Selling My Soul Read online

  When Tiffany pulled out of the airport onto the freeway, I grabbed the door handle. “Hey, why so fast?”

  She frowned and glanced over at me. “I’m not going that fast.”

  I looked out the window and it felt like we and all the cars around us were flying. Each time someone changed lanes in front of us or beside us, it seemed like they were going to slam into us. My stomach tumbled and my knuckles turned white from gripping the door handle.

  “What is wrong with you? They don’t drive in Africa?” Tiffany stared at me then back at the road.

  They had talked about this in my re-entry class, but I didn’t imagine it would be this bad. “I think I’m gonna be sick. I’m just gonna close my eyes until we get home.”

  It felt like Tiffany zigzagged all over the road at a hundred miles an hour. I prayed silently until I felt her slow down and pull off the freeway.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Sorry. Thanks for coming to get me by the way.”

  “Of course, Big Sissy. I missed you and couldn’t wait to see you. I never thought I would miss you so much when you were gone. Made me realize how much I love your ol’ tail.”

  I hoped she was being genuine, but growing up with Tiffany had taught me that any niceties always came with a price. I’d find out what her verbal affection would cost me later. “I love you and missed you too, Tiffy. You know you my baby girl forever.” I rubbed her arm, and we shared a smile.

  I jumped when her cell phone rang.

  “Dang, girl. You ain’t ever heard a phone before?” She pulled it out and her face lit up when she looked down at the caller ID. She flipped it open. “Yeah, I got her. Wait ‘til you see her. She look a trip. Nappy afro, no make-up, hairy legs, wearing some homemade-looking clothes with Jesus sandals. She ain’t funky, though. I’m glad she didn’t give up her deodorant.”

  I laughed and smacked Tiffany’s arm. “Is that Moms? Give me the phone.” I wrestled it out of her hand. “Moms?”

  “Hey, Tree. How’s my world traveler?”

  Moms had called me Tree since my adolescent growth spurt. She said it was the perfect name for me because it was short for Trina and also accurately described my tall stature. She said I got the tall genes from my dad. I couldn’t remember him being exceptionally tall. He left when I was five and Tiffany was three.

  “Wonderful, Moms. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  The few seconds of hesitation before she answered said more than Tiffany’s eyes had. “Of course I’m okay. I just wanted you and Tiffany to have some time to bond.”

  For Tiffany to lie to me was the norm, but for my mother to lie? My stomach churned and not from Tiffany’s driving. “Time to bond? Moms, you know I wanted to see you the minute I got off the plane. Why—?”

  I stopped myself. Whatever was so bad that had kept her from coming to the airport didn’t need my guilt trip added to it. “You’re right, Moms. It was good to see my baby girl when I got here.” I knew that would warm her heart. It stressed her out that me and Tiffany didn’t get along. “We’ll be up to Baltimore as soon as I drop off my bags and get a shower. I can’t wait to see you.”

  “Me too, Tree. I missed you bad. You know you girls mean the world to me. Have always meant the world to me.” Her voice broke like she was about to cry.

  Oh, God, what is it?

  “See you in a little while, Moms. As soon as we can get there.” I hung up the phone. My heart raced as fast as the car had on the freeway.

  I made myself calm down. There was nothing that could possibly be wrong with my mother that God couldn’t fix. I had seen Him come through in too many impossible situations while I was in Mozambique to even begin to worry. If it was sickness, He could heal it. Financial problems, He could provide. We had overcome mountains of problems there that I could have never dreamed of living through. There was nothing going on in America that could be as bad as contaminated water, babies sick with malaria, hundreds of orphans who’d lost their parents to AIDS, extreme poverty worse than I could have ever imagined. Whatever it was, we would pray, and He would fix it.

  I jumped when the phone rang again.

  “Okay, you gon’ have to stop all this jumping and door handle clutching.” Tiffany flipped open the phone again. “Got her, girl, and she is all tripped out. I’ll just let you see for yourself. We’re almost at the house. You on your way?” She glanced over at me with a huge smile on her face. “Okay, see you in about an hour.” Tiffany hung up the phone.

