The Retreat (11 page)

Quincy could not remember the last time he laughed so hard. For that matter, he could not even remember Chauncey ever laughing. He did not know that laughter could exist in such a stiff-neck.

“Man, I need to put that on YouTube, you and that golf club!” Jamal laughed while lying down.

“You can't make money off of YouTube, but America's Funniest Home Videos is a different story.” Quincy continued to laugh, then pointed toward Will. “And Wesley Snipes over here came out of nowhere shooting. Talking about you go hunting. And where you from again?”

“Long Beach!” Will said.

“What are you hunting in the middle of Long Beach?”

There was another round of laughter, and then Quincy lay down on his bed and played with his BlackBerry. Jamal sat at the edge of his bed and started to do arm stretches. Chauncey lay next to his nightstand, thumbing through his Bible, while Will sat in a chair next to a table.

“This has made the whole weekend worth it to me,” Jamal said.

“As funny as the whole raccoon thing is, it's nothing in comparison to Dr. Watson's sermon. That man was on fire tonight,” Chauncey said.

“Whatever.” Quincy rolled his eyes and continued to play with his BlackBerry.

“That man was deep. I can't lie,” Will said.

“Is this your first time at a Retreat?” Quincy asked Will.

“Yeah. I used to go to church with my moms, but I wasn't feeling it. I mean, they made Jesus seem like a punk!” Will said.

“Oh, my Lord. That's not true!” Chauncey popped up.

“Is he always like this?” Will asked Jamal, referring to Chauncey.

“Pretty much,” Quincy interjected.

“Why do you feel that way about Jesus?” Chauncey asked.

Will shrugged. “I don't know all this stuff about turning the other cheek, loving your enemies, and Him being spit on and not doing nothing. That's weak to me. There's no way I could survive in this world if I thought and acted that way. There is no way Jesus could survive in my world.”

“That's where you're wrong. The scripture says that he was wounded for our transgression and condemned for our iniquities.” Chauncey started to spank his Bible.

“I ain't trying to be funny or nothing, but I just got out of church. I mean, you didn't even listen to the man before, now you're spitting out scriptures at him,” Quincy said.

“I have to combat such nonsense with the Word. I'm serious about this Christian walk. I've memorized over six hundred verses.”

“So what? You're at a cocktail party and all of a sudden you just start spitting out scriptures?” Quincy asked.

“I don't go to cocktail parties.” Chauncey sounded accosted by Quincy's statement.

“I'm not surprised. I couldn't imagine you going, or anyone inviting you for that matter,” Quincy replied.

“Hold on, hold on. Will brought up a real serious issue.” Jamal turned to Will. “Jesus was not a punk. He chose to be a powerful example instead of an example of his power. It's easy to disrespect people when they disrespect you. The real power comes when you choose to go against the grain and not react.'”

“Amen!” Chauncey said.

“And it's offering time,” Quincy said as he sat up.

Will and Quincy enjoyed a good laugh.

“I also can't get into the whole sex thing. I mean, my father raised me that a man don't turn down nothing unless the girl is fat, ugly, fertile, or has an STD,” Will remarked.

“Your father sounds like my father. Otis Bryant?” Jamal asked.

Quincy could see the Christians closing in on the new guy, and though Quincy understood that Chauncey and Jamal were only trying to help Will, he could not stand to see anyone get double-teamed.

“I can kind of see where he's coming from,” Quincy said.

“No, Q, that's horrible. That's why so many men have problems now,” Jamal said.

“I'm not saying that I totally agree, but look at him.” Quincy pointed at Will. “What are you, eighteen, nineteen?”

“I'm nineteen,” Will answered.

“See, when I was his age, you wouldn't find me at no church event. I'd be in a car, cruising the boulevard. I had to go see those honey dips, why you playing?”

“You're just corrupting his mind. The Bible is clear on sex outside of marriage. It's a sin,” Chauncey said.

“C-man, you can't tell me you ain't slipped up and got a piece,” Quincy said with a smile.

“Actually, I haven't.” Chauncey was nonchalant in his remark.

“You're a virgin?” Will asked.

“Yes, I'm a virgin. I am waiting for the right woman. God's best!”

