The Retreat (8 page)

Last night, Will had been a little spooked as his perilous little city evolved into a mountain range, and the mountain range evolved into a beach resort. Will had been to a beach before, but this beach was secluded, with no inner city nearby. When they arrived at a cabin that looked like something out of a Friday the 13th movie, now in the full radiance of the day, Will did feel more at ease.

The park just seemed to exist without any interruption from man. Even the buildings seemed to have evolved from nature itself. The main building was made out of stones that must've been collected from the beach.

Will started to consider that maybe he was attending some meeting by a cult, and really he was being led to a slaughter or a UFO probing. The birds chirped loudly and dominated the sound. Several men began on a slow ascent toward a solid oak building along a cobblestone road.

“This way.” Chauncey took the lead toward the building. Intrigue led Will's steps along the path, as the auburn leaves cascaded down from the towering trees.

With each step, Will's kneecaps felt like they were made of jelly. Pockets of tension were released throughout Will's body.

They arrived at a double door entrance, where a man in a T-shirt two sizes too small stood guard. The guy had bugged eyes, and a receding hairline that withered into a widow's peak. Will hoped to spark a strong enough connection with the guy to tell him that he should have some dignity and cut all of his hair off.

There was a wooden table where the words
WELCOME TO THE MEN'S RETREAT MIGHTY MEN OF VALOR
were plastered on a banner.

Will did not have a clue what the words “Mighty Men of Valor” meant, but he assumed that it meant something good.

“Welcome, Deacon McClendon,” one of the brothers said.

“Hey, Brother Richardson, how are you?” Chauncey asked.

Will realized that his companion carried a title with some influence. Will respected any man of power.

“Hey, young man. God bless you, and welcome to the Men's Retreat.” The guy extended his hand.

Will shook his hand and surveyed the area. The room reminded him a lot of what he'd heard an AA meeting was: not a lot of decorations, just a bunch of chairs, and a podium toward the front that stood next to the chimney.

There was a small group of guys talking, but nothing was occurring that looked to be of any importance. Will wondered what had been so urgent about getting to this meeting that Chauncey would risk his life to attend.

“Is it too late to register?” Chauncey asked.

“Oh no, no, no, we still have room. We were prepared for last-minute registers,” Mr. Richardson said.

Will watched as Chauncey peeled off two one hundred dollar bills and handed them over to the man. The man put the two hundred dollars in a metal lockbox and handed Will a brochure.

“Thanks!” Chauncey looked at Will. “I am going to go say hello to a few people.”

Will followed suit and stood next to Chauncey.

“Hey, Deacon McClendon,” a muscular guy greeted Chauncey.

“Gentlemen, this is Will. I met him last night and I convinced him to come and join us.”

“Praise the Lord!” one man said.

“We were just talking about Michael Vick and his return to football,” the muscular guy said.

“Yeah, that man messed up by having a bunch of snitches in his camp,” Will said, taking comfort in the fact that their conversation revolved around something other than church.

“The lesson is to watch the company you keep. Because God blessed that boy with a gift worth millions of dollars and he threw it away betting on dogfights. Not everyone is meant to go with you to the top,” one guy said.

“He should be all right. He got Tony Dungy helping him get his life straight with the Lord,” the muscular guy commented.

That's when the conversation derailed for Will. He did not think that Vick's redemption lay in his spiritual relationship with an ex-football coach. Vick just needed to be more wise about who he kept in his camp.

Will zoned out of the conversation and wondered what he was doing at the church event. He was certain that he would die of boredom.

“How did you meet Deacon McClendon?” one man asked Will. The question snapped Will out of a daze.

“Oh, I had some car troubles last night and Will was kind enough to assist me,” Chauncey said.

The statement started a chain of curious looks from the brethren.

“I don't understand how this could happen.” Will turned around to see a tall man with a gray beard. This guy looked like he could have started on the Lakers back when they had Jerry West and Wilt Chamberlain. The man was talking to a much smaller white man. He followed Chauncey, who obviously knew the man, as he headed toward him.