  “Who was that?”

  “One of your friends from church. She insisted on seeing you the minute you got back to town.”

  “Who?” I let out a deep breath and lay back on the headrest, massaging my temples. “Tiffy, I don’t want to see anybody right now. I’m tired and sweaty from traveling all night and day, and I just want to get a shower and go see Moms. Why would you invite someone to the house?”

  “Don’t be getting all mad at me. She called and wanted to see you. I thought you’d be glad to see her to. I’m just trying to make your homecoming nice.” Tiffany pouted like I’d hurt her feelings.

  I didn’t need us getting off to a bad start so soon. “Sorry, baby girl. I’m just tired. I appreciate you trying to do something nice for me. Who is it?”

  I could see her pressing her lips together to try to keep from grinning. I felt bad.

  “It’s a surprise. Dang, can’t you let me do something nice for you for a change?”

  “Sorry, Tiffy.” I leaned across the seat and kissed her cheek.

  “Oooh, yuck. Cooties.” She wiped her face. We both laughed at her bringing up one of our favorite childhood games. I’d chase her around the house and kiss her, and she’d wipe off all my kisses, accusing me of infecting her with my love cooties.

  She reached over and squeezed my leg. “I love you, Sissy.”

  “I love you too, baby girl.”

  We finally pulled into my driveway. My house looked so big. I thought of the small mud brick shack I’d spent some of the last two years in, or the huts or tents I slept in when we went to minister in the more remote areas. Compared to them, I lived in a castle. Gratitude and guilt fought to dominate my emotions.

  “Here we are. Home, sweet home,” Tiffany announced.

  For the first time, I wondered exactly how long she planned to stay in my house now that I was back. Knowing Tiffany, she didn’t have anywhere to go. I didn’t have the strength for that conversation.

  I got out of the car and walked in the house through the garage door.

  Mmmm, my home. The warmth of it instantly enveloped me when I walked in. I left the suitcases at the kitchen door and walked through the house almost in awe. I opened the refrigerator and freezer and played with the knobs on the stove. I went to the kitchen sink and turned on the water, but quickly shut it off. Almost as if I thought that it would run out or something.

  Everything smelled so . . . clean.

  I remembered my first few days in Africa; I walked around covering my nose. The putrid smells overwhelmed my senses, and I always felt nauseous. For a while, I dabbed a drop of lavender oil under my nose several times a day, so I wouldn’t throw up from all the odors. Then one day, I remembered waking up and realizing the smell didn’t bother me anymore. Probably because I had a little odor of my own going on.

  I wandered into the living room and sat down on my butter-soft, brown leather couch and relaxed back into the cushions. It felt so good . . . cushy comfortable. I wanted to stay there for the rest of the day. I got up and fingered through my massive DVD collection. I hadn’t remembered my television screen being so large. I stepped into my office and looked at my computer, printer, fax machine, and scanner. I looked at my bookshelves and marveled at my extensive book collection.

  When I got upstairs, the door to the guest room where Tiffany was staying was closed. I imagined the room looked like a tornado had hit it and focused on being grateful that the rest of the house was clean and intact. I went into my
bedroom and stared at the huge, queen size bed. I looked into my bathroom at the Jacuzzi tub and glass shower. It all seemed so luxurious.

  I was torn between running a warm comforting bath with aromatherapy salts and jumping in the shower real quick so I could go see Moms. As I peeled my clothes off, slightly tart from being worn for the tiring hours of travel, I remembered I had company coming, so I decided to take a shower.

  I rummaged through my drawer and found a pair of jeans and a T-shirt to put on. I knew they’d be a little big on me since I had lost about twenty pounds, but they’d have to do for now.

  I took a quick but soothing shower. The sheets of hot water pelting the length of my body felt like a heavenly massage. It was weird not to be washing up with water in a bucket, heated up over the fire. I could have stayed in there forever if I weren’t overly conscious about how much water ran down the drain for every second I stood there. I finally stepped out and pulled a large Egyptian cotton towel around me, relishing the feel of the soft silkiness against my skin.

