Past
My breakup with Travis was more devastating than it should have been. I hadn’t been dating him long, so it should’ve been short and sweet, but it was not. I found myself walking around in a melancholy funk, wanting to cry all the time but willing the tears not to come. It was certainly not the peace that I was used to after obeying the voice of God. Perhaps God hadn’t said no. Maybe He’d just wanted me to wait.
I tried to counter my feelings by putting on my corporate hat. I had an important meeting with the board of directors about my plan for community reinvestment. When I had accepted the position at Grace Savings and Loan, I was hoping that I’d be able to make a difference in the church community. I knew all kinds of saved folks who were completely bound when it came to finances. I believed that it was greatly due to a lack of education about money. It was my dream to implement a plan to transition convicted felons into career positions, including nontraditional small-business loans. I’d finally garnered enough support to get the board to consider a proposal.
I pressed my intercom button and said, “Donna, did you order the deli trays for my meeting?”
“Yes, Ms. Ellis!” she responded cheerfully.
“Thank you,” I said, wishing that I could borrow her positive attitude and take it with me into my meeting.
I walked over to the conference room and steeled myself for what would probably be a dead-end meeting. It was nice to be part of a church-run organization, but some of the members of the board had no sense of what it took to run a financial institution.
“Does everyone have a copy of the agenda?”
I waited a few moments for the rustling of the papers to die down. I wanted to make sure that they all heard about my plans, because I needed them to give me a unanimous vote. It was not an easy thing to get a roomful of ten clergymen to agree.
When everyone was settled, I cleared my throat and began. “What I have proposed, as you can see, is a way for people to improve their standard of living, not just a handout. By training individuals who have had run-ins with the judicial system, we will empower them instead of making the church a crutch. The investment that Grace Savings will make is relatively small, especially when compared with the benefits. To put it simply: The more gainfully employed saints we have, the stronger, more financially secure our congregations will be. And this is how we can become the pillars that our African American communities need.”
I took a deep breath and waited for the objections. I hoped that my presentation, along with my research and statistics, was convincing, but inevitably at least one person was not going to agree. Bishop Donaldson cleared his throat.
I knew that he would be the one to object. Bishop Donaldson had never wanted to hire me for this position—he had someone in mind from his own congregation. He was old-fashioned, and would have rather had a black man at the helm of the bank. He was against women in leadership positions, period. Not one female minister or evangelist would ever grace his pulpit.
“And how do you propose we choose these worthy individuals?” Bishop Donaldson asked. “You’re talking about giving loans to ex-felons here. How do we know whom to trust?”
“I leave that up to the heads of the respective congregations,” I said, my negotiating skills kicking in. “Typically, we are looking for individuals who have been outstanding examples in the church and have completely turned their lives around. I’m speaking of someone who is working steadily, even if it’s menial labor, and who consistently makes financial offerings to the church.”
“Are there any types of ex-felons we’ll exclude? What about those with fraud charges or thieves?” asked Bishop Gordon. “No matter how much we want to serve the church, we are still a financial institution.”
I replied calmly, “I’m glad you asked that, Bishop. We will look at each individual on a case-by-case basis. There will be a list of criteria, with the type of crime being only part of it. Remember, we want to assist those who normally wouldn’t be given a second chance by society. It is my dream that an individual can come into the church and start over.”
Bishop Donaldson chuckled. “That’s a noble sentiment, Sister Ellis. Very noble indeed. I don’t know how practical it is, though. If we do this, we’ll need to take it slowly. There are wolves out here that would take advantage of the church—”
“But there are also sheep,” Pastor Jenkins interjected. “And these are the ones Charmayne is seeking. We shouldn’t discard an idea just because it may attract wolves.”
“I agree,” said Pastor Strong. “There is a poverty stranglehold over our congregations, and I think that this is a move in the right direction. If we are successful, maybe more Christian business owners will follow suit and employ members of the body of Christ.”
Pastor Frank, who was usually quiet in the meetings, added, “I move that we implement this program, at least in its preliminary stages. I trust that Sister Ellis will provide us with the details, and some general guidelines for applicants.”
“Of course. The documentation on this project is already prepared.”
Pastor Jenkins said, “I second that motion.”
“All in favor?” asked Bishop Gordon.
When all of the other board members had agreed to the plan, Bishop Donaldson reluctantly added his approval. I could’ve squealed with delight, but I didn’t. I almost never gave way to displays of emotion at work.
