraction, and that gets the twins laughin’.
“Stop it,” my mother scolds. And then every child in the church starts laughin’ all at once. At first I think it’s funny, but then I realize it’s all of ’em. It’s like a mass hysteria of giggles for every person under the age of—I glance around to see.
Looks like everybody sixteen and under. Reverend Henry’s given up on sermonizing and just stares out at us in confusion. Parents reprimand kids and drag ’em outta there, but nothing seems to make the laughter stop.
“Holy shit,” Clay whispers. He’s not laughin’. He’s seventeen and too old to catch the virus.
My mother jabs me in the shoulder. “Evvie??”
I turn to her, alert, and just as suddenly as it began, the laughing stops. People chatter, tryna figure out what just happened. Reverend Henry God-blesses the children and says that they’re here to teach us about joy.
Mama looks at me mournfully. Without speaking, she tells me, You cannot do things like that.
I know she’s right, but I honestly didn’t mean to, and I tell her so with the jube voice only we can hear.
It was an accident.
12
Bold
“I’M JUST TELLIN’ IT LIKE it is. I have yet to see any real differences,”
