The Chinaberry Monkey
By Gin Coleman Someone asked me once what made me turn back to the Lord. Well, it was a day just like every day. I got off the bus like I do every day and started walking home—you know, those four blocks get longer every year. Anyway, I was thinking how hot it was and how quiet. Nothing to hear except bumblebees buzzing in the mimosa tree. And the traffic on the freeway, not far enough away and not really free, what with the taxes I pay. I remember when I got home, I turned the front doorknob quickly—it had heated up in the afternoon sun—and dragged myself into the house. I stood in the foyer for a moment and let my job fall off my back then I set my purse on the table in the hall next to a stack of envelopes—there’s always a stack of envelopes. I was tempted to ignore them, but I never do. I peeled off my work coat, hung it on the back of the rocker, and gathered up the mail. Time for my second job. It was a short walk to the kitchen where my children were all talking at once—one child on the phone and two in the corner arguing over something, as usual. No one paid me no mind but for a short, “Hey, mama,” and, “What’s for supper?” I should have started putting supper together, but that day I just couldn’t face it yet. I was already pulling the smokes from my pocket as I pushed on through the back screen door. Can’t go far on my short back porch, so I eased down onto the top step, trying to pretend it was cooler in the backyard than in the front. Leaning back against the old wood post, feeling the warm concrete under my backside, I sat and watched the birds working the photinia bushes next door. How they could be so busy in the heat was beyond me. Lord, I was tired. And hot. And thirsty. I hollered at the children to bring me something cool to drink. I bet they heard me…but I wasn’t betting they’d do it. And I didn’t want it so bad I was going to get up and get it myself. So, I sat and smoked, ignoring that stack of mail sitting next to me on the step, and tried not to think about anything, just like I did every day after work. But today was different. I started feeling kinda agitated. Edgy. Smoking seemed to help, though I knew I shouldn’t be doing it. My doctor said so. Sister said so. Seems everyone has an opinion. Exhaling, I watched the smoke changing shape, curling and swirling, then get fainter and fainter as it drifted away. Wonder what it’s like to be so light the wind carries you away and you disappear? My eyes were drawn to that stack of mail, and I pushed it around a bit, just enough to see who it was from. Usually, I could recognize the bad ones by their shape or color. You know. The phone bill’s small and square, and the really bad ones are ugly orange with red letters bleeding all over them. Do they think we won’t see ‘em if they’s white like the rest? Do they think we mean to ignore them? Not that we didn’t wish we could. But the worst ones are all red, white, and blue, promising you’re going to be a millionaire or saying you’d won a new car. Don’t believe that. That’s the Devil all dressed up, as my daddy used to say. Well, that day they were all there, and I couldn’t ignore them because you got to have power for the refrigerator to keep food for your babies. And you need a light at night to keep out the boogeyman, not to mention those boys from down the street that ain’t got nothing better to do than hang around—just trouble waiting for a reason. I think wearing a sweatshirt with a hood in the middle of summer would make anyone do crazy things. As I studied that pile, one long envelope drew my attention, and I picked it up. It was addressed to me but all formal-like with a label. Now, that usually means it’s from someone who got my address without asking for it. I usually toss those, especially if there’s no return name. But this one said Cross Street Church. Hmm. Suddenly, I couldn’t seem to help myself. It was like I wasn’t in control, and I held it up to the setting sun to see if I could see what was inside. It got me to thinking. I hadn’t needed church in a long time and really hadn’t had time to go, what with the hospital schedule. And the children. Can’t say I felt too blessed after my man left me and the babies. He tried to come back, and I let him once or twice before I finally wised up. Couldn’t afford another mouth to feed. After I took one last, long drag from my cigarette and put the butt in the coffee can I keep by the porch, I continued to stare at that envelope. It was sealed good and tight. Even had a piece of tape in the middle, like someone was afraid the wrong person would open it or maybe whatever was inside would fall out. It was clear they wanted to be sure I got it. But I figured it couldn’t be much of anything, and I was about to toss it to one side, next to the wonderful news that I had won a brand new car, when something made me just set it in my lap instead. As I reached for another smoke, thinking I had time for one more before the children come looking for food, I found myself picking that envelope back up instead. Slipping my best nail under the edge of the flap, I tore it