Color, Cross, and Culture

In unison, the church sang.

"When the praises go up, then the blessings come down"

When the praises go up, then the blessings come down"

Dennis’ fingers marched across the old organ as his mother lead the worship service from the pulpit a couple feet away. Strung across the top of the pulpit was a banner that read, “Do it the bible way, get bible results.”

Behind his mother in the pulpit was Pastor Williams—though they all just called him Pastor. He was dark skinned and big bellied. With one clap you could tell his hands were as big and as rough as catcher’s mitts.

On the front bench was his wife, Mother Williams. She was a tall, lithe, elderly woman famous for shaking the jingles out of tambourines and stomping footprints in the church's periwinkle carpet. She and Pastor combined made up for the drummer they didn’t have.

"When the praises go up, then the blessings come down"

The lyrics inciting a loud praise to the Most High were mere whispers off Dennis’ lips, having basically mouthed the words while he played.

“What are you going to say to her?” Dennis thought. “Lottie, it’s not you… it’s me? She’ll probably run my black ass over if I said— damn it. Sorry, Father.”

"Let God

Let God

Arise"

It was no secret that Dennis was a thinker. When he was in sixth grade, his teacher thought it’d be cute to give students personality awards. She gave him a candy bar called Day Dreamer, the prize for winning the award with the same name.

The kids laughed. Not Dennis. Before then, it hadn’t occurred to him that people could see him thinking.

Though he knew his thoughts were trapped between his ears and safe behind his teeth, anyone noticing when he checked out poked a hole in his false sense of invisibility.

Naturally, he thought about how to protect his thoughts.

With almost two decades of practice under his belt, Dennis had perfected his defense. Even in church.

After the song finished, Dennis sat with his back against the wall while others took turns testifying. It was family and friends day, meaning everyone was encouraged to bring a guest. He would have invited Lottie, but Dennis didn’t take rejection well.

One by one they stood and gave praise reports. Most introduced their guest for the day and voiced how glad they were about them being there. Others said sadder things, but the praise was that they were able to muster up any kind of praise at all despite the week they endured.

As he mulled, Dennis eyed a couple of kids on the back bench glued to their phones. It took everything for him not to click his teeth, and it only took a couple of seconds for him to remember he was once one of those kids.

“Stop judging. Even now your mind is elsewhere,” he sternly said to himself.

There was something soothing about being in church. He felt he thought his best thoughts there. Church had been the only place that week where he could think of Lottie without the chest pains.

As soon as Dennis took his eyes off the kids and back to the pulpit, he saw his mother looking right at him.

“Will there be anymore testimonies?” Her voice was sweet and tender, but her gaze made Dennis straighten his collar.

Dennis cleared his throat and sat up from his creaky bench, his legs still sore from the shift he worked the day before.

“Good morning,” he began, everyone responded in kind.

“Whoa. Are those male voices I hear? I’m used to it just being Pastor Williams and I. Nice to have some back up in here for a change.”

On cue, the men in attendance chuckled.

A wise man once said, "Many a truth is said in just." The truth was Dennis was the only man in his church other than the senior pastor. Here and there the women brought their grown sons and their husbands to church. Every other time the men accounted for a tenth of the adult congregation.

“In all seriousness, I want to thank God for waking me up this morning. For all of us making it here safe and sound. And… for our Assistant Pastor making sure I got here on time. Thanks, Ma. Amen.”

Dennis heard the future slap he earned for that last bit in his mother’s laugh.

“If that will be all,” his mother began, “we will continue with the furtherance of our service.”

“Eyes closed—heads bowed—hearts lifted.”

The words rolled off Pastor Williams’ tongue in rapid succession. Without a microphone, his baritone voice had a way of leaping out his mouth and tapping everyone on the ear.

“Father God, we want to thank you for bringing us here together today. For giving us the courage to invite someone to this sacred place.”

Dennis rolled his neck when he heard that.

“We pray that your word not only carry us until we leave this building, but that it’ll stick with us, just like how we should stick with you. Let us not be ashamed of the gospel, but living epistles. Finally, Father we pray that we both return home safe, and return here safe for our next service.

“We ask all these things in your son’s name, Jesus Christ. Let the church say—”

“AMEN,” they all shouted.

