Page 20 of Church Girl
Maybe deep inside, I’ll always be her.
But I’m determined to give myself a chance to find out if that’s true. And I can’t do that by speaking to Bishop Timothy James Montgomery. The commanding, imposing Bishop of Greater Faith Christian Ministries. And as one of his flock, he would expect me to obey.
I sit there, staring at the phone long enough for it to stop ringing. Just as I exhale a relieved breath, it begins ringing again.
This is silly. I can’t not speak to them forever.
If I came to Chicago for change, to stand on my own, then running and avoiding calls isn’t the way to start off. Here I am at my new job, a week away from college starting. I did these things by myself, no help or input—or demands—from anyone. I can talk to my parents. Mom anyway. She’ll be an easier place to start than Dad.
Closing my eyes and offering up a small prayer for strength, I press Answer. “Hey, Mom.”
A beat of silence passes then,“Aaliyah Renee Montgomery, where have you been?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Not only is she using my full government name, but her voice is raised. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve heard Georgia Marie Montgomery use her outside voice. And one of them was when a bat flew into the house and the other when...well, there was that other time.
Skirting away from that thought, I clear my throat. “I’ve missed your calls, Mom. I’m sorry about that.”
“Missed my calls,” she repeats, her volume down about half a notch. “That would imply you mistakenly turned your ringer off, misplaced your phone or didn’t see all the missed calls. No, Aaliyah Renee, you’ve been avoiding me and your father.”
Since she’s right, I don’t say anything.
Her heavy sigh echoes in my ear, and the disappointment weighing down the sound settles on top of my chest like a soaked blanket. Forget Catholic guilt. My mother has sackcloth and ashes down to a perfect science.
“I don’t understand any of this,” she says, and I can imagine her shaking her head, a confused frown wrinkling her forehead. “What can you possibly be thinking to just up and disappear like this? And without a word—”
“I texted you and Daddy to let you know I was safe,” I interject.
“Two days after you left,” she snaps, and a moment later, I catch her quiet but audible indrawn breath. “Do you know what those two days were like for me? For your father? Torture. Not knowing what happened to you. If you were safe or dead on the side of a road somewhere.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I murmur. “That was selfish of me not to contact you sooner. I didn’t think.”
“No, you didn’t,” she says. Another pause and another soft inhale. “Okay, baby. What’s done is done. Where are you now?”
On a reflex that’s inbred in me, I part my lips to tell her my location. An elder asks you a question, you answer. That’s how I was raised, and you better be quick about it. But at the last second, I snap my mouth shut and swallow the information. No. That was the old Aaliyah. This one is in self-preservation mode. And it’s only the fear that she’ll show up here, my father and Gregory right with her, that keeps me quiet.
Fear. I tell you, it’s a motivation stronger than love.
One of my father’s favorite Scriptures to quote is 2 Timothy, chapter 1, verse 7.“For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and a sound mind.”
Well, in this moment, I don’t have any of those virtues. Fear is definitely driving this bus.
“Aaliyah, you don’t hear me talking to you?”
“I heard you, Mom.”
“Then answer me. Where are you?”
I swallow, staring at the closed door of Gia’s bathroom, her innocent humming—now Beyonce’s “Cuff It”—a discordant soundtrack to this conversation.
“I can’t...tell you that, Mom.”
Silence buzzes in my ear. I close my eyes, waiting on the explosion. I don’t have to wait long.
“Excuse me?” she asks, her tone low, angry. Even a little confused.
Join the club. I’m confused about where I found the courage to disobey her.
Obedience. To the Lord. To my father. To my future husband. To my mother. That’s the hierarchy that’s been drummed into me from the time I could grasp the meaning. Obedience above all, and to not submit is an offense not just against my parents and now Gregory, but also against God.
