Sunday Morning Breakfast
From the Short Story Collection: The Religion of Slaves
Hey now! How you doing?
I saw you in here two or three weeks ago; you were coming in and I was going out, and when we passed each other the Lord spoke to me and said, “Daughter, that woman is your sister.”
I been waitin’ for you ever since. I knew I would see you again and here you are! Ain’t no coincidence! It ain’t nothin’ but God!
Look at you rockin’ that purple suit and hat! And girl, those shoes are so sharp, they look like they could walk all by themselves! Come on and sit down; let’s get to know each other. Don’t be shy. I’m just having breakfast while I wait for the church doors to open. This is my regular table and I make new friends almost every Sunday. What’s your name, lady?
Nice to meet you, Olive. I’m Ava. Hey, Bertha, bring my friend, Olive, a cup of coffee and a menu, will you? I go to The Savior’s Tabernacle right around the corner. I come here to Scotty’s every Sunday morning before church starts. What church you go to? Mount Calvary! I used to go there a long time ago. Reverend Franklin still the pastor? I’m not surprised. He and that wife of his are gonna hang on to that fatted calf ’til Jesus comes back!
So, you on the usher board or in one of the auxiliaries? The choir?! Girl, I used to sing in the choir, too; soprano; but honey, the devil was all up in there. It was full of gays, trans, bi’s and tries — you know, the ones that’ll try anything! Every one of ’em singing and screwing all over the place. Don’t get me wrong now; it wasn’t like I was wearing a halo, but I wasn’t buck wild like these folks.
Who’s the choir director now? Josephine Collins? She was the biggest dyke in the whole damn choir. I know for a fact she got hold of a couple of those nice young ladies and turned ’em out; seemed to take pride in it, too. Big old butch dyke coming to church looking like a man in a dress! No matter, ’cause the Lord sits high and sees low!
Well, tell me, what happened to Edwin Taylor? He was the choir director when I was there. Had plenty of sugar in his drawers, but that lil’ queen could sing, and Lord, he played the keys off that piano!
Dead? How’d he die? Humph, I never would’ve figured on a car accident! He was a busy little body, if you know what I mean. I was sure the AIDS was gonna get him. Oh well, may he rest in peace; ‘though the Bible says he won’t. Romans I: 26–28! Yes, ma’am, I’ve got the Word inside of me. Hallelujah! Thank you, Jesus!
I met some real nice people over there at Mt. Calvary, but chile, folks can turn on you so fast. I was friends with this woman, I’m not gonna call her name because she might still go there, but we used to fellowship in church and outside church, too; you know how it is. She would come to my house and have dinner after service sometimes or I would go to hers every now and then. I didn’t have no car then, ain’t got one now, and she used to give me rides when I needed one. Even took me grocery shopping and to my doctors’ appointments a couple of times. She never asked me for any gas money and I didn’t offer any because she looked like she was doing alright. Always dressed sharp, had her hair and nails done, and was driving a nice car, so I figured she didn’t need my little change.
When her mama died, she inherited property and some pretty good money, too. I was in a tight at the time and the Lord told me to ask her for five hundred dollars. Well, she agreed to loan me the money; guess the Lord didn’t tell her to give it to me; so, I went on and borrowed it. Tried to pay it back, too; you know, twenty dollars here and there, whenever I could because God knows I really did appreciate it. But after a while I couldn’t even do that and since we was friends and she never said anything else about it, I didn’t either. That little five hundred dollars wasn’t but a drop in the bucket to her, so I thought everything was fine. Besides, she knew my money was gettin’ stretched tighter because my son got sent to San Quentin behind some drug business he swears he didn’t have nothing to do with. I didn’t have no money for an attorney so we got stuck with the sorriest public pretender that ever graduated law school. My son took a plea deal and got thirteen years for a first offense! And they got the nerve to call it a justice system. Ain’t no justice except for the Lord!
Anyway, I was the only one my son had to put money on the books for him so how could I do that and pay her too? I’m on disability and my little check is gone as soon as I get it. I couldn’t even pay my tithes. A real Christian-friend would’ve understood. But honey, one day out of the clear blue sky she asked me when I was gonna pay her the four hundred and twenty dollars I still owed. That really pissed me off because she knew my situation. Maybe it had been more than a year, but what’s time and money between friends? If the shoe was on the other foot I wouldn’t be hounding her for five hundred funky ass dollars. That didn’t make no difference to her. Do you know that good church sister took me to small claims court! She won a judgment against me, but I haven’t paid it. If you ain’t got it, you ain’t got it, right? Of course, after that we stopped speaking, and I know she badmouthed me to the other sisters in the church because they started throwing me shade. You know how nice-nasty those church sisters can be. Such a hateful bunch of bitches. Excuse me for cussing on Sunday morning, but that’s what they were. I didn’t need that mess so I left Mt. Calvary and found myself another church.
Olive, I’d stay away from the corned beef hash if I was you. It’s real greazy and always tastes past its time. But you can’t go wrong with the big breakfast; it’s got pancakes, a choice of two meats, two eggs, hash browns, and a nice lil’ cup of fresh fruit on the side; it’s almost enough for two.
Now, what were we talking about? Oh, yeah. How long you been going to Mt. Calvary? Four years ain’t long. Where did you go to church before that? St. Matthews AME?! Girl, I grew up at St. Matt’s until I was almost twenty!
I know Pastor Solomon Townsend’s been dead for a while, and I heard his son is the pastor now. Them Townsends had that ministry locked down. Elijah, the pastor’s brother, was the Church President; another one, Artemis, was the Principal of the church-school, and the baby brother, Jacob, was Director of the School of Divinity. I knew Jacob the best. I started taking Divinity classes because I was thinking about becoming a minister and the church offered Saturday classes free of charge to members. They were six-week courses and I learned a lot. It got so I could quote Scriptures as good as any preacher; still can! Anyway, Jacob took me under his wing because I was a good student. He kind of became my mentor; made me feel special. We talked about the class lessons, the prophets of the Old Testament, and the parables of Jesus. Chile, we got way deeper than what was on the pages of those text books.
