Present
I stared blankly across my dining room table at Ebony. She was talking, and I was listening, but I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. She was trying to get me to apply for a job that she’d heard about on one of her speaking engagements.
She explained, “It’s a mentor position at a battered women’s shelter. You would be helping the women get back on their feet by preparing them for the job market.”
I bit my lip and thought about the opportunity. Was I ready to mentor anyone? I couldn’t even find a job for myself, but I was supposed to help women prepare for the job market? Not to mention that I was still close to being an emotional wreck. I’d just had a session with Dr. King earlier that day, and she seemed to think that I was doing better, even though I’d almost lost it that day in the grocery store. She called that a minor setback and told me not to dwell on it.
“Is it full time?” I asked.
“Yes, and it’s pretty good pay, too.”
“What do you mean by pretty good pay?” I questioned suspiciously.
“It’s starting at thirty thousand a year,” declared Ebony with enthusiasm.
I laughed out loud. That wasn’t even a quarter of what I had been making at Grace Savings and Loan. But at the time I had no paycheck coming in at all. I thought about Travis and balled my hands into fists. How had I been stupid enough to let that man ruin everything I’d worked for?
Ebony discerned my change in mood and continued cautiously. “So should I tell my friend that you’re interested?”
I searched my mind for a reason to say no. When I could think of none, I tried to think of an affirmation. You are a gifted woman, and you are not defined by your paycheck. It was true, and I didn’t really need the money. Perhaps the Lord wanted to use me to touch someone’s life. Perhaps he wanted one of the women to touch my life.
“Yes,” I replied. “Tell her that I’m more than interested.”
Ebony clapped her hands jubilantly. She seemed happier about all this than I was. The timer on the oven went off, and I went into the kitchen to put our baked herb-crusted chicken and rice pilaf on plates.
Ebony said as I handed her the place settings, “I’m so proud of you with this diet, girl. I’ve never seen you this dedicated. How much have you lost now? Fifty pounds?”
I smiled. “Actually, I’ve lost about seventy.”
“Well, congratulations. I think you’re going to really do it this time.”
I sat down at the table across from Ebony. “I think so, too. Isn’t it strange how it took a failed marriage to get me serious about weight loss?”
Ebony looked uncomfortable at the mention of my marriage. It still bothered her to talk about the subject. She felt an unnecessary amount of guilt for not trying harder to stop me from marrying Travis.
“You know it’s okay to talk about marriage,” I said lightheartedly. “I’m not angry with the whole institution of marriage. Only Travis.”
Ebony slammed an open palm on the table furiously. “I just don’t think it’s fair what he did to you, Charmayne!”
“I used to get mad every time I thought about it myself, but Dr. King is helping me with that. Now I only get mad half the time.”
“Well, he’s going to pay. God’s going to get him.”
“Yes, I know.”
Of course, I knew that the Lord was not going to reward Travis for what he’d done to me. For some reason, though, that knowledge was not enough. Something in me wanted to see that man suffer a terrible demise in plain sight of all of the people he’d wronged.
Ebony apparently knew me better than I thought she did, because the mentor position at the women’s shelter was perfect for me. I knew it was from the Lord, even during the interview process. When they hired me on the spot, I felt like screaming The famine is over at the top of my lungs!
The shelter was called Dove’s Haven. It was actually for battered women with children. A woman with some vision who had been victimized by an abusive man had started the facility. It was a renovated apartment building with eight two-bedroom suites. My job was to assess the eight occupants’ backgrounds, education, and challenges and eventually get them all placed in career-oriented jobs.
Each of the women at Dove’s Haven was set up in a rent-free apartment with her children. All of their physical needs were provided by the shelter. Whatever financial assistance they were receiving was placed in a savings account for them when they were ready to leave and reclaim their lives.
What attracted me to the program was the fact that the staff at Dove’s Haven didn’t just address the physical needs of the women. They had one-on-one counseling sessions, group therapy, and an evangelist who came in once a week for Bible study and prayer. Most of the women who entered the program were in and out the doors in less than six months. Those were the success stories.
Then there were women like Celeste. She was my first case. She’d been at Dove’s Haven for two years. She was actually from Atlanta, but was in Cleveland hiding from her drug-dealing boyfriend. Her two boys were absolutely beautiful. She had been pregnant with the younger when she’d gotten to Dove’s Haven.
