Mama wasn’t much for the funky sounds of the 1970s, but as Benji entered the room, he was comforted by the sounds of Mama singing along softly with one of her favorite gospel songs, “I’m Going Away”. Truthfully, he enjoyed many of the gospel songs Mama subjected them to pretty much every day and the gospel choir at church was probably the second best thing about going to church.
The first best thing was those crazy old ladies—they were really funny. Those old ladies would go crazy catching the Holy Spirit and falling on the benches, running up and down the aisle ten thousand times babbling about something or even better, rolling around on the floor and wailing at the top of their voices. Benji had his favorite performer—Miss Nadine was the best. Not only did she give the craziest performance of screaming, crying, kicking, and fighting ushers off like a gangster, but Benji also caught her numerous times saying “mother fucker” after church. It was a sport to the Frazier brothers to bet on which one of the old ladies would be the second one to catch the Holy Spirit—loser let himself get punched in the stomach. There was no need to bet on who would be first to catch the spirit…it was always Miss Nadine.
But the gospel choir at Valencia Baptist was definitely the second best thing about church and that choir was COLD! They didn’t just stand up there…no, when the families came into church, there was nobody where the choir stood—somebody would be at the podium saying something or making some announcements, but the Frazier brothers really didn’t care because it wasn’t interesting to the brothers; probably because it usually was something to do with Jesus.
But then, all of a sudden, the piano and the organ would start the introduction to “We’ve Come This Far By Faith,” and Frazier brothers’ attention was immediately transferred to the back of the church where the choir was gathering, lining up and preparing to march in wearing those BAD purple robes. Once the song started, the choir would come walking down the aisle two by two, stepping to the beat of the music, singing loud. First were those girls with the highest voices; then slowly the sound would change to the girls with high voices, but not as high as the first girls’. Then next came some girls, but mostly guys, and the sound changed as the voices got deeper. Lastly—the men. All of them seemed enormous and they all sang with deep, strong voices, walking all slow and hip. By the time they finished their march, the whole church was rocking with all the singing! They always sang the same song. The same verse…over and over and over and over…every single week. “They must really love that jam,” Benji thought. “Me too.”
Benji liked the song Mama was listening to right now too. It was real slow to start, but by the time the guy got to the chorus, Benji was ready to boogie. He loved this beat—in fact, he was inspired to practice a few dance moves. Benji thought he’d just about perfected a lot of the moves he’d seen on Soul Train—the Soul Train Line was something he looked forward to every Saturday, and the hard beat of this gospel song gave him a chance to work on a few moves like the Soul Train dancers. He was in his own world as he locked his arms, popped his shoulders, and moved his feet and teenage hips in what he thought was a funky rhythm, and for a minute, he imagined he was under the spinning disco ball, dancing with the most beautiful dancer in the room in the Soul Train Line - Damita Jo was the one, she’d probably ask Benji to be her partner if she was there right now. As he danced with Damita Jo down the line in his mind, Benji got lost in his fantasy and kind of forgot where he was…until he opened his eyes.
Marcus just shook his head and rolled his eyes without looking up from his cereal. Sid was reading the cereal box, but Mama and Nikki were looking at Benji like he’d lost his mind.
“Benji, this is GOD’S music.”
Mama’s look left nothing else to say.
Benji sheepishly stopped dancing and avoiding Mama’s disapproving scowl, started over to the kitchen table where his brothers sat. Benji avoided looking at Mama because he knew she did not play when it came to God but thought, “It’s not my fault, Mama! The song was fresh, the chorus kinda sounded like…Con Funk Shun maybe? Still though, smart enough not to have any kind of look on his face, Benji quietly sat and addressed his younger brother.
“Lemme get some cereal, Sid.”
“No, I’ll pour it.”
Sid did not want to give Benji the cereal box for fear he would not get it back. He loved reading the back of the cereal box to see what prizes, games and offers were there.
“You ain’t pourin’ my cereal. Gimme the box. I’ll give it back.”
Benji loved reading the back of the cereal box too. Benji had no intention of giving the box back, but he didn’t think Sid needed to know it.
