Church Affairs

A ringing phone in the distance invaded Jynene’s dream. It took four rings for her to realize that it was her phone. She opened her eyes slowly and rolled over. It was dark outside. She wondered how long she had slept. “Hello!” she spoke into the receiver. “Hey, Nenee.” It was her mother. “Hey, ma. Where are you?” “I am back at home with my husband where I belong. Why did it take you so long to answer the phone?” “I fell asleep. What time is it, ma?” she asked, slowly gaining her consciousness. “It’s just after eight.” “Shit!” She didn’t mean to sleep that long. “Jynene!” her mother said in an admonishing tone. “Sorry, ma.” “Jynene, I need to talk to you about something, but I don’t want you to worry, okay?” Her tone was serious. I knew something was wrong. “What’s wrong, mom? I knew something was wrong.” “It’s Darryl.” That name burned deep through Jynene’s being like acid. Her stomach clenched. A million horrible thoughts ran through her mind. None of them good, unless the thought of Darryl being trampled to death by a mob of violent English soccer fans could somehow be considered a good thing. A few seconds of silence seemed an eternity. “Baby?” her mom said. Jynene’s words came rushing out all at once. “What about Darryl, ma? Did he call? Is he out? Is he dead? Is he bothering you? Oh my God, Trey. Is Trey alright?” “Calm down, Nenee,” Mrs. Jackson said softly. “Darryl is getting out next week.” “No. He can’t be getting out. The judge gave him six years. It has only been three.” Jynene paced around the room. Her stomach tightened. Her mother had just told her in six words that her nightmares, the very thoughts that kept her awake for countless nights, were about to become a reality. “He got parole, baby. But don’t worry he won’t bother you. He can’t. It is one of the conditions of his parole. He is not allowed to see Trey. And we won’t let him bother you, baby. We’ll get a restraining order.” Mrs. Jackson tried to be reassuring, but Jynene was not buying it. “How do you know this?” Jynene asked. “His lawyer called us.” “You know what, ma? I am not ready for this. I worked too hard these past three years to get over that bastard and what he put me through. I am not ready to let Trey know that his father is a good-for-nothing-drug-dealing-jailbird.” “Trey doesn’t need to know anything, Jynene. Darryl will not be seeing him. I will make sure of that,” Mrs. Jackson told her daughter. She sounded so certain of it that Jynene was almost convinced. “When you said he getting out?” “Sometime next week. But Jynene, I only told you this because I thought that you needed to know. Just continue doing what you are doing. Just continue to take care of your business. We will continue to take care of Trey. Okay?” “Okay, ma,” Jynene answered. She knew her mother would protect her little boy with her life. “And Jynene, we are proud of you, baby.” “Thank you, ma.” There was a time not too long ago when Mrs. Jackson told her daughter how ashamed of her she was. “I’ll call you tomorrow, baby.” “Goodnight, ma. Say goodnight to Trey for me.” “Okay, Nenee. Goodnight.” As soon as they hung up Jynene raced to the bathroom, fell to her knees and with her hands clutching the sides, threw up in the toilet. She sat on the floor for several minutes trembling and sobbing uncontrollably. Darryl was the drug-dealing boyfriend, who got her involved in his life of drugs and crime, made her drop out of school, got her arrested, got her pregnant, then got himself locked up and left her to raise her son on her own. She cursed her friend for introducing him to her. She cursed the day she fell in love with him. She needed a drink. She went downstairs to the kitchen to look for the rest of the Hennessey. It was gone. Damn! She told herself that she didn’t need it anyway and went back upstairs. What she really needed was way stronger than a shot of Hennessey. She needed some herbal medicine, and she knew the very person who could get her some. She found the phone and dialed the number. Voicemail. She hung up. Went back into the bathroom where she noticed that she was still wearing her church clothes. She pulled them off and tossed them in a pile on the floor. She ran herself a hot bubble bath. Pressed play on her CD player. Jamie Foxx. She took out that CD and replaced it with Bob Marley’s “Rasta man Vibration.” That’s all the medicine she needed. She climbed into the bath, closed her eyes and dreamt all of her troubles away. One good thing about music is when it hits, you feel no pain. She allowed her mind to wander and drift to a more pleasant place. She thought of Pastor Robert Lester Grant Jr. and smiled.