Born at Dawn (19 page)

“What did you say your name was again?” Marvin asked, shrugging his shoulders to shake himself out of Bridget's grip. She was using her fingers and lips to explore the rugged terrain of Marvin's body, making it hard for Marvin to focus on something as simple as a name.

“Yes, this is Marvin Barclay, but who is this?”

“Mr. Barclay, this is Ms. Reid, the social worker at Leadership Academy,” she said, carefully pronouncing each word. “I am sorry that you have to begin your Monday this way, Mr. Barclay. Keith's promotion is in doubt and James's teachers would like to know if he has been receiving any sort of speech therapy or counseling.”

“Promotion in doubt? Counseling? For what? There's nothing wrong with him. He's just not that talkative,” Marvin said, attempting to deny the crisis that had besieged the family two years ago.

“Mr. Barclay, do you know what PTSD is?”

“Yeah, it's a nice way for y'all to call soldiers crazy. My boys ain't crazy,” Marvin declared slightly on the defensive.

“No one is saying they are crazy. Keith has become more aggressive and less focused on his coursework, and it is my understanding James has not spoken since your wife left. I think it's time you sought some professional help for your family.”

Marvin cleared his throat, readying himself to deflate her ideas. “Listen, miss, my boys are doing just fine. The next time you're looking for someone's business to mind, make sure it ain't mine.”

Bridget pumped her fist beside Marvin's and nodded in agreement.

“Mr. Barclay, this is a courtesy and my suggestion isn't really optional. Many teachers have voiced their concerns about both Keith and James to me, and if they don't begin attending some sort of counseling program then I will be getting child services involved.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“No, I'm just doing my job, Mr. Barclay, and it's time for you to begin doing yours. I know that mental health issues are touchy, especially in the African American community, but this is not a time to let pride or stigma get in your way. You must find someone to counsel the boys. When you come in to sign the papers stating you are aware that Keith may be held back, you can let us know who is providing your sons counseling, or we can assist you in finding a good match. The guidance counselor is available to meet with you any day this week. For which day of the week should I schedule the appointment?”

“I'll get back to you.” Marvin pressed the talk button on the house phone and slammed the receiver down onto the table. Reclining in the chair with his arms folded and his foot rapidly tapping the ground he conjured up as many excuses as he could to invalidate what the social worker suggested.

His excuses turned into wishes. He wished he could get some guidance from his own father right now, but even if he were alive, his advice probably would not have been beneficial.

The more Marvin thought about his own father, he realized when it came to the maintenance of his household he had become an absentee landlord just like him. His father was diligent in taking care of all the surface matters. Marvin and his mother always had food, a roof over their heads, and a little pocket change; however, when it came to the interior, his father was nowhere to be found. The most Marvin could recall getting out of him by way of conversation was, “Take care of your mom when I'm not around, kid.”

Interrupting his musings, Bridget gently gripped his thigh and asked, “What happened, Marv?”

Bridget was perched beside him on the edge of the couch staring intensely at him. This was what he wanted, someone with whom to share his pain, but he wasn't satisfied with her presence. His wish was that Cynthia was there, then he wouldn't be facing this alone. Teenagers are bound to get into something, and whatever the boys got themselves into, it would have been easier to handle with her by his side.

“Marvin, talk to me. What is it?” Bridget asked with her lips poked out to form a little pout.

“The school says I have to take the boys to counseling.”

Bridget turned up her lip. “Counseling? Do you want those people all up in our business?”

The world seemed to be closing in on him again. Johnnie Walker Black could take care of this, or he could actually take care of this, but how? Rising from his spot on the couch, Marvin began pacing.

“Marvin—”

“Shush,” he said, cutting Bridget off. “This is way too much for Monday morning. I just need to figure out how I'm going to do this. That low-rate health insurance Milton offers doesn't cover counseling, and you're right, I don't want them all in my business.”

