When All Hell Breaks Loose (2 page)

Oh, hell! Where’s my watch? Oh, I left it in the kitchen. Got my keys, Bible, wallet, cool … I’m out. I better watch my swearing, too. Last time I visited, I almost let one slip out.

M
ount Cannon Baptist Church is packed when I arrive. Luckily my sister saved a spot next to her. One of the ushers looks at me crazy because I’m late by ten minutes. She’s an old, wrinkled-looking woman with pouty lips, gloved hands clutched tightly together, and several noticeable chin hairs. Probably drove her one and only husband to an early grave and hasn’t had companionship in her life since, except a half-blind dog the size of my shoe. She cuts her beady eyes at me and tightens her lips as if I’m forcing her to do her job. I ignore her and straighten my tie. She leads me in and takes me directly to where Shreese is sitting. When my sister sees me, she beams. She pats the empty spot and I cross over a few people and sit down.

“Greg, you’re late,” she whispers. “You missed Reverend Dixon’s welcome to the visitors.”

I lean in and kiss my sister on the cheek. “It’s good to see you too, li’l sister.”

“You didn’t bring Adrian?” she asks, looking past me.

“No, she rushed home this morning. She told me to tell you she’s
sorry she hasn’t gotten around to visiting church with you, but she will soon.”

“She needs to be in church with you right now. I know y’all can’t see the error in your ways, but Sundays are for repentance.”

“Reese, don’t start.”

The pastor has said something we both missed and the congregation says, “Amen,” in unison. Shreese picks up her program and fans herself. The church is stuffy and I can barely stand the tie being around my neck already.

The choir gets up to do a song. As the director announces the “A” selection, an upbeat version of “Down at the Cross,” my mind begins to drift to Adrian’s answer to my proposal and how we celebrated. The lovemaking is so fresh on my mind, I have to cross my legs and adjust on the pew, in order to keep my Willie under control. I’m slightly ashamed that I could think about sex in the middle of church service, but I know I’m not alone.

The choir immediately starts jamming the song and my sister jumps up on her feet, clapping her hands and singing along. I look at the choir and shake my head in disbelief. They’re rocking intensely, and some of them are blatantly dancing! I’m talking about the Friday night stuff! One sister with a short bob haircut with gold highlights is doing a dance I know I was just doing last week down at the Prime Times club near downtown. Then there’s this brother who is doing a grand rendition of a slide step, reminiscent of James Brown! Mount Cannon is jamming like it’s New Year’s Eve in Times Square. I suppose they can since the church has a full band of brothers who I grew up with, most of whom still play Saturday night gigs at local jazz spots around Dallas. They even have a Caribbean drummer. Now I know what they mean by, “It’s on when the club close.” I can’t tell if they’re jamming for Jesus or auditioning for a role in the next Janet Jackson video. They’re rocking this song, but where do you draw the line? See, I’m from the old school, where gospel music was more humble, without all the glitter and pretentious behavior. This music definitely moves me because the musicians know what they’re doing and they understand what the right amount of bass and keys can do to the human spirit, but it appears no different
than being at a play or some put-on show. Shreese is even cutting the holy rug a little, with a small two-step, jitterbug-type dance. I’ve never seen her groove before, and looking at her do her small step, jump, and bounce is causing me to wonder what she does in her spare time.

I almost jump out of my skin when some woman in the back gets the Holy Ghost and starts screaming and flinging her arms about as she falls over a pew and catches another sister square in the back of her head. Several ushers rush over and surround her, making sure she doesn’t hurt anybody else, including herself. She’s a big woman, who is catering to at least two hundred and sixty pounds! I can see why they pick those plump women as ushers. They all look like courteous football linebackers.

Half the church congregation is on its feet. I stand up too, envying the small children who are sleeping through all this praising and hollering. I don’t want these people to think I’m not having a good time, so I clap along like a robot. I keep my eyes darting around in case someone near me gets the spirit, because I don’t want to be in their way. The heat rises in the sanctuary and I take my program and fan my face. Three women and one brother in the choir stand have fainted and have been carried out, but the choir is still bouncin’.