She was sitting at my desk for our second meeting. We’d talked about some of her challenges in the first meeting. From what I could tell, her biggest challenge was lack of a steady employment history. I’d given her some homework assignments that she’d taken with very little enthusiasm.
“Celeste, did you finish the personality profile that I gave you on Monday?”
“Yes, Ms. Ellis, but I don’t agree with what it said.”
“You don’t agree with the conclusion?”
Celeste nodded. “It says I should be some kind of health care professional. I don’t want to do that. I want to work in an office, filing papers or something.”
I had given Celeste a personality profile that was supposed to match her up with the field that would utilize her strengths and downplay her weaknesses. As generic as they seemed, I found the tests to be rather accurate.
“Let me see the test.”
Celeste’s responses showed her to be a nurturing individual who enjoyed working with a variety of people. Her weak areas were paying attention to detail and organization skills. She was a person who derived satisfaction from bringing joy to others.
“Well,” I said, “your profile seems to be right on target for a health professional. You’re a nurturer.”
“I do enough nurturing of my sons. I want to work in an office.”
“Okay, well, do you have any office experience? Have you ever done any filing or answering phones?”
“I don’t have any experience doing anything. I been with Jerome since I was fifteen. He took care of me,” replied Celeste flatly. I wondered if she was being difficult on purpose.
“Well, I guess we’ll just have to start from square one.”
Suddenly Celeste appeared distracted. “This is probably pointless. Why don’t we talk about you?”
I was surprised that she was interested in my life. “What do you want to know about me?”
“Why you’re always walking around with bags under your eyes. Do you sleep at all?”
“Well, yes. But not so well.” I’d thought that my makeup covered the dark circles under my eyes, but apparently not.
“Does your husband beat you?” she asked boldly.
Despite her rudeness, I felt compelled to answer her questions. “I’m not married.”
“Divorced?”
“You are quite nosy, Celeste.”
Her lips curled into a smile. “You know all my business. It’s only fair. So tell me. Are you divorced?”
“Not yet, but the process has begun.”
Celeste sat on the edge of her seat, intrigued. “So it’s fresh! That’s why you’re not sleeping well. Did he cheat on you?”
“Celeste!”
“Did the man cheat on you?” she asked again, ignoring my unspoken request for privacy.
“In a manner of speaking. Now enough about me. We need to talk about finding you some gainful employment.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
Celeste gestured to her emaciated body and disheveled hair. “Will you look at me? Who is going to hire me? I look like a zombie from Night of the Living Dead or something.”
“You don’t have to. I could help you with that.”
It was Celeste’s turn to laugh. “There is very little you can do for me. Besides, I’d rather talk about you. Why didn’t you forgive your husband? Most of you church ladies forgive your husbands.”
“I didn’t forgive him because he’s a liar,” I responded immediately.
“Aren’t they all?”
“I hope not.”
“Well, I’m sorry. I don’t share your optimism.”
I bit the tip of my finger, reflecting again on how thoroughly Travis had ravaged my life. “My husband took a lot from me. He took everything, actually.”
Celeste nodded, and her facial expression became an ugly grimace. “Your husband is a taker. My baby’s daddy is a giver.”
“For some reason, I don’t think you mean that in a good way.”
Celeste sat back in her chair. “You’re lucky.”
“What? Lucky? I don’t think so.”
“You’re luckier than me. You’ll live.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, not knowing for sure if I wanted to hear the answer.
“My boyfriend gave me HIV. How’s that for a parting gift?”
I was at a loss for words. No one had prepared me to counsel AIDS victims. I was just supposed to be helping people find jobs. My story sounded trivial compared with hers.
I asked Celeste seriously, “Even though you’re sick, do you still want a job?”
“I don’t think anyone will hire me, but of course I want a job. I want to leave my boys a will instead of a bill.”
“There may be something I can do.”
Celeste raised a skeptical eyebrow in my direction. “I’ve heard that before.”
“But you haven’t heard it from me. Give me a week or so, and I’ll get back to you on this.”
I smiled to myself. It was good to have some favors that I could call in, even if I couldn’t use them myself when I needed a job. Celeste, still looking unsure, left my office possibly with hopes of a not-so-bleak future for her sons.
Celeste’s story had given me some perspective. Travis had not destroyed me—not completely. He had taken a lot from me, but the most vital parts of me were still intact. Listening to Celeste had done more than cause me to remember an old business contact. She had inspired me to go and get my life back.