Two Roads Back Together, page 13
“I’m managing.” He kept his response short, attempting to conserve energy or prevent further exhaustion, who could say.
“Geez, just ‘managing’ while the wife is away?”
“Yep,” Jay replied, trying to keep the exasperation and fatigue out of his voice. “Kendra said Sam is doing well at the competition, but here it’s been a little rough. Junior’s going through a clingy stage and hates the fact that I’m not his mom. He’s also at the age where he’s starting to get into everything, now that he can crawl.” Jay really didn’t feel like talking at the moment, even to Shy, but he pushed through, knowing it was likely important. But did they always have to call so late?
Jay rubbed his temple and took a sip of his craft brew. He hadn’t shaved in two days and he hadn’t slept more than two hours at a time since his wife left. “But enough about me. I’m glad you’re back.”
“Yeah. Going to L.A. was a good break, and gave me time to work some things out. But I’m glad to be home and sleep in my own bed.”
“So you and your mom talking yet?”
“…No.”
“It’s been over a week since you came back from California, Shy. You should call her.”
“I can’t deal with her right now. I was so pissed off on the flight home. I just need some time to close things off.”
“I can tell. I wasn’t even sure you made it back ’cause you straight ignored a brotha… for days.”
Jay could hear the nervous half chuckle over the sounds of the rinse water. “It wasn’t even like that,” Shy said unconvincingly.
“Yeah, it was.”
“I’m sorry, Bro, you know how I get.”
“Yep, that I do. So whassup?” He placed the skillet in the drying rack and picked up the oatmeal-encrusted pot from breakfast. That was one morning food he’d never make again, not after having to wash it out of his son’s hair.
“I just need to talk. I can’t shake it, man.”
Damn, here we go again. Jay knew where this was going. Shy was operating in typical fashion, where their problems always took precedence over others. Jay usually would shake it off and get them to see the other side, but with days of no sleep, his composure was shot. “Shake what?”
“My mom. We just don’t see eye to eye. I can’t for the life of me understand why she refuses to see me. I told her what I need from her, and she still can’t provide that. She still calls me ‘Keisha’ no matter how many times I ask her to stop. I told you she didn’t even react when I came out to her, right? I mean, she was shocked initially, and seemed like she was about to get hysterical, but then she just zipped it back up and pretended like nothing happened, like she always does when things don’t fit into her perfectly ordered world.”
Jay rubbed at his temple, then realized he’d just put bubbles all over his face. Damn it all, he was too tired for this right now. “Yo, let me stop you right there. Did everything Pops tell you get left off at the airport or something? Pops was droppin’ mad dimes. She took her entire afternoon to help you—you think everyone just has time like that, Shy?”
“Nah, Bro, I heard her.”
Jay huffed a disbelieving laugh. “Really? ’Cause it’s starting to feel like you just want to be a victim in all of this.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be if my mom could just get me. Dude, she still calls me ‘baby girl’ and can’t seem to bring herself to call me ‘Shy’. I tell her I don’t like it and she nods and apologizes half-heartedly but in the next breath it’s like the convo never happened. I mean, is she is doing it on purpose? I’m thirty-two damn years old, Bro. Why am I still puttin’ up with this shit? You feel me?”
“Are you serious right now?” Jay’s voice shook as he gritted his teeth. Why was Jay handing out free counseling to his self-absorbed friend when he didn’t have the time or energy for this? “No, Shy. Actually, I don’t feel you.” Jay nearly slammed the pot into the drying rack. “I’m not about to tell you what you wanna hear. So I hope you didn’t call for that.”
“What? Bro, are you even listening to me right now? My mom is in denial and doesn’t want to deal with the truth. She never thinks about anything besides how other people see her. Hell, she ain’t once took a moment to check in with me, ask how I’ve been now that she knows. This is fucked up. Why can’t she just see me, Jay? Why?”
