Show of Your Site Sunday: Heres one of my favorite scenes to share from Born at Dawn. Visit my website to read the entire first chapter nigerialockley/ The transition from sinner to saint wasn’t easy for Cynthia. The moment she walked in the door from her first trip to Mount Carmel, the devil was waiting to tempt her. “Where you been all day?” Marvin huffed at her while she helped the boys out of their jackets. “We went to church today, Daddy.” At nine years old, James was the official family reporter. He was still struggling with learning the difference between what should be uttered and what should not be. “You should have come with us. A friend of yours was there.” Twelve-year-old Keith slapped James in the back of his head, trying to demonstrate his superiority. “He wasn’t there. He’s the pastor.” “The pastor?” Marvin asked with his eyebrows scrunched together. “Did you take the kids to that joke of a church, Mount…?” Marvin snapped his fingers. “Mount…” “Mount Carmel Community Church. It’s not a joke. It’s a lovely place, Marv,” Cythia said resolutely. “Are you hungry?” She quickly tried to stave off the inevitable—Marvin’s monologue on the legitimacy of Pastor David’s ministry. According to Marvin, Pastor David could not be trusted since he’d abandoned his street life and friendship with Marvin to pursue the ministry. Every time they walked past Mount Carmel or anyone mentioned it, Marvin had to trudge through the past. “Of course I’m hungry. You left me here alone to fend for myself, and you know I can’t go on without two things.” Marvin wrapped his hands around her dime-sized waist, pulled her in close to his body and stared in her eyes. “I can’t go on without your loving.” He brushed back a few loose strands of Cynthia’s burgundy hair and planted a wet kiss on her lips. “And I certainly can’t make it without your cooking, girl.” Cynthia could see through the act. She knew Marvin was trying to smooth whatever feathers his behavior had wrinkled the previous day, and it wasn’t working. It took every atom of Cynthia’s fragile being to cook Marvin’s food without spitting in it. Cynthia called it a small victory every time she was able to inflict some pain on Marvin unbeknownst to him, like the time she put ex-lax in his cupcakes. Small victories were no longer satisfying. She wanted more. Peace or blood. Cynthia envisioned Marvin’s chiseled face bubbling upon contact with the olive oil that was now sizzling in the pan. “Peace, peace, think about peace. You just left church,” she chided under her breath. That kept her from acting on her impulses and the voices of vengeance echoing in her head.
Posted on: Sun, 05 Oct 2014 22:01:23 +0000
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