BY THE FALL of 1980, I no longer felt the internal freedom theater had given me, nor was I walking in the joy I derived from my initial salvation experience of November 1979. As I think back, I had become enslaved to rules, judgments, and traditions no one explained to me. I just accepted them—even those that seemed arbitrary—because at the time, I thought they were essential to salvation.

Penny moved in with one of the sisters and her children in New Britain. For the first few weeks of the semester, I would spend Sunday night there, returning to Middletown in time for my class on Monday evening. Not wanting to inconvenience the woman Penny roomed with any longer, Penny started bringing me home on Sunday nights. My old roommate Michelle and I were roommates again at the William Street high-rise. On the weekends she went out of town, I would sleep in her room, allowing Penny to stay in mine.

This semester, I took two English courses, a religion course, and two theatre courses. I studied standard stage diction and began writing a play to be performed at the student-run ’92 Theater during the spring semester. I loved studying voice and learning how to care for my vocal instrument more effectively. I felt a little uncomfortable lying on the floor wearing skirts and wondered if my sweats-clad classmates found my attire strange, but I made it work. With my play unfinished by the end of the semester, I deferred my grade.

I spent part of the semester pursuing a young man from church who described me as, “a rushing mighty wind.” I was drawn to him because he loved the Lord, I reasoned. I was more attracted to his need for nurturance. His lack of interest answered the question from for colored girls regarding whether or not “I could stand not being wanted when I wanted to be wanted.” Like the lady in red, I decided I could not. However, I felt punted in no predetermined direction, as a football kicked by a young child.

In early December, a friend from a church we fellowshipped with just outside Boston invited me to spend a couple of days with her. Bishop Wilson was preaching there for a few nights, and the saints from my church would be coming to Saturday’s service. I arranged a ride back to Connecticut in the church’s van. One of the brothers from my church, a Harvard law student, offered to give me a campus tour. While there, I visited the English department to get information about the graduate program. I didn’t plan to apply, but the visit gave me assurance I could succeed in the Harvard intellectual community had I chosen that path.

My friend’s roommate had been a professional modern dancer before joining their Apostolic Church. In conformance with the no worldly pursuits tenet of Pentecostalism, she had abandoned dance. I think she found a job in an office instead. Something clicked, or rather, erupted in my head. Her happiness with her decision gave me pause as I questioned whether or not theatrical studies were in sync with my new lifestyle. Should I be a theater major? was my internal question. My mind fought the possibility of God requiring me to give up drama to serve Him more perfectly. Then again, I was determined to walk according to the Master’s plan, whatever that might be.

The night my congregation was expected for service, my friend’s pastor announced that an emergency had forced the saints from Connecticut to forego the service, leaving me without transportation back to school. I had five dollars. When it was time to collect the church offering, I put all of my money in seed money, in Apostolic parlance. It was not enough to get home. I said a prayer in my head, asking for the situation to work favorably for me.

At the end of the service, after greeting Bishop Wilson, I explained my quandary. “I’ll take you back to Connecticut, daughter,” he assured me. I knew him fairly well, having ridden in Dee Dee’s car with him on our road trip to Tennessee during my Christmas break in 1979.

It was the end of the semester. When I came home from Massachusetts, I had a few days to write a paper for each of the two English classes I was taking. My mind whirled with thoughts of whether or not studying theater lined up with salvation, I got no schoolwork accomplished. The instructors granted me incompletes for each of those classes.

I planned to go home briefly for the Christmas holiday before returning to spend the second half of my vacation with the saints. I would stay with my pastor and his family. On the Friday before Christmas, one of the brothers came to drive me from Middletown to New Britain. I only needed to pack my clothes. Instead, an unknown inner force compelled me to pack up my apartment, including the pots, pans and dishes. Because it took extra time to load everything in the car, we were late for church.

As often happened, in deference to my dramatic flair, I was called forward to do a reading. Rather than read a religious poem, as usual, I chose the ‘measure him right’ speech from A Raisin in the Sun, reading with an accusatory tone.

At Sunday morning service, I grabbed one of the tambourines from a pew and played it during testimony service. Never competent with a tambourine before, it seemed I had suddenly become a skilled percussionist. And when the preacher delivered the morning message, I recorded as much of it as I could in long hand, like a stenographer would, not wanting to miss the extraordinary message I believed the Lord was communicating directly to me.