“What about when you weren't saved?” Jamal asked.

“I got saved when I was eight years old. God's way is the only way I've known.”

Will let out a long whistle and Quincy nodded in agreement to Will. Quincy could not wrap his head around what Chauncey had just said. If it weren't Chauncey spilling this ridiculous story, he would not believe it.

“C, you're older than me. If you're still a virgin, that's a sin! And waiting for the right woman, she's going to be eligible for social security by the time you get ready.”

“I'm only thirty-seven,” Chauncey replied.

“Keeping it one hundred. I respect you, Chauncey, for waiting that long. I wish I was that strong,” Jamal said.

“You are—we all are—and we all got the light of God flowing inside of us.” Chauncey made eye contact with everyone.

“Speaking of light, I'm about to hit the lights. I'm tired and I know we got a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Will took off his shirt and started to flex his muscles in his white tank top. Jamal also had on a white tank top, and he too started to flex his muscles. Not to be outdone, Quincy took his shirt off and started to flex his muscles. Of course, his flabby stomach was evident through his white T-shirt.

Quincy vowed to join a gym as soon he returned home. Quincy did not notice that Chauncey had gone into the bathroom until he heard the sound of a flush. The door opened, and Chauncey emerged in a blue nightgown. Now Quincy was convinced that Chauncey was a virgin.

“I will say one thing though, Will. I'm not a virgin, but I wish I would have waited. There is something special about waiting until you find your wife,” Jamal said.

“I don't, playboy. What if I waited and she turns out to be horrible at sex?” Will asked.

“You're a guy; she would have to be darn near a corpse for that to happen,” Quincy said as he lay back down in the bed.

All the men laughed, and Quincy even caught a laugh from Chauncey. For the first night, Quincy would have to admit that it was eventful. One could only wonder what was in store for tomorrow.

The alarm woke Chauncey up and seemed to only cause a minor disruption in the sleep of his roommates. He avoided hitting the snooze button and switched the alarm off. The paleness of dawn peeked through a small curtain opening. Chauncey got up, put on a black sweat suit, and grabbed his Bible as he exited the door.

The ocean water was gray and choppy. Seagulls had already started their routine of flying about. Chauncey found a spot on the beach next to the rocks where he planned on having a morning devotional. He brushed some of the sand off the rocks and sat on one of the smooth stones.

He saw all the endless footprints in the sand and thought about the poem “Footprints.” He loved the last line of the poem, where the author sees a single set of footprints, and how that was when God carried him.

“Lord, I'm looking for you to carry me today.” Chauncey lifted his hands up in praise.

While his eyes were closed, Chauncey imagined his brother lying in his hospital bed. In the midst of crashing waves and the smell of seaweed, Chauncey contemplated how sin was completing its work with Henry. The scary thing was that Chauncey did not feel anything for his brother. He was not even concerned with his brother's soul burning in eternal fire. In Chauncey's mind, he had done all and sacrificed all for his brother. The turning point came a year ago when Henry barged into Chauncey's home uninvited.

“Get out of here, Henry.” Chauncey pointed at the door.

Henry continued to ravage through the living room of Chauncey's home, breaking anything that was not of value.

“I need the money.” Henry smashed a porcelain vase. “They going to kill me unless I have it.”

Chauncey was petrified with anger and fear. His baby brother was possessed. He seemed demonic and hell-bent on destroying himself and anyone who stood in his way. “You need Jesus. The devil's got a hold on you.”

“I need the money! I promise I'll get help afterward.”

“That's what you always say, but it's all lies.”

Henry began to rub his head as if voices in his head were getting louder and louder.

“You know it would break Momma's heart to see you like this. Let me help you,” Chauncey pleaded.

Henry stopped his pacing and then locked eyes with the gold necklace around Chauncey's neck. The chain was a gift from Chauncey's mother. It did not carry much value in Henry's case, but, nevertheless, it was priceless to Chauncey. A chill crept along Chauncey's spine. He recognized the look on Henry's face. It was the same look his father used to get whenever he craved something to support his heroin addiction. That same looked caused Chauncey's father to beat his mother's head into a kitchen counter until she gave him all of her valuable jewelry. All except the cross that she gave to a twelve-year-old Chauncey, who was too badly beaten to protect his mother.

