Love
Did Not Make Me, but I Am a Fulfillment of It
The
First Exodus Holiness Church, one of Savannah’s strangest places of
worship, cannot tell visitors of Jesus this morning in its usual
fashion. On this day, its old mouth is parched as the mood to profess
the gospels as sermon has not struck. Today is for Jesus, as always,
but Jesus must play second fiddle to someone else. His message and
glory simply weaves its way into the ongoing procession, rather than
stand alone as sermon and song on this special celebration of the
newly dead. Although from the denizens’ soggy faces, one would
think etiquette were merely to weep, as if faith revealed hell fire
burns for this pathetic child, blissfully laid up in her beautiful
coffin. The burial commences for one of First Exodus’s founding
members, Gertrude Josephine Lulabell, who everybody called “Lulu”
since she was a small child.
Lulu’s
twelve year old granddaughter Caroline sits in the front row besides
her grandfather, Rodger. She clutches one of his hands and wipes away
the warm tears that fall onto her right leg from Rodger’s chin. He
cries like any man married for 30 years, suddenly met with loss:
hidden and graceful, a swan bowing its neck at the side of its still
companion. The salt and peppered haired gentleman grinds his teeth
back and forth, chewing the last words he wishes to yell out to his
late wife. His world lively shrieks like an orchestra of cicadas
hiding amongst moss covered trees. He answers his granddaughter’s
consoling grip with a soft curl of his worn calloused hands. Caroline
wipes her irritated eyes. They are red, but tears refuse to fall. She
drags her nails along her thigh, a desperate act to inspire
suffering. Everyone else weeps gorgeous tears of genuine anguish, but
still her tears refuse to fall. Caroline is an outcast. She is unable
to even draw upon the emotions of those weeping all around her. Her
capacity for empathy is all, but empty at this moment. The weeping of
the church family makes up a wall, graffitied by two terrifying
phrases: “We loved Lulu more than you”, and “Your tearless face
tells of an unholy spirit.”
Caroline is afraid,
but still she does not cry for her grandmother. She does not cry for
her dear Lulu, though she loves her so very much. Off comes her black
sequined hat as she slowly frees her fingers of her grandfather’s
soft grip. “Caroline, where are you going?” asks Rodger as she
leaps from the harlot lipped cushion of the whiskey hue pew. As she
walked around the other side of the pew, she replies, “Granddaddy,
I got to use the bathroom. I’ll be back before we go on down to the
graveyard.” She enters the center aisle as Rodger scoots down the
pew and whispers, “If we already outside, just go on back to the
cemetery, alright? Stay on the path Caroline, I mean it. You
understand? This ain’t no day for playin’ and I don’t feel like
washin no damn clothes when we get on to that house. I don’t want
to have to beat your behind today because you got all dirty, ya hear
me? Granddaddy don’t feel like that today, baby.” Caroline looks
over her shoulder, nodding her head and quietly saying, “Yes sir.”
As
she walks past the other pews, she quickens her pace so as not to
fall into the muck of the mournful. The small church is
uncharacteristically full today, making the possibility all too real.
Caroline slowly approaches the double doors, over which a clock and
one of six paintings of Jesus hangs. She looks at the clock as she
pushes one of the doors open. It was 11:00 AM and the picture of
Jesus above it looks even more mournful than usual, as if he too will
free up tears from his beautiful flat blue eyes for slumbering Lulu.
She approaches the ladies bathroom, and as she puts a hand on the
door handle, she hesitates. Her hand waits just above the handle as
the door opens and her eyes meet those of an old woman. It is old Ms.
Freda, one of Lulu’s sisters of the spirit, Sunday school
passenger, and confidant. Ms. Freda’s eyes are blazing and a tear
clings to one of her stray chin hairs, like a drop of gathering
rainwater ready to fall from overhanging roof shingles. Ms. Freda
asks Caroline for a hug, as is the custom of those who offer solace
while simultaneously seeking the same. Ms. Freda begins speaking
softly to the child as she falls deeper and deeper into her bosom,
“Poor baby. Ohh child, God blessed Mrs. Lulu. The church prayed so
hard for her to get up out that hospital, but God saw fit to take her
to the kingdom, be the will of the lord. She was an angel baby, a
real beautiful angel of God. I know’d I did right when I came to
the church Mrs. Lulu started. Here is the truth, thank you Jesus.