“Y’all both stupid. There ain’t nothing on the box anyway, and anyway, it’s the same thing there as it was yesterday,” Nikki chimed in. Benji narrowed his eyes into slits and glared at his sister to mind her own business.
Benji reached over and tried to yank the box out of Sid’s hand, and Sid held on, so a cereal box tug-of-war ensued. The brothers started alternately laughing and arguing over who would get the cereal box, with Sid saying in a “louder than necessary ” voice, “Stop, Benji! Stop! You play too much!” Benji responded, “I just want some cereal. Gimme the box. You a baby!” The battle raged for a few more seconds, and then all of a sudden, Benji heard the sound of a chair scraping against the floor.
Mama was coming over.
“Give it to me.”
Four words ended the battle immediately. Mama took the cereal box, poured Benji’s cereal, and returned the box to Sid, who smiled and said, “Thank you, Mama.”
“Man, what a chump —that kid is a baby! Mama gives him everything he wants. He makes me sick!” Benji thought angrily as he put sugar and milk on his cereal. He knew they were both a little too old to argue over a cereal box but…he stepped on Sid’s foot hard under the table anyway. His brother responded by kicking Benji, who retaliated by kicking him back harder. The brothers glared menacingly at each other, but no words were spoken. They sometimes fought like brothers do, but Marcus, Benji, and Sid never snitched on each other. One time, Benji stole money from Pops’s wallet; the brothers all knew Benji stole the money but when Pops lined the boys up and declared “I know one of you knows: who stole my money? All y’all coming in my room and if nobody don’t tell me—EVERYBODY getting a beatin’!”
Pops already knew he would not get an answer—because he knew the Frazier boys don’t snitch. Not ever. No need to ask the girls. Pops realized if the girls knew, they would tell.
Quickly.
Well anyway—the three Frazier boys all took a taste of Pops’s belt that day. Wasn’t the first time or the last. It never occurred to any of the brothers to raise their hand and say, “I did it, Pops. Don’t whip them. It was me.” Snitch on themselves? Wasn’t gonna happen—the Frazier Boys just don’t snitch. Especially on themselves.
“Benji, what are you going to talk about at the youth conference? It’s a pretty big deal. Have you started thinking about it yet?”
Benji transfixed Nikki with his most hateful scowl. “You know I don’t wanna do that stupid shit! I ain’t speakin’ at no youth conference! Why you always frontin’ me anyway? You ain’t Mama!” Benji thought to himself. Benji didn’t want to do this and I knew he meant it. Because Benji, like most good people, did not usually think in profane terms. Often, he spoke profanity if he was sure his parents were not within earshot because that was the way of Benji’s world. But his thoughts were not often littered with random profanity as they were now.
So I knew Benji truly had no desire to participate. But I did not know why yet.
In Benji’s mind, youth conference was an annual three-day event at the church where square teenagers read from the Bible, sang, made speeches, and even preached while the adults applauded and gushed stupidly over the corny kids they convinced to get participate. Benji did not even want to attend.
“I ain’t sure,” Benji mumbled with a bored shrug.
“How about singing? No, don’t sing…you can do a speech though. Or maybe read…you know how to read…”
“Nik!!! Come on! What did I do to you?” Benji thought as he scrambled for a response—because now Mama was looking at him too. “Nikki definitely getting it later for this one,” Benji thought angrily.
But what to say now?
Benji decided to just ignore his sister—pretend like he hadn’t heard. He wanted to just leave the room. However, leave too fast and it might signal Mama that he was uncomfortable. Then, Mama might start making speeches of her own and asking questions to pin him down. So Benji just played it real cool. He finished his cereal, sat against the counter for a little bit, opened the refrigerator for no reason, said “hmmm,” closed it, got himself a water glass, got some water from the sink, leaned against the counter again, sipped some water, took it all in, put the glass in the sink—then when the phone rang, Benji started to slowly make his way out of the room. Benji could hear it was his Aunt Rose on the phone, so thankfully this phone call was probably going to take a while.
