Hoodie (28 page)

He watched Emma intently. He could feel her pull him into her dance as if he were the only one in the audience and she were the only one on stage. She was dancing for him, and he didn’t know what to make of it. She was asking him something he didn’t understand, and he felt trapped between feelings of sadness and lust. She needed him to do something, she was crying out to him for it, but he couldn’t help her. Her arms stretched out to him, and he sat immobile. He wanted to go to her, in spite of the people around him. He wanted to go to her and rescue her from the stage, cradle her in his arms and keep her safe. He wanted to.

The music stopped as the girls froze on stage. It felt incomplete, and he thought that maybe that was the point. The curtain fell and the audience burst into applause once more. They stood, and he and his mother followed suit, clapping and cheering for an encore. The curtain rose suddenly, and the girls walked forward, curtsying before exiting the stage.

Anton fidgeted with his tie while he waited in the lobby of the auditorium. He wasn’t sure if he should stay, but his mother said it was rude to leave without seeing Emma to congratulate her.

“You were the one who wanted to come,” she reminded him.

Just then he saw her walk out flanked by her parents. She cradled a large bouquet of yellow roses in her arms. His heart dropped, and he turned to his mother.

“Maybe we should just go,” he said. Why had he not thought about her parents being there? Why did he not think to bring her flowers?

“Absolutely not,” his mother replied, and upon seeing Emma, she hurried towards her. Anton had no choice but to follow.

“Hi Ms. Robinson,” Emma said. She sounded tired and happy.

“Emma, you were beautiful!” Ms. Robinson said. “Anton, wasn’t she beautiful?”

“Yeah,” Anton said.

Emma beamed. “Thank you,” she said shyly. “Ms. Robinson, these are my parents.”

Her parents introduced themselves in turn and commented on how nice it was that Ms. Robinson and Anton came tonight. They chatted politely for a few moments as Emma pulled Anton aside.

“So you came anyway,” she said. She didn’t sound mad.

“Yeah, and I feel dumb. I didn’t even bring you no flowers,” he said.

“Who cares? I’d rather you give me something else anyway,” she said, and he looked shocked.

“Yo’ parents are right there,” he reminded her.

She grinned at him and winked.

“You sure do wear a lotta make-up for these things,” he observed.

Her eyes were heavy and dark with the black liner and mascara. Her cheeks were caked with blush, and her lips looked blood red.

“I know,” she said. “I look like a clown up close. But it’s so that you can see my face on stage.”

He nodded with understanding.

“You were really good tonight. Really pretty,” he said. “How come you never told me you could dance like that?”

“Well, I didn’t want to brag,” she said affecting nonchalance.

“It’s like you was dancing for me,” he said. “In that last number.” It was more of a question.

“I was,” she said, all playfulness in her tone gone.

Anton looked over to their parents and then back at her.

“I want you to do that for me again,” he said quietly. “Will you?”

“Yes,” she said, and then they heard their names called.

They parted ways, each charged with the anticipation of their next meeting.

Anton called her late that night. It was almost midnight, and he was sure she was sleeping. She answered the phone groggily, and he felt mildly guilty for waking her. He invited her to church, figuring she would say no, and was surprised when she agreed. He apologized for such a late invitation, and told her to be at his house by ten thirty. Church started at eleven. She asked how long it would last, but he evaded the question. It was obvious she knew nothing about black churches. They’d be lucky to get out by two. He told her that his mother wanted her to stay for lunch, and she agreed. It was a pleasant, quick conversation. He hung up the phone thinking that now he could sleep well.

CHAPTER 19

SUNDAY, MAY 9

Emma’s parents were sitting in the breakfast room drinking their morning coffee and eating toast. She walked towards the table with purpose.

“I’m going to church with Anton and his mother,” she said.

They looked at her dubiously.

“Where is his church?” her mother asked.

“Near his house,” Emma replied. There was no point in lying about it.

“Near West Highland Park?” her father asked. He was picking through the Sunday paper for the business section.

“Yes Dad. Right down the road.”

“Hmm,” her father replied.

“Well honey, I don’t know how comfortable I feel with you going over to that side of town,” her mother confessed. She took another sip of her coffee.

“I’ve already been there,” Emma said boldly.

They looked at her, eyebrows raised in question.

“I mean, I’ve taken Anton home from school a couple of times,” she clarified.

“Does he not have his own car?” her mother asked. Her tone was laced with conceit, and Emma hated it.

“I don’t know, Mom. He lives in West Highland Park. Do you think he has his own car?”

“Emma?” her father said testily.

“I’m sorry,” Emma replied quickly.

There was a brief moment of silence before her father spoke.

