Boaz Brown Read online

  Now, as Sister Lacefield motioned for the Purity Class members to come into the building and the older youth began arriving, the smell of firewood burning made me want to go back home and cuddle up in my bed. But I was Puritan now. Our practice lasted late on Saturdays. I rearranged my headband, dusted the leaves off my sweater, and hoisted my preteen aura back in position. Jonathan joined my mother in the car, and I was off to the fellowship hall for my turn to meet and practice for the Youth-in-Action Sunday morning program.

  Dry leaves crunched beneath my feet as I walked toward the back porch of the church. The two steps leading to the back door were crooked and cracked, and a stream of ants was busy using the inadvertent shortcut to prepare for the winter. Inside the building, the smell of new carpet reminded me to go back out again and check my feet for mud. Mother Bohanan had said that we were to be grateful and respect the house of the Lord, especially now that the church had new carpet. And she’d already told us that she would pop anybody she witnessed chewing gum.

  I reentered the building and walked past the water fountain and the makeshift window we used to order plates on Sunday afternoons. The poster board displaying prices of chicken dinners, pies, and other fundraising eats was cleverly displayed near the entrance of the room with clear stipulations: NO CREDIT. NO CHECKS. DON’T ASK.

  Sister Lacefield called the Purity Class to order in the back room of the church, which functioned as both the cafeteria and large group meeting room. The walls were partially lined with imitation wood, and the faded wallpaper had begun peeling near the ceiling. But there was a realness about the room, an intangible authenticity that sanctified this space of fellowship.

  We gathered in the usual circle—older kids on one side, us on the other, everyone holding hands—and waited for Sister Lacefield to appoint someone to offer the prayer.

  “Let’s have Kelvin open us up in prayer” she said.

  Jovanna, also new to the Purity Class, squeezed my hand, and looked up at me, smiling. It took everything in me to keep from smiling at Kelvin Nash. All the younger girls in the Purity Class thought he was to die for. He had a long, silky Jheri curl cut into a perfect shag, skin as smooth as butter, and a voice that carried the entire tenor section. One glance from him made me feel as though someone had cinched a belt all the way around my torso and pulled it to the very first hole.

  Problem was, Kelvin was nearing eighteen, and my little crew had just turned twelve. In the words of the elders, “He wudn’t studyin’ me.”

  Purity Class was the one place we could be real with a man or woman of God besides our parents. We talked about the issues that faced us as young adults, teens, and preteens, and how we should use our lives to be of service to God. It was there and in Young People Willing Workers (YPWW) that we focused on the everyday life that God intended for us: from the way we acted at school to how we talked to our parents, to the rewards God has in store for those who love Him. One of those rewards was a fulfilling relationship with the mate God intended for us. Jovanna and I laughed through much of it, but the seed was planted. It would take years of watering and tending to blossom.

  * * * * *

  Saturday night I invited my best friend, Peaches, over for a girls’ night of fun and relaxation. Peaches brought along Deniessa, one of her acquaintances from work, who was down and out over a man. I only knew Deniessa casually, but I figured, the more the merrier.

  They arrived at around seven o’clock, with Peaches’ unmistakable, startling pounding on the front door. I wish she wouldn’t do that!

  I walked to the front door, preparing my face to go along with the lecture that I was about to give Peaches—and knowing she wouldn’t give it a second thought. “You scared me half to death, beating on the door like that.”

  “This way you know it’s me and not some crazy maniac.” She exaggerated her words with bulging eyes.

  “That’s debatable,” I teased her. She hugged me, and I was instantly engulfed in her expensive perfume. Peaches wore a staple white blouse with fitted black slacks and a cute little narrow pair of slip-on heels that probably would have had my toes stacked one on top of the other.

  “Hi, Deniessa.” She hugged me, too, and I welcomed both of them into my home. “Make yourself at home, girls. It’s just us tonight.”

  “Thank you,” Deniessa said, taking a big breath. “I need a good talk with some girlfriends tonight.”

  “By the way, I love your hair!” I remarked, tugging at the lengthy braids that bounced freely from the twist on top of Deniessa’s head. “When did you get it done?”