With glee, Pastor Williams said “Now hug your neighbor on your way out and tell them how good it was to see them today.”

Before the benediction, Dennis usually moved away from the organ and to the lone side bench next to the pulpit. He slid all the way to the far corner of the bench as he watched everyone laugh, hug, and shake hands.

As nice as it was to watch, Dennis had trouble jumping in. Even more so with Lottie heavy on him.

“Ahem,” his mother said. “I ain’t see you hug anyone.”

Dennis opened his arms.

“Oh, no, we’re not neighbors. Not after you played comedian earlier,” said his mother, with a flick to his forehead.

The deepest voice in the building cut in. “You can beat him, but leave his hands. The Lord hath need of his hands.”

“Pastor we’re supposed to be on the same team,” Dennis exclaimed.

“Boy I’m not standing in the way of your mother, my mother, her mother or anybody’s mother.”

Eventually, the church dwindled from a packed house to two men. Dennis sat with Pastor while the treasurers—his mother and Mother Williams—conducted their business downstairs.

“You late for work?” Pastor asked.

“Nah.”

“You sure? Awfully fidgety this afternoon. Looks like you want to run out of here.”

“Nah-nah, I’m good Pastor.”

“Hmm, and how’s that lady friend of yours treating you?”

Dennis rubbed his hands together. “You know, she’s treating me.”

“Uh-huh. That why you were dilly-dallying on my organ this morning?”

Dennis’ eyes went straight to Pastor’s.

“I know when you’re here and not here. When you’re elsewhere and on the organ it just sounds good. When you’re here and on the organ… you make it talk.

“As much as I love you, you would’ve been taken you off the organ if it were up to me? But I take orders too, y’understand?”

Dennis sighed with his hands in his lap. “Yes sir. I understand. Thank you.”

“It’s a privilege to use your gifts in His house. Don’t thank me. Thank God.”

If anyone couldn’t tell, Pastor Williams was old school. Born and bred in the deep south, he was raised on fasting and praying. It’s a task to get anybody to stay anywhere for an hour, let alone church. But, Pastor Williams was the poster child for shut-ins and revivals.

Face to face with another misstep, Dennis went silent for a minute. The topic of him being present wasn’t a new one, and it made him think of Lottie. Despite being in the sanctuary, a slight twinge of discomfort hit Dennis’ heart.

“You’re still my Adjutant. My right hand. My main man, fifty-grand.”

Dennis gave Pastor the side-eye.

“What? Y’all don’t say that anymore?”

They laughed.

“You know what I mean. I don’t mean to come down on you. Lord knows you’re already too hard on yourself. It’s just…

“Things are about to change very soon. I know you got my back, but it’d be nice to know that you’re ready for change, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re one of the first people I’m telling, other than your mama. There’s going to be elevation in the church.”

He's finally going to ask you to be a minister. You barely read your bible. You can’t even stand before your church unless someone pushes you.

Dennis’ feet grew heavy as he waited for Pastor Williams to elaborate, but the man of God halted as they heard the women coming up from the basement.

“You joining us for bible class on Tuesday? We can get into it then,” said Pastor.

“I’ll let you know. Things are kind of up in the air at work.”

Things sort of were up in the air at work. They often were at the warehouse. There’d be a call out here, tardiness there, new policies, and coworkers with old habits that just wouldn’t die.

The last conversation between Dennis and his manager Greg centered around him covering someone’s shift Tuesday night. Instead of the God honest truth, which was that he had no interest in overtime, Dennis said he’d likely be at church.

“I could use the extra money,” he said aloud, walking towards the Ralph Avenue train station. His wireless earbuds ensured he wouldn’t be mistaken for a lunatic as he thought openly.

“Besides, it’s bible study. Not like they’re going to need the organ… or the organist.”

Dennis nearly dropped his phone as it vibrated in his hand, the notification caused his chest to tighten.

“How was church?” Lottie's text read.

“That’s hilarious,” he chuckled to himself.

The station was down the block from his church. The text was swiped from his screen as fast as he swiped his metro card, just in time to catch the C train.

It was the first time in years he’d taken public transit directly from church to work. The last time was when he worked in Downtown Brooklyn. He’d take the B25 bus from MacDougal St. in Bed-Stuy straight there.

