Summary. Shy Cole and their mother, Evelyn Cole are surprised by the news.
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The proud mother beamed brightly staring out her window. The fall evening set the mood in the dimly lit but airy room. This was her oasis.
Evelyn sat in this living room, her favorite room in the two-bedroom condo, mostly because of its window wall. The dazzling feature of ceiling-to-floor windows gave Evelyn a panoramic view of her neighbors enjoying the park pond across the street. She watched the polite bicyclists roll on the bike path passing the tall palm trees. Elderly and middle-aged couples walked hand-in-hand in the brisk air. Joggers passed by, delighted by the gaggle of ducks swimming in the water and soft, rolling hills ahead of their running route.
The TV was playing at a low volume level in the background while the group of five graceful women ate soft cookies and treats, along with tea and soft drinks. They were flipping through the Macy’s Department Store catalog, talking excitedly over the 2010 Fall Collection. As she surveyed her little kingdom, Evelyn was content. She’d come from a simple yet privileged upbringing in the heart of Jewish Brooklyn in the ‘50s, her father a Navy chef, her mother a high school secretary. Her family was one of the few Black families to pepper the neighborhood. They were well-dressed, well-mannered people, and Evelyn’s upbringing would be classified as “traditional, yet unremarkable” by today’s standards. Some might dare say “uppity or bourgeois.”
Evelyn was reared as socially conservative, her opinions and behavior groomed largely by a Christian faith she both loved and feared. Her view of the world was simple and reductive, with not much deviation from her parents’ beliefs and superstitions.
To look at her now, a poised, classy woman, it was hard to credit that she’d ever faced true hardship. But her parents’ sheltering hadn’t done Evelyn any favors in discerning the realities of this unfiltered, earthly world. It got hard. Evelyn needed to adapt quickly and learn how to uncover and move through the unpleasantries in life.
Eventually, at 26, Evelyn married a military man. He had just discharged from the Army after spending 18 months at Camp Casey, seated in the mountains of Dongducheon, a small northern city a mere heartbeat away from the Demilitarized Military Zone in South Korea. Disgruntled and ready for change, he’d come back to the States, took up a new life as a city bus driver, and caught the eye of Evelyn Cole.
They fell in love.
The couple settled in southern California, chasing after the enormous boom of jobs that sprouted like wild dandelions. Homes, cars, clothes, and a good, stable life followed. It was predictable, and Evelyn thrived. Indeed, she found a small safe place to nestle, a place away from the noise of a world that was too fast, too jarring, too mean.
But it didn’t last; perfect worlds never do. And the end, when it came, was an amicable parting. Over 20 years of living in a co-dependent marriage with a traditional Southern Baptist man was finally enough for Evelyn. Her soul hung silent and directionless. So Evelyn left.
Now, 15 years later, the 61-year-old Evelyn lived in a respectable community in the hills of west Los Angeles. She glanced around at the simple yet elegant furnishings, the genteel company enjoying a light refreshment in her cozy space. She had created her own world with filters she controlled. Out in the world, it was normal these days for people to talk about things that were only spoken of in whispers years ago, and to not bat an eye about them. Even women, now, talked about things that would make an old-school Madame blush. But here, in Evelyn’s sheltered world, she was safe from all that she chose to ignore.
Evelyn took a sip of her jasmine tea and glanced fondly around the room. The ladies present all admired the stylish dress of the great icons: Diana Ross, Diahann Carroll, even the posh Jacqueline Kennedy. They often rummaged through fresh, glossy magazines of Nordstrom’s, Macy’s, and, on special occasions, Fifth Avenue, always searching for the latest dresses, shoes, handbags, and coats. It was a quiet, appropriate activity for a group of God-fearing church women to engage in. Sundays, after all, were a day for the Lord and required one to look one’s best. And if the women also enjoyed a delightful, harmless sartorial competition at the same time, why, surely the Lord wouldn’t mind.
