2. Trina
TWO
TRINA
God works miracles. If he delivered the Hebrews from Egypt, if he razed the walls of Jericho and saved Daniel from the lions’ den, then surely he can do this one small thing for me today.
But when I get done with that last amen, outside my window comes the sound of wheels crunching on the oyster-shell driveway. And I realize that after three months of prayer, I am again disappointed.
There will be no miracle.
Pharaoh wins.
“Trina,” Mama calls happily. “It’s time.”
I slowly rise to my feet, frustration pounding through my veins. I guess this is it. There’s nothing more I can do.
“Trina,” my mother calls again, in her lemonade-sweet voice that means I’m about to catch my ass, “ Trina !”
I am in my childhood bedroom for the very last time. The floor-length mirror in its mother-of-pearl frame is one of the few pieces of furniture left from the movers. I take a last look at myself inside it. Short, fat, rumpled like a paper bag. Even this expensive dress can’t make me pretty. For the first time in my life, the sin of vanity is nowhere to be found in my heart. I don’t care how I look. In fact, today I wish I had a face like a dishrag.
The seed pearls in my veil click together as I turn away. They whisper like the crowd at church will do soon, taking apart my hair, my dress, my bouquet, and everything that everyone has ever heard about Trina Whiteleaf. I just have to face it. No earthquakes, no lightning for me. No plagues or storms of fire. Apparently, this is God’s will. I have to listen.
I gather up the dress, which weighs nearly ten pounds, with its detachable train, brocade, pearls, lace, everything to show the people of Tippalonga that the Whiteleaf clan is still in God’s favor. This dress cost thirty thousand dollars, which is very wasteful considering there are people going hungry. But nobody wanted to hear that. The bride of Reverend Wilson can’t walk down the aisle in some third-rate gown from the Country Bridal shop. This is an Armani , honey. I had to lose ten pounds just to squeeze myself inside it, though I’m still plump as a honey bun.
I look around my bedroom one last time. My cell. My cage. I will never come back here again.
I pat my secret pocket, making sure my purse with all my jewelry is still there. I didn’t let Mama find it, not so much as a gold bracelet. I hid all of it in the hole under the bed she still doesn’t know about.
“TRINA!”
The doorknob is ice cold on my fingertips. There is no turning back from this moment. If I walk down those stairs, I will never be free.
But I was never free, anyway. Nobody has to drag me to the noose. I’ll walk there myself, and wrap it around my neck, like I’ve always done as the daughter of Errol Whiteleaf.
I leave the room and firmly close the door.
“Coming,” I call down to Mama. My voice and footsteps echo in the emptiness. My father had to sell most of the art and furniture, everything he couldn’t sneak off to the private storage unit in Alabama that’s under his sister’s name. We had to liquidate everything upstairs when the IRS came knocking, and it might still not be enough to cover his debts.
That’s where I come in.
I’m just another asset, and with this marriage to the Reverend, I’ll save the Whiteleafs. It’s only fair, since that is what daughters are meant for.
“Oooo,” coo my two maids-of-honor Alina and Felicia as I emerge onto the landing from my “prayer meditation”.
“Finally,” snaps Mama. “Hurry and get down here, Trina.”
The rest of my bridesmaids are waiting at the church — twelve in total, one from each prominent family in Tippalonga.
Alina and Felicia wear creamy green dresses, also Armani, their hair and makeup and eyelashes on point, everything done up to the nines. Alina is a gentle girl but Felicia is a hater. They get the special privilege of riding with my escort because Alina’s father owns the funeral home and helped Daddy move valuables out of the house in empty caskets. Felicia is a first cousin of my groom, the Reverend.
“Trina, you look sooo beautiful,” Alina whispers, fanning out my veil.
“Thank you.” It’s the first word I’ve spoken out loud in three hours.
I glance at Mama. She’s typing furiously into her phone, distracted. Something’s wrong. I can tell from her face. Luckily Felicia doesn’t wait to inform me, “Your limo broke down and they can’t get another one. I hope you won’t be late because the Wilsons will hate that.You know they’re looking for any reason to call off the wedding.”
“The limo has a flat?” I ask Mama.
“Yes,” my mother confirms. Her pale yellow skin is flushed with rage. “These people are nothing but incompetence!” She snaps. “I knew we never should have patronized the Clarksons.”