Dennis typically negotiated getting Sundays off, but when he had to go in after church—as he was unwilling to miss service by going in early—it never ceased to amaze him how many churches occupied the long Fulton strip.

There was at least one church on every block for two miles, some even had four. Whether big or modest, just about every denomination under the Christian umbrella could be found along Fulton St.

It was odd, he thought, how so many believers waving the same flag would choose to worship under different roofs.

Dennis transferred at Fulton St. and caught the 4 train, just to transfer to the 6 a stop later.

Dennis could broadly tell where he was without the conductor announcing it. He just took a look at his fellow straphangers.

It wasn't strange for him to the odd man out on the train in Manhattan. Not that he minded his fairer skinned neighbors, but in a funny way he thought it made eye contact—which was already awkward on the subway—a hint more awkward. So his eyes were closed.

You couldn’t pay anyone to willingly walk the streets blind, certainly not in NYC. Getting off at 33rd, Dennis’ alien eyes were wide open to the mystical land of Murray Hill.

It was a Zen neighborhood of luxury apartments, gyms, eateries and convenience stores where people peacefully jogged at any time of day. From the outside most of the residential buildings were quaint, but Dennis knew better. Dennis had the internet.

He and Lottie combined couldn’t afford a closet in Murray Hill. Lottie shook the idea of living in Manhattan from her mind all together after glancing at the price of a studio apartment. Dennis kept tabs on the listings, as if some filthy rich corporate type overcome with the dreariness of his penthouse would be so desperate that they’d sell their apartment for pennies on the dollar and he and Lottie would move in and make babies in a matte black tub.

“Shit, I didn’t respond.”

Like a mind reader, Lottie texted “Are we really doing this?”

Dennis sucked his teeth.

“My God. I mean gosh. I mean… fuck,” he mumbled. “Was underground. Church was good,” he replied.

“Have a good day at work. See you tonight,” she said.

Dennis nearly bumped into two men carrying furniture as he reached the warehouse, head in his phone. He offered a quick apology and the duo went about their business.

Without fail, someone moved in or out of the luxury apartments next door every weekend. Perhaps one day it would be that insatiable corporate man and Dennis would move right in. No suit case or moving crew, he’d walk into a fresh start. With how things were going, he was uncertain if Lottie would be there with him. Either way, it was time for Dennis to clock in.

“Woo! The champ is here! I said the champ is here!”

Will was halfway in the walk-in freezer in the back of the warehouse when he saw Dennis and shouted. Dennis heard him clearly all the way from the front door of the retail entrance. As much as he didn’t want to be there, Dennis couldn’t help but smile.

The warehouse was broken into three sections. First, retail was the small convenience store where the public could freely shop or pick-up their orders. Second, was the actual warehouse, where the goods were stocked and packed for online orders. Third, was dispatch, where all their shipments came in (typically on pallets), where the online orders were staged for delivery, and where the computer was set up to manage or troubleshoot it all.

“I almost gave up hope,” Will said, panting dramatically until he reached Dennis. “But when I heard you were coming in… man I got my second-third-fourth wind.”

Will was as friendly and vocal an individual as Pastor Williams. His stomach wasn’t quite as big as the man of God’s, but he was noticeably taller than Dennis.

“Yeah… With everyone dropping like flies, me on Sundays might be the new norm. Is Greg in?”

“Of course not,” Will laughed. “That’s why we’re here, why they pay us the big bucks. You know we’re the glue guys, Denny.”

“Ah, so I guess that's why we’re stuck?”

“What? Bro, I can’t understand a word you’re saying. Why are you in my face? What do you need from me?”

Work was rowdy, even on a Sunday. Tempers flared, impatience ran amok, music blasted, and Dennis could see on the monitor that the site was behind in fulfilling orders.

The flustered boy with the attitude was so young and new that Dennis didn’t bother learning his name. He would either get fired for something stupid or quit sooner or later.

Maybe if he turned the damn music down he'd understand…

“I got it,” Dennis intervened.

“Yeah, please, this guy stinks.”

Through the driver’s gestures while holding a big, crumpled brown bag, Dennis surmised the order got canceled mid-delivery and the driver had to return it.

The warehouse was located on the East Side, but the order came from the West, meaning it might as well have been in Jersey. Especially since ninety-five percent of the drivers rode bikes, making a canceled order mid-delivery even more frustrating.