Twenty years ago, their father ran up a debt with a drug dealer that he couldn't pay, so he took his own life and his wife's life as well. A fit of rage left the children without any parents. It had been twenty years since Chauncey's melancholic ascension to patriarch of his family; he now confronted his brother, who had the same demonic look.

“Don't you even think about it,” Chauncey said as he tucked his chain into his shirt.

Henry rushed over to Chauncey as he retreated into a corner. Henry reached for Chauncey's chain and Chauncey tried as best he could to keep Henry from getting it. But he felt the chain break apart, and despite how hard he fought, Henry was the stronger of the two.

“Let go, Henry,” Chauncey pleaded.

Henry responded to Chauncey's pleas with his fist. Chauncey felt his nose fracture and his air disrupt. Before he could recover, Chauncey received a punch in the stomach and he fell to the floor. Henry took the chain, along with a couple of other valuables.

Chauncey made a vow that he would not ever allow his brother to get within arm's reach again. He no longer trusted him and would not stick his neck out for him. The thought of the vow filled Chauncey with so much rage that he closed his Bible and bent it until it resembled a scroll.

He placed the Bible to his lips and tears streamed down his face. He had been kicking his brother out for his entire life and always opening the door for Henry to come back in.

Now he found himself in a position where he did not want to open the door for his own brother. In his heart, he kind of enjoyed his brother's suffering, because he'd lost so much behind Henry and it was time for his brother to feel the consequences for his actions. Chauncey knew that this was not a way for a Christian to feel. Only God could change both his mind and his heart.

 

Jamal was too active to sit still and pray. He arose Saturday morning to find that Chauncey had already gotten up and left. Jamal threw on his gray sweats and white cut-off shirt as he headed out the door. He started jogging along the shore. The icy air gave him the confidence that his body temperature would balance out with the strong wind. He passed by Chauncey, who sat along the rocks with his Bible rolled up in his hands. His lungs started to burn as he remembered to breathe in and out. He could not shake the advice that Quincy had given him in the car; it bothered him like a hangnail. He thought about how he got mixed up in the situation. He only put together partial images of what had happened that night.

“It's cracking at this club tonight,” Clay said while he danced to the music.

“Yeah, it's full of dime pieces.” Jamal surveyed the landscape of the club.

Everyone on the dance floor was coated in candy apple red neon lights as they danced to Dr. Dre's “The Next Episode.” Jamal and Clay made their way to the bar. They squeezed their way through tight, curvaceous women, and once they arrived at the bar, they nudged each other to notice that the bartender was cute.

She had a face too young to be a bartender and hair that was wild and curly. “What can I get you gentlemen?”

“Coke and Hen,” Clay said.

“A screwdriver,” Jamal said.

“Drinks are on me, Jamal,” Clay said.

“Good looking!” Jamal replied.

Moments later, the bartender returned with the drinks. She took Clay's one hundred dollar bill and examined it in the light. After Clay got back his change, he and Jamal held up the glasses.

“Live like a man,” Clay said.

“Or die like a coward,” Jamal replied.

Jamal made Clay think that they were at the club to celebrate life. True, he and his best friend were living the life that people would not expect two kids from Long Beach to live. Jamal had just landed a good-paying job, and Clay was preparing to become a dad to the child of his longtime girlfriend, Chantel.

Truth be told, Jamal was not sure if the club would be the best place to confess to Clay that he'd slept with Chantel. It had only been one time and he had vowed not to tell Clay. In fact, it was possible that Jamal may have been the father of Chantel's baby.

His conscience convicted him day and night until he had to confess to his friend.

“You ever think about getting married?” Jamal asked his best friend.

“Never! Pimps don't get married, they just change up.”

A sable-complexioned woman, wearing a purple dress that hugged her frame, passed by. Jamal's and Clay's eyes followed her.

“You better handle that,” Clay said.

Jamal had just started to reconnect with his faith. As a kid, he used to go to church with his grandmother. He stopped going to church after high school. He never stopped believing in God, he just believed that he did not have to go to church to experience God. After having attended a three-on-three basketball tournament at Greater Anointing, he reconsidered growing closer to God.

