Not So Pure and Simple: Chapters 6–12

My foot slipped off the gas and we coasted, our speed decreasing incrementally, the scenery around us going from blur to crawl.

So, imagine the trauma on a random Wednesday when groggy, barely functioning me went to nudge my never-locked bathroom door open, only to nearly dislocate my shoulder when I walked full speed into unyielding wood.

Shianne was the only other person in Green Creek who knew that, really, my participation in Purity Pledge was completely aboveboard.

Shianne went from mostly unnoticed to coveted sex goddess.

Mya pulled up in her beat-down Subaru, a car as old as us, that had, on more than one occasion, required me, or Tyrell, or Stu the Cook to break out some jumper cables and resurrect her finicky battery in the FISHto’s lot after a shift. It was pine-forest green in the places where the paint wasn’t splotchy and worn down to the gray chassis.

They flitted toward the Purity Pledge room, Jameer the last to go, his eyes wide and apprehensive. I don’t know what comes next either, bro.

We all sat back watching the debacle with equal measures of glee and horror, speculating on how bad (exciting) it could get.

First, a decree from Terrier that anyone caught spreading “maternity-related gossip” would face “stiff penalties” (trigger more vomit emojis). Like, was the faculty spying on our social media? It didn’t slow down the ogling, but everyone felt some kind of way about the implication.

It’s mostly laughs and people instigating. Anything to keep it going. Some name-calling.

The door ratcheted down behind us, and she was quickstepping into the house before I could undo my seat belt, or say thanks, or clarify what she meant by “good man.”

The sickly-sweet scent of congealed sugar water accumulated in the corners from old spills was gag-worthy, but I didn’t dare complain for fear of Tyrell sending me home again.

“Pastor told us that impropriety had set in over the meetings and was influencing what the educators allowed into our classrooms, and no matter how much he fought, the school embraced an unholy spirit, or something.”

Inside a linoleum-floored mudroom, he stomped his feet on a woolen mat, shaking loose a few blades of grass.

He took me through a museum-quality dining room with unused place settings and fancy paintings of gangly, exaggerated black folks playing piano and trombones on the wall.

Raising the binoculars again, I strongly wished that I could read lips. Since that wasn’t one of my actual skills, I superimposed my own dialogue over Kiera’s and Mason’s magnified image.

My words matching their lips as closely as the English in those badly dubbed kung fu movies Dad watched sometimes.

Mr. Sesay crossed the threshold, blinking rapidly, his eyes adjusting to the house’s oppressive gloom.

Succumbing to politeness, Mrs. Sesay held up a plastic grocery sack, fragrant with the garlic twang of rotisserie chicken. “You can stay for dinner if you like, Del.”

I lingered on the shadowy porch, listening intently for danger sounds—yelling, crashes.

The man on the riding mower finished his last swath of cutting while Mason trimmed bushes, in the landscaper zone, the white cable from his earbuds snaking from his head to his phone.

“Should we be concerned?”
“Don’t know.”
My truncated answers did the trick; Qwan didn’t push.

It wasn’t lost on me that he started this practice shortly after I’d broached the topic...

“I’m not that OG, Qwan. I’m only twenty-eight.”
The class got raucous, egging him on.

“Going out of town to one of those learning centers isn't feasible. Not with my kid at home, and Mom reminding me my kid is at home every fifth minute.”

Our typical Tuesday Purity Pledge class was being preempted so all the PPers could “volunteer” at First Missionary House of the Lord’s answer to Halloween.

On a normal evening First Missionary House of the Lord would’ve been obscured by dusk. Barely visible against the evergreens huddled behind the building, or the starless night rising over the trees.

“Pastor got on this thing a couple of years ago about how Hollywood is run by heathens and Satan and all the movies are coded with ways to make families turn their back on God. Like with everything he says, the congregation falls in line. Folks still go to the movies and keep their Netflix accounts, but they don’t bring any of it up around here.”

“You’re really sweet with them,” Mya said. “Star Wars, though?”
The disdain in her voice threw me. “Yeah, so?”
“There are like no black people in that franchise.”

“While you’re thinking, I’ll remind you that Lieutenant Uhura has been an integral part of the starship Enterprise from day one.”

Kiera rededicated herself to her prize matron role, sorting swag and sweeping popcorn crumbs from her side of the table.

Trailing Newsome, I entered the sanctuary, where most pews had been pushed along the walls, clearing space for the gaming floor. One had been dragged back out, evident by its canted angle.

The air got thick with a spicy incense that made my head swimmy.

“Odessa got sick a long time ago, and fought hard. Saw a lot of good come to fruition from her direct efforts. Our Thanksgiving program where we provide entire meal kits to needy households. Our Christmas Toy Store where the poorer children from here and surrounding communities come in and pick gifts they couldn’t otherwise afford. She made sure to leave her mark.”

Newsome scrutinized me while twirling his pen between his index and middle finger like a drumstick.

“I met my Odessa at church when I was about your age. It’s a special bond that forms when two young people connect over holy pursuits. I can tell you that. I can also tell you that two people pursuing a relationship should be equally yoked. Do you know what that means?”