Proverbial Phrases

By Glen El Writer

According to Proverbial Phrases, If God could prevent each person from getting sick, then surely Lucifer would not have become satanic.

The aforementioned poem is called a Proverbial Phrase. Proverbial Phrases are written with three main rules as their guide. The three-rule Proverbial Phrase handbook reads, Writers of Proverbial Phrases shall use no word more than once; should seldom, if ever, place gender at the forefront; and, each rhyme, summarized, must quickly take readers to an informative point. Although the bulk of Proverbial Phrases do not begin until halfway through this story, many phrases come thereafter.

Kendall, because of child abuse, became a very frightened child. During his parents divorce, Sam, his nemesis, and his mothers new boyfriend, had beaten him until his buttocks was raw on at least two different occasions. Kendall was very afraid of the violent man and of certain other scary situations, as well. One of Kendalls favorite Proverbial Phrases reads, Proverbial Phrases mean more to me than the scariest stories are scary.

Neither Kendall, nor those closest to him, knew the subtle signs of mental illness. Like many people of color, Kendalls mental issues began when he was very young. Kendall, however, received no help for his mental condition and he, therefore, became even more subtly ill as he advanced in years. One Proverbial Phrase reads, Even those that know they are ill still sometimes strongly resist being healed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 11, 2012
• ISBN: 9781468587432

Glen El Writer

Glen El Writer was raised in the Sunshine City of St. Petersburg, Florida. There he learned about writing Proverbial Phrases from the elder, Chandler Mann. After graduating from high school, Glen joined the United States Army and served his country for nearly ten years. While attending Augusta State University, he had dreams of writing wise words that people can enjoy reading and reciting. He was inspired by one of his college professors, who quoted wisdom from various writers at the end of each class. His inner burning also came from him hearing his wife quote the many sayings of her grandparents. After traveling to various countries around the world Glen endeavored to write phrases that people can quote. Hence, Pure Proverbial Phrases was born. Proverbial Phrases, the novel, is the winner of the Morgan Fitz/George Khul Student Writer Award. It is the author's primary hope that each reader will enjoy and share Proverbial Phrases with those whom they come in contact with. According to Mr. Writer, "When I hear people quote my words, I am in heaven; because then I will know that those words mean something to others and have, most likely, helped someone."

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© 2012 by Glen El Writer. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 05/16/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4685-8741-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4685-8742-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4685-8743-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012907052

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Proverbial Phrases

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Proverbial Phrases

("True democracy is freeing the psyche from social inequality")

Kendall Belcher adjusted his sore knees throughout the night. The cemented bench tabletop where he slept was far too hard to sooth a battered child. His buttocks was aching, stinging and bleeding from a recent brutal beating. His lips and right eye were swollen from Sam’s mean fists. His head ached from some of Sam’s vicious blows. During his escape from Sam (and home) his right forearm had been badly cut by one of the glass panels on the front jalousie door. Now he lay exhausted on his chest and knees still wondering what non-frightening thing he could do to get back to his family. The dark storm clouds over head mirrored the large bodies of water nearby. Long splinters of lightening consistently creased the lively, tropical, Saint Petersburg sky. While on his knees, Kendall’s buttocks stretched high. His arms were folded underneath his pillowed head. He dozed in and out of sleep. He wondered if night always took this long. His high-buttocks kneeling position made him look like a youngster curiously listening for sounds inside the ground. Pain was his most visible visitor, but he wished it would leave.

His Saturday had been another long one. Now midnight loomed, and gunshots celebrating America’s Bicentennial would soon join Mother Nature in her fireworks show. Church had begun at 9:15am. Pastor’s appreciation lunch had followed immediately thereafter. Missionary volunteer work lasted from one until two o’clock. A Bicentennial Day parade at downtown Central Avenue had filled the remnants of his afternoon. An hour before sunset Kendall and his family returned to church again for vespers. After vespers the day ended with a festive fireworks show at the Saint Petersburg Pier. Instead of the usual Saturday night church social, the youth leaders of Kendall’s church had encouraged every family to attend the fireworks show.

By the time ten-year-old Kendall and his ten siblings (ages 17 years to 7 months old) were done with their lengthy Sabbath they were all dead tired. (Ironically, their day of rest usually left them tired). At the drop of a hat either of them would flop flat in to bed. Yet, the long, high stairway of church customs had begun working like an escalator for Lorene. She loved her newest church family. Since she’d been a member things had been running rather smoothly. She loved how the church kept her children busy. She was determined that the hearts of her eleven children would learn the value of accepting and appreciating Jesus while they were still young. And she chose Adventism. Receiving Jesus was fine, she and her children had agreed. Throwing Satan out was the trick. Until Lorene could figure out how to do both, she risked the fall of her angels.

Kendall, Lorene’s seventh child, especially disapproved of his mother’s engagement to Sam. The man and boy were at constant odds with each other. Sam’s constant misuse of his stirring spirits kept tension in the family home. Now, though, Kendall lay on a cemented bench tabletop after having endured another night of hell. Satan had somehow crept between the family’s religious traditions and split them up. In less than two hours after they all had returned home from a long day of spiritual revitalization Lorene’s bond with her children was tested and tried by evil. Evil won—and claimed as its own her two toddler twin sons. By right of paternity the boys were indeed Sam’s, but he had treated them and Lorene’s other nine children like they were his enemies. And he had especially treated Kendall like a despicable prisoner, abusing him with torture. An hour after Kendall’s escape from Sam, he lay lonely, lost, battered and afraid.

When Kendall looked upward he was only reminded of the stormy July weather. Rain trickled down from the dark, leaking, electric sky. Kendall was terrified. He was also still dead tired. But he could not sleep long enough to feel rested. Besides being lost during a vicious midnight storm his bleeding forearm and buttocks made restorative sleep nearly impossible. He pulled off his T-shirt and wrapped it around the cut on his arm.