Thank you my master for seeing fit that I make it here this morning,
after carrying me for such a long way.” As Ms. Freda opens her arms
and turns towards the double doors, she points her bony index finger
at Caroline, “God is going to fix it for ya, Caroline. God is going
to fix it for ya. Ya come from godly folks, so if ya do right, he’ll
fix it. He’ll fix it.”
Caroline
nods her head obediently and accompanies the gesture with a quick and
quiet “Yes mam” as she returns her hand to the handle. Ms. Freda
pushes on one of the double doors and returns to the ceremony at
hand. For a brief moment Caroline hears the music playing. She lifts
her hand off the bathroom handle, steps towards the double doors, but
decides not to and frantically heads for the exit before another
person interrupts her. She exits from the red carpeted space and
closes the door behind her, exchanging the artificial softness for
the comfort of the green perfectly manicured lawn. Caroline looks
back over her left shoulder at the church her grandmother helped
build, with its stained glass windows, white exterior paint, 2 × 4
cross with purple veil standing amongst the azaleas, and the stately
magnolia tree with branches too high up for climbing. Some big white
petals lay at the feet of the tree, slightly dusted with golden
powder.
She
looks at the cross atop the roof and remembers throwing stones up
near it to claim another child’s “abandoned” toy as her own.
Back then, Caroline wanted the toy so desperately, if only to have
fished it from its disuse in a place as exotic as the top of the
church roof, somewhere she would never in her lifetime go. Caroline
often in her younger years experienced this fervor to lay claim to
objects that she understood as “abandoned”, finding toys lodged
in the cinder block wall that formed a portion of Lulu’s so called
backyard fence: one third cinder block wall, one third actual
fencing, and one third sheet metal fusion, stuck in the ground
haphazardly. Instead of pursuing toys abandoned in the dark though,
she decided to pursue this one atop the family church, bathed in the
summer sun. Lulu took offence to Caroline’s actions of course. She
caught Caroline and scolded her about throwing stones at the house of
the lord, like she had no sense. Caroline tried to explain that a toy
was stuck on the roof, but Lulu wouldn’t pay her no mind, not
truly.
“Child,
be blessed that I caught you in time or you might’ve gotten a curse
from the lord? Is that what you want Caroline, a curse from the
lord?”, said Lulu with the extended finger of her right hand waving
in Caroline’s face like a dog’s tail and the other hand placed on
her hip like the handle of a fine ceramic tea cup. “No mam, I don’t
want no curse, but Grandma what about the toy? It’s just sitting up
there and some other kid is gonna get it”, retorted Caroline still
completely enveloped by the curious object of temptation. Lulu
responded with a crushing air of finality toward the issue, “Good.”
Caroline looked for that toy week after week, knowing she wasn’t
allowed to fish it down, and sure enough it finally disappeared along
with the stones that were thrown up to dislodge it. Her
disappointment in failing to capture her prey increased her anxious
longing for the silly thing. She searched on the other side of the
Church just in case God somehow wanted to reward her thwarted
efforts, but to no avail. Truly the toy was gone, and one of the more
interesting adventures of Caroline’s church life came to a close,
with neither reward nor destruction to shortly linger upon.
Lost
in her memories, the wind blows her hair across her face and a single
strand into the crevice of her slightly opened lips. She slowly eases
herself upon the grass, avoiding stains on her stockings. Caroline
digs her fingers into the green, grasping blades occasionally, and
then letting them scatter once she found a passing breeze. She closes
her eyes and lets the sunshine make the momentary blackness become a
warm red orange blur with amorphous blobs of blue and green. Eyes are
sealed shut, and yet colors flow in the absence of sight. Her
consenting to the invading darkness still could not find it. Pitch
black refused to greet her in the day. It refused to linger with her
as a comforting enigma. In contempt of the substance she longed to
cultivate, Venus trap eyelids vibrated in irritation and opened in
anger.
