Bosom on Fire

I - November Visitor

There is a knock on Bassey's door. Four sets of three slow taps. Each set louder than the other. Bassey runs the sharp scissors in her hands through the packet of tender chicken jelly for her cat, Butter.

Since no one is showing up at her house until her housewarming, Bassey assumes the hot-headed driver with her waybill of home décor has finally found his way to her house. She empties the food hastily into Butter's plate and saunters to the entrance door of her house.

Leaning into the door, Bassey spies through the peephole of her chestnut finish mahogany door to see a magnified image of a dark-skinned bespectacled man in a corporate shirt and tie instead of an older man in a thread-bare t-shirt. There is no way the driver with a kai-kai thickened voice she had spoken to earlier would have a stripped tie on. But Bassey opens the door ready for a possible cultural shift.

The mid-day breeze cools the sweat on Bassey's arms as she steps out of her apartment to meet the visitor. She sighs as she notices the yellowing leaves of her plants on the porch. Butter abandons her food to tag along. She lays her brown fur beside the white HK living vase that houses Bassey's huge Aloe Vera.

     "Good afternoon," the visitor greets, "I'm pastor Lawrence," he adds in a dry voice. Of course. Lawrence pushes his grey-framed glasses up his nose as he waits for a response from Bassey. Bassey waves her pleasantry, her eyes still on her plants. Lawrence clears his throat to make way for his next words but Bassey takes it as a cue to focus her eyes on him.

     "Pastor Lawrence, I can assure you that you have the wrong address," Bassey replies. Her eyes assessing Lawrence's full look. She twitches her lips in surprise at his shoe choice. She had expected the usual black or brown loafers, not a white converse—fake or not.

Bassey returns to shuffling through the rows of littered flower vases on her front porch. Touching and accessing them like a tourist in a foreign country. Her brows furrow at the dying leaves of her Lantana flower. Sighing she turns to face Lawrence. Her face tells him that she has been waiting for him to say something.

     "Uhm," Lawrence starts, "that's not unlikely. I'm actually looking for Bassey Inemesit and this happens to be the address on his newcomers' slip. Are you his wife?" Lawrence hands the slip he has been looking for to Bassey. Bassey recognizes her neat Bic inked handwriting on the white paper with Love House Ministries on the top left. Her scanty brows furrow slightly.

     "Are you from Love House Ministries?" Bassey asks when she looks up.

     "Yes"

     "I should have put in a fake address." She mutters, instantly despising the honesty the presence of God demanded from her.

     "Are you Bassey?" Lawrence throws his hands over his mouth, "I assumed you would be a...man!"

Bassey knows her name is masculine, yet she cringes when people act surprised. She cringes more today because pastor Lawrence's shock seems to come from a different place—a place of dogmatism that she recognizes all too well.

Bassey returns the slip to him, "I'm a woman, Sir."

     "I can see that. I'm sorry for the mix up. Church protocol demands that I..." stopping himself, "someone more helpful than I will ever be will visit you soon. Today even. I just have to get to church headquarters and sort this out." Lawrence speaks quickly, the prickly November heat spiking his discomfort.

Bassey twitches her lips again. She finds Lawrence's instant uneasiness—a display of a tussle between a man and imbibed convictions—amusing.

Bassey bends to pick Butter up, "If they will switch you for a woman, I will not be interested."

Lawrence crinkles his forehead, weighing his thoughts. Coming to a resolution he breaks the short-lived silence.

"I can handle your follow-up. Your spiritual welfare is important to all of us at Love House including me."

A smirk stretches Bassey's lips, "You don't mean that do you?"

    "I do," adjusting his striped tie, "I'll be leaving now but I hope to see you in church tomorrow for the Radiate Glory service."

    "I don't think I can make it. I have a housewarming party."

     "So, Sunday?"

     "Maybe."

     "That's alright," Lawrence smiles encouragingly. The flash of his teeth does something to Bassey. He didn't judge her. Not yet she warns herself.

Reaching into his pocket, Lawrence pulls out a square card, "This is my number, call me if you need anything."

Their fingers brush as Bassey collects Lawrence's business card with The Cut of Law emboldened in gold on it.

"Anything," Bassey repeats, in a way that sounds like a question.