While the thunder roared overhead and the lightening dashed across the heavens, Kendall continued his lonesome, fearful, painful wait to meet the rising sun. He thought to himself, ‘I never thought night took this long to end.’ Intermittently he readjusted his kneeling position. Intermittently he awoke, scared by the short stories his mind had quickly put together to shock him back to reality. Intermittently he wept. Avoiding nature’s stormy striking was his most present and pressing concern. He’d been taught in school that his city produced some of the worst tropical storms in Florida. And, although he had not chosen the safest place to hide, he still praised the ancient oak tree limbs and the park’s backdoor overhang for mostly sheltering him from the elements.

On numerous previous occasions Sam had threatened Kendall that, One day I’m gon’ beat you ‘til ya kaint sit down. Because Sam had never made good on his threat Kendall took it as merely another adult bluff. Yet, tonight Sam fulfilled his barbaric threat. Now, Kendall was left alone to deal with the immediate after-effects of Sam’s brutality. And, too, Sam had threatened Kendall that, "One day I’m gon’ give you a whuppin’ you’ll never forget." And, while Kendall struggled to sleep on the cemented tabletop, dreams of his trial kept forcing him to wake up and face more fearful memories. Fear made him close his eyes. Fear also woke him up each time.

Memories of his long-but-beautiful day flooded his mind like the flashing drainage sewer behind the park. Memories of dogs barking at him while he ran through unpaved alleys trying to get as far away from Sam as he could; memories of car horns blowing at him while he ran; memories of himself dashing in and out of yards and through shrubs and over fences; memories of sirens whaling not far away; memories of his baby brothers being consistently held high by the front buttons of their tiny toddler shirts and then purposefully dropped to the carpeted floor by their father; memories of his brothers screaming after landing on the hard floor; memories of being backhanded several times by Sam’s heavy hands and the large rings that choked his fingers; memories of having to pull down his pants for his terribly painful beating and, too, having to count each strike; memories of his first murder attempt with a .22 caliber pistol, when he tried to pull the trigger and kill Sam, but instead only hearing a deafening bang; memories of that loud, clashing bang of the gun when Sam, playing Russian Roulette, accidentally shot himself in the back of his head; memories of seeing his nemesis fall to the floor with blood gushing from the back of his head. Memories, memories, memories—of events that happened only a couple of hours before.

What he did not know was the power memory has to remind its participants of both joy and sadness forever. What he did not know was that another mental patient was being born—right inside of him. What he did not know was that dozens of people were now searching for him. What he did not know was that Sam was still alive.

Kendall wished he could now focus on the best parts of his recent Bicentennial eve, but anger, vile memories, self-pity and pain, like burning torches, were too bright to ignore. He wished his real father would show up to rescue him. He wished his mother would show up and cuddle him. He wished Jesus would burst through the dark, stormy clouds and swoop him up and onto his angelic, winged horse. Post trauma, though, often seems stronger than the effects of joy. So, Kendall quietly hummed the words to his newest favorite hymn, What a Friend We Have in Jesus. And he prayed. Televangelist Fred Price had said during a sermon that, "When you pray, say". So, though Kendall hummed the hymn, he voiced aloud his prayer. And he waited for Jesus to answer. But Jesus seemed to be asleep.

The more Kendall prayed, the more the thunderous rain clouds seemed ready to stop their sniffling and burst at any time. With each crack of vicious lightening electrifying the sky panic tried to set in, but yielded to Kendall’s prayers. Tears of sorrow and fear now dripped from his eyes faster than the rising rain that bounced and splashed all around him. Kendall curled himself into a fetal position. He clinched his teeth from the pain. Even the sides of his buttocks were sore. Eventually, though, he cried himself to sleep. However, intermittent pain woke him whenever he tried to roll over but could not because of his maliciously beaten rear-end. Around six the next morning, when a hint of brightness began to highlight the still rainy sky, Kendall woke up for good.

Kendall stood and stretched his sore limbs. His face was now puffier than it was the previous night, but his headache was gone. His buttocks, however, was still very sore. After wiping sleep and dried tears from his eyes Kendall glanced across a large field and saw Lake Bartlett Park, where varied fishes swim and eat and daily become the treat. On the luscious, green Bermuda surrounding the lake were thousands of black birds feeding. Kendall, attracted to the beautiful scene, retrieved his wet pillow and went to join them. At first the birds welcomed him. But after he yelled, Ouch, while trying to sit on an open bench beneath a young Palmetto tree, half of the birds scattered, but eventually returned once Kendall settled in. Slowly he repositioned his pillow between his buttocks and calves. Then, on the soft, but wet grass, he carefully knelt. Again tears intermittently dripped from his eyes. But, again he hummed his favorite hymn.

While tuned to nature’s television (something he loved doing) Kendall noticed what he thought was his first human of the day. In the distance a strange-looking, elderly man appeared through the misty, morning fog walking his German Sheppard. The birds kept feeding and seemed undaunted by the dog’s presence. The man came closer, whistling the hymn Under His Wings. Kendall recognized the tune and stood up, clinching his pillow to his stomach. The man’s facial scars were obvious. He limped, but carried a long staff for support. Fingers were missing from his right hand. The right side of his face wore a deep, long indentation and very old scar. Kendall, having just recently fought one monster, was too afraid to fight another one. But intuition calmed him. Mesmerized by the man’s extraordinarily large, beautiful and friendly-looking dog, he stood still.

When the man was about twenty feet from Kendall he paused momentarily before speaking. The youngster stared directly at him. His mother had told him to, . . . avoid people who don’t look right ‘round ‘bout the eyes… This man had only one eye, but it seemed to Kendall friendlier than some people with two. Ironically, Kendall’s maternal grandfather had only one eye, which had been enucleated during childhood. This made the elderly man seem even more intriguing. Kendall thought of his own grandfather. Questions formed in Kendall’s mind. Questions about the old man’s scars and his dog were the most prominent, and, momentarily, they took Kendall’s mind off of his pain. Slowly the man resumed his approach. His goal had been to avoid scaring the swollen-faced, obviously wounded youngster by not walking upon the scene too quickly.