Caroline rises to
her feet, shortly paces back and forth, and then finally settles on
peeping through the kitchen window at the back of the church, taken
by boredom in her inability to play and her inability to mourn. A
beloved expectation of the south— reception of every southern
funeral or wedding holds a lavish feast: fried chicken, collard
greens, red rice, string beans, etc. Throughout Lulu’s life and
often all at once she was a: cook, saint, nurse, accountant,
gardener, chauffer, paralegal, and maid. She was going to get a feast
no doubt about it, but Caroline could not revel in the foods Lulu
inspired in her passing. The curtains and refrigerator obscured the
view of the table. Only a single pecan pie could be seen and Caroline
did not favor such a decadent confection. No. If it should be pie,
let it be pumpkin pie that one could heat up in the microwave and
then top with a cool dollop of vanilla ice-cream. Pecans were
delicious to Caroline, but only when gathered by old women in brown
paper bags as they fiddle about in their yards. Pecan trees are
scattered throughout Savannah like dandelion seeds made mobile with
the wind and so are the old women willing to gather them in brown
bags as gifts bequeathed to strangers and loved ones alike.
With
nothing of her interest in view, Caroline walks along the sidewalk
across from the church windows. She looks at the small parking lot
attached to the church. Rodger drove in Lulu’s van rather than the
old dark gun smoke gray car he usually leaves the house in, with its
oh so distinctive rust, right above one of the back tires. He bought
it for one of his sons, but when the boy, now a man, no longer needed
to drive the old clunker, preferring a nice white truck, his daddy
drove it back from the countryside along those empty dirt roads, over
the Savannah River Bridge. Caroline walks over to the van, until she
hears something slowly walking up the street. She looks and sees a
dog of medium height and short black fur. It looks like the dog one
of Lulu’s sons kept when she was younger. The dog looks at her and
she freezes to avoid gaining more attention. It stares at her with
its large brown eyes and hanging tongue. Caroline’s brow furrows
with suspicion and anxiety. Her slight phobia of dogs starts to rise
to the surface of her thoughts. She whispers to herself wisdoms she
heard when she was very young, “Don’t run. It’ll chase what
runs.” Instead of running she sings a song with the words of one
of her prayers. She sings of angels, rain, and darkness and she sings
of blessings, serpents, and God. The dog lingers, listening to the
singing statue until a squirrel runs and a hunt begins in the
distance before both are gone.
Caroline
wanders back onto the grass and stands outside lost, forgetting how
time did not stand still and her flimsy excuse’s expiration came
with the meeting of a wandering dog. Rodger will be angry, if he was
even paying attention to her long absence. His swaddling by his own
sorrow and the woeful cries of Lulu’s mourners were probably enough
of a distraction for him. When she reflects on this thought, she once
again begins to muse on her status as an outcast.
Although
Caroline is a nice enough child, she has no friends. Her classmates
speak to her daily in school: in the lunchroom, on the playground, in
the hallway, during class. She laughs and plays, but as the school
day ends, so do all her conversations. All that is left to her is a
solitary walk to her # 247 school bus in silence. She sits in a seat
desperately waiting for conversation only to find disappointment in
the awkward quietness of siting alone and finally wanders home in
isolation as other children in the neighborhood go out and play
amongst their friends. No one ever asks to come over to her house and
play video games. Caroline is never invited to sleep overs. No one
celebrates her birthday, except for her family. Caroline is not so
vocal so as to even inspire enemies against her. She is neither
fortunate enough to be a center of attention nor unfortunate enough
to earn the mockery of her peers. She simply possesses no one to
linger on, but herself. All of her thoughts and resentments flower in
her bones. They bloom in reflection of a despair nurtured by
loneliness.
