MERCY & LENOX
Harlem, 1984
Standing at their mother’s gravesite, the sisters locked eyes and had a silent conversation.
Mercy shivered against the brutal February cold and hugged her coat tighter around her body. Her sister, Lenox, appeared to be freezing, too, as she blew deep breaths into her hands in a futile attempt to warm them. Frustrated, Lenox finally shoved her hands into the pockets of her wool coat and glanced at Mercy, helplessly.
Mercy looked around. The handful of mourners who had gathered with them at their mother’s burial seemed just as frustrated by the preacher’s long-windedness as they were. The icy winter air sliced through them. The minister seemed indifferent as he continued his lengthy prayer for their mother’s departed soul. With his eyes shut and his shearling coat shrouding him in warmth, he kept right on stringing big words together in the name of Jesus.
“We ask you to welcome Sharon into your kingdom with open arms, Lord. Notwithstanding the sins of her youth or the snares the enemy laid in her path throughout her lifetime. Welcome her into Heaven. Wrap your loving arms around her, Lord. Wash her in the blood of the lamb and forgive her transgressions.”
“Reverend Bell,” Lenox interrupted.
The minister’s eyes flew open and landed on her scowling face. He stared at her, stunned by her audacity in interrupting his grand finale.
“You preached already at the service. And now you said a real good prayer. We’re gonna need you to say ‘amen’ and let us get up out of here. We made peace with our Mama. If God ain’t done the same by now, it ain’t meant to be.”
Several mourners reacted audibly, some chuckling and others gasping.
Mercy closed her eyes and pressed her lips together.
Reverend Bell cleared his throat. He had only met Sharon’s daughters in the final weeks of her life. Even with that brief amount of experience with Lenox, he knew that it was smart not to argue with her.
“Amen,” he said.
“Amen,” the small crowd said in unison before quickly dispersing.
Mercy scampered over to her sister’s side. Both of them walked quickly back toward the row of cars.
“Len, something is wrong with you. You know that, right?”
Lenox sucked her teeth.
“Shit, we were all thinking it.”
They hustled over to Mercy’s Buick Century parked nearby. Mercy climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the heat up higher. Lenox climbed in, shut the passenger door behind her, and rubbed her cold hands over the vents as the heat poured forth.
“Leave it to our mother to go to hell on the coldest day of the year!”
“Lenox!” Mercy chided. She glared at her sister before she turned around to the backseat where their sons, Judah and Deon, sat together innocently. “Watch your mouth. The boys are in here.”
“And?” Lenox asked. “They know she’s dead.”
“They’re little kids, dummy. They don’t need to hear you talking about it like that.”
Lenox waved her off.
Mercy offered a weak smile to the boys. “Y’all alright?”
Her son, Judah, nodded.
“Are you alright, Ma?” His voice held genuine concern. Even at eight years old, he understood that death was something very sad and very final, that his mother had just buried her own mother. He expected her to be breaking down. Instead, she hadn’t shed a tear all day.
Mercy smiled at him again, more sincerely this time. “Yes, baby. I’m alright.” She turned around, put the car in gear, and drove off.
Deon sat forward in the backseat and looked at Lenox.
“How ’bout you, Ma? You okay?” He was a year younger than his cousin, but was usually the more outspoken of the two.
Lenox laughed.
“Yes, boy! I keep telling you that losing Mama doesn’t make me sad.”
Mercy cut a side-eye at Lenox.
“What she means is that it’s complicated,” Mercy explained. “Our mother wasn’t around much. Not since we were little girls. That’s why you only met her for the first time a few weeks ago when we brought you to see her.”
Lenox turned around and faced her son and nephew.
“Mama disappeared on us when our daddy died.”
Deon’s eyes went wide. Judah listened intently as his Aunt Lenox continued.
“We were all one big happy family until Daddy died from a heart attack. After that, Mama met a new man and said she fell in love. Her new husband didn’t want a ‘ready-made family.’ So, Mama left us behind and went and lived her life without us.”
Lenox turned around in her seat and lit a cigarette. “The only Mama we know is Lula Mae. That was our grandmother. We called her Mama Lula.”
Judah and Deon both listened carefully to this rare moment of candidness. Neither of their mothers had spoken much within their earshot about their extended family. Attending their grandmother’s funeral today—even though they only met her once before she died—and hearing a little family history was fascinating for both of them.
“What’s a ready-made family?” Deon asked, innocently.
Mercy groaned.
“He didn’t want a woman who had kids,” Lenox clarified. “That’s what that means.”
Deon gave it a moment’s thought. “So, she just left you?”
“Just like that.” Lenox exhaled some cigarette smoke and cracked her window a bit.
Mercy frowned at her.
“You were just so cold you had to interrupt the preacher. Now you got the window open, letting all the warm air out.”
Lenox shrugged. “I feel a little better now,” she said, honestly. “I just needed to get out of there. We all did. Mama’s gone. Ain’t no bringing her back. No matter how hard Reverend Hallelujah prays.”
Mercy laughed, despite herself. “You need help.”
Lenox took another puff of her cigarette and smiled. “I know.”
Hours later, after their mother’s small gathering of friends and family had joined them for the repast, Mercy and Lenox Howard left Harlem. It was a place that held so many bittersweet memories for both of them. Harlem was where they grew up. Their grandmother had sought refuge there after fleeing the Jim Crow South. Grandma Lula Mae had moved to New York, working in factories and taking odd jobs to make ends meet. She had settled on 123rd Street and raised her daughter, Sharon, single-handedly, doing her best to provide her with a good life. Her efforts had not been in vain. Sharon had not been wealthy, but was certainly not raised in poverty. As a result of her mother’s hard work, Sharon wore pretty new dresses all the time and had a recurring weekly appointment at the neighborhood hair salon. Lula Mae had ensured that her daughter grew up knowing that she was loved.