Well, good morning, Young man, the man said kindly as he pushed down his dog’s rear end and said to her, Sitz. His voice sounding like James Earl Jones. The dog sat. Das ist zher gut, He added, and then patted the dog on her head. Kendall wondered. He had never before heard such words.

First, I told her to sit. Next, I told her that’s very good, he said, curing the youngster’s curiosity. This here is a German Shepherd. And I teach her German as well as English.

Oh, I was wondering what language that was. Man, I wish I knew how to speak other languages, said Kendall, slowly giving in to the old man’s friendliness. I know how to say hola in Spanish, and a couple of other words, but that’s about it, he added, staring steadily into the man’s eye.

Well, you can, Young man. All you have to do is practice or visit their land. I learned most of my German when I was in Europe.

Europe? I’ve heard of that place. My oldest brother always goes there.

Well good. He should help you, then.

Nah. Not him. He just went to Europe again the day before yesterday, but didn’t tell me anything about it when he came home that night. He never talks about his trips to Europe.

The old man chuckled. Kendall was proud of the smile he’d made happen, but he was too naïve to understand it. He licked his lips and glanced down at the dog.

Well, from the look of things, it seems that you’ve been crying, the man said, taking a seat on the bench beside where Kendall stood. I’m Chandler Mann, and I just came out here, like I do every morning, to feed my ten-thousand angels. And I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you helped me, he continued, reaching into his paper sack and pulling out a handful of breadcrumbs and then scattering them onto the open field.

Oh—my name is Kendall, he blurted as an afterthought. The two shook hands. Kendall watched as the birds pecked in to the grass. The few pigeons nearby also came closer as though they too deserved some breakfast. Kendall marveled at how the birds seemed so unafraid of Chandler. He had never before been so close to such a large flock of birds. Usually they would fly away. Still, though, uncertainty restrained him. Still, though, he was nonetheless curious. Kendall slightly moved away. Chandler knew the youngster was afraid of him. He had already noticed the blood-soaked pillow and shabby dressing on the boy’s arm. Momentarily silence spoke stridently between them. Chandler decided to let Kendall do the talking. Instead, Kendall turned slightly from him and wiped away more tears. He then turned toward him again and said, Mr. Mann, why do you call birds angels?

Chandler said, "Well, Son, that’s an easy one. You see, ‘Birds, like angels, view us from earth and above, while they sing early each morning of God’s wonderful love’ Chandler replied, stroking the back of Verona, his dog. Kendall, his ears tickled by the mention of God, settled down. He smiled and said excitedly, Hey—that rhymes! I like poems."

Verona came closer and tried to lick Kendall, but Kendall quickly jerked away and stumbled several steps backward. Verona barked. Several birds scattered. Politely, but sternly, Chandler warned Kendall against making sudden moves around unfamiliar animals, especially dogs. Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Mann. I didn’t know, Kendall replied, softly caressing his backside with his free hand. It’s just that I’m still hurting from a bad whuppin’ I got last night and I didn’t want your dog to bite me and make me hurt worse than I already do.

When questioned about the brutal beating, Kendall told Chandler what had happened the night before, crying and hiccupping throughout his story. Summing up his story he said, . . . and when I told my pastor how Sam acts when he drinks his only response was that I need to take Sam to the Lord, because the Lord can heal a person from any and everything. But, I think Sam is sick in the head.

Chandler held his thoughts until Kendall had paused long enough. He wanted to pull Kendall in to his chest and caress him, but instead he decided to comfort the youngster with words.

Well, Son, Chandler began, "If God could prevent each person from getting sick, surely then Lucifer would not have become Satanic."

"But Mama always says a person has to want to be healed before God can heal them," Kendall retorted, laying his bloody pillow on the bench next to Chandler and wondering if the old man had another poetic answer.

"Well, yes. That too may be true. But ‘Even those told that they are ill sometimes still resist being healed’."

"Mr. Mann, from what I went through last night, I know Sam is crazy. But I think if I have to go live with him one more day I will go crazy, too Kendall added, wiping away more tears and snot with the back of his hand and forearm. He beat the skin off of me last night, and I felt like I was losing my mind, too."

Verona licked the blood mixed with morning mist from Kendall’s pillow. Chandler stopped her. Gently patting the bench he gestured for Kendall to sit.

I can’t sit down, Mr. Mann, said Kendall, again softly caressing his bottom. My bahine hurts me too bad. I had to sleep on my knees all night last night.

The more Kendall shared his story the more enraged Chandler became. Yet, instead of showing the young man more anger he summarily educated him about the mental issues that run rampant in communities that still relate to them as taboo. He assured Kendall that, most likely, he was right about Sam having mental issues, but was extra careful with his words. He said, "‘Calling someone crazy without showing them love insults both the speaker and subject being spoken of’. So I try to avoid using that term," he added, now combing Verona with a small, metal fish scaler.

Again Kendall wondered.

Chandler added, A fish scaler works very well on long-haired dogs. He knew Kendall had a right to be upset with Sam, but wanted to abort any conception of hate growing inside the young man.

We already have more than enough hate in this life, Kendall, said Chandler, trying to remain dignified and hoping that it would rub off. During his advisement Chandler admonished Kendall to plead with his mother to get him some psychological counseling.

Unchecked mental issues have a way of sucking people in to the black holes of life’s trials, Chandler added.

Kendall was intrigued by Black Holes, and science in general, and found it amazing that Chandler had even mentioned the phrase. Kendall agreed that he would try hard not to hate Sam, but also stated, I just hope I can keep my promise. Just last night I wanted to kill him.

Staring into Kendall’s brown eyes with all the wisdom of his years, Chandler said, "Now, you listen to me, Son, and you listen well. ‘None truly know which route any mind will take, especially when the magnetic force of destiny mysteriously pulls people toward its gate’."

Kendall scratched his head and said, I like listening to you, Mr. Mann. Almost everything you say rhymes. I want to learn how to write poems like you.

Kindly winking at Kendall and then tenderly patting him on the shoulder Chandler replied, Well, maybe one day I can teach you, Son. But first of all we need to get you back to your family. The whole city is probably looking for you right now.