These women came from backgrounds like Evelyn’s, though the senior church matriarch, Mrs. Geraldine Mae Robinson, was from the Louisiana Delta. Mrs. Robinson had a bit of a fancy southern drawl which Evelyn adored; she thought it made the elder that much more regal and debonaire and enjoyed hearing this godly woman lead the Wednesday Bible Study. Mrs. Robinson took delight in her appointed role and held on to it with a fierce determination which Evelyn admired. Miss Cole often hosted these get-togethers and relegated herself to tending to the needs of the older members, passing out refreshments and refilling teacups. But she didn’t mind. Evelyn was used to pleasing others, and she did it well. And though she played second to Mrs. Robinson, she watched with awe this faithful and trusted woman in the church as she taught from the Good Book. Geraldine Mae Robinson was the perfect example of the modern Christian woman. She also had a son who was a drummer at the church. He was handsome and very respectful, at least the few times Evelyn had met him. She had hinted more than once that Keisha should get to know him better, but her daughter continued to ignore Evelyn’s playful nudges. Evelyn sighed. She could only hope her daughter would eventually find a young beau as sweet as that nice church boy.
The Bible study wound down and now the ladies snacked and talked about family mishaps, children and grandchildren, and made other small talk. This feminine space was a place to just enjoy the company of other like-minded, faithful women. But the TV suddenly flashed with a bright red banner proclaiming BREAKING NEWS, which caught several eyes and hushed the group. “Evelyn, turn it up, dear,” Mrs. Robinson directed, as Evelyn reached for the remote.
The lead anchor stared solemnly at the camera, shoulders back and voice ringing clearly. “… which begs the question: should the military allow gays to serve openly? The ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ policy has been in effect since 1993, when it was enacted by the Clinton Administration. It was a happy medium between liberal blue dogs and the staunch military traditionalists and has largely been a non-issue until President Obama took office. Now, Congress will add DADT to a growing list of major policies it will review this term. Stay tuned after the break to hear our guest, Olympia Snowe, tell us why she disagrees with overturning the 16-year policy. The Republican candidate from Maine is a pro-DADT supporter who claims repealing DADT would weaken our army. We’ll find out what she has to say when we return.”
A flood of soft light filled the small corner of the living room, where Shy settled into the pillowy cradle of their favorite recliner. They loved this room and how it was peacefully situated to overlook the southwestern Arizona skyline of jagged, snow-topped mountains in the distance, a view which often held their gaze. Inside the room, books sat snug within the floor-to-ceiling built-in bookcase. There were hundreds of short and long titles filling the off-white shelves, mostly Greek mythology and social theory, ranging from both famous and obscure Black poets to weighty academic tomes.
The TV was on simply to add white noise in the background. Shy, an avid reader, delightedly disappeared into Malcolm Gladwell’s book, David and Goliath: Underdogs, Misfits, and the Art of Battling Giants. Shy was enjoying their evening read as they reached out for their glass of spiced rum and coke, eyes never leaving the page; but the glass was nearly empty.
Shy marked their place with a post-it sticker, with tiny scribbling to remind them of their upcoming therapy session, then got up for a refill. As they returned to the chair, they noticed the news banner on TV. It was the jumble-coded letters that broke through Shy’s usual stoic and stiff facade: the DADT Repeal Act was now on the Congress floor for a vote.
Change was blowing in. Or was it? Shy was aware that Don’t Ask Don’t Tell allowed gay servicemembers to serve in the military as long as they button up their lifestyle; no one would ask if you were gay, but you weren’t supposed to talk about it either. Well, in theory, that is. Instead, Shy saw first-hand that gay people in the ranks were being headhunted and driven into the light, only to be publicly humiliated and willfully removed from service. This time, would the leaders and nation get it right?
Runner-up Senate candidate Olympia Snowe was expressing her dissenting views with the Administration’s choice to get rid of DADT. “…And we must protect our military members at all costs. We did not design the military to be a social experiment, and I am telling my constituents I will do everything within my power to preserve our traditions.” Shy had clearly missed most of the Senator’s talking points, but now they turned the volume up.
The CNN anchor thanked the Senator and then segued. “Our next guest is an advocate for protecting the existing Don’t Ask Don’t Tell policy and is also against the repeal. She is the president of Mothers for our Troops, a nonprofit organization whose mission is to serve care packages to deployed troops in Afghanistan and Iraq. Mariam L. Josey, we are happy to have you as a guest today. What is your position on Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, and why do you feel the repeal is a bad idea?”
Mariam, a middle-aged white woman with a midwestern accent, smiled as she spoke. “Well, Katie, I come from a family steeped in the long line of military tradition. My great-grandfather served and so did my mother, who was a front-line nurse in World War II. The military is in my bloodline. I now have three sons who proudly serve; two are in the Army and one in the Marines. My boys keep me well informed about what they are experiencing and I feel it is only right to use my platform to ensure their voices also get heard during this time.