  “About a month ago.”

  “Girl, this looks so good. How long did it take?” I asked.

  “Ten long hours.” She shook her head and added, “But it was worth it. My curling irons have been under the sink for four weeks, and I get an extra half hour of sleep every morning. These microbraids are priceless. I’m spoiled.”

  As we talked, Deniessa picked up on Peaches’ cues and imitated her make-yourself-at-home gestures. She took off her tennis shoes, and they both removed outer layers of winter clothes. Deniessa raised her bulky pink and green AKA sweater over her head, folded it, and tossed it onto her purse.

  “Yeah, you sure do need to take that off” I teased her.

  “Don’t hate us because we’re beautiful.” She swung her pinky finger around and flashed a placid smile.

  “Whatever!” Peaches held out her hand.

  I helped Peaches put the food into the refrigerator, and we watched a little B.E.T. while we waited for the spaghetti to boil. I curled my feet up beneath me on the sofa and contributed my two cents of chitchat before Peaches got down to the real nitty-gritty with Deniessa. We turned the channel to a smooth jazz music station and listened while we talked.

  “Okay, Shondra, Deniessa would like a third opinion about her relationship with her boyfriend, Jamal.”

  “Ex-boyfriend,” Deniessa corrected her.

  “So-called ex-boyfriend.” Peaches smacked her lips and looked at me out of the corner of her eyes. “Anyways, she wants to know if she should try to patch things up with him.”

  “What happened?” I faced Deniessa to get a firsthand account.

  Deniessa swung her braids over her shoulder and waved her bright red acrylic nails. “Well, Jamal and I have been together for four years now.”

  “What kind of together?” I asked.

  “We’ve lived together for about three years—dated for almost a year before that. Anyways, I let him move in with me with the understanding that it was a temporary arrangement. We agreed that as soon as he got on his feet, we would either go back to our own places or get married. Weeks turned into months and now years—I just can’t take it anymore. I knew it wasn’t right when I agreed to let him move in. But it took me three years before I gave him this ultimatum. Now he’s saying that he’ll be out by the end of the month.” She gave me a blank stare, lips open.

  “Okay, back up, back up. Does he work?” I asked. “By ‘work,’ I mean, is he steadily employed?”

  “Not really.”

  “Aw, girl, he did you a favor.” I slapped hands with Peaches.

  “Good riddance!” Peaches said.

  “But he’s leaving with four years of my life,” Deniessa said, holding her head out on the end of her neck like a flag on a flagpole.

  “Okay, but you gave him those four years,” I said. “It’s not like he stole them from you. But you’ll be okay, girl. You live and learn. A lot of us have been down that road before, and we’ve learned what to look for in a good man.

  “Listen, what I learned through my experiences was that I want somebody who knows the Lord and loves Him so much that everything he does reflects his relationship with Christ.”

  I laced my fingers behind my head, eased back on the sofa, and closed my eyes. “My Mr. Right will add to my life, not subtract. He’s secure. He’s considerate. He knows how to treat a lady, but he’s not a ladies’ man. He handles business and he does right
because it’s just in him, you know? He’s not perfect, but his heart is in the right place and his intentions are good.” I opened my eyes and returned to reality. “It would also be nice if he was tall, double- dipped-chocolate dark, and slap-the-judge handsome.”

  “Ooh-wee!” Peaches fanned herself. “Girl, y’all would have to pick me up off the ground if I met a brother with all that on his résumé. Tall, dark, and handsome, too?”

  “Right about now I’d take the short, white, and ugly if I could recoup the last four years of my life,” Deniessa said as she folded her arms across her chest and laughed.

  “I could do the short and ugly, but I don’t know about the white,” Peaches said with a scowl on her face. “White men just don’t turn me on. They’ve always got those big, pale, hairy feet in some sandals. They need to cover that mess up.”

  “Get real.” Deniessa shoved her. “White men can be just as good or as bad as the brothers.”

  “I wouldn’t know and I am not trying to find out.” Peaches shrugged.