How’s your coffee, girl? It’s a Colombian roast! Good, huh?
Like I was sayin’, everything was on the up and up at first. After all, Jacob had a wife and family. But one Saturday afternoon when class was over and everybody else had left, I stuck around so that I could help him straighten up the classroom. I was standing there thumbing through the Bible, looking for a verse and he slid up behind me and laid his hand on my shoulder. Then his fingers brushed the back of my neck, and girl, a tingle shot down my spine like electricity! I can still feel it now just talking about it! I should’ve run for my life, but before I knew it we were kissing, and oh Lord, it was on! Of course, I was young then and if I had it to do over again I wouldn’t; well, probably not.
I’m not proud of it, but me and Jacob carried on long after the classes ended and after a few months I came up pregnant. I don’t know how it happened. I mean I know how it happened, but I had been so careful. I guess it didn’t matter because I was young and fertile, and Lord, forgive me, but Jacob was a stallion! The day I went to tell him about the baby before I could get it out, he told me that his wife was pregnant and we were gonna have to cool it. When I told him I was pregnant, too, he looked at me like I had gotten him confused with somebody else. I can still see his face — eyes big as ping-pong balls and his lips quivering like he wanted to bust out crying. When he could finally talk the first thing he said was, “It ain’t mine.” To tell the truth there was a fifty-fifty chance he was right, but he didn’t know that. He was just doing what most men do when they get caught — lie and deny. I wasn’t messing with but two men at the time — him and Raymond Tate, but I knew in my heart it was Jacob’s baby. Ray was my little stuff on the side. I mean, Jacob had his wife so I needed somebody else, too. I wasn’t serious about Ray because he didn’t have much going for hisself. He never finished high school, couldn’t keep a job, and he was living at his mama’s house with a bunch of brothers and sisters and all their kids. He was nice enough and good in the sack, but he wasn’t worth two dead flies.
Here comes your breakfast! Sure looks good. They gave you extra bacon, too. Probably because you’re sitting at my table. Pass me a piece, honey. Mm, nice and crispy, just the way I like it.
Like I was saying, when Jacob started back-pedaling on me I had to get tough with him. I told him that if he didn’t do right by me, I was gonna tell the good Pastor, his pregnant wife, and the whole damn congregation about my after-school lessons. That man almost wet his pants! Shoot, I was just bluffing! I wasn’t stupid enough to tell on myself, especially to those messy ass people in the church.
About a week later Jacob called and told me to meet him at his office. He sounded so calm and easy going I thought he was comin’ around. But when I got there, he was with Pastor Townsend and his other brothers, Elijah and Artemis, all of them waiting to ambush me, with the judgment of Saint Peter on their smug, bougie-ass faces. Here I am a pregnant young girl standing all by myself against these men of God trying to bully me. But I held my own! They wanted me and my “situation” to disappear and since we were on the same page, I was happy to oblige. This was back in ’81 before DNA, and they didn’t want to have a blood test; afraid the secret might get out, I guess. They just wanted me to disappear and I was glad to get gone after they paid me fifteen-grand, in cash! That was a lot of money back then and, girl, I made those dollas holla! I went right out and got an abortion, Lord forgive me, but it was for the best. Then I moved out of my mama’s house and got my first apartment over in Leimert Park, furnished it from top to bottom, bought myself a badass wardrobe, and a light blue Toyota Corolla; secondhand, but a good car. Ray found it for me in the LA Times. Baby, I was ballin’.
Of course, them Townsend’s told me that they didn’t want me coming to St. Matthew’s anymore, like I would dirty up the place. Both me and Jacob had sinned, but he stayed in the church, kept teaching Divinity classes, and had two more kids — one of ’em with his wife. I didn’t care; I just moved on. A couple of years later I got pregnant by Ray and had my son, Cornelius — the one in San Quentin. I was the best mother I knew how to be, but you never know how a kid is gonna turn out. Took him to church and everything, but he fell in love with the streets. He’s half mine, but he’s got daddy’s blood, too. I just keep prayin’ for him and doing what I can.
You look like you’re getting full, Olive. If you don’t have room for that fruit cup, I’ll take it. Umph, umph, umph, this grapefruit is so sweet and juicy, excuse me for slurpin’.
Anyway, I was glad to leave St. Matthews and those demons. After that I started going to Glory Sanctuary Church of God in Christ. It’s a sanctified church. You ever been to a sanctified church? Girl, it’s really something; singing, shouting, holy dancing, and carrying on for hours. I liked the way they taught the Word but they were too strait-laced for me. Most of the women wore dresses below their knees, and no makeup — which was more sanctified than I was tryin’ to be. Honey, back then I was turning heads with my big pretty legs, so I wasn’t about to go steppin’ out in a frumpy granny dress with no makeup. Besides, my legs were real man-magnets, so pretty they should have been insured!
Lord have mercy, look at the time! The church doors will be opening in a few minutes, and I need to get a move on ’cause I like to sit in my same seat every Sunday. Sorry to leave before you finish your coffee, but I gotta go. Sister Olive, I know we just met, but the Lord told me it would be alright to ask you to pay for my breakfast. It was only two doughnuts and a cup of coffee. I know the Lord will bless you for your good deed.
Thanks, honey, that’s real nice of you. And if you ever decide to visit The Savior’s Tabernacle, just ask any one of the ushers to point you in my direction. They all know me. Just ask for Ava — Sister Ava Reese!
Bye, girl, bye…and God bless!
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