After getting a contact name from Kendall, Chandler walked to the nearest telephone booth, thumbed through the white pages and then contacted a Sister Edna Johnson. Edna, an Adventist missionary, had visited Kendall’s mother during her hospitalization for tuberculosis several years prior. During Lorene’s separation from her husband, Edna had also provided her and her children with safe haven. She had taught Lorene lessons on health, as outlined in her church doctrine. Because of her near-death sickness, Lorene was very receptive to Edna’s teachings on health. She was also intrigued by Edna’s teachings on the bible Sabbath and other church dogma. Once Lorene’s questions about specific bible topics were satisfactorily answered, and after her body was well enough for a hospital discharge, she eventually joined Edna’s church. Now, she and her nine children were no longer Baptists. Instead they were now Adventists. Edna had won an entire family of ten converts over to her church. And, too, Lorene was granted a nice, three-story, five bedroom house that belonged to the church. She could stay there until it was sold. When time came for Lorene to move out Sam showed up, like a comic book hero, and offered her one of his empty homes.

After Lorene had fully separated from her husband she was soon swept off her feet by Sam, a man eager for her love. He was nearly ten years younger than she was, and was a man also willing to love and provide for her nine children. Things between Lorene and Sam usually went well. There were times, however, when Edna had to house Lorene and her children during Sam’s rage. On those nights Lorene always said that Sam merely drank too much.

Although Edna had tried to teach Lorene about psychological issues, Lorene was not as receptive to them as she had been with her physical health studies or with regular bible study. Each time that she resisted Edna on the subject Edna pulled back and stuck with the basics. Yet, whenever Lorene had to escape Sam’s wild behavior Edna lovingly took her in again. Last night during Sam’s worst episode she and her children were headed to Edna’s house again when Kendall jumped from the vehicle and ended up back at home again with his nemesis. And from that very home he had to escape again.

Now Kendall patiently waited on Chandler to end his call with Edna. Chandler informed Edna of Kendall’s whereabouts and assured her that he would remain with the young man until she arrives. He had been partially right that the entire city was searching for Kendall. The police had been notified and were searching. Members of his church were searching. Lorene and several carloads of her out-of-town relatives were searching. By car and on foot a vast number of people were trying to find him, but, still no one had seen any sign of Kendall. However, after Chandler’s telephone call, Sister Johnson immediately left home to go and retrieve him. Meanwhile, when Chandler returned from the telephone booth, Kendall bombarded his new, elderly friend with questions.

Mr. Mann, began Kendall, sitting in his new, soggy, kneeling position, with his pillow still tucked comfortably between his heels and buttocks, How long did it take you to learn to speak in poems like that?

A lifetime, Young man—an entire lifetime, Chandler answered solemnly, tickled by Kendall’s question and clearly relieved that the boy would soon be reunited with his family. "I call them Proverbial Phrases. If you’d like to hear some of the rules I use to write them, so that you can learn how to channel your own thoughts, I can share them with you."

Man, oh, Man, that would be super, Kendall replied excitedly, and now gently stroking Verona’s chest while Chandler steadily combed away her shedding hair with his fish scaler. "I know those birds are your angels, said Kendall, fidgeting with his pillow and trying to remain comfortable. But I think you’re mine. If I can learn how to speak in Proverbial Phrases like you do, then maybe grownups like my mama will respect me more. Mama thinks I’m too young to be smart enough to teach her anything, he added, eyeing his newest, oldest friend astutely. So please teach me."

"Well pay close attention to me then, Young Man. Because, ‘The best and most memorable advice suggested are words that were requested’. He said soundly, and eyeing Kendall with all the wisdom of his years. A good poet should avoid being a show-off."

OK, said Kendall, trying to show Chandler his desire to be an obedient child. But what about those rules you mentioned? Are they easy to remember? Are they a poem, too? I learn really fast. Please tell them to me. I’m listening, Kendall replied anxiously.

"Proverbial Phrases say writers of them shall use no word more than once; must seldom, if ever, place gender at the forefront; and each rhyme, summarized, should quickly take readers to an informative point."

Is that it? Man, if I practice hard enough I can learn how to do that.

Yes you can. And if you start with these few rules I’m sure you will eventually do well, because it’s very obvious to me that you’re already a smart boy.

"Man, oh, Man, Mr. Mann. Thank you. As much as I love to write I know I’m gonna have fun doing this. I just wish I had a good Proverbial Phrase to tell Sam. He used to get so sloppy drunk that he could hardly stand up. And if he could stand up, all he wanted to do was fight."

"Well, try this one on for size and see how you like it. ‘Oh, ye, sipper of spirits, remember that they are but subjects under your entrusted rule; so drink them wisely, or, like many others, become a drunken fool’. I believe that one should be easy for you to remember."

It is. It is. Do you have another one I can tell my daddy? He drinks too, but not like Sam used to. He says drinking makes him smarter, but that I should never drink until I’m grown and understand the power of alcohol.

OK. So, say this one, Chandler began, adjusting his shirt collar with both hands, in a humorous sort of way. He recited, "‘oh ye spirits, come completely under my control, and make me a sober—sobering—stately soul.’ He added, winking at Kendall and then returning to his seat. There, he said matter-of-factly, pumping his head downward with one long, slow nod. That one is short and sweet. And I believe spirit drinkers should say that one every time they drink."

Man, oh, Man, Mr. Mann, all of these are easy to remember, said Kendall, spellbound by Chandler’s words, but more so by his use of them. As soon as I get home I’m gonna write down as much as I can remember about what you said. Then I’m gonna study it until I know I’ll never forget.