She
had no friends in her family. None of them chose to push into her
closed off world. Family members who serve as friends are rare
because it asks for a relationship to teeter between choice and
obligatory affection. True friendship lives and breathes through the
power of choice between equals while familial love tends to be a
harsher sort of tether between individuals who might view each other
in quite a range.
Caroline would have
sought out Lulu for her friendship, but Lulu would never see herself
as an equal of Caroline’s. She would never stoop so low as to speak
her feelings to a child, no matter how shallow. All that flowed from
Lulu were soft-handed commands inspired by an obligatory love, but
love it was, full and deep. Lulu beat Caroline out of obligation,
beating the poor child according to the traditions of her own classic
upbringing. First she beat Caroline with the palm of her hand, then a
slim branch from any nearby tree, then the leather strap of Lulu’s
purse, finally retired with the adoption of the thick plastic spoon
and inevitably replaced by the great southern staple, the strap of a
good leather belt. She chastised Caroline out of obligation. Her
sermons fell on the child’s ears like rain warmed by the midday
sun. She was the punishing mother figure. Rodger disciplined from
time to time, but because Caroline was not a boy child, he left that
role, that tiring burden, to his wife. She dealt punishment in the
spirit of her mother and her mother’s mother, beating Caroline
excessively only when the child would not submit. Those were the
moments when Lulu would swing her belt until her fury was sated and
her breath all, but spent. And as Lulu let her belt dance with
popcorn snaps, certain adages generated that she would reveal over
and over, as if they happen to be forgettable, and they never were,
“There ain’t nothing wrong with beating a child, as long as it
comes from a place of love. Children must learn the lesson of the
Lord; all evils are seen, and all evils eventually punished, for that
is the will of the ever loving Almighty.”
After
the beatings though, Lulu always hugged Caroline into her chest so
that her mighty heartbeat offered tranquility to Caroline’s
turbulent mind. She soothed her wounded ego with words of kindness
and forgiveness. Lulu was known for nursing the sweet in the sour. It
was this instinct that made her the archetypal helpmate. Lulu
sympathetically nursed all those in her care back to health every
time they were ailing, despite whatever wrongs they might have done
to her. Pepto-Bismol (That Pink Stuff), Robitussin (‘Tussin),
Blue-Star Ointment (Ringworm Cream), Vicks Vapor Rub (That Smelly Rub
That Clears Your Nose Up), Alka-Seltzer (That Fizzin’ Tablet), were
always available in the cabinet of Lulu’s upstairs bathroom. Only
bandages, ancient toothbrushes, and the smallest fragments of
emergency soap, sat in the downstairs bathroom cabinet. Lulu was the
master of the healing aids, and it always fell on her to dispense
them to the bedridden, grown folks and childrens alike. She worked
herself to the bone taking care of others, yet the bitterness of her
patients’ abuse or their utter disregard of her never worked itself
into a poison. She turned the bitter into the sweet through the grace
of the Lord.
Caroline
snaps out of her wandering thoughts with the touch of small droplets
of rain. The sun still shines, but a light midday shower begins to
fall. The shower is warmed by the sun and it feels like tears, but
not salty. God gives his tears for Lulu. Caroline retreats under the
roof of the church. She begins to sing to herself once again. The
song is different every time she chooses to open her lips. The world
forces the words of her songs down her throat and she pulls them out
from the very bottom of her depths. She sings of moonlight in the
middle of the day, and doves carrying olive branches. The black dog
returns without his distraction. He wanders slowly through the warm
rain that falls. He is baptized. He is baptized in God’s tears. His
face seems indifferent to the rain. A wide tongue pokes in and out
and his nostrils flare from time to time. Caroline unknowingly
wonders out loud, “Is that dog tasting the rain?” When the girl
speaks the dog looks at her, deep into her somewhat wet face. For a
moment, the dog stops poking his tongue in an out. His mouth closes
almost entirely. Caroline becomes uneasy. She suddenly yells out,
“What do you want dog?” The dog merely stares. He stares at
Caroline intensely and then ignores her.
