Chapter 39

            “We’re going bowling,” Aaron answered as he and Cheryl walked into George and Juanita’s home.

            “Who, when?”  Juanita asked, surprised by the suggestion.

            “All of us – the whole fellowship”  Aaron said.

            “I can’t” Judy said as she came down the stairs.  “I’ve got the boys to take care of.”

            “I can take care of them for you” Tabitha offered.  “I don’t know what this bowling is anyway.”

            “That’s why you should go and learn” Juanita interjected.  “I’ll stay with the kids; Judy, you go,” she said.

            “Well no, I’ve been too much of a burden on you guys already,” she protested.  “They’re my responsibility.  I’ll stay and take care of them.”

            Juanita looked at George and communicated with him mentally in a way that only a wife and a husband can.

            “Nonsense!” George spoke up.     “This is your night out!  Juanita would love to take care of the boys.  She needs to practice just in case we have our own soon.”  He grinned and winked at Juanita.

            Juanita winked back and gave George an appreciative smile.

            It had been a long, long time since Judy had had a night out just for fun, she thought back.  It was probably before her husband had been killed in the accident by a drunk driver.  She had played the night of the accident over and over again in her mind.  What if she hadn’t asked him to run out to the drugstore that night? What if he had left five minutes later?  What if, what if.  But nothing could change what happened.  All she could do now was go on with life, try to raise her boys, and hope that somehow, someday, God might look down on her and bring some happiness into her life again.

            “Tabitha,” Juanita’s voice interrupted Judy’s thoughts, “give me Shawanda’s phone number.  I’ll give her a call and see if she can make it as well” she said as she glanced at George and gave him another quick wink.  “Don’t forget about Charles Okinyi” Aaron added.  “Although he’s been working late recently, maybe he can make it before we leave the bowling alley.”

            None of the group were great bowlers, although Aaron was considerably better than the rest.  Still they jumped and shouted and giggled with glee as the balls hit spares or occasional strikes and had a good time laughing at the gutter balls.

            George glanced at the door several times, hoping against hope that Shawanda might show up.  In between times he looked at Judy.  She was a few years his senior but still a very attractive lady.  He also began to realize that this was the first time he’d ever seen her laugh or seem to have a good time.  Her life was constant wear and tear of job and kids, kids and job, with hardly ever a break for herself.

            A thought came to him.  “You can change that.”

            George wondered if it was his own thought or if it was the still small voice of God as it was described in first Kings when God spoke to Elijah.

            Just then Judy accidentally hit a strike and was so excited she jumped and yelled and screamed.  George, excited for her, grabbed her up in his arms and swung her around a full three hundred and sixty degrees.  As he put her back down their eyes met for a brief moment.  Judy quickly turned away and asked what the score was now.

            George knew he felt something and she had felt something.  But was this God or just Charles’ crazy talk about marrying both of them? 

George wondered.  Was God confirming something or was it all something he was imagining?  The games had wrapped up and everyone had taken off their bowling shoes and returned to their street wear.  Just as they were headed toward the restaurant attached to the bowling alley, George was walking beside Judy, gave her a brotherly hug around the shoulders, complimented her on her game.

“Thanks George,” she said as she slid her left arm around his waist and leaned her head against his shoulder.  “You’re a very special man.”

            “Hey muscles!” Shawanda called from behind them, having come in the opposite door.  George reacted by quickly pulling away from Judy as he turned to see Shawanda, bubbly and bouncing as she often was, heading in their direction.  Judy noticed the quickness with which George had moved away from her when he heard Shawanda’s voice and shot darts of jealousy toward the other female.

            “Hey girl, you’re late for bowling but we’re going to the restaurant.  Come on and join us” George invited her.

            “Don’t mind if I do,” Shawanda shot back.

            “George,” Judy interjected, “your wife . . .” she began with special emphasis on your wife “. . . may be frazzled with the boys, maybe we should head home.”

            “No problem!” Shawanda responded.  “Mrs. M. is okay, she’s the one that called me and suggested I come down.”

            Judy took a deep breath and blew it out as she turned her head away and looked for a table.  She had enjoyed for a brief moment the attention of a man, even if he was married, and also had relished those few moments but now it was being taken away by a sweet young thing that was prettier, younger and less encumbered.  She had no real reason to feel jealous since George was already taken, but yet she did.

            The group ordered burgers, fries and cakes and teased one another about their bowling abilities or lack thereof.  After a while, though, the conversation turned more serious.

            “What’s with this Jesse character?” George asked as he looked at Shawanda. 

            “Hey, he’s a black man in America” she replied.

            “So what?  Does that give him the right to be a royal jerk?”  George replied, as he was repulsed by the idea that Shawanda would defend him.

            “His brother was framed by white cops on drug charges!”  Shawanda shot back at him with a serious, almost angry, look on her face.

            “How do you know his brother wasn’t really guilty?  I find it hard to believe the police would wrongfully charge someone.”

            “George!” Shawanda stated his name sharply and with emphasis. 

            George sat up and took notice because she was no longer the happy girl calling him by the nickname ‘muscles.’  He knew she was now deadly serious.

            “George, are you so naïve as to think that the Mark Furmans of this world don’t exist?”  She asked incredulously as she referred to the infamous policeman who was proven to have framed blacks for the fun of it at the O. J. Simpson trial.

            “I knew” she went on “white people could be blind to racism but I thought you would be better than that!”

“Well . . . uh . . .” George stuttered, trying to change the flavor of the direction things were headed.  “Maybe we can have a lawyer look at his case and get it reversed,” he said.

            “Too late!”  Shawanda stated.

            “What do you mean?” George asked.

            “They hanged him in prison.  Claimed it was suicide!  So you see, Jesse’s got reason to hate white people!”

            “But wait a minute,” Aaron interjected.  “We’re not all guilty.”

            “You contribute to it,” Shawanda countered as she turned to face Aaron.

            George had never seen this serious – almost angry – side to her.  He began to wonder if all African Americans had this resentment of whites hiding somewhere beneath the surface.

            “How do we contribute to it?” Cheryl asked.

            “By turning a blind eye.  By pretending it doesn’t exist.  By allowing it to happen but never stepping out of your comfortable life styles to protest or demand that corrupt cops be fired or corrupt judges be removed from office.  That’s how!” Shawanda said dramatically.

            “The kid was seventeen.  Never had an offense or any kind of record.  An officer stops him for DWB.”

            “What’s that?” George asked.

            Shawanda rolled her eyes to the heavens.  “Muscles, don’t you know anything?  ‘DWB’ is ‘driving while black.’”  She took a breath and blew it out and shook her head as if she had to spell everything out to a child.  “The officer says ‘Do you mind if I search your truck.’  If he says yes I mind, then the officer can search based on the suspicion that he’s guilty because he doesn’t want his car searched.”  Shawanda paused and looked around the table to make sure everyone was taking in what she was saying.

            “The officer put 5 ounces of crack cocaine in the trunk, then claims he found it there.  That’s a guarantee of at least five years in prison.  They were putting together a fund to get a top notch lawyer to get him out when he was found hanged with his hands tied behind his back and bruises all over his body.”  She paused.  Everyone was silent.  “But you wouldn’t know about that kind of thing because it doesn’t happen to you.  Only us!”  Shawanda dropped her head, drew on the straw placed in her coke and said nothing more.