Here, take this, Chandler interjected, pulling a small, royal blue, spiral-bound writing pad from his short-sleeved, tropical-styled shirt pocket and handing it to Kendall. As Chandler handed Kendall the tiny tablet Kendall’s swollen eyes grew as large as golf balls. He cupped his hands and held them both out, as though he were receiving something holy. And to him it was. Gingerly he held the tablet, staring at it in awe. With the tablet stretched out at chest level Kendall’s eyes caught Chandler’s. The joyful, youthful smile that had previously been erased by violence was then and there rewritten onto Kendall’s face by the efforts of his newest friend. Chandler placed his good hand upon Kendall’s head. He then raised the hand with missing fingers into the air. And then, like some minister baptizing a soul, he lifted his head and gazed with his eye at the sky. His prayer was silent, but Kendall felt its power. Kendall thought, ‘this is the strangest religious man I’ve ever met’.

Because of the evangelical ways of his church Kendall felt obligated by God to invite Chandler to his church. . . . and we have a good pastor, too, he said, now holding his treasure reverently to his chest. Mr. Mann, I want you to be in heaven. And my pastor said that people who join our church will go to heaven. Will you come one day?

Chandler replied, Well, I won’t make any promises, but I will say this—‘church is where we make it; and heaven is where we take it’. Now, that one wasn’t a Proverbial Phrase but it almost certainly can be.

Kendall smiled again. I think Mama will like that one, he said, clasping his newest gem. Each page of the twenty-five page tablet that Chandler had given to Kendall was filled with Proverbial Phrases. Several Proverbial Phrases were on each page. The basic phrases dealt with topics like religion, science, dreams and friendship. While still thumbing through the pages of the tablet Kendall Ryan gracefully thanked Chandler Mann again for being so generous and kind to him. Across the street, however, in the parking lot of Dandee Bread House, where the smell of fresh-baked bread saturated the brisk, tropical, morning air, stimulating their noses in the process, a steady horn was blowing. Edna Johnson had arrived and was waving wildly for Kendall to come.

CHAPTER ONE

Although Roy and Lorene’s wedding vows were ultimately lies, for now they believed each other. In the small township of Elba, Alabama, Lorene and Roy found love in each other, in 1954. She, a five-foot-five, eighteen-year old with almond-brown eyes and black, long, very silky hair, agreed to bare her lover children, but for a cost. Lorene wanted to be a registered nurse. Roy wanted a large family of children to work the fields. She, as a southern girl, promised to faithfully do her part in providing him with many children, as long as he would do his part in supporting her efforts at achieving a higher education. So, the two teenagers set out and got married. He, a six-foot-tall masterpiece of a dark-and-handsome man, took the hand of his almond-eyed beauty. Objections were nil. But, on their wedding day, Lorene’s father, John D. Caldwell, pulled his new son-in-law aside and said to him, Keep my princess in the apple of your eye, young man. He told him, And, remember, God is in her. And you don’t talk to God in just any kind of old way. Treat her good and goodness will smile down on you. But, if you treat her bad you will learn what hell is all about—and I will be your teacher. Roy nodded to his new father-in-law and assured John D. that his daughter was in the safest hands.

After the commencement of their nuptials, Lorene and Roy immediately began producing children. Matter-of-factly, their first child was already on the way. Between 1955 and 1962 Lorene gave birth to five healthy children. Her body paid sorely for the stressed placed upon it, though. On one particular occasion, while she was washing laundry, she began to cough up blood. This landed her in the hospital with a diagnosis of tuberculosis. While Lorene was in the hospital, two Adventist missionaries paid her a visit. They introduced her to their church’s health message and ultimately won a new convert. Although Roy was not a church-going man, he did not prevent his wife and children from attending church services. Besides, he felt that his wife’s new church kept her mind busy enough to tame her educational desires and place them further on hold for a while.

By 1964 the couple had moved to Lake Wales, Florida. The stresses of Alabama (and marriage in general) had taken their toll on each of them. In Lake Wales, Lorene gave birth to two more children, Kolby and Kendall. Kendall was special. During her pregnancy with Kendall, Lorene commented, I’ve never felt so healthy and strong during any of my pregnancies as I do with this one. I know God is at work with this child inside me. Giving birth to Kendall went as smoothly as the pregnancy.

Now, with seven children to feed, Roy found himself deeper and deeper indebted to the cause of fatherhood. He and his wife had committed themselves to providing their children with the best of everything. But, Roy was failing at his test. Although times were usually rough, financially, Roy was determined to produce at least three more children before calling it quits. With ten children working beside him Roy felt he could harvest his crops of cotton and vegetables without hiring a soul. Lorene kept performing her wifely duties and fulfilling her promises to Roy. But, after seven children, she felt that Roy was slowly forgetting her educational goals. Instead, she felt that he wanted her to focus all her energies on raising their growing clan. In Florida, however, the crop was citrus, and not cotton.

Marital tensions became thick between Lorene and Roy, and in more ways than a few. Money was short. Bills needed to be paid. Children needed their necessities. Lorene’s religious views were being questioned on a regular basis. Roy’s work ethic was also being questioned. And work for Roy was very lean. The new job he had accepted at Splashy Juice orange company in Orlando needed to hurry up and pay its fee. And it did. Roy now had a well-paying job in Florida, and his wife was near the nursing school that she had longed to attend. In 1968, however, when Lorene was pregnant with her eight child, she and Roy had one of their worst arguments. This argument changed their relationship dramatically.

Earlier, Roy lay silently listening to his favorite Joe Simon album. His eyes were closed shut. A wide smile gleamed across his freshly-shaven face as he lay back in his old recliner. He had a mustache, but no beard. His recliner was named Sleepy Head. As he sat listening to the music, the pleasure of his memory fed his hungry ego, and he lost himself in the reminiscence of his secret deeds. Soon, Lorene entered the room. She had several letters in her hand. Roy was lost to his surroundings. And, before he knew it, he was suddenly awakened. Still groggy, Roy awoke to find himself deep into his wife’s argument. She fussed over the promises he had made to her. Feeling cheated, Lorene said, First of all, I’m kickin’ out babies every year for you, Roy, and I don’t have one drop of education to show for it. You promised me, Roy! You promised me! But, until now, none of those promises have been fulfilled.