“The very nature of war and building camaraderie with your battle buddy is critical for survival — that trust has to be unbreakable. The lifting of this policy is dangerous to that trust. Studies have found that less than 1% of the force identify as gay. You mean to tell me we are going to overthrow trust, good order, and tradition for a minuscule fraction of our military because of a chosen lifestyle? People should not feel compelled to accept being uncomfortable, especially if it goes against their faith.”
“I agree with you,” Shy couldn’t help but murmur. “People shouldn’t be forced to feel uncomfortable.”
Mariam continued, “My boys and the troops they serve alongside are angry and feel this repeal will violate their rights as human beings. I mean, who wants to worry while taking a shower if someone is looking at them with lewd intentions? I don’t want my boys put in that position. It isn’t fair. Serving our country is not a right. This is just bad, all the way around, and it will lead to many outstanding soldiers, like my boys, leaving the force in droves.”
Shy stared at the TV, their posture rigid. This was another loud voice given a platform from which to propagate misinformation and fear, while under-represented voices like Shy’s festered in the dark caverns of truth and half-truths. Shy had grown almost calloused enough to ignore the heightening banter against gay people that pervaded the military, the jeers and jokes, the Jodie calls, and the hazing. Shy kept their head down at work. They didn’t ask, and they certainly didn’t tell. They carried an expressionless face and easy temperament most days despite slowly simmering inside. They kept a tight hold on their emotions and thoughts, didn’t allow that simmer to rise, to spark, to boil over into outright defensiveness or support for those few fellow soldiers who had been found out.
Shy turned the TV volume down and resettled into their book.
The gaggle of women stared at the TV as the breaking news segment came to a close, so silent for a moment that it almost seemed awkward. “Lord, the last days are upon us now,” Mrs. Hall, a confidently outspoken and opinionated woman with the air of an old Baptist Reverend, quipped as she adjusted her glasses. “What is this world coming to?,” she begged with a slight southern dialect.
Miss Ethel settled her bulky frame more firmly in her chair. “Well, our time wasn’t all peaches and roses, either. I had an uncle who was gay.”
“But did he serve in the Army?” Susan Brown asked.
“No,” Miss Ethel sighed, “I don’t recall he ever did. But my point still stands, gay folks aren’t new. Where’s the ‘Breaking News?’ As for the military, don’t you think gays were serving in our military before all of this? I don’t see the big deal.”
“How would anyone even know if someone was gay? You can’t always tell,” Susan said, smoothing her floral skirt.
Mrs. Hall gave them a cutting look. “Well, they call it ‘Don’t Ask Don’t Tell’ for a reason, Susan. Ain’t nobody wanna hear that mess. Lord knows I don't. I rebuke that evil in the name of Jesus.” She fanned her hand upward into the air and shook her head.
Evelyn collected the empty plates and silverware.
“What do you think, Evelyn?” Mrs. Hall asked. “Your daughter’s in the Army, right?”
“Yes, she is,” Evelyn responded slowly, feeling all those heavy eyes upon her. “I don’t really have any thoughts about lesb— gay people in the military. I just pray for Keisha’s protection, that’s all.” She turned towards the kitchen as the women’s voices flowed and ebbed.
Evelyn busied herself rinsing plates, not thinking about the news or the debate taking place in her safe, quiet living room. She wouldn’t create unnecessary conflict in any household, especially her own. She’d learned that lesson young. As one of the few Blacks in her neighborhood, she had learned to be amicable and grew into a polished gem of a woman. Her compliant behavior became more pronounced as a junior secretary in a highly established Brooklyn firm and solidified with her marriage to a conservative man of principle. Being polite was important, and that meant hushing up. Society and powerful men rewarded beautiful women like Evelyn, but only if they kept their mouths shut and let their beauty radiate around the room. I love your smile, Evelyn. You’re a pretty young gal, aren’t you? And as long as she simply smiled at these compliments, her career grew and her pay increased.