I glance out the window and see our driver Charles waiting, putting out his cigarette. He glances back and sees me and gives me a small wave. Mama blocks off my view. “Thank you for finally joining us,” she says. “I was wondering what on earth you had left to tell God, considering you’ve been up there for the past two months with nothing to do.”
Mama’s dress is a fresh green color. Mint green. I didn’t choose the color. I prefer browns and dark reds. Earth tones.
Mama is dripping in diamonds, and her heavy makeup covers up the black eye daddy gave her last night. I don’t respond to her sideways talk and she catches her reflection in the foyer mirror, which distracts her.
“How do I look?” she preens, smoothing the green satin down and turning in a slow circle. The peacock feathers in her fascinator weave gracefully through the air.
“Beautiful, Mama,” I say.
“I hope so. The girl spent such a long time on your hair, she barely had thirty seconds for me. And she still wanted a tip! Can you believe that?!” She pinches my dress between her nails. “You didn’t mess it up while you were up there, I hope. All that praying — is it really necessary? We’ll be in church all day today.”
“Yes, Mama.”
Her sharp eyes examine me for any flaw. She flicks a piece of dust off my shoulder before handing me my bridal bouquet, which is so big it trails to the floor. That thing must weigh another ten pounds.
Mama takes another call. “Hello? Yes. Yes. Absolutely not. Yes. Yes. NO. Good. Bye.” She hangs up and catches my eye. “Luckily, the Wilsons are sending their own vehicle to retrieve you. Embarrassing, but we move forward. Remember to thank them, Trina.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Why are you wearing that watch?” Mama says, her eye finally snagging on something she disapproves of. “It’s not appropriate.”
“But—”
“It makes your wrist look fat. And it’s taking away from the ring. Really, baby, with the way you’ve put on weight… It’s just a blessing that dress still fits you.” Mama’s mouth scrunches up. “Take it off.”
Always obedient, I take off the watch and put it in my pocket. It was a gift from my grandmother, who I call Mamie, and whom my mother calls “that old heifer”.
“Since when does that dress have a pocket?” Mama says sharply.
Shoot.
“I added one,” I tell her. “Mrs. Atherly suggested it, for presents people will give me today.”
Mama worships Mrs. Atherly. “What a good idea. But everything that’s yours will be your husband’s. Remember that. Everything. Be a good wife and do whatever he says, and he’ll never divorce you.”
Alina sighs. “I just know the Reverend’s gonna bawl when he sees you, Trina. I can’t wait to get married…I wish I was eighteen already!”
I make one final petition. God, please. I’ve always believed… Send me a sign…
Mama’s phone goes off like a fire alarm.
RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!
I look at the caller ID at the same time she does.
Mamie.
“Oh, great,” Mama snaps. “What does that old heifer want?”
I drop the bouquet and snatch the phone from my mother before she can hang up.
“Trina!” Mama cries, scandalized, but I don’t care.
“Mamie?” I say, ducking out of Mama’s reach. I hurry quickly through the rooms, followed by the sound of Mama’s heels snapping on the hardwood after me. Somehow, even with that heavy train, I stay out of her grasp.
I weave my way through the many rooms of the downstairs, kicking off my heels to hustle faster. Before I could barely move, and now I feel light as a feather. “Mamie, are you there?”
“Trina, my baby,” comes my grandmother’s raspy voice. “I just got back from my Sacred Earth retreat. I had no signal in the mountains, child. My bastard of a son was no help when I asked how you were doing. What’s going on?”
“I don’t have my phone, Mamie.” I dart into the parlor and shut the door, throwing it seconds before Mama turns the corner. “Mama took it phone weeks ago.”
“That dirty bitch. Listen, babygirl, about this supposed wedding. Last time we talked you said you were going through with it. But really, I’m thinking of coming up there and getting you out of it. You just say the word.”
My heart sinks. “It’s today, Mamie. The wedding is today.”
“ What !?” I hear my grandmother’s sharp inhale over the line. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“They pushed up the date and took my phone.”
“Lord have mercy! They told me — Oh, I should have known!” She says some ugly words before barking out, “Where are you, baby? Talk to me.”
