Between Lovers by Eric Jerome Dickey

direct.
    â€œNo, sir. Hope and denial are two different things.”
    â€œYou have always gravitated toward the difficult.”
    â€œI take the road less traveled from time to time.”
    He makes a sound that makes me feel like a fool. “Well, I admire your tenacity.”
    â€œThink I got that from you.”
    â€œMine is about justice, about righting wrongs that have been in this country since we were brought over here. That’s the kind of writing you should be doing, writing about righting wrongs, son.”
    â€œYou’re preaching, Pops. Can we have a conversation without the sermon?”
    â€œWhy don’t you allow her to live her life as she has chosen. Let her and God come to terms.”
    Then he quiets, inserts that pause like he does in all of his messages from the pulpit, allowing the listener to soak up the importance of what he just said, allowing them to think and feel.
    The feminine voice on the navigation system tells me where to turn so I can find my way over to MLK Boulevard. Like L.A., the scenery changes from block to block, switches from blue-collar and white-collar to no-collar, very urban, very South Central-esque. Block to block, I see a few brothers wandering, looking for everything but a job. Only a few, but they stand out. There are plenty of hardworking people out here who live in the middle of a bad reputation. But they don’t hang out on the curbs in the cold.
    My old man talks on. “There are a lot of women out there. A lot of good women. Some very nice-looking women have joined our congregation. Quite a few come to Singles Bible Study. I’m marrying two couples that met at Bible Study in the next few months. Well, one of them for sure. The other, I suggested that they review their financial concerns and family issues before jumping over that broom.”
    â€œJust like you told me and Nicole when we told you we were ready.”
    â€œJust like I tell everybody. The checkbook has made a lot of people check out of hotel happiness and move to divorce court before the sun had a chance to rise again.”
    â€œBut they still get married.”
    â€œRight before they get divorced,” he says with an air of disappointment, an air of powerlessness over all of his sheep. He’s just as concerned with one as he is for the others. Just as he flies away to champion the big causes, he walks across the street to champion the smaller ones with the same passion. “They do what they want without a thought. That’s because everyone is driven by—”
    â€œDamn!” I yell that before I know it.
    â€œSon?”
    A sister breaks out between two cars, comes out of that mythical place known as nowhere, and I’m doing a good forty mph, so I have to screech my brakes to keep from running her down. The traffic behind me screeches too; a tailgater almost runs up my tailpipe.
    â€œSon, you okay?”
    â€œAlmost had a—whoa! Looks like some drama jumping off.”
    The sister is as beautiful as a queen, and she’s running, a natural athlete moving with the stride of Mar-ion Jones, moving as if she’s late for a million-dollar deal on Oakland’s version of Wall Street.
    Not running. A man is behind her, looking pissed off. She’s being chased.
    â€œWhat’s going on?”
    â€œEither domestic violence or this brother is about to jack a sister in broad daylight.”
    â€œStay in your car. Don’t interfere with anything domestic. Dial 9-1—”
    â€œNo, wait. Hold on, Pops.”
    The sister has mega skills. She does a fake move, cuts across traffic. Terrified beyond belief, her heels are in her hands, her dark slacks molding to her brick-house shape. The material of her matching jacket flapping with the wind that she creates as she moves and grooves, her cream silk blouse opening with her frantic pace, opening and allowing her beautiful breasts to bounce in such an erotic way.
    Behind her is