Caroline
looks at the sky to see if it remained bright. It was. Even as it
began to rain harder, the clouds did not grow dark. They did not
become the clouds of sleep that she remembered learning about with
Lulu. When she was younger, Lulu would always tell her that it is
best to sleep when it is storming because that was God saying to
submit. Caroline seemingly always proved obstinate to this
observation. She was the only one in the house who seemed adamant
about making it through stormy weather awake. Lulu would say, “Don’t
touch that TV baby, its storming out there” when Caroline didn’t
understand that they had to contain themselves before the terror and
mercy of God’s storming.
Caroline
would always become anguished by the fact that she couldn’t watch
anymore TV. Without TV, she had no way to entertain herself. There
were never really any books around the house, except for
dictionaries, encyclopedias, and old textbooks. Almost every child
that had come up through this house had left some kind of school book
behind for Rodger and Lulu to deal with. It was a gift, unwanted as
it may be. Sometimes they would grow to serve new masters as years
passed, but for Caroline this was no longer the case. The old
textbooks were interesting before she entered into school, but once
she became a student, in her mind a prisoner, she had no more
affection to give towards them. They became objects of obligatory
acknowledgement, rather than as the curiosities that Caroline knew
them to be. It was in those books that she learned about dinosaurs,
and butterflies, and the difference between the body of a boy and a
girl.
Instead
of seeking solace in the silence, Caroline would waste her time
fiddling with things like a curious animal. She was driven to move
about constantly to escape her boredom. Lulu would always eventually
grow tired of the child’s incessant movements during storms. Rodger
always fell asleep with the first drops of rain. He loved his sleep.
He greatly appreciated how his body “magically” allowed him not
to involve himself so deeply in the conflict that existed between
Caroline and Lulu.
One
rainy day Caroline and Lulu’s brooding antagonism boiled over the
pot. “It’s boring Lulu”, said Caroline as she would pout,
crossing her arms, left over right, sitting Indian style. Lulu tried
her best to ignore how upset Caroline was. Storms caused her
arthritis to act up so she was not the happiest person during the
rainy days. She wasn’t angry. It would not be right to say she was
weighed down by the heaviness of anger but she wasn’t joyful
either. She lingered in a place of exhaustion during times like
those. “Could you read me a story?” Caroline nagged and Lulu
responded “This ain’t no library baby. What books ‘round here
you want to be read? I can’t remember the last time I saw a
children’s book in this house.” Caroline responded, “Lulu, you
always got your bible and you always be tellin’ me I should read it
more and more. Read me some bible stories. Read me the one about
Moses and Egypt.” “Lord have mercy child, now I know you need to
take yourself to sleep” said Lulu in irritation at Caroline’s
request. “Why you say that Lulu?” said Caroline inquisitively as
she plays with her small slender fingers. Lulu responded angrily,
“The only reason you want the bible read is to entertain you when
dey ain’t nothing left.” “No mam, that ain’t true. I like the
story of Moses and the Israelites It’s one of my favorites”,
says Caroline, offended by what she understands Lulu to be saying.
Observing Caroline’s irritation, Lulu said, “I don’t doubt you
when you say that Moses’ story from the bible is one of your
favorites. But do you remember when I got you that child version of
the bible last year, hm? I saw you read that once in a blue moon like
you didn't like it and when I asked you about it one day, you said
you lost it. Remember that?” Caroline responded in frustration,
“That doesn't mean I didn't like it. I wasn't going to read
it every day, but when I did read it, I enjoyed it, Lulu. And just
because I lost something, does not mean I didn't care about it. I
just lost it is all. I want to find it, but for now it’s lost.