Not that the boy cared. To him, and to too many of the other associates, the drivers were a bunch of homeless immigrants.

Dennis saw them as coworkers, as essential as anyone else. They were men making an honest living, some of which had fell on the hardest of times. They were friends that greeted Dennis, in particular, graciously. He saw them as brothers, fellow Africans (though a small minority were Latino).

Last but not least, Dennis saw them as devout men. Amid the chatter and loud music, the drivers took turns kneeling on a shared salat mat and prayed right in the warehouse. Regardless of which corner was available on which day, they prayed in the same direction.

Dennis wasn’t a closet Christian, he’d tell you if you asked, but Dennis didn’t even say grace aloud in public. Not for shame, at least that's what he’d say. Prayer was sacred, therefore private to Dennis. As a child in church he wouldn’t bow his head and pray until he was sure everyone else’s eyes were closed.

Despite practicing another religion, the discipline exhibited by the Muslims at work wasn’t lost on him.

“I don’t know how they can put that rug on that dirty floor—” a female associate began.

“Your pack time is going to suffer if you don’t finish that order,” Dennis interjected, his tone much calmer than he actually was.

“Crap, you’re right.”

These damn kids have no respect these days…

Will came and put his large hand on Dennis’ shoulder. “Football season starts today, Greg's probably home watching the games while we’re here with the brats. Orders are going to be off the hook. You and I are in for the long haul, Denny.”

“I’m supposed to open tomorrow, too…”

Will’s eyes went wide. “See? This is why they pay you the big bucks.”

“Thought you’d be home by now.”

Where are you?”

???”

Dennis was slated to work until nine, he ended up working well past eleven as someone from the night crew called out. His calves were on fire and his stomach cursed him for not taking a break.

He was so overwhelmed that he didn’t notice his phone buzzing, nor did he dwell too much on Lottie and what Pastor Williams wanted to tell him.

“Got caught up. Work ran late. Omw.”

Will had left sometime ago. Without anyone he felt the need to say goodbye to, Dennis slipped out of the warehouse like a ghost.

The sounds of chatter and loud music were locked away as the doors closed behind him. It was as though he stepped into another plane, the tranquil streets of Murray Hill, the sights, sounds and smells of which were polar opposites of the warehouse.

Dennis, like most New Yorkers, was always headed somewhere. He rushed to church, he rushed to work, but that night he was in no rush to go home. The trains were slow around that time anyway, he could’ve crawled to the station and still waited over ten minutes for a train to arrive.

He looked up for a change, at the luxury high rises. It occurred to him that he had never set foot in a place like that. Never stood on a terrace. Never looked out a glass window his height. Never stood in the lobby with the doorman as he waited for a friend to come down. He spent at least forty hours a week in Murray Hill for over a year and hadn’t scratched the surface of it.

His resume was barely good enough to land him a job in such a place, but nothing about him permitted him to stay. He worked a similar job in Tribeca. It was the only other neighborhood he'd been in that might've actually been more expensive. The scenario was the same, work yourself to the bone for pennies while serving a community that looks nothing like you.

The people that lived in those neighborhoods wouldn’t be caught dead working where Dennis worked. He understood that his employment there wouldn’t be enough to earn him a spot there.

Yet, faith beckoned he not be weary in well-doing. He believed if he stayed positive he could somehow work his way out.

Well, he hoped.

The trip home to Concourse was a long one. Dennis was too tired to listen to music, and music was what kept his mind off things.

Lottie was all he could think about. Though he didn’t have the energy to be emotional, he knew he couldn’t avoid her or this decision any longer. Sleep sounded so good that he nodded off a couple times while humming its tune.

Do we have to do this tonight? Can’t it wait until tomorrow?

How often had he prolonged the important things? In the biggest moments, Dennis was just too tired or too stressed to be present.

If he didn’t end things that night the drama would continue. If he didn’t get enough sleep he wouldn’t make it into work. If he didn’t make it into work he’d either have to take a loss on the money or use what little off time he had left. Loss on money would put him behind, and no off time meant when an emergency happened he’d risk losing his job to be present.

Father, please give me strength.

He dragged himself out of his seat and shuffled off at 161st St-Yankee Stadium.

He could hear Latin music the moment he set foot on the platform. “I guess the Yankees won,” he said.