  “I just couldn’t see myself with a white man.” I bunched up my lips. “That would be... I don’t know. . . like going against myself.”

  “I dated a white man once, thinking things would be different,” Deniessa admitted. “I actually thought that because he was white, he had money lying around somewhere that he could borrow against to repay the series of small loans I made to him. Shows you how ignorant I was—that joker turned out to be the biggest overgrown mooch that ever lived.”

  “Deniessa, I don’t know you very well, but I’m gonna tell you something that it took me several heartaches to learn: you teach men how to treat you. You taught Jamal that you were available to him in every way, with or without a commitment, and you probably taught that white guy the same thing.”

  “But is it my job to teach a full grown man?” Deniessa sighed. “Why can’t they just come ready?”

  “See, that’s what I’m talkin’ about.” Peaches nodded her head. “I want me one that’s already housebroken, okay?”

  “That’s why I’m waiting on my Boaz.” I nodded and smiled. “He’s the epitome of my Mr. Right. I figure, if God can make a Boaz for Ruth, He can make another one for me.”

  “Who’s Boaz?” Deniessa asked.

  “Boaz was a man in the Bible—the Book of Ruth, to be exact,” I explained. “The original knight in shining armor. Boaz was an honorable, compassionate, rich man.”

  Deniessa stopped me. “Okay, see, we already got a problem right there. How many rich men—or semi-established men—still have honor? Nine times out of ten, he’s had to stomp on a few heads to get to the top.”

  “That’s how it goes with your average man. But not with a Boaz. See, Boaz was wealthy, but he treated his servants well. He even took consideration of the people who came around to glean the fields after his servants had gathered the harvest. That’s how Ruth, a widow, crossed his path. Boaz liked what he’d heard of Ruth’s commitment to her mother-in-law after all the men in their family died.”

  Deniessa jumped in. “Oh, I’m starting to remember this story. Didn’t he tell his servants to leave extra for Ruth to gather and not to embarrass her?”

  “Not only that,” Peaches added, “but he told the men not to mess with her and to let her drink from their water jars when she got thirsty. Ha! See, that’s what I’m talking about. Look out for your woman!”

  “I know, girl.” I placed a hand over my heart. “That brother has got to have my back, okay?”

  “So what happened next?” Deniessa squinted her eyes, as though she might already know the wonderful ending.

  “Well, to make a long story short,” I continued, “even though nothing happened between Ruth and Boaz, they had a little chemistry going. I mean, it would be hard not to like somebody who’s always doing nice things for you. So Ruth let it be known to Boaz that she was his servant for life and that she wanted him to make her his woman since, legally, he did have a right to her. Now, you have to understand: this conversation took place in the middle of the night while the two of them were all alone.” I raised my eyebrows.

  “Talk about your temptation.” Peaches smiled.

  “But Boaz made a decision to honor her by going through the proper channels before taking her as his wife. Back then, when a woman’s husband died before they had a son, the man who was next of kin was supposed to marry that widow, and their firstborn son would carry on in the dead man’s name. Boaz was kin to Ruth, but there was another man who was more closely related to Ruth’s husband, so Boaz had to clear up that matter first.

  “Boaz didn’t waste any time—he got up and found that man the very next morning and asked him if he was going to purchase the land and perform the duties of the next of kin for Ruth. Only after the closest kinsman declined to purchase the land, with Ruth, did Boaz make his move and take Ruth as his wife.”

  “That’s what makes the difference,” Peaches commented as she turned to face Deniessa. “A real man, like Boaz, treats people right—from the servants to the family. That man could have and probably wanted to get down and dirty with Ruth that night. But Boaz knew that he had a conscience to deal with and a God to answer to. You can’t beat integrity, girl.”

  “That’s what I mean when I say I’m waiting on my Boaz. I want someone who’s gonna treat me right and act right. Now, is that too much to ask?”

  “I hear you,” Deniessa added. “I need me a Boaz, too.”