All the muscles in Marvin's back tightened as the thought of displaying his dirty laundry to a stranger entered his head. There was no way he was going to sit in front of someone and boohoo about his problems and have his sons sitting up there crying about how hard life was.

Bridget slithered up behind him. The satin of her nightgown brushed against his skin as she began rubbing his back. “Don't get all worked up.”

“That's easy for you to say.” Marvin wriggled out of her grasp. “You're not going to have social services investigating you or trying to take your kids away.”

“Don't get short with me. This ain't my fault,” Bridget insisted.

“You're right, Bridge. Come here.” She scurried into his extended arms. Marvin kissed her forehead lightly. “I just need to figure out how to deal with this now,” he stated, squeezing her tightly.

 

 

Marvin's ascent up the hill from St. Nicholas Avenue to Amsterdam was painful. With each step he took toward Mount Carmel a small fraction of his pride died. He didn't want to ask Pastor David for anything that even resembled assistance, but Pastor David knew his sons well and could advise him or direct Marvin to the place where he could go to get the help that was necessary for him to keep what was left of his family together.

He'd purposefully waited until noon to visit the church in order to avoid running into any of Pastor David's fake bodyguards or anyone else he knew. He had to maintain his bad boy rep in the streets.

When he reached the church, he could see some lights bursting through the windows, breaking up the dense fog that covered the city. With a bowed head Marvin walked through the doors and up the aisle of the sanctuary. His eyes roamed the perimeter of the church in search of a member of the congregation or one warm body. Being alone in the church really made Marvin nervous. By the time he reached the altar, he found four warm bodies bent in supplication; one of those bodies belonged to the person he was in search of.

“David.”

Pastor David immediately raised his head and peered over his shoulder. Although at least two decades had passed since they'd spent time together, Marvin could still read Pastor David; the twitching in his left eye meant he was pissed. The only thing Marvin didn't know was what the cause was. Did him interrupting prayer bother him, or was it the fact that Marvin wouldn't call him Pastor David? He wasn't sure why. Something in him would not allow him to call a man he knew had once robbed people—a man who he'd seen nearly beat several people to death all on separate occasions—Pastor. And he certainly was not going to show any reverence to someone who abandoned him.

“How can I help you, Brother Marvin?” Pastor David gripped the altar, using it as a crutch to pull him up.

Marvin took his time answering Pastor David, pausing to frame his response in such a way that it didn't seem as though he needed the pastor or his God. “Can we talk some place private, man?”

Pastor David whispered some words to the three people on the floor praying then held up two fingers indicating Marvin should follow him. Pastor David led Marvin down to his office.

“What is it?” Pastor David demanded as soon as he crossed the threshold.

“The social worker at the boys' school called me today and said that they need to attend counseling or else they're going to sic child services on me,” Marvin said quickly divulging what he considered to be a very personal matter.

“Do you want me to pray for you?”

Marvin shook his head and stuffed his fists into his pockets to help reduce the risk of him hauling off and punching the scriptures out of David. “Do you think this is some kind of joke?”

“No, brother, that's what I do when I think something is serious; I pray and that's what I instruct the members of my church to do, which is why I was upstairs praying with that family when you walked in.” Pastor David walked to his desk, flipped through some papers then looked at Marvin again. “If you don't want prayer, Marvin, what do you want?”

“I wanted . . . I mean I thought you would know where I could send the boys to get some counseling. I don't want to lose them.” Pastor David's eyes widened as Marvin began to expose his sensitive side. “I know you don't believe me. I wouldn't expect you to understand. I love my boys.”

“I don't doubt that you love them, but your brand of love is not real. If you love them, you'd consider getting yourself some counseling as well,” Pastor David suggested.

“Me.” Marvin rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Me, Marvin Barclay, attend counseling like some little—”

“How are you going to have that kind of attitude and send your sons to counseling? Discussing what bothers you is not a demonstration of your weakness. Being able to articulate your feelings without being ashamed of them is a demonstration of your power as a man. Why don't you model that for them? I'll even counsel you.”