Aunt Rose wasn’t his real aunt, but her and his mama were real close friends, kind of like play sisters, so that made her an aunt. She was also the attendance lady at their school, so she knew when everyone ditched. She didn’t always tell, though. Sometimes she just yelled at the kids to scare them into going to class or threatened to call their parents if they ditched one…more…time—which was way better than telling. Benji was in enough trouble, so he thought Aunt Rose was a pretty cool aunt for not tellin’ ALL the time.
Aunt Rose’s boyfriend or maybe he was her husband, Benji didn’t really know…that was Mr. T.—Benji had no idea why they called him that but everybody in Southeast called him that. But he was funny, like all of Pops’s friends, and Mr. T was always bringing frozen meat over for Pops and the family. He called it “wholesale”. Benji didn’t know what it meant but he figured it probably meant “cheap”. Definitely meant Mr. T was hustling though, so he was pretty cool too.
Their kids were jheri curl kids—they were one of the first ones in the neighborhood with the new hairstyle. Benji wanted to try it too but Mama wouldn’t let her kids get a jheri curl, it was too expensive. The Fraziers were more of a “hot comb and braids” kind of family, probably because there were so many heads to take care of and both Angela and Nikki could do hair; much easier to maintain if it was braided…cheaper too.
Aunt Rose’s kids were OK though—when Aunt Rose and Mr. T would come over to drink and play cards, all the kids would stay in the back rooms and cut up. Their oldest kid, George, was always reading or doing this goofy Russian dance like in the Bugs Bunny cartoon; that kid really made Benji laugh. Vince was in one of Benji’s classes but he ran with a different crowd. Jason and Robert were the younger brothers, and, well…Benji didn’t know too much about them; they were too young for Benji to pay much attention to, but he and Vince talked about girls in their school and showed off their latest pop-locking moves. Jason and Robert danced sometimes too—then they all battle danced, except George - he always did the Russian dance thing while the rest battled. Marcus would judge when he wasn’t busy because he always thought he was the expert at everything. Just the boys would dance, though; Nikki was the only girl and thought all of the boys in both families were stupid. Seemed like maybe Vince really liked Nikki or something; Benji busted him staring at her a couple times—jheri curl kid had poor taste apparently but Nikki wasn’t gonna like no young boy no way. Benji didn’t care about it very much either way. What he did care about was how long Aunt Rose could keep Mama talking on the phone right NOW. He figured they would yak for a while, like they usually did. Then he could escape.
“Close one,” Benji said to himself as he continued to ease out of the kitchen with a sense of relief.
He should have known better.
“Do you even know what your worth is?”
Mama stopped mid-conversation with a “Hold on, girl…I’ll call you right back. Don’t worry, we’re going to find him.” Then she seamlessly delivered a mother’s strong words, stopping Benji in his tracks. He turned to look at his mother, expecting to be met by flashing anger in her eyes. Or the look of disappointment and pain he saw at times when he messed up…again. He saw neither. But he was shocked at what he did see.
His mother’s eyes were soft, hopeful, and full of love. She was smiling the way she did when he was little.
“Do you even know what your worth is?” she repeated softly.
Benji’s mother loved all her children equally and for different reasons, but right now she was totally focused on Benji as she gazed at him with a wide smile and touched his face tenderly. Benji had been special from the beginning of his life. He was born at twenty-seven weeks, ten weeks premature with undeveloped lungs. Lina’s third child spent the first eight weeks fighting for life within the neonatal intensive care unit. Because of his underdeveloped lungs and the resulting breathing problems, Benji began life on a ventilator. His mother remembered the crushing guilt of being unable to nurse her son as she had nursed her other children—her guilt was not numbed in the fifteen years of Benji’s life. She always kept a silent eye on Benji—as Benji grew, he had gotten into more trouble and received more beatings than all her other four children combined. He entered life struggling to breathe, she knew how bad he felt that he couldn’t see well either—she wondered if Benji was perhaps in a constant state of trying to prove something to somebody. Perhaps to himself. But it seemed as if he’d been fighting since the day he was born.