  I pulled my knees into my chest and wrapped my arms around my legs. “A modern-day Boaz has been through enough tests to know that God is his source, and he knows a woman of God when he sees her—I, of course, am that woman.” I released my knees and pointed at myself. Peaches and Deniessa laughed at my fake princess wave. “I’m gonna be like, ‘Hey, baby, you found me!”

  “Okay, that’s what you want him to be like on the inside. But you’ll never get to the inside if you don’t like what you see on the outside.” Deniessa snapped her fingers. “Let’s be for real here: unless he comes up to you with a Bible in hand and his suit coat draped over a puddle of water, you won’t know the first thing about what’s going on inside without first working through what you see. Keep it real, now.”

  I took a deep breath and gave in to her. “Okay, okay, okay. If we can become friends first, and I get to know him without the pressure of an exclusive dating relationship, then the face-and-body thing will be secondary.”

  “So what you’re saying is, a relationship with an ugly brother would have to kind of sneak up on you?” Peaches summarized.

  “You did not have to say it like that.” I rolled my eyes at her.

  “It’s the truth!” She teased me.

  “It’s the truth with you, too,” I laughed with Peaches.

  “Hey, I’m not the one up here saying he’s got to be Jesus’ little brother for me to get with him. As far as I can tell, your main physical request is that he’s a black man.”

  “Well, that part goes without saying,” I said, sighing. “I just want the right man, you know? The man God has for me.”

  “Well, the pool is getting pretty shallow. Half our brothers ain’t tryin’ to get with sisters,” Peaches pointed out.

  “Whatever.” I shook my head. “That’s their problem. I’m holdin’ out. They say there’s somebody for everybody.”

  “It’s just so hard, you know?” Peaches commented in all seriousness. “Trying to live right and date seriously in this world today. On one hand, you want to do God’s will. On the other hand, you just want to get this whole dating thing over with already. I don’t know about you two, but I get tired of wondering what’s gonna happen.

  “If somebody would say to me right now, ‘Peaches, you’re gonna be single all your life,’ I would have no problem whatsoever with that. I would put a whole lot more into my retirement; I’d go ahead and buy a house for me and my son; I would find a good travel agent and get set to live my life as a single woman. No problem. But I feel like I’m in limbo now.”


  “Yeah, limbo is for real. I really thought that letting Jamal move in would speed me on down the aisle. It went against everything I was taught. My grandmother always said that ‘shackin’ up’ was synonymous with living in sin. I’ve lived these last three years in constant denial spiritually. It would be different if I had seen my aunts and cousins living with men, but I didn’t. I knew better. But it just seems like none of my grandmother’s warnings could compete with the comforts of a man.”

  “Oh, girl, I feel you.” I gave her a high five. “Once your flesh gets hooked on that feeling, it’s hard to stop.”

  Mmm,” Peaches let out a judgmental moan and stuck her lips out.

  “Ooh, Peaches, don’t even go there,” I confronted her. “Let the record show, I tried to tell you that you were out there with Raphael, okay? Wide open! Whipped!”

  “No, I’m not the one who was whipped; it was this one here!” Peaches pointed at me. “This girl called in sick on several occasions so she could lay up with—what was his name?”

  James Perkins. “I’m not saying his name.” I put my head in my hands, laughing and dreading the memory simultaneously. I met James when I was twenty-two—just out of college and barely into my own apartment. Ours was a relationship that started out appropriately enough as fellow Jarvis Christian College graduates who’d learned we would be working in the same school district. We’d exchanged phone numbers and, during the first semester of teaching, spoke often about the challenges of being a first-year teacher.

  “What started out as shared employment quickly became shared bedrooms as I allowed the relationship to progress further than I intended, with the excuse that we were “there for each other.” The intense pleasure of sharing sex with someone I knew made it seem “okay.” Like it couldn’t be that wrong, especially if I cared about him.

  If there was any one “gateway” relationship that started my spiritual hiatus and consequent heartaches, it was the one I had with James Perkins. I wasn’t a virgin when I started sleeping with James, but he was the first to send off all the bells and whistles in my body. The short-lived relationship with James Perkins opened a can of worms that almost cost me my life. But God...