Marvin broke out into laughter. “You can't be serious. Now you want to be my friend after deserting me? Are you serious?” Marvin hawked and spit into the garbage can to get rid of the sour taste that filled his mouth when he thought of David's transformation from thug to pastor and what that meant for a then-sixteen-year-old Marvin. It meant he'd lost the only person in the world he called friend. He lost the only person he knew would give his life for him. Pastor David had taken on multiple knife-wielding gang members to save Marvin.

“If you're serious then I am,” Pastor David said, intruding on Marvin's stroll down memory lane. “Jesus never asked us to do anything He wouldn't, and as a good father you shouldn't either. Model this process for them.”

“You want me to share my pain with you?” Marvin pointed at Pastor David. “This was a waste of my time. Why are you Christians always telling people what Jesus did? He did that stuff because He could.”

“And so can you, Marvin.”

After receiving two more follow-up phone calls from the social worker at Leadership Academy and some encouraging words from Bridget, Wednesday morning Marvin found himself rocking back and forth in one of the comfy chairs in the room that Pastor David referred to as the Upper Room.

It just looked like a conference room with pictures of various scenes from the Bible. One picture struck a chord within Marvin: Jesus on the cross surrounded by darkness. Marvin did not want to equate himself with God. He wasn't that crazy or arrogant, yet he felt like he was carrying the world on his shoulders. While he meditated on the black that surrounded him, without Marvin's permission tears streamed down his face. He didn't realize he was crying until Pastor David handed him a small box of tissues.

Blotting his tears, Marvin initiated the session. “So, how does this thing work, David?”

“Well, first we establish boundaries. We figure out what's off-limits and what's allowed. For instance, calling me David is off-limits. If this is going to work, we both have to take each other seriously,” Pastor David stated matter-of-factly before unbuttoning his navy blue blazer and taking a seat across from Marvin at the conference table.

Marvin scoffed at the idea of creating boundaries when the two of them once had no boundaries. They were joined together like sneakers and shoelaces and now he wanted to set up some regulations.

“Nah, man.” Marvin shook his head and drew a line across his neck. “That's a no-go. You're not going to tell me what I can and can't say. That's not going to work for me.”

“Listen,” Pastor David said, sitting upright with his hands neatly folded on the table, “drawing boundaries goes both ways. You can tell me which areas in your life are off-limits and I won't bring them up; at least, not right away. My only request is that you refer to me as Pastor David. Respect me as I have respected you. Now, if you can agree to this let's open in prayer.”

“Do I have to hold your hand?”

“Not if you don't want to, Marvin.”

“Go ahead and pray . . . Pastor.”

Marvin closed his eyes and latched on to the words. He recognized strength, faith, man, humble, forgive, sins. Although he couldn't follow or grasp the scriptures Pastor David recited as he prayed, Marvin could feel something stirring inside of him. He refused to attribute it to the Holy Ghost or the tinge of jealousy he felt toward Pastor David's relationship with God or the peace and tranquility that radiated from his face when Marvin was all twisted into a knot around himself.

Please just say
. . .

“Amen.” They exhaled together.

Scratching his goatee, Marvin began, “Well, you already know why I'm here. I need some help. There, I said it. I need help.”

A smile broke out across Pastor David's face.

“Now don't go getting all excited over there, Pastor. I'm not saying I'm getting baptized tomorrow. I'm just saying that I've made a mess of things and I need to know how to fix it,” Marvin said rubbing his head.

“Follow Jesus.”

“Is Jesus your answer for everything?”

“Yes.”

“Well, if Jesus has all the answers, could you get heaven on the line and ask Him why He couldn't make my wife stay? I mean she was a member of your great congregation and all.” Marvin stretched his arms out wide and waited to see Pastor David wince after that potshot.

“Have you asked yourself what you did to make her go?”

Marvin winced. “That's below the belt. I know I haven't been the best husband, but I can only be the man I know how to be. My pops wasn't around.”