Mama thought all this in an instant as she gazed at her beloved Benji. He was in more and more trouble every day, but she knew he was something special. Sometimes she felt she was the only one who could see it—the only one who believed. Her son was talented and she knew it…and she wanted the world to know it.
And she wanted Benji to know it.
Mama felt this event was Benji’s chance. Tears welled in her eyes as she remembered how he struggled to take every single breath, and there were times she silently wondered if he would survive—and if she bore any fault for his condition. But her son was strong now. Perhaps life began with him struggling to make a sound or take a breath, but now was his chance to speak and be heard by everyone. It was his chance to break out and be known for more than how he saw himself - the funny-looking kid with thick glasses. This was his chance to be seen as something positive and powerful and good. And Mama could see the aftermath—the accolades he would receive and the pride he would inspire. This youth conference opportunity was for Benji, but he had to want to do it.
“Mama…what do you mean?” Benji said.
Mama’s eyes were somehow soft but powerful at the same time, and her whispered words of encouragement, accompanied by her almost imperceptible nodding, were somehow louder than any scream.
“What I mean, son, is do you know your true talent? Your strength? Your character? Your power? We are much more than what the world sees when it looks at us. But when we look at ourselves as through the eyes of God, it no longer matters where we live, how much money we have, or what we do…no power on earth can change what opportunities God has given us to advance His purpose. And this is your chance, Benjamin…this is YOUR time! I see greatness in your eyes…just like I see in Baba’s eyes…”
“Baba” was how she lovingly referred to Pops, and Benji stood in awe of even being compared to the man. Pops was powerfully built, proud, charismatic, and people were always drawn to him. Many was the time Benji came home and there was a circle of men around his father—Mr. T the meat guy, Steve the electricity guy, Herb the cop, Jerry who owned Jerry’s Market, the Mailman—and Pops would hold court as the men drank, laughed loudly, and argued.
Another time, Dink Jefferson, a ferocious gang banger, was severely beating his girlfriend in the street. It was Pops who came out of the house and stopped the beating. Benji peeked out the window and saw Dink’s girlfriend crawling under a car in an effort to escape Dink’s rage. Benji had been terrified when saw his father approaching Dink and ashamed he’d been too afraid to go outside and protect his dad. But the next thing he knew, the neighborhood’s most notorious gangster was sitting in HIS house at the kitchen table with sad eyes about to cry..but nodding with head bowed at whatever Pops was telling him.
Benji could never imagine having the toughness, courage or the wisdom of his father. He thought he was only thinking it, but in reality, he said it softly under his breath, “I can’t be like Pops…not gonna happen…”
But Mama heard him.
She forced Benji to look at her and her tone changed to one resembling that of the preacher in church.
“You don’t have to be your father or Marcus or anyone else, Benji…it is not who you have to be or even who I want you to be. You are Benjamin Frazier Jr.! You have an opportunity here not just to glorify God but also to uplift this community with YOUR talent! I see something in you—I see your talent with a mother’s eyes, and you would make me so proud if you would share it. What is talent if it remains hidden, Benjamin?”
Benji beamed with pride inwardly when she said this, but he did not see himself as talented or special in any way; her words sincerely confused him, so he responded quizzically, “Uplift the community? How would I help anybody?”
Benji’s mother locked eyes with her hesitant son. Her eyes were on fire, and she seemed to roar as she pointed to Benji and exclaimed, “Your words and your knowledge are key—they matter now! You matter…and it is time for YOU to be heard!”
Mama’s voice softened a little as she continued.
“But you don’t see it…you hold back…you can’t see it yet…”
Mama drew a deep breath, kissed her son on his forehead, and said one final time, “I love you, son—I know you will do what’s right and if you do it, you will know the answer to this:
Do you know what your worth is?”
Her words commanded the room—and when she was finished, there was dead silence except for the sound of gospel music playing softly in the background.
Benji couldn’t exactly see them—his eyes were now fixed upward toward the ceiling—but he could feel them. They were all staring at him now.