“Pastor Dawkins, what's wrong?” Chauncey asked.

This guy had to be the biggest pastor Will had ever seen. He always saw pastors who were either fat and bald or skinny and bald. This pastor's voracity was somewhat intimidating. For a moment, Will almost did not want Chauncey to bother him. The guy seemed visibly upset.

“The enemy seems to be up to his old tricks,” the pastor replied.

“Is there something wrong?” Chauncey asked again.

“I'm truly sorry, Pastor, for this mix-up,” an employee said.

“He doubled booked us with a woman's book club,” Pastor Dawkins said to Chauncey.

“Lord Jesus, have mercy! The devil is a liar,” Chauncey shouted out.

Will could have sworn he missed something. He was in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of strange men, the person who'd invited him being the strangest of them all. He could not understand why a group of women being at the same location was a problem; unless these men were gay. Will vowed that if he somehow stumbled upon a gay religious event, then he would never tell a soul.

“Listen, you still have all of your conference rooms available, but to be honest with you, we could use the extra guests,” the ground's rep said.

“You don't understand. The whole purpose of why these men travel all this way is to be free from the distractions of women and the things of the world,” Pastor Dawkins hammered.

At this point, Will had concluded to leave this place just as soon as he robbed Chauncey of all of his money. He hadn't come all this way for nothing.

“We'll try not to let our other guests be a distraction,” the employee replied.

This pastor sucked in so much air that Will thought he was about to sock this dude, which would have been pretty cool.

“Lord have mercy, I guess we are going to have to figure out a way to work things out,” Pastor Dawkins replied.

“Thank you, Pastor, for your understanding. We'll make sure that you will still have a pleasant stay.”

The pastor shook the guy's hand and rubbed his own head after the man left.

“Boy, the devil is working overtime, but he won't get the glory. This weekend was ordained by God,” Chauncey declared.

“You're right about that,” the pastor said, and then turned toward Will. “I don't believe we've met. I'm Pastor Dawkins.” The pastor held out his fist.

Will smiled and bumped the pastor's fist back. “Will.”

“Welcome to the Men's Retreat. How do you know Deacon McClendon?”

“He had a little car trouble last night. I had to help him out.”

Will chuckled at the inside joke, but Chauncey did not. Will found last night's events both strange and hysterical.

“Well, I'll see you at tonight's events.” The pastor moved swiftly away, like he was in a hurry or something.

A few moments later, Chauncey turned to Will. “Let us go and get freshened up for the afternoon sessions. This way, Will,” Chauncey said as Will followed him along the boardwalk back toward the cabins. Chauncey opened the door and Will immediately noticed something that was insignificant to him before. There were four beds, which meant that Will could expect to share this room with two more Jesus freaks.

 

Jamal felt like he had been to a party and finally got the joke being passed around. Sadly, the joke was about him. Jamal had been convinced that he was the father of Jamir.

He disregarded his father's comments as the opinion of a player who refused to let people get caught up, but Quincy's words penetrated Jamal's security wall and brought everything crashing down.

Now in the midst of an already tough decision, Jamal had to come to grips with reality. The reality was that he was seriously considering putting his career on hold for a child who was not his own. Jamal feared that so much attention on what to do about Jamir could cause him to miss the real message God was trying to convey to him.

His train of thought led him on such a journey into self-reflection. He was only conscious of the fact that he and Quincy arrived at their destination when the car came to a stop and Quincy's car door slammed.

Quincy ascended some cobblestone steps, and Jamal wrestled with the thought that he no longer wanted to be at the Men's Retreat. He'd come to the Retreat with a sea of questions and he got his answer. He was a fool, now he had to figure out what to do, and the Men's Retreat did not seem like the place. The door closed and snapped him out of his consciousness.

“I just registered and got our room keys,” Quincy said. Jamal did not even look at Quincy. “Listen, man, I don't know what to tell you. It's tough enough being a single parent, but I don't understand you putting your life on hold for a kid who's not even yours.”