“Let me ask you something,” Jamal said to Clay.

“Man, not now, I'm trying to rub on something.” Clay started dancing.

“That's what I wanted to ask you. What's up with you and Chantel?”

Clay stopped dancing. “What you mean?”

“Are y'all together or what?”

“Why, you trying to take her from me? I'm letting you know right now, you ain't got the heart to pull her from me. You never had it in you.”

Jamal's pride was under attack. His best friend since the fourth grade was questioning his manhood. He was supposed to be a Christian, but right now he did not feel like turning the other cheek.

“Oh, I'm man enough!” Jamal snapped back.

“Please! You wouldn't know what to do with her. You can't handle a woman like her,” Clay said.

“Apparently I can, since I've been hitting that while you're at work. And from what she tells me, you often come up Mugsey Booges.”

The Mugsey Booges was an indication that Clay came up short in the sexual department. It took a moment for Clay to register Jamal's words. He pushed Jamal and Jamal pushed Clay into a short guy with braids.

When Jamal and Clay turned around they saw that the guy was wobbly.

“Say ‘excuse me,' fam,” the guy ordered.

“What you mean excuse me?” Clay snapped back.

Clay was notorious for his anger, so Jamal grabbed him by the arm. For a brief moment, Jamal knew he had control of his friend. But Clay fought his arm away from Jamal and the little guy pushed Clay.

“What up now?” the guy asked.

Clay wasted no time and threw a haymaker that connected with the guy's jaw. The guy fell back like bowling pins. Jamal lurched forward and punched the guy, who tried to take a swing at Clay.

The entire crowd constricted; guys and girls tried to make their way outside. Jamal's sole focus was on leaving the club in one piece. They at least accomplished that, and made their way to the parking lot where Clay's Camry sat.

“Give me the keys,” Jamal demanded.

“Don't say nothing to me, just get in,” Clay replied.

“We ain't got time for this. Give me the keys!”

Clay did not usually let anyone drive his car. Jamal knew it was not smart to drive in the car with someone who had drunk as much as Clay. For whatever reason, Clay handed over his keys to him. Maybe it was Clay's anger or the alcohol that made him realize that he was in no condition to drive. Whatever the reason, Jamal was grateful. He just continued to pray that everyone in the car would make it home in one piece. They were posted at the light for a minute. Awkward silence dominated the moment.

“How long?” Clay asked.

How long? That was all he asked, and from Clay's body language, Jamal was sure that the light could go from red to green several times before Clay would utter another word.

“It's been a minute. It just happened.”

“Just happened!” Clay punched the window twice. “You're supposed to be my boy. Bros before hoes. Remember?”

“I love her,” Jamal said somberly.

“You love her? That's my girl! That's the mother of my child. I trusted you. I loved you, man.”

Jamal knew his best friend was hurt. He and Clay were both secure in their masculinity, so it did not bother them to verbally express their love for one another. But they chose to reserve the expression for pivotal moments. This occasion reminded Jamal that in being with the woman he loved, he had hurt the friend he loved as well.

Just then, a car came up alongside the passenger side of the Camry. The windows rolled down and guns emerged from the vehicle. The assailants shot up the Camry. Blood splattered on Jamal's face like someone had just shaken a can of soda and opened it. Clay absorbed all of the shots as the car sped away. This was not happening. Jamal's best friend was breathing one moment, and now he lay lifeless, covered in blood.

Jamal sped away with his vision clouded by red: the red of his best friend's blood and the red for the rage he felt.

The nearest hospital was less than a block away, but it seemed like a thousand miles. Jamal hit the accelerator until it reached the floor. He had to make it, even though he knew that his friend probably would not make it. An hour later, the blood on Jamal's shirt had dried. His best friend was gone and had left his bullet-riddled shell behind.

Jamal's mind never gave him a reprieve from that moment. He knew his friend's death was the result of retaliation, the code of the streets. But Jamal questioned whether he could respect a code that would leave an unborn child without his father. Jamal's decision to become a dedicated Christian was birthed out of his desire to live at a higher code.