Sid was wide-eyed, expectant and amazed. The youngest Frazier was not used to these types of words from the family matriarch. Mama was a powerful woman—but this was something entirely different. Sid now looked on and silently waited for Benji’s response.
Marcus looked up from his breakfast and was looking at Benji—but not with the scorn or dismissiveness he normally reserved for Benji. Marcus was looking at him like a real big brother…or maybe like…a friend? Marcus looked right at him and winked.
Nikki stared with a smugness—though she tried to hide it. She thought there was zero chance Benji would resist such an impassioned plea from Mama. Nikki smiled at her mother…then returned her gaze to Benji to wait for his inevitable acceptance.
Mama was now looking at Benji with an affectionate smile. She walked over to her middle son and hugged him as she did when he was little. Benji put his arms around his mother and hugged her tight. “She smells like Mama,” Benji thought.
Benji’s mother rocked him a little bit while they stood, and Benji felt the tenderness of a mother who loved and was proud of her child. Benji looked into his mama’s eyes, and she looked back smiling. It was a moment—like their moments in the car listening and singing to James Taylor with nobody else around.
Benji felt a surge of love for her, and he knew he could not disappoint his Mama.
That feeling only lasted for a second.
Maybe less than a second.
More like a split second.
Or a flash.
“No,” Benji thought. “I’m not doing it. Not a chance. I don’t care.”
I moved in closer to Benji. I whispered to him, “Why not, Benji? Why does this trouble you so? Do you see the look in your mother’s eyes? You are about to tap into a talent you don’t realize you have…why are you resisting?”
Benji did not hear me, of course. I was only an echo in his subconscious, a fleeting thought. It would be so much easier if Benji could actually see me and hear me. We could get a LOT done together that way. Unfortunately, that’s not how it works.
Benji began to ponder the situation, though. And the fact was, in Benji’s mind, he was starting to get somewhere good in his life.
Benji remembered a couple months ago he’d been at his school locker and seen Teri Shaw and Shante Clay walking and laughing out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t really take note of it, but as the sound of their laughter got closer and closer, he saw Teri approaching rapidly, laughing even louder, with Shante in hot pursuit. All of a sudden, Teri broke out into a run! And as she passed by Benji, she yelled out, “Shante likes you, Benji!” to which Shante screamed, “No I don’t! Stoppp!!!” Then both girls ran off giggling.
This never happened to Benji before—Benji pretended to have lots of girlfriends, like Marcus. He often successfully tricked his homeboys, and even his family, into thinking he had a lot of girlfriends by waving at strange girls from a distance…they normally waved back because in the passing two seconds, the girls didn’t realize they didn’t really KNOW Benji. It tricked everyone but the fact was Benji didn’t really know how to approach girls, much less talk to them. He didn’t even know how to ask them to dance at the after-school dances in the cafeteria. So instead he just copied Marcus’ style, said hip stuff like Marcus did, and kept his glasses off at all times. Even so, Teri and Shante was a first…Benji smiled at the memory; he still didn’t quite know how to make a smooth first move with girls but thought, “If I’m confident, cool, and keep my glasses off, I don’t have to make the first move…girls are making the first move on ME!”
He didn’t know why. He didn’t care why. He was just glad it was happening.
Benji swelled with happiness knowing pretty, light-skinned girls like Shante were talking to him, smiling, and wanting to hang around him. Shante even agreed to braid Benji’s hair…meaning three whole hours with his head in her LAP; that was WAY better than one of his sisters doing it. So, he wasn’t going to let no stupid youth conference mess that up. Benji loved his mother. He’d never purposely disappointed her. It was more likely one of those spur-of-the-moment, lack-of-judgment situations. But this time was different. Teri and Shante had shown him things were about to get different for Benji.
But there were other reasons too.
Benji’s best friends for as long as he could remember were Brian Weaver and Enrique Escamilla.
