Prism Walk

It was getting dark between the houses as we rushed through the borough for the last time this week. The shadows hiding in the concrete pavement came to life beneath the dim streetlight’s glow and wrapped their willowy arms around my six-year-old legs. I wondered how it would be if the shadows just lifted me off to another place, but Daddy was pulling my arm so tightly that I refocused as my Mary Janes barely skimmed the sidewalk surface. “Hurry along, Desi,” Daddy instructed. “We don’t want to miss the opening prayer.”

Daddy had joined the Jehovah’s Witnesses and since we didn’t have a car, Daddy and I walked three miles to the Kingdom Hall four times a week to attend service. I never understood why the opening prayer was so important. All of Brother Jones’ opening prayers sounded the same and I often wondered if God would rather have people just talk to him like I did from my bed every night and morning, instead of reciting the same words over and over. but who was I to question. Brother and Sister Jones would bring us home after service. I loved Brother Jones in a way I hadn’t loved before. I sat in between him and Sister Jones during service. They didn’t have any kids and called me their goddaughter. My feelings for Brother Jones bothered me a little because Daddy was my heart, but Brother Jones always made life feel peaceful and safe; like everything would be okay. Besides, I was now focusing more on Daddy pulling me and the dog waiting for us further up the street The dog was always waiting for us to pass by so he could remind us how annoyed he was at our presence. Had he been taught not to like Negroes? I called him Slate. His body looked strong like the steel Daddy used to carry at the mill before it shut down. Slate was really beautiful with a brown coat that shimmered like a cooper penny. It glistened as if his hair was brushed every night by a thoughtful owner, but he was an angry animal and always annoyed with me and Daddy whenever we walked by.

Mom found out about Daddy joining the Jehovah’s on Good Friday last year. Daddy came home after his shift at the hospital and took down the picture of Black Jesus, every African artifact and all the Easter decorations. He threw everything in the dumpster down the street including my Easter basket and the hard -boiled eggs Mom and I had spent hours coloring that afternoon. Mom and Daddy usually went out for drinks at the local bar on Fridays but on this Friday they stayed home instead and argued. I was relieved that no one got hurt this time. come home mad and fight and that wasn’t going to happen anymore. I asked myself often if the bruise under my eye from mom throwing a cold cream jar at Daddy while I sat on his lap would be the last time I would be in their line of fire. I sat on Daddy’s lap a lot. He would give me a soft yellow cloth and I would shine his shoes after he brushed in the black polish from the round Kiwi can. The scent of leather and Mom’s fried potatoes and onions filled downstairs every Saturday. Mom never said she was sorry for my eye. She was still mad at Daddy.

Slate smelled us coming. A humid drizzle had made everything damp and smelly like Grandma’ s basement. Daddy took me to see Grandma and his five brothers a lot more often because they were all Jehovah’s too. Jehovah’s didn’t mingle with non-Jehovah’s unless they had to like at work. Daddy’s family lived on the West side of town; the area that was always on the 6 o’clock news and causedDaddy to constantly call to see if everyone was all right. Jehovah’s were non-violent. Daddy explained that real Christians defend with love, not with physical force. Daddy also told me that if someone tries to hurt you, we must follow the example Jesus set and instead of fighting back, turn the other cheek. Jehovah’s believe that love will stop the enemy and eventually love will come back to you. I told him I understood, but my cheeks were always sore from the bullying at school.

Mom and Daddy were arguing more than ever before. Mom was pregnant again and refused to become a Jehovah. She didn’t even seem happy that the late-night calls for Daddy from nurses at the hospital had stopped. Besides, when Daddy went out on Saturdays with Brother Jones and Brother Victor to minister to the unsaved, Mom smiled more when he was gone. Me too. We would play and she let me watch her put on make-up. How pretty she looked in her red lipstick.

Those were also the days I was allowed to visit Ms. Dugger and her grandson Emmett who lived across the street. When I walked through her door she pulled me to her chest for a big hug. She smelled of baby powder, collard greens, and Vicks. Mom said Emmett had to stay with his grandmother because his mother did something bad and had to go away. She reminded me how lucky I was and I felt sorry for Emmitt. We would bake chocolate chip cookies and play on the swing. I often saw the man who fixed the kitchen and bathroom stuff in the neighborhood come to the house on Saturdays when Daddy was saving people to fix our stuff that never seemed broken. Mom would run me across the street to Ms. Dugger’s so I wouldn’t be in the way. Daddy would always be upset though when he came home from doing God’s work and discovered that the fix-it man had been over. One night Daddy told Mom that he wanted to become an elder at the Kingdom Hall and that meant his whole family had to obey. She said she wasn’t going to embarrass herself walking to the Kingdom Hall and that she didn’t want another baby. Daddy told her to never say that again.

Slate was two houses away from Daddy and me, but I had let go of his hand and slowed down. My legs were tired as if the sidewalk shadows had wrapped around them too tight and it was hard for me to move. “Desi, stop falling behind. Get up here. We are there,” Daddy scolded. He didn’t even look over at Slate as he hurried by even when Slate jumped at the fence barking viciously. Daddy never paid Slate any attention. Daddy was approaching the house owned by the old white couple who were always on television for having the best decorated house in the City at Christmas. It looked like a real gigantic gingerbread house and I imagined how wonderful it would be inside. Daddy always laughed about their electric bill and Mom just looked sad. “Desi! “Don’t make me come back there,” Daddy yelled. “You won’t like it!” Jehovah’s believed in spanking their kids. It didn’t matter though because Slate was standing in front of me barking at my new pink raincoat that I always wore to Kingdom Hall. I was thinking that Daddy wasn’t in the right place. Slate had jumped the fence.

I saw Daddy turn around and then I didn’t see him anymore. He was still calling me, “Desi! Desi!” but I couldn’t catch up. The streetlights were dimmer now and the sidewalk’s shadows unwrapped my legs so I could run as Slate grabbed my pink raincoat with his teeth. I closed my eyes and saw myself being carried to another place filled with Easter eggs, Christmas trees, and red lipstick. Mom and I talked about those times as she braided my hair before Jehovah came into our lives. She always called me a dreamer, but she smiled more in my other place. She’s been gone for a while now. I wonder if I will ever see her again. Black Jesus was also in my other place and Brother Jones prayed a different prayer every day. Daddy called for me one last time, “Desi. Desi!” but Slate’s bark was too loud like the songs I heard at the Kingdom Hall. I smiled in the drizzle as Slate carried me away.