“I’m still home. But the car is here. I have to go.” I brace myself. “They locked me up, Mamie. They locked me up for a month.”
“Trina, you don’t have to go through with this,” my grandmother says firmly. “What can I do? How can I help you?”
“Trina, get off the phone!” Mama orders through the door, her voice rigid with rage. “Don’t make me get your father!”
It’s time to say goodbye. This might be the last time I hear Mamie’s voice at all. She was not invited to the wedding.
I don’t even know what to say as Mama’s footsteps fade. She’s going to get the keys -– or worse, Big Ron, my father.
The pain in my grandmother’s voice is deep. “Trina, it’s the twenty-first century. You have rights.”
“What about God? Isn’t it — a sin? The Reverend is a holy man.”
“God has nothing to do with this!” Mamie shouts. “That woman has twisted your head all around!”
I want to defend my parents, my faith, the church. I know I am ungrateful, sinful. The devil stays enticing me with these disobedient urges. But on the other hand, I am positive that marrying the Reverend isn’t in His plan for me.
“Trina, here’s what to do. Book a ticket from the airport — do you still have my card information?”
I can’t admit to Mamie that I lost it. Not just the credit card, but my entire cellphone with her number and address, when Mama stole it from my room. And I was dumb enough to never write it down.
“Do you know my new address, Trina?” Mamie says urgently. “Remember I moved? Talk to me, sugar!”
“Mamie, the car is outside. It’s too late.” I clutch my stomach. “This is it.”
“It ain’t over ‘till it’s over,” Mamie says firmly. “ God shows the way ! Look baby, I’m at 1174 Lincoln — ”
The door flies open and the phone is jerked out of my hands.
“Play with me again,” Mama hisses, her nails digging into my arm, “And I’ll tan your black ass hotter than fish grease. Get outside ! Do you want to ruin everything?”
She hangs up on Mamie and shakes me like I’m a little girl and not a grown woman of twenty-four years. But if I was so grown, I would never have let myself get here.
“What the hell is your problem?” My mother shouts.
I shrink away from her as her light skin goes milky pale. “You ungrateful little girl. You’re about to marry the richest man in town and a servant of the Lord. Zip your mouth and get outside right now or you’ll regret the day you were born.”
I finally notice the black eye daddy gave her — a patch of gray under the foundation. Mama grew up in a dirt floor house with eight siblings without a pot to piss in. My father married her and gave her the life of luxury, and she worships the ground he walks on no matter how he treats her. Is this my future too?
“Mrs. Whiteleaf?” Calls our driver, Charles, from he foyer. “Mrs. Whiteleaf, we have a problem.”
“ What is it now ?” Mama stalks back the way she came.
“Trouble with the car,” answers Charles.
My mother’s voice rises dangerously. “What do you mean? I thought the Wilsons sent their vehicle.”
“They did, Ma’am, but something’s wrong with it. Whole thing just cut off and won’t start.”
“This is unacceptable,” Mama says, panic entering her voice. “What will I tell the Wilsons? We’re already late, and — AHHH! Close the door! Close the door!”
A red fluttering thing shoots through the foyer, headed straight for me.
Huh?
It’s just a bird. A cardinal, actually.
The bird lands on my wedding train. And I swear it looks at me. A current of lightning goes through my whole body.
My grandmother has one of those birds tattooed on her wrist. It’s her favorite bird.
The bird on the dial of my watch is also a cardinal, matching with Mamie’s.
And lately… these dreams…
The bird jumps up and down, poops on my dress, then flies away.
Mama is shuddering. “I hate these horrible creatures. I told Ronald they need to cut that magnolia tree down, they keep trying to live in it.”
“Yes Ma’am,” says Charles, fighting back a laugh. He catches my eye and winks.
“What a beautiful day for the wedding,” sings Alina.
“It looks like a dust storm coming,” says Felicia. “I hope the Reverend isn’t too upset at how late you are, Trina. He has the worst temper.”
“Can’t you drive any faster?” Mama complains.
“You see the traffic, Ma’am? I’m going as fast as I can,” says Charles placidly.
“For crying out loud, they’ll have married Reverend to someone else by now!”
“Oh, no. They would never do that, Mrs. Whiteleaf,” Alina gasps. “That just could never happen! How terrible!”