The only good thing about coming home late was that he managed to avoid the large crowds of die-hard Yankee fanatics. Dennis was more a basketball man.

Concourse was in a celebratory mood, it was palpable. Growing up in Brooklyn, Dennis had become accustomed to tropical music, but it hit harder in the Bronx. It wasn’t just background music there, it was the soundtrack of the community.

He and Lottie lived a few blocks away from the train station on Gerard Avenue. They took over his uncle’s apartment after he and his wife moved to Florida. Dennis never planned on living in the Bronx, but Lottie was a native and it was time for him to get his own place, so he couldn’t let the opportunity pass him by.

It was a tan bricked building five stories high. Their first day there was the also first time Dennis had ever been on a fire escape. It was cool until Dennis set his eyes on the terraces of Manhattan.

They didn’t have any issues there, being his uncle’s nephew gave them favor. Though, Dennis knew some of the guys disliked that he was with one of theirs. Dennis didn’t care most days.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me…”

Any piece of paper on the elevator door meant it was out of order.

“Of all nights.”

Normally Dennis would’ve sprinted up the stairs, dead legs and all. That night he ascended Everest. With every step his heart pounded harder and harder. The air got thinner and thinner. He couldn’t tell if his hands were twitching from stress or fatigue, having to use the guardrail after reaching the third floor.

It isn’t about how she reacts, it’s about you doing what needs to be done. Maybe it’ll be better if she’s in a mood. Yeah… Propped in the chair with her arms crossed, stone faced, interrogation light hovering over the threshold for me. I can let her act a fool and just tell her I’ve had it.

The more he thought about it, the more his stomach churned. Arguing with Lottie was not fun. Debating was, but not arguing. She was every bit as inquisitive and observant as he was.

Their last blow up she accused Dennis not only of cheating, but of using being at church as excuse to do so. The craziest part? Lottie could be so convincing and so wrong at the same time that he questioned if he had truly been faithful.

He couldn’t believe she’d insult his integrity. Especially when she was the one who… Dennis didn’t like thinking about that.

He left and went to his parents’ place in Brooklyn and hadn’t been home for a few days. He could still hear his father saying, “I warned you about shacking up in with an atheist.”

By the time Dennis reached the fourth floor he felt as ready as he was ever going to be.

This is for the best. We’re holding each other back and it’s getting toxic.

Dennis took a deep breath as he opened the door.

Lottie was right there on their sofa. The brown one from her place that she helped him carry up the stairs because she refused to ask the men in her family to help them move.

The street lights shone through their cheap drapes, the flash of the television illuminated her face. Lottie was olive—or medium toned, Dennis was never good with describing it. He just knew she was beautiful and exotic.

The Mexican bandana on her head was leaning out of place and her jet black hair was frizzy. He knew he had just woken her up. She wore an oversized shirt, and from where he was standing it didn’t seem like Lottie had much on underneath.

They locked eyes.

Dennis wondered if she could see what he was thinking, how he was feeling, or the kind of weekend he had… because Lord knows he couldn’t read her.

He knew how to cheer her up and how to make her laugh, but it took her revealing she needed any of that for him to know when to act. Not for lack of trying, Lottie was just a different breed. Even in her tired state, she was as mysterious and as fierce as she ever was.

She was intoxicating.

Before he knew it, Dennis had cupped Lottie’s face and they embraced, lips first. He couldn’t recall when he crossed the room or if he locked the door, he was lost in Lottie.

You’re a dog. You always do this. It won’t last. You’ll be at each other's throats next week, say things you shouldn’t say, and wish you ended it tonight.

One hand was on Lottie’s thigh and the other pushed that small, critical voice to the back of his mind.

Then, Lottie placed her hand feebly on Dennis’ chest.

It stopped him in his tracks, the softness of it was disturbing, near lifeless. He leaned back and witnessed Lottie squeezing her shoulders, holding herself at the seams.

“I have something to tell you,” she whispered, as though they weren’t alone.

You’re a real piece of work. She’s clearly troubled and the first thing you did when you walked in was try to get some.

Dennis had no clue what she was going to say. But, what drove a knife through his chest, what made him hate himself, is that no matter how bad he wanted to comfort her...

“Lottie what is it?”

He couldn’t say “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it.”

“Dennis, I’m pregnant.”