Jay took a deep breath, let it out as he pulled the plug in the sink. He needed to get a handle on his own emotions; the fact that he was drowning and Shy didn’t even care, well, that was neither here nor there. He wanted to let his frustration out and tell Shy to grow the hell up, to stop overthinking things, to realize Shy’s problems were not everyone’s problems and that everyone was dealing with their own shit. But he knew Shy needed Jay the Therapist, not Jay the Friend right now; yelling would only shut Shy down.
“Let me ask you something, Shy,” he said, picking up the toys scattered around the living room. “Have you ever thought about what your mother is going through right now?”
“Are you serious? This isn’t about her. I’m the one that’s struggling!” Shy huffed.
“Now hold up,” he said sternly. “I’ve heard you out, now you’re going to sit back and listen to me.” He took a breath and sat, holding Junior’s favorite stuffed giraffe. “Shy, you got this thing twisted. The world ain’t here to coddle your feelings. Learn to toughen up. So you’re gay – so what? News flash: yeah, the world hates that shit. So what? You gonna spend the rest of your life closed off from people because you don’t feel heard or seen? What kind of bullshit is that? You think ‘not being understood’ is reserved only for gay people? And anyway, when did you start acting like a victim? That shit is weak and you know it.
“You think because you finally accepted ‘Shy’ that everyone is supposed to beat feet and meet you where you are. Shy, that’s a luxury. Outside of me and Pops and your Ma, ain’t too many people will care about you and all that you’re struggling with. But we do care. And we care because we love you, and we want you to be happy, and we hurt when you’re hurting. But we’d feel the same with any struggle you were dealing with; if it’s important to you, it’s important to us.” He rubbed his fingers over the worn face of his son’s giraffe. “Look, Shy. I love you more than you would ever know. But you gotta learn that your happiness and your peace of mind ain’t gonna come from anyone out here—and yeah, that includes your mother. Until you get that, you’re going to live a rough life, always in your mind, second guessing yourself and unable to really be happy. And it won’t be anyone’s fault but your own. You can’t go blaming the world for that. The world doesn’t owe you a thing.
“Get out of your head. Quit living your life trying to vie for other people’s validation. If they like you, great. If they don’t—no matter if that dislike is based on your sexuality and gender identity, or if they just can’t stand your personality—then it’s their loss. Live your damn life, Shy. That’s what Pops was trying to tell you.”
The phone was silent for a moment as Jay let his words sink in. A wail from the other room broke the stillness and Jay groaned. Would this boy never stay asleep!? He placed the giraffe into the toy basket and stood. Why did Jay ever decide to let his two favorite girls run off to Vegas for some mother-daughter time at the competition?
“Look, I gotta go, Junior is crying again. And by the way, your mother loves you more than anything in this world. Give her the time she needs to catch up with you. You can at least do that. Despite not knowing what you truly needed deep down, she has always cared for you and provided. She’ll come around. Trust me. Love you, bug.”
“Bye, Jay.” Jay barely heard Shy as he ended the call and rushed back into the bedroom.
SHY WALKED INTO the house, dropping their keys and taking off their shoes, and sighed in comfort. As they hung up their coat, their eyes fell to the blue knit scarf hanging up, the one their mother had given them two years ago. Maybe Jay was right. Maybe I should call her. They’d been thinking a lot about their call the other day with Jay, the one where he’d laid out all Shy’s insecurities and selfishness. It’d been a long time since Shy’d been on the receiving end of a stern one-way lecture from him. Because he was always so mellow, it tripped Shy up when Jay blew up at them, but it did get Shy out of their own head and make them take a minute to think. And when they did, they usually realized Jay was right.
Shy had never second-guessed the strength of their mother’s love but they had questioned the amount of time she needed to process things. They knew it was irrational—as Jay said, Shy had taken a while to figure themselves out, so Evelyn should be granted time as well—but still, it was hard not to ‘play the victim,’ as aptly as Jay put it. Shy was finally making life about their needs, but somehow, this was selfish or inconsiderate? Shy could feel their ego attacking back. Yeah, it’s about damn time something is about us, Shy. We’ve been tiptoeing and adjusting to everyone else’s expectations for so long. Now, when we demand the favor, everyone is pushing back, including Jay. How could he take our mom’s side?
