Teenie (20 page)

He doesn’t have nearly the level of patience that my mother has, so I’m not surprised to hear him suck his teeth and say, “Girl, get up and go in the shower now. Sloth is a sin, yah know.”

I try to stay quiet and hope that he’ll disappear. It’s a trick I’ve seen Wazi and Kari use. My father usually gives up trying to wake them after a couple of minutes.

“Martine! You ain’t hear what I tell you? Get off yah tail and go in dee blasted shower now!”

He’s going to stand at the door until I swing my legs out of the bed and I get into the shower. When I finally make my way out to the hallway, I peek into the twins’ room and see Solwazi’s crusty foot hanging off the edge of his bed.

“Why do I have to go if they don’t have to?”

“Those heathens are in God’s hands now. You’re still in mine.”

I knew he was going to say that.

“But wait. Martine, where all this back talk coming from?”

I close the bathroom door without responding.

“Come on, Martine, hurry up.”

My parents are walking so fast that I can barely keep up with them. Because of my little mini-tantrum this morning, we’re late to church. It usually takes about ten minutes to find a parking spot, so my dad likes to get here nice and early to beat the crowd. We end up having to park about four full blocks from the church, and Beresford is not happy about that
at all. He’s grumbling about missing the offering. I wish he took so much pride in giving me my allowance.

My father tried to explain tithing to me, but I don’t think I’ll ever understand why I have to give ten percent of my money to a church whose coffers are overflowing. With the way my parents give to the church, they probably paid for at least two of the Persian rugs hanging on the walls.

According to Beresford, this is where we belong. I was relieved he finally figured it out, because it took us a good six months to find the “right” church. My father’s take for all the searching was “Why must I sit in a boring church and listen to a preacher that don’t know he elbow from he backside?”

My mother was not happy about the size of the Christian Center of Worship and Praise, and seemed somewhat intimidated. The church she grew up in back in Grenada was much smaller and didn’t have “all this pageantry and grandeur.” She was resistant right up until she heard the dynamic preaching of the pastor, Dr. N. Nathaniel Bailey. I would never think to use the word “dynamic” to describe the pastor, but that’s what it said on the back of her book. Oh, and my mother also loved that Pastor Bailey was a woman. I actually liked the church we went to before CCWP and hoped that we would have stayed there, but once I saw my mother’s face, I knew there was no hope.

According to Pastor, Sunday is supposed to be a day of rejoicing, a day to feel great and go into the week feeling unstoppable. Not today. When the usher greets us at the door and asks me if I’m blessed and highly favored, I have to bite my tongue to keep from saying no. My dad starts to give me
looks when I don’t return the good-mornings of the other churchgoers. What’s so good about this morning? What in life is good enough for me to smile and talk with someone who doesn’t even know my name and would probably knock me over if I sat in their seat today?

My dad is fed up with my attitude. Before we walk to our seats, he pulls me aside. “Look, I don’t know what is going on in that head of yours, but you better get yourself settled. This is a house of worship, and I will not tolerate you being rude and unmannerly. Is that understood, young lady?”

I roll my eyes at him and say, “Yes, Daddy.” I just rolled my eyes at my father. I don’t think he noticed, because he starts walking toward the door to the auditorium. It didn’t escape my mother’s attention, though. Just the look on her face makes me regret it immediately. “Sorry.”

She shakes her head and walks after my father.

Normally we sit in the front of the balcony, but since I took my “sweet time” getting ready, we have to sit in the second-to-last row. Pastor Bailey comes out onto the stage and greets everyone. “Good morning, CCWP. How are you feeling today?”

“Blessed and highly favored,” the congregation responds as one, pretty much everyone but me.

“Yes, we are, aren’t we? Let us stand and pray.”

I never pay attention during this prayer and usually spend the two or three minutes looking for the worst-dressed person in church. This morning, it’s a toss-up. There’s a man at the end of my row who’s making my eyes hurt with his green and yellow pin-striped suit and shoes to match. His competition is
a woman, shorter than me, with a giant black lampshade hat. Pastor Bailey finishes the prayer and says, “Now turn and give about three of your neighbors high fives and tell them ‘God is awesome!’ ”

My hands are at my sides, and I’m staring into space so I don’t have to look at anyone. I can feel both of my parents looking at me disapprovingly. When we’re given permission to sit, a feeling of sleepiness takes over immediately. I am having trouble getting into the lesson, something about God changing Abram’s name to Abraham. Pastor Bailey has called out a bunch of verses, but my Bible is on the floor between my feet. My dad taps my elbow when I start to nod off. Every time I try to concentrate, my eyes start to cross and my head drops. My little naps don’t last long, because my dad keeps waking me up. I wish he would stop doing that. It’s really annoying.

My mother passes me a Halls, and the menthol hits me right away. I roll my head around a few times and try to listen to Pastor Bailey.

“I remember one sister telling me that she was having problems with her husband. She said, ‘Pastor, I can’t take him no more. I’m going on vacation.’ I know this sister very well. Whenever things aren’t going right with her husband, she’s on the first plane to Aruba. She’s so busy running that she won’t sit still and listen. God doesn’t yell, He whispers.”

I always expected God to have this booming voice that would shake a room. In reality, the few times in my life that I have prayed, the answers usually came to me during quiet time.

Pastor continues, “I told her, ‘Sister, you can’t run away from your problems. You’ll run out of money first.’ ”

That draws laughs and applause from the congregation.

“Aruba is expensive,” she says, chuckling a little.

When the laughter dies down, she continues, saying, “God doesn’t give us more than we can handle, people. He is testing your faith. When things are going good, most of us don’t give thanks for that.”