Brian was a short, brown-skinned teen who was always laughing and thought himself the most knowledgeable of the trio. He seemed to know something about everyone. Benji was pretty sure even if his friend didn’t know something for certain, he made it up and put a humorous spin on it. Slightly overweight but already a really talented guitar player and singer, Brian also had the largest appetite of anyone Benji had ever seen—there was nothing he wouldn’t eat. In fact, when the friends ate, Benji would not leave food on the table for ANY reason. On more than one occasion, he left food and come back to find it gone and Brian with a sheepish grin to go with a ridiculous explanation like “the wind blew it on the ground, so I just threw it away.”
Now, Enrique, whom everyone called Ricky, was a slightly built Mexican, a tad shorter than Benji, with slicked back hair and a definite wild streak but not a malicious one. With Brian, there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t eat but with Ricky, there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t DO. He was fearless, and it made him funny in a different way than Brian was funny. Like one time, when Benji ran away from home fearing a whipping from his father for losing his glasses again, Ricky, before he even knew the reason why they were running away, promptly said, “OK, me too!”…even though he had no reason to go. And Ricky was fiercely independent— he seemed utterly unaffected by the peer pressure affecting most young men and women his age. For example, he was the only one in the neighborhood who refused to call Benji “Doo Doo.” He would either call him “Benjiiiii” in an exaggerated Mexican accent or simply “G,” short for Benji.
The three were inseparable…but things were changing.
Last week, Benji passed by Nick Thomas. They’d been in school together since kindergarten, but Nick was now an ominous hard-core teen— an intimidating, vicious Skyline gangster. The kind who was dangerous to talk to or even look at unless you got an invitation. It was true even for adults—teachers were clearly scared of him and content to just give him passing grades, even if he didn’t learn anything, as long as he stayed calm. In the past few years, Benji rarely heard him even speak, but last week, Nick was standing around with other gangsters and spoke…to him.
He’d said, “What’s happenin’, Ice?”
Ice?
After the greeting, Nick laughed, gestured toward Benji, and said to his homeboys, “Thought dude was square but he cold - little man was scrappin’ with Tootie the other day and straight spit in that muh fucka’s face! Y’all see that shit?”
Which was true.
Tootie Mo was bullying Benji to the point where Benji could take no more—he walked into class one day and on a bet, without any provocation, for no reason at all, he slapped a sitting Benji hard in his face; so hard, he fell out of his chair. Benji angrily scrambled to physically retaliate but he was restrained by classmates—thankfully, in his mind. He was glad somebody held him back—otherwise he might have to actually fight.
But the memory lingered of Tootie laughing and yelling, “Let him go! Let him go!” In the aftermath, Tootie was removed from the class, but both teens promised to settle it after school.
Benji was frightened. He couldn’t believe Tootie hadn’t been suspended, what did it take to get suspended in this school anyway? But it wouldn’t have mattered. Benji would still have to fight eventually unless he was OK with every gangster in school slapping him without warning whenever they felt like having a laugh or were bored.
Tootie had been left back, had hair on his face, was older than the rest of them, and ran with a local set. Benji was truly terrified to fight, but the unprovoked slap and accompanying laughter from Tootie’s bullying pushed him to a point where he really had no other choice. When school ended, Benji noted a larger than normal crowd slowly drifting behind him as he started on his way home, and he imagined each one of them could hear his heart, which seemed like it was ready to leap out of his chest in terror with every beat. Benji wished somehow Tootie wouldn’t show, or maybe he would forget they were supposed to fight, but no…there he was, surrounded by his crew, waiting at the vacant lot down the street from the school. Benji hoped maybe an adult would drive by and stop the slaughter. Maybe a teacher would drive by and help him.
Or maybe he was on his own.
As they faced each other, Benji remembered Tootie’s dismissive smile, and he thought his panic would overwhelm him. Tootie was bigger than he was and supposedly had gotten some girl pregnant—he was like a man to Benji. And as the fight began, Tootie danced around like Sugar Ray, talking, laughing, and taunting. Benji kept his hands up, afraid to throw a punch. Then Tootie stopped dancing long enough to punch Benji square in the face. Hard.
Twice.