Shy picked up a notepad and replayed Jay’s conversation over and over while staring out the window past their front yard at a group of kids. A little girl with a ball cap and pigtails underneath caught their eye. She wore jeans and blue Chuck Taylor sneakers. The girl shone brightly. Shy admired her confidence and strength, her sureness and stature, not a hint of fear or contemplation in who she was because she was just being herself, not hampered by judgmental or policing eyes. The little girl was clearly athletically superior to anyone in the group. She towered over her peers and seemed to control the play. And yet, Shy didn’t hear any jeering tones, or see any of the other kids push back against the leadership of this girl. Shy couldn’t quite place their finger on it, but a feeling inside them resurfaced. I remember the days I felt free like that. That was a long time ago, before Prairie View even. Shy allowed those welcomed memories to flush forward as they watched the little girl that played on the other side of the window. Will I ever find my way back to that place, where I can just be… me?
Shy scribbled a bit, jotting down thoughts and feelings, some disjointed, some fully-formed. Their dream journaling had turned into full-on therapeutic writing. It was nice, a good way to get their thoughts organized and orderly, and a good way to let Sebastian share the reins too.
Feelings noted, Shy stretched and looked at their phone and thought once more about calling their mother before turning on the TV.
Chapter 12
As the last week of October slipped into the first week of November, Evelyn felt like she’d been living in a dreamworld that suddenly ripped apart into a harsh reality she was unprepared for. Since Shy’s return to Arizona, Evelyn had found it harder and harder to recall the exact details of that unpleasantness in the restaurant, when her child abruptly shifted right before her eyes, though, to be frank, she wasn’t sure she really wanted to recall. But she was aware of the tension between mother and child, and struggled with accepting the slight tremors and aftershocks barely rumbling beneath her.
Evelyn knew her entire demeanor had changed, but she was keeping that conversation all to herself, especially after those foreign and unwanted feelings that arose during coffee with Mae. It was a secret she vowed to fold into tiny pieces and tuck down deep into the bindings of her family Bible. Though she would never say so to Shy, she secretly wished this would all be over soon and things would go back to being simple again.
Evelyn had canceled her private Bible study group for the past two weeks, citing a lingering cold; she hadn’t the heart to entertain her church friends. She’d still attended Sunday services, but didn’t arrive early or linger after for fellowship. She knew the women of her social group would sniff out the faintest sign of her anxiety and pressure her for the cause and she simply wasn’t able to lie, even by omission.
But now Evelyn was attempting to get back on track. She stood at the church’s threshold. It was Thursday night Bible study at her neighborhood worship center, the prominent African Methodist Church. Her heart patted softly and tremors shot up and down her legs. She was afraid to move. Afraid her legs would give out. She touched her grandmother’s pearls resting across the top of her chest. Stroking and lightly flipping a pearl or two, she uttered a small prayer request for peace and clarity.
Evelyn entered the hallway, her classic, flower-printed pumps clacking on the wooden floor. Evelyn’s fine wardrobe was usually meticulous and beautiful and on this ordinary evening it was no different. She dressed as if she were headed to the King’s Kingdom for a heavenly feast with her flowing ankle-length dress in pastel yellow, accented with diamond earrings and the pearl necklace. She had also carefully styled her dark brown mane (interspersed with large streaks of gray, of course) into a single large braid wrapped around the crown of her head. They say the queens of West African tribes donned this symbolism of pride and regality; it was fitting for Evelyn to do the same.
She walked along the hallway towards the prayer rooms tucked into the sides of the church. A tall, slender, brown woman greeted Evelyn. She was a rather progressive phenomenon—a budding preacher, a woman that proclaimed the Word. The Methodists had taken a long time to come around to the idea of a woman pastor but she was a pillar of leadership for many, and the ladies in Evelyn’s church, herself included, admired Minister Debbie.
“Well, don’t you look stunning tonight, Ms. Evelyn? God is good,” said the minister.