Pastor David raised an eyebrow. Marvin tried to explain why being raised by a single mother was more than a sob story. “Hear me out, Pastor; don't judge me. You know he wasn't around, and when he did show up, regardless of what condition he was in or what he did, my mother doted on him. I . . . I . . . I just wanted a small piece of the glimmer of love I'd seen so often in my mother's eyes when she looked at my father.”

“Even if it required you to use a little muscle to get it?”

Using one hand, Marvin massaged his temples. Apparently Pastor David wasn't holding anything back.

“Another low blow,” Marvin cited.

“You used to box if my memory serves me correctly.” Pastor David bobbed from side to side in his chair like he was shadowboxing. “How do you recover from a low blow?”

“A punk takes the five minutes to recover and a fighter thugs it out.”

“Then the question is which one are you and what is it that you are willing to fight for.”

“If you're asking me did I hit Cynthia, then the answer is yes, I did. Does that give her right to walk out and leave me with these boys? After all my father did to my mother, she didn't up and disappear. How many women you know do that kind of thing? She promised she would be here.”

“Our time is almost up, Marvin, so I can't answer all your questions. There is one who can and will, whether it's in this life or the one to come. I want you to consider this until our next session: what did you promise her? Is there a way for you to keep that promise even now? Do you want to close us out in prayer?”

“Do I have a choice?” Marvin inquired.

“Yes, that's why I asked.” Pastor David chuckled. “You don't have to if you don't want to.”

“I'll do it. You Christians take too long when you're praying. Give me your hands.” Marvin paused shocked by his own words. Pastor David extended his arms across the table and placed his palms into Marvin's hands. “Lord, we thank you for the birds and the bees, the flowers and the trees, and we pray that someday you meet our needs. Amen.”

“Birds and bees?”

“Shut up,” Marvin said waving his hand at Pastor David. “My mama taught me that prayer.” Marvin and Pastor David fell over the table laughing hysterically.

“When you were a child, you spake as a child. Now you're a man. It's time to put away those childish things, Marv. Read 1 Corinthians 13 this week. It's all about love. You need love. That's the only thing that will keep this family together.”

Marvin closed his eyes and spoke to the Lord in his heart. Love was a strong word that he'd had no use for until now. If Marvin was going to learn to love, the Lord was going to have to show him how personally.

A week later the boys joined Marvin in the Upper Room at Mount Carmel for the next session.

“What are we doing here, Pops? I thought you didn't like Pastor David,” Keith inquired while they waited for Pastor David to join them.

“There are some things we need to work on, boys, and we have to do them together.”

“Yes, unity,” Pastor David chimed in on the conversation as he entered the room.

Marvin observed his friend's attire. There was nothing too flamboyant about his appearance: freshly ironed khakis and a plaid button shirt.

“It takes unity to make a family work,” Pastor David continued, “and the only way you're going to be unified is if you use the love of Christ to hold you together.”

Clearing his throat, Marvin looked at Pastor David. “We're not here to get saved, Pastor. Let's just run a regular session.” Marvin unzipped his beige track jacket. “Let's deal with the issues at hand. My fourteen-year-old son is going to be repeating eighth grade.” Marvin slapped Keith across the back of the head. “And this one over here”—Marvin pointed at eleven-year-old James, who was seated to the left of him with his thumb in his mouth—“thinks he's a mime. I read that chapter you told me to read, and I don't see where the Lord mentioned anything about that.”

“I see you're prepared to dive in head first, Marvin. Let me take my seat.” Pastor David hustled around the conference table to his seat. “You want to open us up in prayer, Marvin?”

“I'm good. Do your thing, preacher man,” Marvin said nodding at Pastor David.

Pastor David opened the session with a great prayer that invoked the God of Abraham and Jacob. Marvin watched Pastor David through one eye, wondering if this prayer was really going to be powerful enough to touch his situation.