When Sharon came of age and married, she struggled to conceive at first. After several failed attempts, she had her daughters back-to-back. First Mercy—aptly named after her mother suffered several miscarriages—then Lenox—named for the block they lived on. Mercy and Lenox had fond memories of being little girls in pigtails playing double Dutch on the sidewalk in front of their row house. Their parents in love, their grandmother only blocks away. Those had been the good days.
When their father suffered a heart attack and passed away, their mother didn’t mourn for very long before leaving them with their grandmother Lula Mae. That arrangement was supposed to be temporary, but it quickly became apparent that she wasn’t coming back.
Harlem became the only world Mercy and Lenox knew, the only place they felt like they belonged. Growing up there had been exciting and treacherous at the same time. A never-ending whirlwind of delightful sights, sounds, and colors with danger lurking around every corner. Pimps and prostitutes, preachers and panhandlers always present.
After she remarried, their mother, Sharon, sent money for them each month. She dropped by Harlem every couple of years for a one-week visit then disappeared back into the new life she had made for herself with her new husband—a jazz musician who moved around a lot. For the most part, Mercy and Lenox had been on their own. Their grandmother had worked long hours as a home health aide, leaving the girls to navigate the gritty streets of Harlem largely by themselves.
It was clear early on that Lenox was the spunkier one. She was tougher than Mercy was, willing to fight her own battles as well as her sister’s. Mercy had always been eager to please their grandmother, so she steered clear of trouble and kept her focus on school. When problems came her way from jealous girls in school, Mercy rarely fought back. But when those beefs spilled over to dismissal, things changed. Lenox would step in cussing and break a bottle, backing all the bullies off her sister. Lenox had been fearless from the start.
They had a small friend circle, mostly keeping to themselves. They grew up as confidantes, friendly competitors, and as flip sides of the same coin.
Fresh out of high school, Mercy had fallen in love and gotten pregnant by a guy from the neighborhood who abandoned her the moment he found out that she was pregnant. Alone and ashamed, she felt like a burden to her grandmother. So, she got a welfare case and put her name on the waiting list for the projects. The first housing development that selected her application was one all the way out in Staten Island. It seemed like a world away from Harlem. But Mercy decided that might not be such a bad thing. She wanted a fresh start for her and her son. She packed up the little she had and moved to the city’s fifth borough in 1977.
Lenox had been miserable without her sister at first. As close as they were, she felt a void where Mercy had been. They usually rose early each morning and Lenox played with her nephew, Judah, while Mercy and their grandmother made breakfast. With Mercy gone, the mood in the apartment had changed. Life felt boring and for the first time in Lenox’s life, she was lonely without her sister. But she soon found a welcome distraction in an older man she met while she was shopping on 125th Street. He wined and dined her, seduced her, and Lenox fell in love. She found out she was pregnant and was worried that he would react the same way that Mercy’s man had. Instead, he told her to pack her things. He was getting an apartment for them and he would take care of her. Lenox had rushed home and told her grandmother, and happily packed her things. She waited expectantly, but he never showed up. Devastated, Lenox assumed that she had been played. But she soon discovered that he hadn’t abandoned her after all. He had been killed over a dice game, shot in the head and left to die alone on the cold city street.
Grieving, Lenox had followed her sister out to Staten Island. She slept on Mercy’s couch at first. Then eventually she got her own place—a Section 8 apartment in a private home a few minutes away from Mercy. Now the two of them were as inseparable as they had ever been, and their sons were growing up side by side.
Lenox stood barefoot now in the kitchen of Mercy’s apartment. The kids were playing noisily together in Judah’s bedroom. Lenox snapped her fingers to the music playing from the boombox sitting on the kitchen counter. She twirled around, winding her hips with a smile spread across her face.
“I know you remember this song, Mercy! Mama Lula used to play this all the time.”
“Chain of fools…”
Lenox sang along with Aretha Franklin.
Mercy smiled at the memory. Smiled wider at the sight of her sister dancing dramatically around the room. Lenox twirled herself in a circle, winding her voluptuous body like a seasoned pro.
“Mama Lula loved this song. Sang it every weekend while she was cleaning the apartment.”
Lenox laughed.
“Dancing around with the mop like it was a man.”
The sisters giggled together at the thought.
“I miss her so much,” Lenox said. “I wish she was here to see how big the boys are. She would be spoiling them rotten.”
“She sure would,” Mercy agreed. She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a soda. “I can’t believe it’s been five years since she passed. Seems like just yesterday I was calling her for advice.”
“She gave the best advice.” Lenox said it dreamily, with her eyes closed. She opened them again and looked at her sister.
“Like right after Deon’s father was killed. I wanted to curl up in a ball and die, too. Mama Lula wasn’t having it. She said, ‘LENOX! Get yo’ butt up and LIVE! You’re a fighter. You don’t need no man to save you. Don’t need no man to rescue you and your baby. God gave you everything you need to survive. It’s in you! All you gotta do is dig down deep and find your strength. Then you get up and you do what you gotta do for that baby and for yourself.’” Lenox smiled at the memory. “That shit snapped me out of the fog I was in. Mama Lula never played that damsel in distress shit. She let me know I had to be my own hero.”
Mercy nodded.
“She was one tough lady. Never took no mess. She passed that down to us.”
Copyright © 2022 by Tracy Brown