  After I pulled a T-shirt and some underwear on, I walked out to the top of the steps. I hollered down to Tiffany that I was going to lie down for a minute until my surprise guest arrived.

  I sank into my bed and felt like I had gone to heaven. The pillow-top mattress, fluffy down pillows, and silk sheets felt like paradise on earth. Tears filled my eyes as I thought of my pallet on the floor or rope slat bed in Africa.

  God, I thank You for everything You’ve provided for me. Please forgive me for ever taking anything for granted that You’ve ever done. That You’ve always done.

  I must have fallen asleep because I jolted awake when the doorbell rang. Tiffany’s voice called out, “Trina, she’s here.”

  I was suddenly aggravated with her again. I was exhausted, and all I wanted to do was see my mother. Who could she possibly think was so important? I pried myself from under the covers and out of my bed and pulled on the jeans. They were a size too big. I tramped down the stairs and saw Tiffany standing at the door.

  She looked at me, her eyes bright with excitement. “Go ’head. Open it.”

  I forced myself to smile at her as I turned the knob. My jaw dropped when I saw who stood there. “Monica?”

  Three

  I let out an ear-piercing African screech. “Monnie!” I grabbed her and hugged her. I pulled away, and then hugged her again. I held on to her crying for a few minutes. When we pulled apart, her face was covered with tears too.

  “Oh my goodness, look at you. You’ve lost so much weight, Monica.” My eyes traveled downward from her thinned face, to her muscular shoulders, to her sculpted arms, down to her round, swollen belly. I screeched again. “Oh my God! Oh my . . .” I put my hands to my face, then touched her belly, then back to my face again. “You’re . . . you’re . . . oh my God . . .”

  Monica and Tiffany laughed at me. I grabbed Monica again and hugged her. Gentler this time so as not to squash her belly. I finally got the words out. “You’re pregnant. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. I mean, this didn’t just happen yesterday.”

  Monica laughed and rubbed her belly. I stepped back and gestured for her to come into the house. “No, girl, it wasn’t yesterday, but I wanted to surprise you. Me and Kevin went to the beach with some friends one weekend and next thing you know . . .” She beamed. “I’m six months along. I had to come see you now before Daddy Kevin refuses to let me travel anymore. He is so overprotective.”

  “I can’t believe you came to see me. I’m so glad to see you.”

  Tiffany sucked her teeth. “Oh no, you didn’t want no company, remember?”

  I turned to give Tiffany a hug. “I’m sorry, baby girl. This is the best welcome home surprise I could have ever asked for.”

  I led Monica into the living room and gestured for her to sit down on the couch. “You want anything? Water? Juice?” I offered like I knew what was in the house.

  “Water’s fine.”

  “I’ll get it.” Tiffany bounced into the kitchen.

  “I don’t even know where to start.” I sat down in the leather armchair next to her. “I don’t even know what to ask. I guess I don’t have to ask how you and Kevin are. Last time I talked to you, you guys were about to close on a house.”

  “Girl, Kevin bought us the most fabulous house out in the suburbs of Atlanta. It’s a six bedroom, four and a half bath with a pool, a gourmet kitchen, and a home theatre and music studio in the basement. It’s about 5,000 square feet and just wonderful . . . what’s wrong?”

  I must have been frowning. “Nothing. Wow. Sounds really huge just for the two of you.” I looked down at her belly. “Well, three of you.” I reached over and lovingly smoothed my hand across her belly, but I was thinking about how many orphaned kids could live in such a mansion.

  Tiffany brought me and Monica a bottle of water and a glass of ice each and quietly slipped up the steps. Monica twisted her bottle open and poured half a glass. “I can’t wait for you to come down and see it. I have the guest room all ready for your first visit.”

  I opened my bottle of water and drank almost the whole thing all at once, without taking a breath. Another guilty pleasure.

  Monica stared at me downing the water. “Thirsty?”

  I nodded. “So finish telling me about you and Kevin and how everything came back together.”