“All the time. Thank you, Minister Debbie.” The two ladies kissed each other’s cheeks.
“Come with me. The ladies will be in the Martha Room tonight. The choir is using our main study room to get ready for the big concert this Sunday.”
“How wonderful. They are quite something. I get blessed with every praise and worship.”
“Yes, Lord.”
Evelyn and the minister stepped into the tiny room. “Alright, Evelyn, here we go. Sit anywhere you would like.”
The room, though small, had a timeless character, soothing its occupants with warm tones. Evelyn was happy to see two of her private Bible study friends, Ms. Holiday and Mrs. Hall, and took her seat next to them at the round table—after exchanging sweet pleasantries with the other ladies, of course.
All the ladies seemed well. They certainly dressed well and proudly carried their “pillars of the community” status. For a lady, especially a Black woman, she must always take care to showcase her pride in herself and her family. These women represented the rungs of the Black upper-class, a rather polished and esteemed group of matriarchs. Despite the decorum and polite distance suggested by their stuffy accessories and colorfully printed fabrics, the women still offered warmth to one another, filling the tight quarters with an inviting mood. Evelyn could feel her anxiety subside. She was with her tribe.
Bible study was to start in twenty minutes and there were about twelve ladies already seated in the room. Minister Debbie returned wearing a long purple robe—extra roomy for her smaller frame—and a white stole with edge fringes. She clutched her Bible to her full-bosomed chest. She hummed the classic praise and worship song Lord, We Thank You, which the ladies in the room picked up as Minister Debbie settled in. One lady blessed with a beautiful soprano led the close-knit group. Another woman hummed the first note. The lead soprano softly crooned the first few words: “Oh Lord, we thank you.” The group sang beautifully in harmony as Minister Debbie spoke the verses slightly ahead of each beat for those who did not know the words.
This was Evelyn’s favorite song; it reminded her of her great-aunt, who sang it to little Evelyn when she woke from night terrors as a child. Evelyn’s nightmares were filled with images of her mother leaving her to her great-aunt’s care, saying goodbye forever—something that had actually happened in life. It wasn’t until Evelyn reached her preteens that she understood that her mother couldn’t afford to take care of her. Evelyn’s great-aunt, however, was quite well-off and had convinced Evelyn’s mom to leave her child in Brooklyn. The song connected Evelyn to both her great-aunt and mother, both of whom had passed on.
As the song ended, Minister Debbie shared the evening’s study topic with the group. “The Lord placed on my heart to talk to you today about obedience. We must be obedient children before our Lord and Savior Christ. Open your bibles to the book of Deuteronomy, chapter five, verse thirty-three, in your New King James version. Say ‘Amen’ when you find the page.”
Obedience? Evelyn stiffened. Was she talking directly to Evelyn? Did Minister Debbie know about Shy? Oh goodness, did the others know? Evelyn casually looked at the other faces glued to the minister; not one indicated they knew of Shy’s secret. She sighed in relief.
“‘Walk in obedience to all that the LORD your God has commanded of you. This will bless you to live and prosper long into your graying days,’” the minister firmly petitioned her tiny flock. She rapidly flipped the tender paper to the next passage. “The answer we seek is clear. If we follow Him and we remain obedient as children of God, we can have all things—ALL THINGS—through his divine son.”
“Yes!” one of the ladies shouted.
“As a mother, a wife, and a daughter myself, I know our purpose as women is divine. We are the nurturer and givers of life. This is by His design, and we must not alter what He has in store for us. As daughters, we learned from our mothers to walk a righteous path. As wives, we must support and uplift our husbands. And as mothers, we must protect our children. We protect them by being stewards of God’s will. But we fail our children when we allow them to go astray from their heavenly design.”
“Preach it,” several of the ladies replied.
“Ladies, I must share something with you.” The minister walked away from the podium to close the gap between her and the group at the table. “Some of us have fallen short. We are walking away from the righteous path, and we are burning for it.” Minister Debbie stood right next to Evelyn. As she spoke, Evelyn could feel sweat beading over her top lip and the heat rising from her pores.