Her anger, combined with the frustrations of being pregnant, made Lorene act violently. And, besides, Lorene added. "I’ve been told by several sources that you are still seeing that Flora Mae. I know one thing—if I ever see that hussy trying to snuggle up with you I’m gonna scratch her eyes out."

Roy tried to calm his wife, but she was inconsolable. Your father told me to treat you like God, Lorene, said Roy, reaching out for his wife’s hand. So, that’s what I’m trying to do, Baby.

Lorene rejected Roy’s stretched-out hand. Nothing Roy said worked to his advantage. His apologies only made Lorene angrier. And, his trying to hug her only made her act out more violently. So, he placed his favorite vinyl record album on and began playing one of their favorite songs, Message from Maria, and, after that, Chokin’ Kind. Both songs were sung by Joe Simon. Each song had a particular meaning suited to Roy’s escapades. But, that particular attempt at calming his wife made Lorene lash out even more violently.

How dare you!? barked Lorene, as she pranced back and forth, grumbling. The once comfortable and soothing atmosphere of their bedroom now felt like a steaming sauna.

I already know you play those same songs for Flora Mae. And I also know that Chokin’ Kind" is another one of her Joe Simon favorites. You told her that the reason you see her on the side is because I choke you with my love. I’m not stupid, Roy. My mama told me that women are usually way ahead of their men, especially on things like this. And, with you, I can see just how true that is."

This fact revoked Roy’s excuses. Now he knew that no excuse would work. He was caught, and he knew that presently it was best for him to give in to the truth.

Baby, it’s not you. It’s me, Said Roy. I’m the weak one. I’m the one who cheated. You deserve to be angry, Baby. Please forgive me. It’s just almost impossible for a man to be contented with only one woman. And, it doesn’t mean I don’t love you. It just means that I also have strong feelings for her, too. If I could help it, I would. But, I can’t, Baby. Men are strange like that.

Lorene, near the end of her eighth pregnancy, made her way to the kitchen. She grabbed the broom from beside the refrigerator and returned to her bedroom. Roy stood in front of the lighted bathroom smoking a Winston and scratching his head. Despite his desperate condition, Lorene swung the broom handle as hard as she could at her husband. Shocked by the attack, Roy tried to soften the blows with his forearm. Reaching out to protect himself, his arm absorbed the full blunt-force of the broom. In the process, his arm was cracked near his wrist. Roy was now in deep pain.

When Lorene realized how far her anger had led her, she quickly became apologetic.

Roy, I’m sorry, Baby, reaching out to her husband’s injured arm. She added, I didn’t mean to hurt you, Honey.

Roy balked from the pain. Although his pain was excruciating, he said, Don’t worry ’bout it, Baby. It was my fault, too. I’m the one who should be sorry. I only wish I was stronger, but I can’t help myself. If I could I would. But it seems that I was destined to love more than one woman.

Lorene, taken in by her husband’s admission, accepted his apology. Her mother’s words now made sense. The two kissed each other and then made up. They also laid a plan. They decided to leave Lake Wales and move to Saint Petersburg, Florida. But, before they could leave, Roy had something up his sleeve. Instead of seeing a doctor on the night of his injury, Roy waited until he went to work the next day. That day he claimed his broken arm was caused at work while he was working one of the factory levers. He claimed that the lever snapped and that his arm was injured in the process. Soon after, he received a considerable monetary settlement from his job. Not only did he have enough money to move his family from one city to the next, but he also had enough money to buy each of his children nice, new Christmas gifts that year. Roy bought a double-seated bicycle and two regular bicycles. He bought a brand new, floor-model, color television set. He bought his wife new clothes for church. He took his family out to dinner. At least, for a while, the family was set. Everyone was ready to move into the next phase of their life in Saint Petersburg. And, above all, Kendall, their seventh child, was about to reveal the uncanny ability and insatiable desire he had for memorizing and writing, especially when it came to poetry.

By the time 1970 rolled around, Lorene and Roy had nine children. Although Roy made a decent wage at his new job in St. Petersburg, times were still rough. Raising nine children seemed overwhelming for both Lorene and him. Lorene could only prepare meals from the grocery her husband brought home. Lately, however, he brought little money home, and usually he had little money to send her shopping with. Yet, Lorene believed in prayer. And the large amounts of grocery which were placed on her front porch on several different occasions rewarded her faith. Lorene called the mysterious groceries a miracle. Roy, however, believed that it simply came from members of Lorene’s new church—people who wanted to remain anonymous. After all, the church had been extraordinarily kind to Lorene’s family since she had moved there and became a member. The three-story house, which sat on four acres of land, was owned by the church. Until now there had been no church family large enough to rent the house. Lorene counted the house a blessing from God. Roy, on-the-other-hand, viewed the house as the church’s way of assuring his family’s membership. Either way, the house was perfectly set to house their family.

Soon, Lorene and Roy came to the conclusion that they both wanted something that neither of them could give the other. Lorene cried for more money to buy food and pay the bills. Roy complained that she usually overspent. Their arguments became more frequent and severe. By the summer of 1970 the two of them decided to separate. Lorene’s youngest child, Anthony, was only several months old. And he gave them the scare of their lives one day when he climbed from his crib onto the second-story roof. When neighbors saw the infant boy on the roof of the house, they immediately called the authorities. By the time firemen came to rescue the child, neighbors from all around the neighborhood were outside observing the scary scene from where they stood. Some were in their front yards looking up. Others were in their back yards hoping for the best. This incident, along with seemingly any incident, led to more arguing between Lorene and Roy. Being the usually calm man that he was, Roy found himself noticeably tenser than he had ever been before. Yet, Lorene was in no mood to comfort him. Instead, according to Roy, Lorene used most of her energy to argue at him. And, before long, Roy was staying out later and later at night. Lorene used every one of those opportunities to remind him of his infidelity and weaknesses.

I’m not the only one who’s been unfaithful, Lorene, said Roy late one night. There was no doubt he had been drinking. Upon hearing that statement, Lorene gasped, as though she was at a loss for words. You’re unfaithful, too. He added, in the same calm, whispering tone he was known for. Whenever Roy spoke, his children knew well the importance of listening closely to his soft-spoken words.