The pastor is sitting in his chair like an emperor. I’ve always wondered what it was like to sit in one of those big chairs that all big-time pastors have. Reverend Dixon must have skills because he has gold knobs at the ends of the armrests—at least, they look gold, probably just brass or gold-plated. I’m not doubting that this man has a blessing on his head, but in my experience, preachers who carry themselves like Dixon have come across as professional hustlers and this man is no exception to the rule. Shreese told me that Dixon isn’t like that. She said he has an anointing that was placed on him when he was twelve and ever since has been on a mission from Jesus. Hmph, Shreese is naive. The only thing placed on this brother’s head at twelve years of age was a hair relaxer that he obviously hasn’t the will to let go of. He’s sitting up there like a black Adonis, smiling and waving to some of the congregation members. He randomly shouts out praises, which cause some of the members to go wild with
the music. Shreese told me he’s single and on many occasions he has talked about how he’s waiting on the Lord to send him a virtuous helpmate, which cancels out about eighty-five percent of the women in his congregation. Shreese practically brags about how he is always complimenting her on her kind ways and beautiful voice. I can see that she’s hopeful something will blossom with him, and being a pastor’s wife would be right up her alley. If he was anything other than a pastor, I know my sister wouldn’t give him the time of day, but he’s not and I have to keep a watch on him. He’s older than my sister by six or seven years, and that is enough for me to make sure his intentions with her, if there are any, are pure. All the other women in the congregation seem just as eager to be the next Mrs. Dixon. As I stare at the brother, I can almost see what they like in him. If I were a woman, I would say he’s handsome on that street level, but I’m not a woman. If you can imagine a young pimp in the pulpit, then that suggests a good concept of Reverend Dixon. A real ladies’ man of God. He was also recently elected to a seat on the city council, which moved him up a notch on the status belt. I never believed in mixing church and politics, so I have strong doubts about this brother and his ministry. I just hope nothing pops off between him and my little sister, ’cause then I’d have to act a real fool.

My legs get tired, so I take my seat, hoping the song will end soon. Lucky for me, the choir begins to wind down. I guess it’s because half of them have been carried out due to heat exhaustion or the Holy Ghost. The bass player even took off his guitar and shouted into a silent submission. Reverend Dixon gets up and stands at the podium, stretching out his hands to silence the church. As the congregation and the choir take their seats, a few of the fainted return, looking like they’ve been through some bad weather. The ushers case the congregation and then return to the back of the church to take their seats. Dixon puts his hands down and closes his eyes and everyone bows their heads and waits for the prayer. He begins to pray in song.

“Most merciful and gra-a-acious God. We ask for your anointing sp-i-i-irit right now.…”

I lift my head and look around. No one else, with the exception of
a little girl in front of me, has their head up. She smiles at me and waves. I wave back, causing her to giggle. Her mother taps her and makes her turn back around. Pastor Dixon still has his arms stretched out and the words seem to flow from his mouth like liquid. Liquid smoke, to me. But I must admit, he’s got his method down and exact, with the outfit to top it off. Designer cuff links, manicured nails, and designer dress shoes to complete his look. Most of the younger sisters in the congregation are fanning their low-cut blouses, causing the fabric to sway away from their perfume-coated skin, revealing the roundness of their push-up-bra-enhanced breasts. I’m sure they’re praying that Reverend Dixon is looking. I put my head back down to concentrate on his words because I know Shreese is going to quiz me later. She always does.

“… and let eve-r-r-ry person within the sound of my voice receive your blessed spi-i-i-i-rit, O God. Lead your sheep to the pasture of everlasting life! These and other blessings I ask in the name of your only son, Jesus, Amen.”

Shoot! I missed the main part of the prayer. I say another pointless “Amen.” We raise our heads and take our seats as the pastor begins his sermon. Shreese pulls out her Bible like she’s about to be drilled. Her fingers wait anxiously near the pages and she’s staring straight at the pulpit, directly at Dixon. He straightens his lapel—it’s made of Kente cloth—and begins to speak.

“Today’s sermon isn’t for the faint of heart nor the weak in spirit. I come to y’all today to bring the message of God. My sermon today is entitled, ‘The Right Love Comes from Above.’ ”

The women in the audience give a hearty “Amen.”