That’s true. I don’t think I’ve ever prayed when things were going well, and judging from all the heads I see nodding in the congregation, a lot of people feel the same way.

“It’s only when things get rough that we run to Him. Here is where the problem lies. We think we’re in control of everything. When things don’t go our way, we get upset and start questioning God.
Why is He doing this to me?
We need to change the way we think. Don’t make idols of your circumstances.”

I’m not sure what that means until she says, “Don’t let your problems dominate your thoughts. Your mind should be on God and His bountiful grace.”

Okay. I guess that makes sense—a little at least.

“He has a plan for us, and we don’t have the ability to understand it. God has our lives on autopilot. If you apply enough force, you can turn your life in a direction that He did not lay out for you. Think about how much energy you have to apply to do things your way. We have to let go, people. We have to let go and let God.”

A man in the crowd shouts, “Preach it, Sister,” and the applause starts to get louder.

“If He brought you to it, He can get you through it! Take your hands off the wheel and let Him do what He does best!”

The church is on its feet, and everyone is clapping loudly. I stand up too and silently say to myself,
If He brought me to it, He will get me through it
.

I feel a little lighter after church. I don’t understand why God is putting me through this, but the only way I’ll be able to deal with what’s happened is to be faithful. Even though I feel like a phony saying that, I’m really going to try to hold on to it.

After service, my parents stop at a diner for brunch. The diner is one of the few places where my mother will allow us to eat. Normally we talk about random things, but something is in the air today. I get the feeling that they are worried, so I’m not surprised when my mother says, “Martine, we’re concerned.”

I wait a few seconds and then ask, “About?”

“Well, sweetie, you’ve been acting a little strange lately.”

I sit quiet and play with my pancakes.

“You haven’t been eating. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m okay. I’m just a little tired.”

“I know you’re under a lot of pressure with this scholarship thing. Do you think maybe you should wait until next year?”

“No, I still want to do it. I don’t want to wait.”

“So what’s wrong? Tell us what’s bothering you.”

“I’m fine. I’m just tired. That’s it.”

As usual, my mother is going to press until she gets an answer that she’s satisfied with. “Are you still upset about what happened with you and Cherise?”

“Yeah. A little, I guess.”

She reaches out and grabs my hand. “Martine, I want you
to understand that these things happen all the time. I could tell you dozens of stories about how I lost friends and felt horrible about it afterward. I just want you to remember that we are always here for you, no matter what.”

I nod my head and keep my eyes fixed on the piece of pancake I’ve cut. I’ve been trying to get every part of it covered in syrup.

“When something is bothering you, we want you to talk to us about it, okay?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

My mother reaches for her cell phone.

“Yes, Bakari. We’re at the diner.” She stops and listens, while my dad signals for the waiter to come over. “That is what both of y’all want? Cool yah nerves, boy. You talking too fast. Which one have the turkey bacon in it? Okay.”

The waiter comes over, and my dad says, “Boss, I need to make an order for takeout. What they want, Glory?”

“Okay. We’ll be home in a minute.” My mother closes the cell and says, “Two fried eggs with turkey sausage and two scrambled eggs with cheese and turkey bacon. Both of them with home fries.”

If it were up to me, I wouldn’t get those two mongrels anything. Sunday brunch should be reserved for people who go to church. My mother turns to my dad and says, “I tell you, those boys are your children,” as if my father doesn’t already know that those two Decepticons are a chip off the old block. He nods his head, probably not even hearing a word she’s saying because he’s too busy staring at soccer on the TV. My mother looks at him and shakes her head.

• • •

When my brothers go back to school, I finally get a chance to sit down and tackle my studying. I finish my American studies essay, but I need Garth’s help for this math test because it will be, by far, the biggest challenge for me.

I need at least a ninety-four on this test to get that scholarship, and that’s only if I get hundreds on my American studies essay and the English test I took last week. All my other grades are pretty much set. They’re all worth twenty percent of my grade for the semester, so I have to make sure I do well on all of them. This is going to be really hard.

Looks like we’re going to be here all night. I hear Beresford and his lead feet coming up the stairs. He stops at my door and pokes his head in.

“Ayy.”

“Hi, Daddy.”

“What you doing?”

“Studying for an exam tomorrow.” My eyes don’t move from the screen.

When he sees my Instant Messenger flashing, he asks, “Who you talking to?”

“One of my classmates from school.”

“It’s a boy?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Garth.”

“Who’s Garth?”

“One of my classmates from school.”

“How old he is?”

“Fourteen. He’s helping me study for my math test.”

“Okay.” My dad looks at the screen, probably trying to catch a glance of what I’m chatting about. “Alright. Remember to be mindful of what you’re doing on that computer. I ain’t want you on there all night, yah hear?”

“Okay, Daddy.” Thanks, Cherise. Whenever my dad thinks I’m talking to a boy, he’s going to grill me like a piece of chicken.

He sticks his head back into the room and says, “Martine, I want you to know that if there is something bothering you, you can talk to your mother and I about it. We love you very much and don’t want you to feel like you can’t come to us if you’re having a problem or you find yourself in a situation that is above your head.”

“Okay, Daddy. Thank you.”

“Good, good.” He taps the wall and walks out of the room.

• • •

Garth is really being patient with me. We’re working on twenty questions that he put together from Mr. Gershik’s old exams.

With the way things have been going for me, I’m all but assured that he’ll use new ones. Not like it would matter anyway. If we’re studying smart, I must be a giant idiot, because we’ve been stuck on this same question for thirty minutes. I haven’t even told Garth what Greg said to me. What’s the point of me studying like this if he’s just gonna take it away from me?