This Is My America(69)
Jamal’s eyes settle like he’s thinking hard. Then he tightens the laces in his shoes, knotting them up like he always did before a big race. He must know as much as I do, that he’s got few options other than running the rest of his life if he doesn’t try to find out the truth. Jamal can’t run forever.
You can’t outrun the inevitable.
LET THE SAINTS SAY AMEN
The community center is bustling. Every seat taken, looking like Easter Sunday at church. I take a glance around the room. In the middle sit Tasha and her younger sister, Monica. Tasha smiles. I quickly text her, since it’s hard to reach her seat.
Thank you for coming
Pastor Jenkins stands in front, next to Lucinda Scott, the community director. Seeing Pastor Jenkins takes me back to times Mama tried to describe what court would be like.
Ten-year-old me didn’t know what to expect until she explained that court was gonna be like church. I felt better because I knew church. Sunday was all-day dedication. Monday, you drop off dishes from Sunday service. Tuesday, Bible study. Wednesday, choir. Thursday, the good choir. Friday, Savior’s night. Saturday, cleanup.
And court was supposed to be like a sinner’s testimony: truth on a throne.
The way God’s message reaches the pastor and spreads like wildfire until it touches someone’s soul at the altar for prayer circles or getting saved. Then you’d have as long as your truth-telling was gonna be.
I kept waiting for the judge to catch the Holy Ghost. Get all swept up like the hurricane that took everything away from us. Then we could pretend we never stepped foot on that evacuation bus to Texas, and Daddy wouldn’t have met Mark and Cathy Davidson.
But court didn’t resemble church. No one riddled with guilt came bursting into the courtroom asking for forgiveness. And after, we didn’t have a church home anymore. Not the same, anyway. After the sentencing, we were pushed to the margins. Whispered about. It took a long time to grab that place again for Mama. I never fully did. Not again. Not the same. Instead, I ran to the community center for my workshops a few years later. Never as full, but at least filled with purpose.
Lucinda waves us to reserved seats in the front. I follow Steve and Mama, passing Quincy, who gently reaches for my arm, stopping me.
“You okay?”
“I think so.” I give him a half hug.
“Let me know if you need anything.” Quincy squeezes my hand.
“Jamal can’t keep hiding in that shack,” I whisper to Quincy. He’s the only one I trusted to share I’ve seen Jamal. “It’s not safe. We gotta find a way to clear him, get his side of the story out.”
“I came by. Last night. I was thinking I would stay there, you know, in Jamal’s room. Watch out for y’all.”
“Why didn’t you come in?” I think about last night, my kissing Dean.
“I felt weird about it. Didn’t want to just pop up, you know. I stuck around with Bev.” Quincy looks away. Dean didn’t say anything about seeing Quincy when he left. Maybe he was gone by then.
Quincy leans in. “How Jamal look?”
“Tired. Hungry. Needs a shave, but good. I dropped him off more supplies, but he can’t stay there long. It’s a miracle he hasn’t been caught yet.”
“Did he tell you anything?”
“Everything points to Chris and the meetings at the Pike. I haven’t heard from Mandy. Maybe we confront Chris again, or his uncle?”
“That’s dangerous, T. You gotta step back.”
“Someone’s already after my family.”
“Right now, they’re giving you warnings. If they think you know what Angela knew, you might be next.”
My phone beeps.
It’s Dean.
Can we talk later? I’m back row.
I look out to Dean, who gives me a small wave. I nod, face getting hot. Embarrassed about last night now that I see him.
Ok.
I glance at Quincy, who has a twinkle of mischief in his eye. I put my phone down, wiping any expression off my face. It doesn’t work. Quincy’s all up in my business.
“He’s in love with you. Did you know that?”
“Who?”
“Who? It’s obvious.” Quincy shifts his head toward Dean.
“You watching me?” I look away to play it off.
“You showcasing your business everywhere.” Quincy shoves his hands in his pocket.
“We’re friends,” I say.
“Uh-huh, right.”
“We are.” I punch his arm playfully.
“Poor guy doesn’t even know what he got himself into, does he?”
“Okay, stop. I know you ain’t talking. Your dating calendar stays packed.”
“You know I be out there.”
“Oh.” I make quotation marks with my fingers. “?‘You be out there.’ Yeah, I’ve noticed.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” Quincy bites at his lip, and I swear he’s embarrassed.
“Nothing serious. Too many expectations. Always forgetting birthdays, Valentine’s, the things good boyfriends are supposed to do. Bet Dean never forgot your birthday.”
“You damn right,” I say. “But that’s because I don’t let him.”