After the vote, Bishop Donaldson said, “I want to see the paperwork on this, first thing in the morning. I still have some reservations.”
I eased back into my chair. Now that I’d gotten the approval of the board, the real challenge was making the program work. I finally had my chance to create a success story, and in the process maybe win over my critics.
I was on cloud nine as I walked back to my office. Even the thoughts of Travis that lingered in the back of my mind couldn’t dampen my mood. Donna handed me a message as I entered my office.
“It’s from your sister,” she said. “She’s going to be half an hour late for your lunch date.”
I was glad that she’d called, because I had forgotten all about the lunch. We were planning a surprise party for Mama’s sixtieth birthday. I should say that Dayna was planning it, but she wanted to make it seem as if I was involved.
“Donna, I need you to print out the documentation of the Teach a Man to Fish program. Fax a copy over to Bishop Donaldson immediately. The rest can go in the regular mail.”
“Will do.”
I returned a few telephone calls and then headed out to the Italian bistro that Dayna picked for our lunch meeting. That was one thing we had in common—our love of Italian food. The difference was that the thick pastas and creamy sauces seemed to have no detrimental effects on Dayna’s figure. She was built like our father. He was five foot four, and couldn’t have weighed more than 130 pounds.
Even though Dayna had said she was running late, she actually beat me to the restaurant. She had an irritated look on her face, and she was looking at her watch.
“Hey, baby sis!” I called across the patio, trying to sound as upbeat as possible. Dayna looked up and her expression immediately changed. She grinned and shook her head.
“I see some of us are still operating on CP time,” Dayna joked.
Of course, I knew that she meant “colored people.” I’d heard Dayna say that line thousands of times. I’d seen her break off promising relationships if the brother had a problem picking her up on time for a date.
Since it was a sunny afternoon, we decided to be seated on the patio. Usually we didn’t indulge in outdoor dining, because the humidity would cause our hair to swell into thick Afros. That day, however, the air was not the least bit moist.
We ordered our food from an overly friendly waiter—I was having the antipasto salad and Dayna chose the sausage marinara. My stomach started to grumble just thinking about what my sister had ordered, but I was trying to eat healthy.
Dayna pulled a huge notebook out of her bag and placed it in the center of the table. “Everything is in here! It’s going to be a perfect party, Charmayne.”
I picked up the notebook and flipped through about twenty pages of caterers, locations, and a guest list that had over two hundred people. Who was Dayna kidding? Mama did not have that many friends.
I laughed. “I was thinking we were going to do something just a little bit more intimate.”
“Intimate? This is Mama’s sixtieth birthday. It should be a bash.”
“And who is going to pay for all this?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Well, I’ll chip in, but I thought you were going to handle most of it. You know Erin just started kindergarten at Sacred Heart. That tuition is kicking my butt.”
I shook my head and frowned. Dayna and Ron always had big plans for everything, but never any money. The year before, they had wanted to get Mama a big-screen television for Christmas, but they wanted me to come up with one thousand of the fourteen hundred dollars. They didn’t get me that time; Mama got a robe and slippers.
“Well, if I’m paying for it, then I get a say in how much we’re going to spend. We need to scale this thing way back. You act like Mama’s getting married.”
“Not that you would know anything about that,” Dayna said under her breath, barely loud enough for me to hear.
I folded my arms and squinted angrily. “I see you been talking to Mama.”
“She just mentioned that you dogged out yet another perfectly eligible bachelor.”
“You and Mama need to mind y’all own business.”
“And what about that guy I saw you dancing with at Lynette’s wedding reception?”
“Oh, he’s history, too.”
Dayna shook her head and asked, “Why, Charmayne? Don’t you want to be happy?”
“Who said that I wasn’t happy?” I responded, my voice going up an octave. “I don’t need a man to make me happy.”
Dayna rolled her eyes. “The only women who ever say that are the ones who don’t have a man. I believe that God created us to want a husband. Saying that you don’t need one is unnatural.”
It was my turn to roll my eyes. I had heard this line of reasoning so many times that I could repeat it verbatim. In fact, I’d heard it so much, I was starting to believe it. As much as I hated to admit it, I did feel that there was something missing in my life without a family.
“Are you going to try to bring a date to Mama’s party? She would be so happy if you did.”
I thought about who I could bring. I wished Travis had waited to tell me about his felonies. It would’ve felt nice to have Mama doting on my boyfriend for a change.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll have a date,” I replied, not knowing at all if that was the truth.