The boys shot up like bamboo reeds. Every time Marvin blinked, James's legs had gotten longer and his silence greater. Meanwhile, Keith's mouth had gotten smarter and his heart colder. Marvin had very few moments of clarity, and there were very few days that he recalled being sober besides these two counseling session since Cynthia left. Something was definitely working, yet Marvin still didn't buy into this whole “Jesus can fix it” motto or the idea of counseling.

“Marvin, since we've met privately already, I'm going to open the floor up to Keith and James. This is a safe place, and you guys are free to discuss what you want, and you can say what you want. Nothing is off-limits unless you say it is. Because this is a safe place, we can set boundaries so that you feel comfortable.”

“Does he have to be here?” Keith tilted his head toward Marvin.

“What? I know this boy done lost it now.” Marvin fumed slapping his hand on the table. “Yes, I have to be here, and I'm going to be here. I'm your father. Where do you get off saying something like that?”

Until Pastor David shouted out his name, Marvin didn't notice he had a handful of Keith's shirt in his hand and was using it to choke Keith.

“Let him go, Marvin. Don't be like Lavell,” Pastor David cried, shuffling around the table.

At the mention of his dead father's name, Marvin took stock of the situation. He looked over his shoulder at his young son who stared blankly with tears streaming down his face then at Keith whom he held tightly in his strong grip.

Keith's eyes bulged as he sputtered, “See, see this is why he shouldn't be here.”

“Remember what he did to you, Marvin,” Pastor David said as he tried to pry Marvin's hand open. “He hurt you. I know he hurt you, Marvin. I saw him hurt you.” Pastor David continued to try and peel apart Marvin's fingers.

Marvin wanted to release Keith. Yet as the memory of Marvin's abusive father surfaced and its grasp latched onto Marvin his grip on Keith tightened.

“Marvin, let him go. I'm begging you just as I begged Lavell that night he choked you and everyone else at your mother's house looked on. Let him go, Marvin. Let him go.”

Marvin's grip loosened, and he dropped Keith back into his chair.

“Don't ever bring his name up again. I'm not like him. That's my boundary.”

“Marvin, you're doing yourself and the boys a disservice if we don't discuss the things Lavell did to you and the scars they left you with.”

“The only thing he left me with was some old albums, and that's about as much time as I am going to dedicate to talking about him. I already told you how I felt about not having him around, and I'm not going to discuss what happened when he was around.” Marvin arched his neck and stiffened his back and took on his fighting stance until Pastor David retreated to his seat on the other side of the table.

“Okay, Keith. James, the floor is yours.” Pastor David looked over at Marvin. “Marvin, just try to control yourself.”

Marvin looked at Keith to the right of him. His attack had turned his candor into indignation. He sat there with his lips curled into a furious frown and kicked the leg of the table repeatedly.

“Keith, James, is there anything you would like to say?” Pastor David asked once more.

“No, this is about as much time as I want to dedicate to this discussion,” Keith said.

Everyone in the room focused their attention on James. Marvin hoped for a break, for an opening; or was it an open door that Christians prayed for? It didn't matter. He just wanted to hear his son's voice again.

James looked at Marvin with his lip poked out. Disappointment seemed to be tattooed onto the eyes of everyone when they looked at Marvin.

“Pastor David, I'm sorry we wasted your time today.” Marvin eased out of his chair. “Let's go.”

“Marvin, the Lord allowed some useful things to come up. It's only a waste if we don't find a way to use all of your pain to glorify God. James, I want you to write down whatever you feel and whatever you want to say to your father. Keith, I want you to consider your father's pain, and Marvin, I want you to consider discussing Lavell a little more. We touched on the impact he had on your life in our first session, and it would be really good if you model this process for the boys.”

“Yeah, I'll think about it.” Marvin snickered, marching out of the room before the boys. He plodded down the narrow wooden steps of the church and out the door, contemplating what would happen if he dug up the bones in his closet. The brisk wind that met him slapped him as hard as the anguish etched on his sons' faces did when they walked out of the church.