What else can I say?” As Lulu takes in the child’s words, she
responds “ I still feel like you don’t appreciate the bible
enough to understand that this book isn't just for reading, it’s
to show your commitment and your faith, baby. You can’t just pick
it up and put it down like it’s any other kind of book. These are
God’s words in the good book. How fair is that to God for you to
treat his words as if they were some kind of fairy tale to warm the
heart? Mind yourself child. It is not wise to treat the Lord like he
some kind of second class something or ‘nother. Now hush up this
talkin’. You got my head gone to achin’. You ain’t want to
listen to no bible story no how. Besides, we got to keep them lights
off. I don’t need no lightning blowing them bulbs out ‘cause
there ain’t nobody round to change them things less Samuel, David,
or one of the other tall children be around ‘da house.”
As
the sky cleared up and the rain quieted to nothing, Rodger opened the
door furiously, saying, “Get yo’ ass up in this Church. Dammit
girl. All I needed was for you to behave for one day. One day,
dammit. Just one day. And you couldn't do that for a day, could ya?
You couldn't just sit yo’ narrow ass in that seat until we got to
the banquet hall? God have mercy on my soul.” Tears run down his
face as he speaks out the violence in his mind. He can’t breathe
calmly. His hands shake. Rodger yells again, “Get up God dammit.
Get yo’ ass up so you can see Lulu’s face one more time. You at
least owe her that, disappearing during her funeral. What’s wrong
with you chil’? Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up God dammit. I won’t
tell your ass again. I am too tired to do this. You not even my
child, you my grandchild, you somebody else baby who couldn't be
bothered to be your damn mama. You can’t let Lulu be put in that
earth and not make your peace, child. It’ll haunt you all your
days, ya hear me? Don’t take no curse down in yo’ soul, if you
can avoid it. Get up and say your goodbyes.” Rodger snatches up the
blank faced girl and drags her into the church. Everyone’s
attention goes towards their performance. The little girl is led up
to sleeping Lulu in her dark wood coffin. She looks so tired in her
wooden box. She looks like her age leaped up on her all at once, like
time was waiting for her to die and move forwards on her face. The
funeral house did a good job dressing her up with all the effort she
always put into her impeccable Sunday service outfits. Lulu had her
gold lettered King James Bible held in both hands as they were
positioned on her chest. Her favorite broach, a blue shelled beetle
from her grandmother, was worn over her right breast rather than her
strange way of wearing it on the left. She was perfection. She was a
perfection she could only achieve in her demise, which was as much
misfortune as it was blessing because she believed she had obtained
the salvation of her eternal soul, something she prized above all
other things admirably. She was going to go to her resting place with
the God that made her and no one would dare say otherwise because if
she couldn't make it with all of her praying, and duties, kindness,
and obedience, then no one else had any chance to meet the strict
deity either. Her faith in her salvation was also the church’s hope
and faith returned.
Caroline
looked into the face of her former caretaker. She looked to see if
God would chastise her for thinking about what she was planning to
do. Caroline bent over and gave Lulu a hug. As she did she whispered
towards the beautiful corpse, “Lulu, you worked so hard to earn
your place with God. In doing so, you did as you were told, “Hold
on to your child like a loose garment.” Mother Stephenson taught
you that you told me. You said it meant that to have faith and to
keep faith, you must choose faith above all. You sacrificed more with
your family, more with me, so that you could hold onto a God that
never held you in its arms, or kissed your lips, or said, “I love
you.” You did that for what you believed in, something that I want
to have one day. But you hurt me. I am sure you hurt my mother too,
maybe even more so than you hurt me. She ran away not because she couldn't be my mother, but because she couldn't be your daughter
and hope to be any kind of mother to me. She ran away because of what
you taught that stupid girl. For that I hate you, even as I love you,
I hate you.” Caroline took the blue beetle broach and pocketed it.
The casket was lifted by all of Lulu’s sons and some of the
attending ushers, and as the procession exited the church in song,
Caroline walked outside into the clear bright day. She saw the dog
once more as they entered the cemetery. It carried half a squirrel in
its mouth. There was very little blood covering its snout. The tail
of the small creature was most intact while the rest of its body
fairly crushed.