Quincy's words had done enough damage. Jamal barely paid attention to what Quincy said. Instead, he observed a tree a few yards ahead. The branch had money green leaves on it. The wind tossed the leaves to and fro as they cascaded down to the ground. Jamal felt very vulnerable at this point. However, he did not want Quincy to think that his words shattered Jamal's confidence, so Jamal took in a fist full of air and exhaled a deep sigh as he leaned his head back against the headrest.

“I'm tired,” Jamal said.

“Come on, let's get to our rooms. Maybe you can get a power nap in before the first session,” Quincy said.

A chill penetrated Jamal's bloodstream as he got out of the car and threw on his black cowhide-leather jacket. He balled both of his hands up and blew into them to create instant warmth. Quincy popped open the trunk and handed Jamal his black duffle bag. Jamal felt like he had bricks inside of his bag. Quincy closed the trunk and pressed a button on his chain to trigger the lock.

Jamal followed Quincy's lead as they walked along a boardwalk toward the room.

He took time to admire the scenery, despite the pale sky that hung over the campgrounds. Jamal watched as a squirrel ran in front of him. The squirrel stopped midway and stood up in front of them before dashing off into the woods. Jamal adjusted the position of his duffle bag to avoid back pain. They arrived at their room and Quincy opened the door. Jamal stepped in front of Quincy and used his shoulder to open the door all the way. He examined that Chauncey was neatly moving his folded clothes into a drawer, while an unknown young man lay on the edge of the bed with his feet planted on the floor while text messaging on his cell phone.

“What's going on, fam?” Jamal asked.

The young man diverted his eyes from his phone long enough to give a nod. Chauncey stopped putting away clothes long enough to extend his hand to Jamal.

“Brother Jamal, praise God. How's it going?” Chauncey asked.

Jamal bogarted his way into the room and dropped his overnight bag on the first available bed, which just so happened to be positioned right next to the window. It gave a nice view of the beach. Jamal figured a good view of the ocean and the rising sun would make getting up early more bearable.

Jamal extended his hand to the new guy. “What up, fam? I'm Jamal.”

The new guy smacked Jamal's hand three times before snapping his fingers to signal that the handshake was over. Then he stated his name, “Will,” as he diverted his eyes back to his cell phone.

Jamal laughed at the new way to greet someone.

“I haven't seen you before. You must be a new member at church?” Quincy asked.

“We met last night. Will was kind enough to help me with car troubles, so I invited him to come,” Chauncey answered.

Jamal had never known Chauncey to be the type to travel in areas where he might encounter a young man like Will.

“Well, praise God. So you came to the Retreat to get closer to God?” Jamal asked.

“Whatever that means,” Will said, not taking his eyes off of his cell phone.

There was a certain aura about Will. His nonchalance stood out in a room full of egos. Only, Will's nonchalance was not of someone who freed himself of worry, but of someone who just did not care to begin with. Jamal was a pretty good judge of character, and he could tell when he was looking at his former self in the mirror. Jamal, too, had been in that place until he had what he called a Damascus moment. Will may have needed a Damascus, and Jamal's purpose at the Retreat may have been to assist Will in his Damascus moment.

There was only one reason why Quincy was at the Retreat: to confront his wife's lover. He figured the best way to figure out who he was was to interrogate the people who Karen associated with at church. A stroll along the boardwalk led him to spot Douglas, the choir director, aka minister of music. Karen sang in the alto section of the choir and she spent many late nights at choir rehearsal. Douglas stood along the shore with headphones in his ears. He gestured as if he were conducting the waves.

The misconception that most male choir directors were gay did not deter Quincy's suspicion. He approached Douglas and got his attention.

“What's going on, Brother Page?” Douglas removed his headphones.

“Nothing much, just trying to get ready before everything starts.”

“I know, I know, I know! We're going to be on fire this weekend. Are you going to join the male choir on Sunday?”

There was only two occasions when Quincy sang: in the shower and right before he made love to his wife. The latter was inspired by the soulful sounds of Teddy Pendergrass.

“No, not me. Well, you know, that's the wifey's thang, not mine. She looks forward to singing every Sunday. Just this last Sunday I saw her shoot out of the house wearing nothing but sweats and a T-shirt.”

