Singing you could hear two blocks away came outta this little storefront church on Greenfield. I’d walk by walking Dilly, my Schnauzer, sometimes wishing I could go in.
Old ladies came to that church from the retirement home next door, and it was easy for me to believe that preacher chose that place on purpose, suck the Social Security check tithe out of elderly people with nothing better to do with their money.
And those lined up to get in, a longer line than the plasma center that pays your for blood and gives you free M&Ms.
Walking by, the music was so beautiful, and people just sounded joyous, it was like…infectious. I didn’t care about the bible, I just wanted to be around happy people.
It was fall, my landscaping hours were getting cut, and I walked by after services, this kid was in the side yard of the church playing the djembe and old ladies were pulling ripe apricots from the apricot tree, and even for a cynic like me it seemed a little…I dunno…like the garden of Eden or something.
Got me a job at the grocery store on Seven Mile, got to know Derrick, the kid who played the djembe. His dad was the pastor of the church, Praise from the Highest Mount Ministries.
The cynic in me, he popped out and said “that’s a beautiful drum, your dad buy that for ya?” and Derrick said no, he got it on loan from the African American Museum on Warren. Said as long as he was using it, involved in the community, he could keep it.
So Derrick played that djembe outside after the services, and they had picnics, and his dad, Pastor Raleigh would make me a plate himself sometimes.
I never went to services, because…I never went to services, and I felt guilty about that sometimes, and sometimes I thought maybe Pastor Raleigh didn’t care because he knew I worked at the grocery store and he couldn’t squeeze much tithe outta me.
Derrick went away to school in Chicago, and I was cynical about that too, thinking the old ladies were picking up the tab for his tuition.
I made assistant manager at Food Blossom, and I was doing ok, and I would see Pastor Raleigh and wonder if he was gonna start asking me to come to church now that I made more money.
Dilly, my Schnauzer died, and I got a new puppy, a mutt named Crispy. I was walking Crispy by Praise, thought about maybe taking him to the courtyard of the retirement home so the ladies could make a fuss over him. Pastor Raleigh was in the side yard, instructing some young parishioners how to edge the lawn and trim the apricot tree.
He saw me and said hello, and I asked him how Derrick was doing.
Pastor Raleigh said “He’s the happiest he’s ever been in his life.”
One of the old ladies from the Crary retirement home saw Crispy and came hobbling down the porch.
I couldn’t picture college being the happiest days of anybody’s life, and I said that to Pastor Raleigh.
He smiled and said that it wasn’t just college.
“He got married three days ago at Frank Lloyd Wright’s old house in Oak Park, Illinois.”
I told the Pastor I never knew any Wrights and I apologized for not going to services and meeting more people.
The Pastor told me that Frank Lloyd Wright was a famous architect.
“How come Derrick didn’t get married in your church?”
I heard whimpering and squealing and it was hard to tell who was making the noises, the old lady or my puppy. It was kinda both of them, playing with each other.
I was afraid Crispy was gonna scratch her hose or something, and I pulled back the leash a bit, not too far, so she could still reach and pet him.
When I turned back the Pastor was holding his phone up to me.
It was a picture of Derrick and another guy both in suits, standing in front of a pretty cool looking house.
“That’s Derrick’s wedding,” Pastor Raleigh said.
The woman playing with Crispy bolted straight up.
“Our Derrick got married??”
“Yes, Wilda, he got married in Illinois. I planned on telling the whole congregation Sunday.”
“I wanna see the picture!” She squealed, almost stepping on Crispy to get closer.
The Pastor held up the phone.
“I know what that handsome man looks like, Pastor. I wanna see his bride. “
Pastor Raleigh, swallowed like it was the first time he had ever done it.
“The man in the photo with him is the person he married.”
The woman put her hand to her chest like she was killing a mosquito on it.”
“That’s a sin before god, Pastor Raleigh, oh my…”
The woman didn’t look like she might faint, but looked like someone trying to give the impression she might.
I’ve seen people faint at the grocery store. They just faint.
I tried to tell the Pastor to give Derrick my best wishes, but Wilda started hollering.
She scared my puppy, and I picked him up.
It was hard to make out exactly what she was saying, but after at least a minute of solid hollering, I heard her say “I want every damn cent back that I gave to this heathen ass church!”
When Wilda stomped back toward the retirement home, I wanted to ask Pastor Raleigh how much she gave over the years.
But I thought about all the times he had given me a plate of barbecue, and asked for nothing in return.
I said “Tell Derrick I said good luck and lots of happiness.”
Pastor Raleigh thanked me, and I set Crispy down and started to follow him down the street.
“Frederick,” Pastor Raleigh called from behind me.
I turned.
“I’d love for you to come to worship on Sunday. I think we’re going to have some empty seats.”
***
*** This story came from a prompt provided by my great friend and loyal reader, Vikki. The elements were djembe, apricot tree, Oak Park, Illinois. I was tempted to write some sort of Betty White fantasy, because she was born in Oak Park, Illinois, but wrote this instead.
Had never heard of a 'djembe' before this story.
You are also educational.
Always room for a Betty White story at a future date!
This is really beautiful. I love the value Pastor placed on his son’s happiness. And the clear struggle he experienced getting to that place makes it even more valuable.