Arkeisha Johnson's Arc

Chapter 1 of 5

Arkeisha Johnson pushed open the heavy doors of the brown church with two trash bags in her hands. They held everything she owned. At fifty-one, she had finally left the man who counted her dollars and her minutes for twenty years. Now she had no bed and no address. She only had a dream she whispered to no one: a creole restaurant in New Orleans She sat in the back pew and cried. She tried to do it quiet. She had learned long ago that loud feelings got punished. But the empty church caught every sound and gave it back to her. Footsteps crossed the worn floorboards. An older woman in a purple robe stopped at the end of the pew. A small cross hung at her chest. She wore round glasses, and her gray hair stood up a little in front, like she had been working. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" the woman asked. She did not hurry the question. Arkeisha wiped her face and tried to smile her usual sweet smile. "I'm fine, ma'am. I'm sorry to bother you." "You're not bothering anybody." The woman sat down beside her. She looked at the two trash bags and understood. "Where are you staying tonight?" The sweet smile broke. "Nowhere. I left him this morning. I don't have anywhere to go." The pastor reached over and wiped a tear from Arkeisha's cheek with her thumb. The gesture was plain and kind. "Oh, sweetie. I will help you." "You don't even know me," Arkeisha said. "I know enough." The woman stood. "My name is Margaret Holloway. I pastor this church. And I own a little building that's sitting empty." Margaret walked to a small office behind the altar. Arkeisha heard a drawer open and keys jingle. When Margaret came back, she pressed a set of keys into Arkeisha's palm and closed her fingers around them. "There's an apartment three blocks from here. Yellow, with balconies and a green front door. It's furnished. You rest there as long as you need." Arkeisha stared at the keys. Her hand shook. "I can't pay you yet." "I didn't ask you to." Margaret sat back down. "What do you want to do, Arkeisha? When the dust settles?" Nobody had asked her that in years. The answer came out before fear could stop it. "Cook. Open my own place. Creole food, the way my grandmother made it." Margaret smiled. "Then you've got a kitchen to practice in. That apartment has a good stove." Arkeisha stepped outside and walked to the yellow building. She climbed the stoop and tried the key in the green door. It turned. The apartment was warm and snug, with curtains in the windows and a clean kitchen at the back. She took a shower washing years of stress away she finally puts her robe on and listens to her grandmother and her mothers favorite rnb songs that’s her husband never let her played she looks at the ceiling and jumps up ima open my first creole restaurant with my mother and grandmother’s recipes