“Sister Page did not have on any sweats. She wore a skirt.” Douglas seemed confused.

Now right there, he messed up. “How do you know what she had on?” Quincy was curious.

“All the girls were talking about it.” Douglas was skeptical.

“What were they saying?”

“They were saying, ‘Look at Sister Page trying to look young.' I'm surprised you didn't know what she had on.”

Douglas came off as very obnoxious, and if it weren't for the fact that Quincy needed answers from him, Quincy might have punched him in the face. However, Quincy could conclude that the choir director and his wife were not engaged in any hootie-hoo-Timbuktu.

“Listen, Douglas, if there was something going on that I needed to know about, would you tell me?”

“Yes, of course, Brother Page, I would.”

“Thanks, man, I appreciate that.” Quincy patted Douglas on the back and headed toward the boardwalk. The introduction ceremony was not for another ten minutes, but with nothing else to do, Quincy decided to head over to the conference room.

He looked forward to locking eyes with Minister Hypocrite. He looked even more forward to confronting him in front of his fellow brethren. Quincy bit into a pear he'd bought at a rest stop. He found momentary sweetness on the other side of the coarse texture of the pear skin.

Arriving at the empty conference room and taking a seat near the podium, Quincy had one purpose in mind and that was to get to the truth. Quincy wished he could confront him the second he walked through the door.

He was certain that A-MOG was a minister. Next to a pimp or politician, ministers were some of the most smooth-talking, charismatic people he knew. Maybe Quincy would wait until he got the chance to speak before he confronted him. Maybe he'd wait until the good old minister got into a deep, passionate sermon, and then expose him with the truth. He knew that the timing had to be perfect, and, at this moment, he was certain that today might be the day. This weekend was supposed to be about the men confronting who they were in the empty moments when no one was around except God. The minister needed to remove his facade and confront his hypocrisy.

Jamal soon joined Quincy, along with Chauncey and his new friend, Will. Quincy wished he had time to dissect the mystery surrounding Will, but that was neither here nor there. Quincy's mission was clear, and, more importantly, it was free from any distractions.

More men started to pour into the conference room. Judging by the foul odor, it was clear that they had been playing on the basketball court. Over sixty men had made an arrangement to be here over the course of the next two days in Monterey with fellow Christian men. For a moment, Quincy reconsidered his actions.

He found it narcissistic of himself to crush these guys' hopes of turning their lives around, only to have another glaring example of how leadership fails to uphold the standard it preaches. Brother Evans was both a minister and a high school football coach. He had hands that could punch a hole in a tank. He used those hands to begin a loud clap, and soon the majority of the men joined in. Quincy did not join in the clap.

Unlike his brothers, he was not caught up in the emotions of the moment. If the devil existed, he sure was in the midst of this gathering.

“Hallelujah. I've been waiting all week to come here and be with my brothers,” Brother Evans said. “I couldn't wait to get together with my brothers and fellowship. I told my wife when she kissed me good-bye that the man who's leaving would not be the same man who returns.”

Brother Evans's words were greeted with mighty “Amen's” and claps. Quincy wondered if Evans's joyful act was just that—an act—or genuine. Maybe Quincy had been a fool this whole time, thinking that this weekend was a holy event. Maybe it was an actors' workshop, and maybe the men here only pretended to be religious.

“Now, I'm going to turn the podium over to the angel of this house, Pastor Dawkins.”

Brother Evans led the ovation that carried Pastor Dawkins to the front of the podium. Pastor Dawkins had yet to enter a room without ducking down. In his early days, he'd started as a small forward for UCLA. A torn meniscus ended his professional career.

Pastor Dawkins pulled the microphone toward him and adjusted his square glasses. “Oh, how marvelous it is when brothers can dwell together. Yes, yes, my heart is heavy.”

Those words caused the men to settle down. He removed his glasses, and with his massive hands he wiped the tears from his eyes before putting his glasses back on.

“Fierce warriors of God surround me and I know that the battle is intense. I can see it in your eyes. The wounds are visible. The burden of being the head of your household is heavy, especially in these uncertain times.”