But the punches had a strange effect on Benji. The punches really hurt. They hurt a lot. His eye immediately felt puffy, the salty taste of warm blood filled his mouth, and the same blood now flowed freely from his nose, but none of that was Benji’s primary focus. The pain of Tootie’s fist and the facial injuries caused did not increase Benji’s fear.
They took the fear away. And it made Benji mad.
Benji didn’t realize it, but when he fought, he didn’t even see Tootie. He was fighting against all the bullies who called him so black, so ugly, so poor, so dumb…and he unconsciously recalled all the times he took their insults with only a returning joke in response. So when Tootie Mo hit him, Benji growled like a wild animal, momentarily distracting his larger foe. Then, summoning everything he had in his nose and throat, he gathered a huge loogie full of blood and phlegm in his mouth and spit it all right in Tootie Mo’s face.
Then he picked up dirt from the vacant lot they were fighting in and threw it right in Tootie Mo’s eyes.
Then he kicked Tootie Mo right in his balls. Hard.
Then…he proceeded to beat the…well, I’m a guardian…a spiritual advisor…a guide…so I don’t use profanity but…Benji proceeded to beat the living “you know what” out of Tazwell, a.k.a. Tootie Mo.
This is the incident Nick was referring to. The gangsters loved it, thought it was funny, and could not stop laughing about it. Benji was overwhelmed by their acceptance, so he just grinned, nodded, and shrugged through it all, but the thought came to him: “Look at who I’m laughing with though like it ain’t no thang…these guys are the ones even the teachers fear and they think I’m cool…”
Well…perhaps “cool” was too strong a word.
Still, not only were these gangsters friending Benji, inviting him to parties, hanging around, and treating him like he wasn’t a square but it also seemed…or maybe it was only in his mind…most people weren’t calling him “Doo Doo” anymore. More and more called him “Ice” like Nick did—with respect.
Benji did not want to let that go.
But there was still ANOTHER reason he did not want to surrender to his mama’s wishes.
Benji believed in God. He did and I was glad he did. It was not he didn’t believe, it was more like…it wasn’t a priority. So he found himself doing things even when he didn’t exactly know why he did it. Like the time when Benji was playing two-man baseball with Sid. Benji and his younger brother used to love to pretend they were the famous baseball players they saw on television. The boys would imitate the chaotic wind-up of Luis Tiant, the smooth, left-handed batting stance of Rod Carew, Joe Morgan’s shoulder twitch…the boys even copied the powerful forearm batting stance of Steve Garvey, and they would all argue over whose imitation was better. But one day, Benji got angry when Sid struck him out, and he chased Sid with the bat because his little brother refused to “throw it right.” When he couldn’t catch his brother, he threw the bat at him instead. He’d injured him so bad, Benji carried a bawling Sid back to the house and Mama tool him to the hospital. Mama looked at Benji like she knew Benji had something to do with it, and both she and the doctor asked Sid a million times how his injury happened.
Sid never told though. He said he fell down a hill.
Then there was the time Benji saw the gargantuan jar of quarters his grandpa was always adding to and kept in his work room. Benji loved his grandpa—his grandpa told funny stories and defended him against his mama when Benji messed up. He explained things to Benji…they walked his Grandpa’s dogs, Duke and Bo; he was the caddy when his Grandpa golfed; his grandpa took him to the amusement park and the barber shop and he never got tired, and he talked to Benji about life—he was patient with Benji. Nevertheless, all those quarters were too tempting a target. Benji would regularly sneak in when he thought no one was looking and steal some of those quarters and use them to buy sweets. Benji didn’t realize his grandpa knew all along…his grandpa told him on his deathbed as he was dying from stomach cancer and asked to see him. His grandpa revealed what he knew, but he smiled, held Benji’s hand, looked at him with big sunken eyes, forgiven him, and told him how he knew he was destined to be a great man, but he had to do good. Benji knew his grandpa forgave him, and he promised to do good. Even so, Benji cried in his room alone when his grandpa died a week later.
Benji forgot his promise to do good after a while, though.
He didn’t stop stealing either.