“Do you know, Trina, everyone thought the Reverend was going to marry me, ” says Felicia. “I’m only his second cousin, after all. We’re barely related, and my family is very rich. It’s just so funny he wanted to marry you instead, Trina! Nobody expected that.” She smiles at me and I smile back.
“I think Reverend and Trina are so good together,” Alina sighs. “Trina is so holy and kind, and Reverend is so…”
“Rich,” finishes Felicia.
I’ve never felt sicker in my life. I’m sweating like a sinner under my dress. “Hold my bouquet,” I tell Felicia, and thrust the giant heap of flowers in her face.
We’re in a deadlock. The traffic is always messed up in town, but this is something else. Nobody is moving at all. Mama leans across and slams on the horn, like that’s going to solve anything.
“Ma’am, please let me do my job,” says Charles patiently.
“This is a nightmare!” Mama complains. “We should have taken the back roads!”
Nevermind that she told Charles specifically not to do that. She wanted everybody to see the white Rolls Royce passing through town. She made sure every newspaper in Tippalonga wrote about the wedding today.
“Oh, we got an accident, sho’nuff,” Charles says. He leans forward over the wheel and squints. “Lookie, Trina-beana, that car’s on fire!”
“What selfish wretch decided to have an accident on my daughter’s wedding day? This is unacceptable. Just unacceptable. Where are the police? I’ll call them to give us an escort to the church.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Charles meets my eye in the rearview and winks. He’s always been nice to me. His daughter is going to Yale in September. I used to wish he was my father.
Mama sniffs. “And I just know Janine Wilson is going to blame me for this. She should have sent the helicopter, but I guess we weren’t good enough to ride it, not like those precious Arquelots she’s always kissing up to.”
“You should hold this. I’m allergic to roses,” Felicia complains, shoving my bouquet at Alina.
Slowly, the car crawls forward. We pass the train tracks, which split Tippalonga in half.
Charles slams on the brakes again. “Damn it.”
“Watch your language!” Mama complains.
We are now driving parallel to the tracks, and a slight shadow falls over the car. The billboard overhead is new — paid for by my future husband, the Reverend.
Something red flies past the window.
“Oooh, a cardinal!” tweets Alina.
I can’t see it from here, but I know what the billboard says: WILSON MINISTRY: ETERNAL HELL, OR SALVATION? YOU DECIDE.
“Here comes the train,” observes Charles.
“What?!” Mama shrieks. “Oh, you’re kidding me!”
But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea that is driven and tossed by the wind.
The earth rumbles like the second coming. The noise is deafening. Mama claps her hands over her ears. My hand shakes on the door handle. As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil.
“What are you doing?” hisses Felicia.
“I need to pee,” I say, and open the door.
“TRINA!” Mama screams.
Felicia makes a grab for my dress, but all she gets is the train I’ve already untied. Plus, I’m too fast. I bolt in front of cars, running, running, running, running, RUNNING, RUNNING...
brEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! brEEEEEEEEEEEE!
I tumble across, ripping the dress and landing square on my bare feet. A roaring wind at my back slams me forward into tumbleweed and dirt.
Inches.
Just inches. I realize I’m still screaming, and choke it back.
I’m alive.
I turn, staring up and up at the roaring beast of steel and smoke.
One cart is painted with the name CARDINAL SUPPLY.
People in Tippalonga always complain about the train. They put the tracks through the Black side of town, and it takes thirty or more minutes for the train to pass, sometimes longer, if there’s a jam at the crossings. Then all you can do is wait. I heard somebody say once that the reason black kids in Tippalonga don’t graduate is ‘cause of that train. You get caught on the wrong side, you might just miss an entire morning of school. At that point, why bother?
I sit back on my hands, among the trash and broken bottles, watching the train blur past.
CARDINAL SUPPLY.
“You good, sister?” asks a bedraggled man poking through the grass with a long stick. He looks homeless, and also high.
“I said, YOU GOOD, SISTER?”
“Um, I’m f-fine.”
“That’s good.” He stares at me. “You want some PCP?”
“No, thank you.”
“Alrighty.” He walks off, pushing aside grass with a stick. I’m alone, on the other side of town.
I don’t have a single plan.
But I know for a fact that Trina Marie Whiteleaf is not getting married today.
Yes, I do know that.