Though the “Amen's” returned in low tones, the nods symbolized that Pastor Dawkins did not lose his audience. The religious stuff aside, Quincy had always been a big fan of Pastor Dawkins and his eloquence.

“That's why this time is so necessary, so that we can remove our armor and be able to show God that He is still head of the throne. You guys are in for a treat this weekend. I know we've traveled a long way, but it was worth it. God has a transformation waiting for us.” Pastor Dawkins waited until the “Amen's” settled down. “Now, as always, I would like to go around the room and ask each man what he is expecting this weekend.”

One guy—who Quincy saw at church from time to time, but whose acquaintance he'd never had reason to make—stood up, eager to be the first one to speak.

“Praise the Lord, brothers,” the gentlemen greeted. “It's great to be here with you.”

He received a well return of “Praise the Lord” from his brethren.

“As some of you know, I got laid off from my job about three months ago and I've been trying to find a job. It's been hard trying to put food on the table with a wife, two kids, a mortgage, and two car notes. But I come hoping that God has a word and a job for me. So that's what I'm hoping for this weekend.”

The brother sat down on cue, and Quincy thought the guy's entire reason for being at the Retreat was a waste of time and money. This was not a job fair, and he could not expect to provide for his family while shelling out $200 for a Men's Retreat. On second thought, maybe Pastor Dawkins assisted the guy with paying for the Retreat.

Regardless of which, Quincy saw the man's reasons as naive. Several men had gone up and given less dramatic reasons for attending the Retreat. Jamal had turned quiet as a result of his and Quincy's conversation in the car, but Jamal had decided to stand up anyway. “Praise the Lord. I am excited to be here with my brothers. I have a tough decision to make that will have a huge impact on my family. I'm hoping that God can help me make the right decision.”

Of course, Quincy knew that Jamal's reasons for going to the Men's Retreat were not as noble as they sounded. He was a fool and really there was no choice. He needed to cut his losses and spare himself future disappointment.

Ministers Perkins and Jacobs entered the room. Quincy was certain that one of the men in that room had slept with Karen. She'd never said who, but Quincy knew that, based on Karen's after-service interactions, it had to be one of them, namely a leader. Karen was always full of praise regarding Minister Perkins and his Bible Studies. Karen and Minister Jacobs served together on the feed the homeless ministry.

Coincidentally, Quincy was prepared to stand, and he stood up right as another brother stood up. Quincy's desire to speak outlasted the awkwardness of the moment until finally the other brother sat down.

“Praise the Lord,” Quincy said to a warm welcome. “The scripture says that He is the way, the truth, and the light. Well, I'm hoping that God will bring some things out of darkness and into light.”

 

Will watched as, one by one, each man stood up and stated why he was there. Will did not have a clue why he was there. He felt peace in the midst of an otherwise hostile lifestyle.

Soon there were only a few people left who had not gone up and spoken. A sweet tobacco scent brought Will's attention to the Black & Mild he had in his pocket. Tonight would be a good night to smoke; of course, he would have to wait for the church boys to go to sleep before he did so. Lost in his train of thought, Will realized that he was now the last person who had not spoken. The tall pastor extended his hand to Will. All the air left the room, and Will's body temperature increased as he stood.

“Um, I'm here to get closer to God,” Will said, and sat back down.

It seemed like a legitimate thing to say. The question was whether Will really meant it. The vibration from his cell phone caught his attention. D-Loc must've called him about nineteen times. His mother had called just as many. Will dreaded going back home, but he could not leave his brother and sister at home with the wolves. He wondered when he would get a chance to think about himself and what he wanted.

What did Will want? For starters, he wanted this feeling he'd had since arriving at this place to never leave. He wanted to actually own a car instead of steal one. He wanted to not feel invisible. The world he knew buried his kind without any remorse. With billions of people in the world, how could he possibly matter? Just him thinking of life as something to live and not merely exist in was taking away his only edge. He did not want to go back, but he could not stay. And there existed Will's paradox.