I took a deep breath and opened the door. It was quiet and dark, save the light of the moon shining through the corridor window. I walked straight into my room and fell onto my bed, letting my body crash down like a bag of bricks from above. I felt my shoulders stiffen and tighten as if two giant clamps had been clasped over them. I lay watching the ceiling, drifting halfway between dreams and sleep, between lullaby and song, between now and a time to come.
“I’m so tired,” I groaned. I closed my eyes and, in the darkness, saw little floating droplets of light scattered around the room, a constellation of fireflies; Orion’s belt, and Cassiopeia, gleaming. A voice shook my body and echoed through the entire room, calling my name.
“Yes, Mami,” I grumbled. She knocked and entered.
“Tu dors?” she whispered. I remained silent, nodded my reply, then feigned going back to sleep as if to convince her. She froze for a moment, then backed out of the room. I slowly got up and sat on the chair by the desk in the corner. I left the lights off and used the moonlight to guide me. I felt lead-heavy, sinking in a stagnant, odorous pool. The screen of my phone lit up bright on the desk in the all-encompassing darkness.
What you doing tonight? We’re going out. Getting the drinks in. Come.
Hey, what you up to?
Fine. Don’t reply then. Leave me on read…
Are you okay? I haven’t heard from you.
Bro, I need your help, man.
The messages came like a deluge. I could feel myself sinking deeper and deeper after each one; drowning. I picked up my phone and switched it off, then reached for the pack of K cider I had bought on my way home. Just one. Then, one more. I sat in the comfort of the darkness, and felt it smother me; a possessive lover.
I arrived late, but at least I came. There were some new faces at the door that greeted me eagerly as though I were a wayward stranger. I sat in the back row of chairs behind the pews. Pastor Baptiste stood at the front altar, looking up into the clouds as if there were no ceiling. The band played; a Phil Collins–esque drummer in an isolated booth, a keyboardist playing with a side-to-side Stevie Wonder sway, the lead electric guitarist with watered-down Jimi Hendrix riffs, and the acoustic guitarist strumming passionately like Ray LaMontagne. Accompanied by the young choir led by a Sister Deloris, at least that’s what I called her, as her real name always evaded me but her rendition of “Oh Happy Day” was uncanny, at the least, and at the most could have been a rehearsal for a part 3 of the Sister Act movie series. I noticed Mami in the front row, stretching her hands in praise, clapping in rhythm to the songs. Pastor Baptiste slowly picked up the microphone. He spoke softly, and slowly, but with a self-assured bass in his voice.
“Today, we will read from Romans chapter ten: verse nine and ten. We shall begin reading in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost:
“ ‘If you declare with your mouth, “Jesus is Lord,” and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you profess your faith and are saved.’ ”
Pastor Baptiste finished reading and closed the Bible. The congregation waited. I watched as the room was swept with stillness, a stillness I found myself outside of.
“Family, let me tell you about the time that I was saved by the Lord…
“Those of you who know me will know that I was a troubled man. I was led astray and lived a life in service of ego and greed and basic desires. My path to faith was not without its struggles, family, but the Lord’s work is never without struggle.”
“Amen,” a solitary voice called out, then was followed by others.
“But it is promised: those who work for the Lord in the now will be abundantly rewarded in the hereafter.”
“Amen!” the entire congregation chorused. Pastor Baptiste continued.
“It was a cold autumn evening, maybe even night. All I remember is that the darkness had long fallen, and the wind was howling like a wild animal. I was sitting in a cold alleyway leaning against a lamppost in absolute agony and despair. Sex, drink, drugs, debt, violence—you name it, I did it all. At that moment, I heard a voice, something clear and distinct, cutting through the noise like diamond on glass. I couldn’t tell you what it said, but I heard it and felt it. I knew I could not go on this way, or else I would die.
“Family, many times in our lives, we know better, but we don’t do better. And it takes until we are at our most desperate moment for us to be rescued. But just know that the Lord will never abandon you, his light watches over you wherever you are, and wherever you shall go.”
Rapturous applause filled the air, accompanied by enthusiastic whoops and cheers; a bright sun beamed through stained glass windows; colored light fell upon the congregation. I waited outside while people slowly spilled out to leave, catching up in friendly chatter over free tea and biscuits. I pretended to be on my phone to avoid eye contact and unwanted conversation, but there’s only so much of social media you can pretend to scroll before you have to look up; the nerves start to kick in when your battery reaches red and you realize you have to socialize sooner or later.
Mami didn’t know I was coming. I wanted to surprise her, make her feel it was my own will. She had been attending this church for a few years, after a few years of church-hopping. Finding a good church is like finding the right sports team to support; you have to believe that the players want to be there as much as you do. That isn’t what she told me, but I figured it made about as much sense as any other reason I had been given: the choir, the music, the preaching, or any reason I would use; the food. I was glad she had finally found a place. A place that she had settled into quite comfortably in the informal role of church counselor. She was there for everybody, whether on the phone or in person. And this was reflected in the way people flocked to her.
Mami stood by the entrance with a few people ready to leave. During their conversation, I went up and tapped her on her shoulder. She turned and gasped. Her reaction exceeded my expectations. Have I not come to church for that long? I wondered. I forgot how long it had been of her asking me if I’m coming to church. I always found a creative way to say no without saying no. She would refuse to speak to me for the entire week, looking at me as if I weren’t her only son, as if she had a backup to replace me, one who wouldn’t disappoint her. Perhaps it was her way of showing she cared.
She yelped excitedly, causing some of the other church members to look around. “This is my son.” I was met with stares of intrigue from some of the women and head nods of affirmation from some of the men. Mami pulled me by the hand and took me back through the church, all the way to Pastor Baptiste, who was surrounded by a group of people indulging in his presence, drinking him up as though horses at a stream.
“Pastor, I’d like you to meet my son.”
“Hi, I think we’ve met before,” I said, remembering the last time Mami dragged me to meet him in the same fashion.
“Praise be, brother. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Interesting story you told earlier.”
“I am merely the mouthpiece, it is He…”—he looked upward—“who tells the story.” I too looked up, not sure what I was expected to see.
I said goodbye to Mami; we hugged and parted ways. I looked back, watching her and Pastor Baptiste walk into the church, his hand softly cupping hers. I left knowing that, at least, I had bought some time; knowing I would not be asked if I was going to church, if I had been saying my prayers, if I was worried about going to hell or saving my soul; things that did not concern me. Walking through the high street full of people, I picked up the phone.
“Yo, it’s me. I’ve finished, shall I come through?”