So really, was it worth it to cultivate an inquiring mind and a penchant for political or religious discourse? It was much safer, much easier to hold oneself back and just mute those contrarian thoughts. Besides, what good did it do to express strong or opposing views about such an explosive topic like this DADT repeal? And she didn’t have any views on this subject, none at all. Evelyn struggled to develop and embrace her own independent thoughts. After years of pretending she had none, was it any wonder when pretense became reality? And she was ok with that, with being quiet, polite, refined Evelyn Cole, who organized her life for her own comfort.
Susan came into the kitchen, her bold navy pumps clacking across the tile, her hands stacked with dishes. In her late 30s, she had a confidence Evelyn had never known, especially at that young age. Though a new member of the church, she’d taken to the community and comradery with zeal, and had shown herself tonight to be thoughtful and kind.
“Do you need any help with cleaning up? I can stay if you want.”
Evelyn liked Susan. She often made it a point to check on Susan and be as supportive as she could. “I appreciate it, but I have it. The ladies are going to take off soon,” Evelyn smiled.
As if on cue, Mrs. Robinson’s voice rang out, “Ladies, Ladies, let us gather to close.” The matriarchs quickly came together and joined hands for a closing prayer before each one gradually made their way to the foyer. Evelyn oversaw the women, grabbing their coats and the mad whirlwind as they all scurried out the door. “Thanks for coming, everyone.” “Yes, same time next week.” “Love you, too!” Evelyn chimed back at the well-wishes and goodbyes as she closed and locked the door.
Evelyn sighed. It was a wonderful evening, despite that unpleasantness with the news. As she collected the last of the dishes and place them in the dishwasher, Evelyn reached for the phone. Time to end the day in her favorite way.
Shy’s phone rang, breaking them out of their self-talk dialogue. Mom flashed across the phone screen as Shy tapped the answer button. “Hey, Ma.”
“Hi, baby girl! I just wrapped up our Bible study group. Such a good lesson tonight! Mrs. Robinson knows just what the Lord wants us to hear and always feeds our spiritual needs.”
The tiny hairs on the back of Shy’s neck flared up. I wish she would stop calling me that. “Glad to hear it. I know you always enjoy getting together with the church women. Anything new with you?”
Mom hesitated a moment. “I saw the news about those changes in the military. Do you know what’s happening? Are you okay with everything going on?”
“Yeah, I heard some of Senator Snowe’s talking points about it earlier on CNN… No, I’m not bothered by repealing the policy.” Shy leaned back in their chair, fingers drumming on the armrest, tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.
“Is that stuff going to affect you? I mean, you don’t have to serve with any homosexuals, right?” Mom asked.
Shy sighed. “Gay people are already serving in the Army, Ma. It wouldn’t surprise me that there are a few in my unit.” Tap-tap-taptaptap.
Shy could hear Mom still on the other end of the line. “You have gay people in your unit?”
“Probably, Ma.”
“You know that they’re gay?”
“I can’t ask them directly… but yeah, I’m pretty sure I know a few who are.” Taptaptaptap. Taptaptaptap.
“Well, I think it’s best they keep their sex life to themselves. This is just so messy. Now, good people like yourself have to deal with this drama on top of everything else.”
Shy sighed, but the phone buzzed, cutting off their reply. A quick glance proved it was a message from Rihannon: “Re: DADT, Report to Commander, tomorrow 0700, BN HQ.” Icy fingernails scrapped down Shy’s back, sweat beaded on their forehead. A familiar voice froze Shy, made those thrumming fingers finally stop: Well, look at this. I told you they would find me out, huh Shy? You can’t keep me in here forever.
“Wait, that’s not true. No one knows?” Shy countered the inner voice.
“Who doesn’t?” The inner voice replied.
“Hello? Hello?” Evelyn spoke. “Keisha?”
“Sorry Ma, I spaced for a minute. Look, I got an early meeting tomorrow. I’m gonna head to bed. Love you.”
“I love you too, honey. I’ll talk to you later.”
Click.
END OF CHAPTER.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental. TWO ROADS BACK TOGETHER (draft version). Copyright © 2022 Shay D. Potter. Written by Shay D. Potter.
Thank you for reading! Share your critiques and feedback by leaving a comment below or emailing me at bebettermediallc@gmail.com.
Looking forward to it.
Hi, I liked most of it. I am not sure about the opening. I felt the sentences were choppy. The descriptions did not seem to flow to me. The part about the church ladies and the presentation of Shy were good. I liked the description of Evelyn and I thought as you got more into her character it got better.