“And his mother will be going with you?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Is this for your class project?” he asked.

Emma smiled. “No. He invited me to go and I said yes.”

“Hmm,” her father replied.

Emma checked her watch. She really needed to be leaving at that moment.

“When will you be home?” her mother asked.

“I don’t know. I’m eating lunch with them afterwards,” Emma said.

“Where?” her mother asked.

Jesus, she thought. They’ve never before asked her so many questions. Most of the time they didn’t have a clue what she was doing.

“At his house,” she replied. “Mom, Dad, I really have to go now. I don’t want to be late.”

“Very well,” her father said. “Be careful and call us after church and before you come home.”

Be careful, she thought amused. Did they not hear her say she was going to church?

“I will,” she said and turned to leave.

The urge to say it boiled over. She really just wanted to see their reactions, but she had to make sure she could escape before they made her stay home. She was standing in the entryway and could still see into the breakfast room. They had gone back to eating their toast and reading the Sunday paper. It was now or never.

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot,” she called to them, and she watched as they looked up from their reading. “I’m dating him.”

She was out the front door in no more than three strides. She couldn’t believe how nimble she was wearing heels. She didn’t turn around when she heard her parents at the door. She never moved so fast in her life, and was in the car pulling out of the driveway before she realized she had started it. She looked up then and saw them standing in the doorway. They didn’t look angry. They looked clearly puzzled, like they had no idea who this child was that they had raised for seventeen years.

***

Emma hesitated before entering Mount Zion Baptist Church. Anton noticed it and told his mother that they would be right in. Ms. Robinson went ahead to find seats.

“You a’ight?” he asked her. She was wearing a summer dress with a short-sleeve cardigan. She had on her pearls as usual and looked the perfect picture of a churchgoer.

“I’m too embarrassed to say it,” she said blushing.

“What?”

“I’ve never been inside a church. Well, I mean not to worship or whatever. I went to a few weddings.” She fidgeted nervously. “I don’t know what to expect. Will God see me and know I don’t go to church? Will he strike me down with a bolt of lightning as punishment?”

It took everything within him not to fall to the floor laughing. She looked genuinely frightened. He maintained his composure and squeezed her hand.

“God don’t do that. He know you don’t go to church. He God after all. But he not gonna strike you down with no lightning,” Anton assured her.

She seemed mildly relieved and let him lead her into the sanctuary.

It was hot as hell. She thought that couldn’t be right. How was a church going to feel like hell? Shouldn’t it feel heavenly inside? Where was the air conditioning? She noticed ladies in large hats fanning themselves. There were large hats everywhere. They were fabulous, she thought. Feathers, wide brims, bright colors, even rhinestones. It was as though the ladies were in a competition to see who could impress God the most with her hat. Suddenly Emma wanted her own hat. She thought that maybe that would put her in better standing with the Almighty.

They found Anton’s mother near the back of the church and had a seat. Only then did Emma realize she was one of the few white people in the congregation. She knew to expect it, but it still made her uneasy. Would they wonder why she was there? Were they wishing she’d leave, knowing she didn’t belong there, that she wasn’t one of them, that she could never understand their faith or the way they worshipped?

“Here Emma,” Ms. Robinson said handing her a fan. “It can get real hot in here. The air conditioning ain’t workin’ right now.”

Emma accepted the fan with gratitude. She was sure she would not be able to make it through the service without it. She began fanning herself immediately, feeling the rush of coolness hit her face and neck. It felt delicious.

“You can fan me too if you want,” Anton said, his face glistening. He was all buttoned up, wrapped in a tie, looking hot and miserable.

“Maybe later,” she replied. He laughed quietly.

The service began shortly after they had taken their seats. There was music—music like nothing Emma had ever heard. It was loud and powerful, urging the congregation to clap with joy, lift their hands to the ceiling and sway, even holler. She heard a lot of “Praise Jesus’s” and “Glory, Hallelujah’s.” It was hard to not be affected by the emotion pouring forth from the pews and pews of people even if she did not understand it. They believed in something powerful—that she understood. And she thought that she wanted to feel it, to believe in something like that, to raise her hands to the ceiling and let the certainty of it fill her up. The emotion never waned, even when the pastor took his place behind the pulpit to preach. In fact, Emma noticed that it seemed heightened.

“I had a sermon prepared,” he began.

“Mmhmm,” came a chorus of voices.

“But God spoke to me this morning and gave me a new one.”

“Praise God!” the congregation shouted.

“You see, some of you here today are hurtin’. And you need a message of hope. I know the pain of livin’ in this world. Just ‘cause I’m a pastor don’t mean I don’t feel it.”