Then there was church. Benji thought it was the most boring thing ever, and he NEVER remembered anything anyone ever said or did there, unless one of the old ladies went crazy catching the Holy Spirit or something. On most Sundays, Benji found himself trying to keep from falling asleep rather than understanding anything the preachers said who seemed to say the same crap week after week after week. Some days, Mama would send them to Sunday School early while she was getting ready for the main service. Two hours of Sunday School, then a break…followed by two or three hours of the main service made it easier for Benji to convince his brothers to take the money they were supposed to give in Sunday School and spend it on a bunch of day-old donut holes at the donut shop instead. Whenever Mama asked, “What did you learn about in Sunday School today?”, Benji would reply for the group with something simple like “Ummm…Jesus?”
Regardless, Benji believed in God, but he thought the whole thing had a kind of “Maybe I’ll worry about it later” feel to it. So how could he stand in front of a bunch of people at youth conference?
They would see right through him.
So no…Benji loved it when his mama looked at him like she was looking at him now, but this was something he could not do. But the question loomed— how could he say no to Mama?
Easy. Too easy, actually.
He’d agree to Mama’s ridiculous expectation, but then…the morning of the stupid revival or whatever it was, he’d fake being sick. It was easy—Marcus showed him how to fake it but warned him not to do it too often, otherwise Mama would catch on. The boys had a few tricks. One was to sneak to the bathroom to drink hot water, but this method was sometimes difficult; for one thing, sometimes it was hard to sneak to the bathroom. More than once, Benji tried sneaking to the bathroom only to hear Mama call out, “Benji, is that you? Who’s up?” Once he was spotted, the trick was useless. The other problem was if a long time passed from the time Benji drank the hot water until the time his temperature was taken, he wouldn’t have a temperature anymore. Marcus said to hold the water in his mouth for as long as possible, but sometimes it didn’t work.
The third problem was the water. It was hot. Really hot. And who wanted to have a mouth full of hot water unless you were SURE it was going to work?
Another method was to shake the thermometer really hard while holding on to the tip. When Benji tried it, he instantly thought Marcus was a genius. Benji practiced this in secret so he knew exactly how many shakes it took to raise his temperature just enough so he could stay home from school but not raise it high enough to cause Mama to take him to the doctor. The trick here was Benji had to wait until he heard Mama busy cooking or doing something else she couldn’t break away from. If she was busy, she would either send one of his sisters in to take his temperature or come in, take his temperature, then go back out to take care of whatever was on the stove. If Mama wasn’t busy, she would always sit with him while the thermometer was in his mouth, so there would be no chance to shake the thermometer. One time, Benji tried to roll over with a pretend stomach ache so he could try to rub the thermometer tip with his tongue really fast hoping it would increase his temperature.
That method fooled the school nurse a couple of times. It fooled his Aunt Ann too, his mama’s older sister, whenever she came over back in the old days to watch them when Mama worked. She loved Benji like he was her own child. He wouldn’t really have a temperature but Aunt Ann just thought maybe the thermometer was broken.
But it never fooled Mama. Not once.
Benji’s favorite method of faking it was to complain he was cold. If it was not overused, it was almost foolproof. Benji really thought he deserved an award for his ability to fake a few shivers, which really sold the deception. It was important to eat a little more the day before, too, because under no circumstances could he say he was hungry or accept food while he was supposedly “sick.” So complaining about being cold, dressing warm with blankets, and a few shivers combined with faking not being hungry was just about guaranteed to work; it was also a good idea to act extra energetic the day before. Benji hadn’t tried this one in a few years because it was important to mix it up, but since it’d been a while since he’d tried it and because it was so successful, Benji thought this was the perfect opportunity to use it to avoid speaking at the teen church thing. Marcus would know he was faking but he wouldn’t snitch— the Frazier brothers don’t snitch.
Benji’s mama was still gazing at him with an adoring look. Benji smiled back, but not for the reason his mama thought he was smiling. His mama thought she’d gotten through to him.
But Benji was smiling…because he knew.
He knew he was going to deceive his mother.
And he knew it was going to work.