Lorene recanted, "How dare you call me unfaithful, Roy?! I’ve been faithful to you for nearly twenty years, while you’ve run around on me time and time again, sniffing after that darn Flora Mae, and God knows who else!"

Roy felt for his mustache and then squeezed it. After that he squeezed his brow and then wiped his stressful face with the palm of his hand. "It’s called financial infidelity, Lorene. When I say you’ve been unfaithful to me I’m talking about financially. Sweetheart, if you would just spend the money I bring home in the right way then we wouldn’t be in such a bind so often. But, you spend entirely too much."

As though it pained her, Lorene quickly reached for her stomach. I can’t believe you even let those words come out of your mouth, Roy. Every dime that I spend is on this household!

Again, Roy squeezed his mustache. Lorene stood with one hand cradling her stomach and the back of her other hand wiping her forehead. She appeared about to faint. That’s the problem, Lorene, Roy chimed in, though reluctantly. "If you wouldn’t spend every dime of what I give you our finances would be in a much better condition."

Although arguments like this usually led to Lorene raising her voice high, Roy usually remained calm. During the famous, non-violent march from Selma to Montgomery (which he participated in), Roy vowed that he would never argue with his wife again. During that march Roy realized the importance of not being provoked into a fight. And his nonchalant attitude during, what Lorene called, serious arguments, only drove her more insane.

On numerous occasions Lorene made the comment that, "Quiet people often do the loudest things; they even fly using others’ wings." Nothing stopped Lorene from learning about her husband and then telling him what she knew. Although she had learned much about him, and men in general, he had learned certain things about non-violence, and he had long wanted to put them into practice before his wife.

Now, at a loss for words, Lorene decided to use her trump card on Roy. She confronted him with strong evidence that he and Flora Mae were more serious than he let on.

Let me ask you, something, Roy, said Lorene, as she casually paced back and forth in front of her bedroom dresser. Did you bring that Flora Mae from Lake Wales here to St. Pete?

Roy eyed his wife with questions written in his stare. His pupils moved quickly from side-to-side, like an eye patient with aniridia or chronic nystagmus. He wondered about her question and where she was going with it. Lorene ignored his silence and continued.

"Well, while I was cooking today, your oldest daughter, Kerry, came home from school and told me that another girl with her same last name came to her school today. Kerry said it was the same girl she knew from Lake Wales. Both you and I know that’s Flora Mae’s daughter. We both know that she’s your daughter. Now, am I right or wrong?"

Roy was speechless. His facial expression told everything. Indeed he and Flora Mae had still been involved in a long-distance affair. Indeed he had brought Flora Mae to St. Petersburg. And, indeed, the young girl that Kerry had met at school was Roy’s daughter—Kerry and her siblings’ own half sister. Roy stood wondering what he could say to avert his wife’s truth. For now, however, he accepted that words usually work less than action. So, he gave in.

Well, I guess nothing I say is going to help ease your pain, Lorene. They say that, ‘When all is said and done, more is usually said than done.’ So, I’ll just be quiet and get my things and leave. Maybe my being away for a few days will help.

Instead of showing sympathy for her embarrassed, pitiful-looking husband, Lorene twisted the knife that was already stabbed into his heart. And his usual request for mercy went unheard. Anger had led Lorene to her boiling point. So, regarding Roy’s suggestion that he leave, Lorene said sternly, "No! I think it’s best if I leave. You can take care of the children while I am gone, so you can see what I go through. As a matter of fact, I’ve already packed my things. After dinner tonight, I will be leaving."

Just who would leave turned into another heated argument. Roy knew that if he left he would go to Flora Mae’s house. But, he had no idea whose house Lorene would go to if she left. Before the night was over, though, and after the argument had ended, they both decided to stay home that night. The matter, however, was still far from over. Lorene was determined to leave. First, though, she wanted a stable job. She first sought employment with clinics and hospitals, but with no success. Lorene desperately wanted to weave her way into the medical field. But, because she had no high school diploma, she was an unlikely candidate, even from the start. Still, she kept searching, hoping for any job that would help stabilize her. The Busy Bee soul-food restaurant offered her the type of job she sought. And, without hesitating, she accepted the offer.

At first, Roy objected to his wife seeking for work, but after thinking it over, he felt a job might be the very thing his wife needed to blow off some daily steam, called monotony. Lorene got the job. Every evening she went to work. Learning the cash register and how to write and fulfill menu orders almost came natural to her. As long as she was working at the Busy Bee, Lorene was contented; and it showed. She was kinder to her husband and children. There was a noticeable difference in her personality. She showed more teeth in her smiles, which were now more frequent. Nightly she brought home bags full of restaurant leftovers. Nightly the children waited up for those bags of cold French fries, hamburgers and hotdogs—and especially so on Friday and Saturday nights. The late-night movie premiered around midnight. Roy and his nine children would sit around watching movies in the Florida room while eating restaurant leftovers. Her oldest sons, Roy and Steve, would ride their bicycles down Tangerine Avenue to the Busy Bee and pick up the leftovers to take them home. Once home, most of the children preferred to eat the sandwiches cold instead of waiting for the temperamental gas oven to warm up. While eating burgers, fries and hotdogs, Roy and the children sat up and waited for Lorene to return home from work.

One particular Friday night, while the children played kickball outside with their father, a dreadful incident took place. Roy Jr., the oldest boy in the family, suffered a deep, jagged cut to his foot, from a broken cola bottle. During the kickball game in the front yard that night, Roy Jr., playing barefoot, kicked harder than he had ever kicked before. He ran to first base, and then to second, and then to third. On his run toward home plate he tried to slide. A broken Coca-Cola bottle was near home plate, and his right heel slid directly over it. His heel was sliced open in the process. Anecdotally, playing kickball after sunset was the worst thing Roy Jr. could have done, especially barefoot, as he was. The cut was deep. Blood shot from his foot like a water sprinkler on blades of grass. Lorene worked late that night. And, before she came home, her eldest son had thirty-six stitches in his dreadfully sliced up foot. But, no one complained. Roy Jr.’s foot was cut so deeply that doctors commented they could see his heel bone. Roy Jr. felt that neither this incident nor any other incident could prevent him from reaching his dream of becoming a surgeon. Becoming a medical doctor was his dream.

