The Sky Beneath My Feet - By Lisa Samson Page 0,63

it don’t work like that. Here we don’t let you just take somebody away. I don’t know what side you on, but on this side, you gonna get yourself slapped upside the head doing things like that.”

“Don’t I know it. Anyway, you don’t need my help, I can see that now.”

She shrugs. “That depends on the kind of help. You can put money in the box, if you want. You be surprised how much it cost, a sanctuary like this.”

That word again, sanctuary. Glancing around, taking in Eli’s wide-eyed stare, I can’t help wondering how bad life has to get for a place like Mission Up to look like a sanctuary.

“Here,” Eli says. He pulls out his billfold, a thick, duct-taped affair, and produces a wad of fives and ones. Aziza extends the box so he can wedge the money through the slot. “Now can we please just go? We don’t belong in this kind of place.”

“Amen to that,” Mother Zacchaeus says.

Something clicks inside me, the same thing that clicked when I heard him say “hippie losers.” “What do you mean, we don’t belong? Why don’t we belong?”

Eli shakes his head, like it’s too obvious to explain.

“Why wouldn’t we belong here? Are we too good for this place? Too rich? Too white?”

“Jeez, Mom, shut up.”

“It’s okay, big man,” Aziza says. “We know you white.”

Mortified, Eli leaves without me, pausing out on the curb where his uncle waited last time. Aziza chuckles and heads for the stairs. Mother Zacchaeus reaches for the row of enamel pins on her chest. She pulls one free, pressing the thumb of her free hand against her shirt to hold the back of the pin in place. Then she wriggles it toward the straining button placket until she can snap the pin together. That’s a relief. I was afraid she would try to stab me with it.

“Come here,” she says. “You know what this is?” She studies the tiny emblem on the front of the pin. “This is what they give for memorization. You take it. Go on.”

I open my hand and she drops the lapel pin into my palm. Sure enough, there’s an open Bible inside a green border and the motto THY WORD HAVE I HIDDEN IN MY HEART.

“So you don’t forget,” she says.

How could I?

As I descend the stairs, the nun watches me from the door. Down the street, the whoop-whoop of a police siren sounds. Eli goes stiff, but the cruiser turns off at the end of the block.

“Don’t worry about that,” Mother Zacchaeus calls out.

We cross the street to the car. Before closing the door, she actually waves.

“That woman’s nuts,” Eli says, slamming his fist down on the door lock.

“You have to be a little crazy to be a nun.”

“Is that what she’s supposed to be? I don’t think so.”

“Well, she’s something.” Like Eli, I’m pretty sure Mother Zacchaeus has no affiliation with a conventional Roman Catholic order. But how do I put this? I’ve never understood the hierarchy of black churches—the bishops, apostles, and whatnot. They seem a little unconventional to me, but it’s not like there’s a rule book. At least, not a crystal clear one.

“And, Mom,” he says. “I told you so. That was a disaster waiting to happen, and you walked us right into it, just like always.”

I flip the visor down and check my face. Surprisingly, there’s not a flaming handprint across my cheek. Shifting back and forth, I try to determine whether one side is puffier than the other.

“Eli, look at me.”

He makes an inspection, then shrugs. “Wait and see. Maybe it’ll bruise up.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I turn the key in the ignition.

“No,” he says. “I didn’t like anything about what just happened.”

“Well,” I say, pulling away from the curb, “I guess it’s time we had a talk.”

He slumps against the door and sighs. “Whatever.”

You should never use propaganda to teach kids the truth. For the last four years, since junior high, Eli has been indoctrinated by the school system with the goal of making him into a tolerant, non-bullying citizen who says no to drugs. Instead, like all the smart kids, he’s adopted an ironic stance toward the virtues his leaders have so clumsily tried to impress onto him. His friends use the word gay as a synonym for stupid or lame. “That’s so gay,” I’ll overhear them saying, or “Why do you have to be so gay?” They run in cliques, a social caste system, and while I’m sure Eli would