From their response, I can tell they are single, bitter, and probably big supporters of the Lifetime cable channel. The I-don’t-need-a-man-but-Lord-send-me-a-man kind of women. The player-hating kind of women. The few brothers in the congregation, including myself, sit quiet. One of them is already nodding off to sleep. Shreese just nods her head in agreement as she jots the topic down on the back of her program.

The pastor repeats the topic and begins his sermon. By the time he finishes, I’m out of my blazer and sleepy as hell. Shreese has had
to nudge me twice because I started nodding, doing that sleepy head-roll that can hurt you if you don’t have a headrest. I know she let me get some shuteye at some point, because when I woke up, her program had writing all over it and I couldn’t tell where she began. I dip into my blazer pocket for my wallet and prepare for the offering. As the donation bucket comes around, I drop in two dollars and Shreese looks at me like I did something wrong.

“What?” I whisper to her.

“Gregory Alston, that’s not ten percent of your earnings.”

“I know,” I say to her as I put my wallet back into my pocket. “My bills got to get paid too, you know.”

“Ecclesiastes five and ten reads, ‘He who loves money is not satisfied with money,’ ” she replies, as if I am being stingy with my givings.

“And my bills say, ‘If you don’t pay us our money, we’re going to take more of your money.’ It’s called interest, and I’m interested in paying my bills too.”

Shreese hits me on the arm and shakes her head. “That’s a shame. A pure shame.”

I can’t believe she tried to front me about two dollars. I’ve never given any church ten percent of my earnings. That’s well over six hundred dollars a month. Besides, this church looks fine to me, and Pastor Dixon doesn’t look like he’s hurting for much.

Now I’m really ready to go. My sister has insulted me and I’m sleepy, starving, and sweating like a bullfrog in a snakepit. Once the collections are taken up, there are announcements and the benediction. Thank God! I’m ready to go!

I still end up waiting an additional forty-five minutes for my sister after service. She yaps away with some woman in a green polka-dot dress and matching hat. I’m tempted to blow my horn, but just as I get ready to, Shreese flounces over and hops in. “I have to be back at three,” she says. “We have a planning meeting for our Women’s Day program.”

I look at my watch. “It’s only one-thirty, we have time. Is Chili’s Restaurant okay?”

“Sure.” She looks over at me and smiles. She reminds me of how
our mother used to look in her younger days. They have the same small lips and the same dimpled right cheek.

“So what did you and Adrian do this weekend?” Shreese asks.

“She came over after she closed the shop and we rented movies.”

“Did she stay the night?”

“Shreese, does it matter?”

“Greg, I’m just asking, you don’t have to be so irritated with me. I guess the devil must have been welcoming you to the floor when you stepped out of bed.”

“There was no devil in my room this morning, okay? Anyway, I wanted to tell you that I asked Adrian to marry me and she said yes.”

Shreese gets loud. “What?! Marriage! Oh Lord Jesus help.”

“Yeah. Quit tripping.”

“Did you pray about this decision?”

“Time told me she was the one,” I reply smartly. “I’ve known her long enough to realize I want to marry her.”

“Three years ain’t diddly-squat, Gregory.” Shreese looks out the window. “Lord have mercy on us all.” Her fingers tap lightly on the Bible that is lying on her lap. “The Bible says that fornication is an impurity and a work of the flesh. How do you think you got a good woman from this kind of behavior?”

“Shreese, it’s no secret to you that I’m not a virgin. And it’s no secret to you that my fiancée is not a virgin, but that don’t make us impure or less loving.”

“You haven’t read your Bible lately, have you, big brother? Because if you had you wouldn’t be saying such devilment.”

I switched on the radio to interrupt our conversation as I whip onto Camp Wisdom Road, less than a mile from the restaurant.

Shreese begins humming along with the gospel tune that’s playing. I can feel her staring at me again, so I look back at her.

“Now what?”

“Have you told Daddy?”

“Not yet. I was planning on stopping by the house this afternoon to tell him.”

“You should have told us you were at least thinking about getting
married,” she mumbled. “You didn’t even consider your own family for something this serious.”

“Shreese, it was a last-minute thing. I bought the ring just two weeks ago.”

“We should have known you were buying it,” she snapped. “Two weeks is hardly last-minute, Greg.”