With lateness already upon them and while the children were longing for their mother, Roy struggled to come up with stories worthy of satisfying his children. Although the eldest children understood Lorene’s absence, some of the younger ones did not. But, Roy told them the stories nonetheless. One of the stories he told them had much to do with the incident that had just happened, when Roy Jr. sliced his heel open on the cola bottle.

That night Roy and Lorene had planned to meet with each other to discuss their futures. By the time Lorene had come home from work, all of her nine children were in their beds. Her husband, on-the-other–hand, was still up. Tension was thick between them when she walked into the room. Their years of marriage challenged their thoughts. Their usual greeting kiss was purposefully ignored by the both of them. Instead of the meeting being about the two of them, Lorene decided to make it about him.

Roy, you just don’t know how hard it has been for me to stay here with you, cried Lorene, pointing at her husband. Over the years you have become less of a man, and even your children can see it. If fatherhood were water, you would be a barren well or a dried up waterfall.

Roy said nothing. He wanted to speak. But, he said nothing. He wanted badly to speak, but experience in this type of situation taught him to hold his tongue. Adding fuel to fire is not only dangerous, but very unwise, Roy said to his vehement wife. So, I’ll just be quiet. His belief in non-violence halted him from cutting her as deeply as she had cut him with her words. Yet, Lorene could not prevent his words. According to Roy, Lorene always sought to raise herself up by simultaneously putting him down whenever they argued. Yet, her efforts seemed futile this time, because, Roy rose.

Soon after she had told him that it was hard for her to live with less than a man, Roy said to her, Baby, it’s hard for me to stay with you, too. You don’t shit sliced honeydews, yourself, ya know. Let me tell you this. If, as a boy, I had known my needs as a man would be so troubling to my woman, I would have more strongly considered being a single man.

Lorene stood speechless at first, but soon she had something to say. Well, why don’t we just go ahead and make that happen. You wanna be single, well then—bang—you’re single, Roy! She affirmed, pointing her right forefinger at him. All we need to do is work out visitation rights for the children.

Just like that Lorene and Roy were history. Although the two of them had built a lovely family of nine children, they also had marital issues deep enough to swim in. Neither of their lives had turned out the way they had expected. As far as Lorene was concerned, this only led to more senseless arguments. Yet, during any argument, her husband never raised his voice at her—never. And Lorene could not stand it. She wanted someone to fight back at her, but her husband would not. Tonight she complained, among other things, that Roy never supported her going to nursing school. Roy, on-the-other-hand, said he never got his ten children. He was one child shy of his goal.

And don’t think you gon’ get that tenth one, either! Lorene affirmed, while packing her things that night. You just wait, Mr. Roy Belcher, I’m gonna give you the biggest shock of your life.

Roy simply nodded. He never raised his voice, especially at his wife, and especially during arguments. Lorene, however, was the total opposite. When she felt that her person, or any of her children, had been disrespected or harmed, she always spoke up, even if she were wrong. In summation, Lorene said to Roy, "I’ve done more than enough to have so little education. Roy, your scale needs some serious recalibration. Because, what you’ve given me for producing nine successful pregnancies is nowhere near equal to what I’ve given you."

Roy agreed. He knew no better way to describe his being prone toward sexual infidelity.

Baby, if I could leave other women alone I would. But, I’ve told you time and time again that it’s mostly impossible for a man to have just one woman. That’s just a fact, baby. I still love you. I still desire you. And I still want you, Sweetheart, but that’s just the way things are. I wouldn’t lie to you about something as important as this. Men need variety, when women can more easily settle.

Lorene shifted her position and rolled her eyes. Roy continued talking.

When the children of Israel cried out for meat after God had already given them manna, it was probably the men doing the complaining. God knows this is hard for me to say, but if men could have several wives there would be much less adultery.

Lorene puffed fire from her nostrils and then said, Just because there are more women in this world than there are men does not mean you have to try to sex all of them. Roy, you promised you would be faithful to me—and only me. You promised! But, from what I know about your dealings, you have not kept your vows. And I’m just not gonna take it anymore. I deserve better.

Roy squeezed his forehead. He then slid his fingers across his nose and squeezed his mustache. Truth had come to life, and neither Lorene nor Roy was prepared to handle it. Yet, they differed drastically in fortitude and steadfastness. Although the job of fidelity might take one longer than the other to complete, they each could complete it with pride. Roy, however, felt he was faithful to Lorene, but in his own way.

One night, while Lorene was working at the Busy Bee restaurant, Sam, a nightly regular, came in for his dinner. At Sam’s request, Lorene was usually assigned to his table. On this particular night, however, Sam was not feeling well. He entered the café, took his seat, and then placed his head down over his folded arms. When Lorene approached him and asked about his condition, Sam replied, Sick men are like babies—they need to suckle; they need to be taken care of.

Lorene said, Well, Sam, what’s wrong with you? You look like you’re sick as a dog. Are you sure you don’t need to go see a doctor?

No, Sam quickly replied, as he sipped on his fresh cup of black coffee. Only cupid could heal me now. My heart is what’s hurting me the most.

Cupid? Why Cupid? Cupid isn’t real, Said Lorene, as she stood by Sam’s table with her fist on her hip. Only real people can fix real problems. And, from the way you look this evening, Sam, you’ve got real problems. Now, you need to figure out who you gon’ let help you with them.

Suddenly, Sam’s hands began to shake violently. Suddenly he seemed to struggle with his breaths. Suddenly his eyes rolled back in his head. And, before Lorene could reach out to help him Sam was on the floor shaking, sadistically. When other customers saw it some screamed loudly. Others came near and hovered over where Sam lay jerking violently. Mr.