  “Where do I even start?” She twisted the cap back on her bottle of water and set it down on the coffee table. “When I moved to Atlanta after catching Kevin with Trey, my intent was to file for divorce, remember?”

  “Yeah, girl. I remember from one of the last conversations we had before I left, you were psyching yourself up to contact a lawyer.”

  “It still seems so crazy. You couldn’t have told me that I would have gone from consulting a divorce lawyer to six months pregnant before you got back. You know that had to be God.”

  Monica stopped talking and reached down to rub her belly, and I saw her stomach make a rippling motion beneath her hand. My eyes widened. I couldn’t imagine what it was like to feel a baby kicking inside.

  She continued, “I met this guy who let me borrow this book he had about people who had lived as homosexuals in their past. With prayer and therapy and classes, they got delivered and were able to live a heterosexual life, get married, and have children and everything. The man who wrote the book had a story similar to Kevin’s. He was molested in the church when he was a young boy. After a horrible life ‘in the life,’ so to speak, he finally cried out to God and got delivered.

  “When I read the book, I realized how much I still loved Kevin. He came to visit Atlanta on his concert tour, and I told him about the book. Long story short, he moved to Atlanta, and we actually met the pastor who wrote the book. He’s a part of a nationwide group of ministries that helps people get delivered from a lifestyle of homosexuality. Kevin joined his class and also saw a psychotherapist. At that point, he was living with a friend of ours down there while we were figuring things out.”

  Monica took a deep breath and a little sip of water and went right back to talking fast. “I know it sounds crazy, Trina, but he changed right before my eyes. I saw God deliver him. You should see him now. He’s not the man he used to be. Ten times better. Confident, strong, really walking in authority as a man of God.”

  She slid her shoes off and propped her slightly swollen feet up on the coffee table. “So anyway, one weekend, me and a group of our friends went to the beach. Kevin and my best friend—well my other best friend—Alaysia, got baptized. Later that day, everybody left the house and me and Kevin . . . well you know . . . and wouldn’t you know, the first time we did it, I ended up pregnant. Goes to show that my birth control those first couple of years of marriage were a worthwhile investment.”

  We both laughed.

  “We had planned to take things slower, you know. Let Kevin finish therapy, do some couples therapy together, maybe even do some counseling with the ministers at the church, and then have a marria
ge rededication ceremony and all that.” Her belly rippled again, and she reached down to rub it. “Apparently God had other plans. For whatever reason, He decided to put a rush on things.”

  I laughed and reached over to rub her belly.

  “So tell me about Africa. Girl, even with all that’s happened, my life is boring compared to everything you’ve been through the last two years.”

  I looked at Monica’s water bottle and wondered if she planned on finishing the other half. “I don’t even know where to start. Later we’ll have to get on my computer so I can show you all the pictures because you have to see it to really understand it.”

  I barely breathed as I tried to describe my time in the village of Mieze. The difficulty of caring for sick and orphaned children, the lack of decent drinking water, the poverty. And yet the beauty of a community crying out to God for revival. Seeing people get healed and give their lives to the Lord.

  “Girl, I don’t see how you lived like that. No running water?” She held up her Deer Springs bottle. “I can’t imagine walking three miles just to get water to drink or wash with. And having to go to the bathroom in a hole? I can’t imagine how it smelled over there.”

  I laughed. Monica obviously missed everything I had said about people getting healed and saved. “You get used to it after awhile.”

  “What was the food like? What did you eat?”

  “Mostly beans and rice. Sometimes fruit and vegetables. Every once in awhile, someone would kill a pig or a chicken and everyone would share. Sometimes we would find fish in the lake. That was the best treat.”

  Monica scrunched her face up. “Oh my Lord. You’re a better woman than me. I couldn’t have done it. Where did you sleep? What was the house like?”

  “House?” I laughed. “Hut or tent is more like it. They did have a mud brick house that I rotated in sometimes.”

  “Okay, I can’t take anymore. Get to the good part.” Monica’s eyes lit up. “Tell me about the guy.”