WELL DONE! Fiction THE KINGDOM by DeLane Phillips

THE KINGDOM by DeLane Phillips

The Sunday School teacher asked the class what the kingdom of heaven was. I got excited because I knew the answer. In last week’s class I didn’t know the answer and I don’t like it when I don’t know the answer.

Last week, I got confused on Paul’s missionary journal travel’s lesson. I couldn’t remember where he was half the time like Eliza Jane. Eliza Jane knows everything. That’s because her daddy is the preacher. Eliza Jane was an expert on Paul and knew where he was the entire class. None of us did. This time no one was going to outsmart me, not even Eliza. She doesn’t like it because I leave off the “Jane” part of her name.

The teacher asked, “Don’t you want to be in the kingdom when you die Eliiizugh Jane?” Eliza is her favorite student.

“Yes, Miz Saw-rulls,” replied Eliza, smiling like Miss America.

I raised my hand. Miss Sorrells sighed. She always does that when I raise my hand. I think it’s because I’m not as pretty or smart as Eliza. Maybe it’s because my Daddy’s not the preacher. Or, it’s because my mother teaches the five year olds. Nobody wants to teach the five year olds. Jesus wouldn’t even take ‘um. They are just plain awful.

Momma teaches the five year olds because she says Jesus loves the little children. I asked Momma if she was sure about that because last month one of the five year olds escaped from class, ran downstairs, out the back kitchen door, across the street, and into the graveyard before Momma caught him. I asked Momma if she whooped him with a Privet switch like she did me when I misbehave. Momma replied, “Of course not, Jesus loves the little children.”

Miss Sorrells knows that I will go home and tell Momma she would not let me answer a question. It’s impolite not to let me answer and that’s not what Jesus would want her to do in front of the class. Especially being a Sunday school teacher and all. That’s why I have all of her attention. And, I know the answer.

Miss Sorrells peered down at me through her diamond-edged reading glasses, smiling like a Miss America through her carnation-pink lips.

“Yes, Hun?” asked Miss Sorrells. She had that carnation-pink lipstick stuck to her left front eye tooth. I wonder if she knew that.

“Miss Sorrells, the kingdom of heaven is my Granny’s table!” I shouted. All eyes in the class were on me. Bobby Hanley, whose daddy is the superintendent of the Sunday School, giggled from behind me. I would get him after church.

“Come again?” questioned Miss Sorrells, looked confused through the twinkly glasses. Maybe she didn’t hear me. She still had lipstick on her tooth.

“Miss Sorrells, I said the kingdom …”

“Hun, I heard you the first time,” replied Miss Sorrells in her firmest Sunday School teacher voice. “Now, why don’t you eeelaborate on the kingdom to our little class?” Eeelaborate. She wants me to eeelaborate. I think that’s the same thing as preaching.

I hate it when she calls me “Hun.” That’s the special name my aunt calls me when she wants me to paint her fingernails. She always uses the same color, “Berries,” by Revlon. She buys it at the Revco in town. I don’t like Miss Sorrells using my special name. Anyhow, I was not going to let Eliza outshine me after last week’s missionary travels disaster. I was an expert on the kingdom and I was going to eeelaborate. I began to eeelaborate on the kingdom. You know, just like the preacher does.

“Miss Sorrells, the kingdom of heaven is just like my Granny’s table! You see, my Granny don’t go to church on Sunday like regular folks. She stays home. But my grandaddy does. Granny and grandaddy are members of the Good Hope Congregational Holiness Church. They like him at the church ‘cause he gave them all the land for the outbuildings and such. They built this big ol’ building where everybody can eat dinner after the funerals.”

“What does that have to do with your Granny’s table, Hun?” inquired Miss Sorrells. I knew she was listening.

“Miss Sorrells, after church my Grandaddy brings everybody home to eat dinner. Most Sundays we go down there to eat too, unless Momma’s worn out from teaching the five year olds.” Miss Sorrells was nodding her up and down.

“Granny stays home from the services so she can cook everything. First she goes out to the garden and pulls the corn, cuts it off, and fries it up in a skillet. Wait, before that, she has to kill the chickens. She goes out to the yard, rings a few chicken necks and …” “Yuck” screamed Eliza. Bobby Hanley giggled again.

Miss Sorrells patted Eliza’s head and said, “It’s alright, Hun.”

Miss Sorrells frowned at me. I decided to keep going, regardless of Eliza’s sensitivity. I figured I wouldn’t eeelaborate on the yucky parts since Eliza had apparently never witnessed chickens having feathers boiled off. But, knowing how much Eliza’s daddy ate at church dinners, I’d say he had a chicken or two.

“Granny fries up them chickens. She might even serve a roast on the side, or ham. While the chickens are a’fryin’ in the iron skillets, Granny’s rolling out pans of biscuits. While that’s going, she’ll have a pan o’cornbread in the oven.” Once I mentioned biscuits, I had Bobby Hanley’s full attention. Bobby loves biscuits.

“She bakes the day before.” I named them off one-by-one. “Pound, coconut, plain white, plantation, apple, chocolate, white, lemon strawberry ….” The list was endless. I sighed, thinking of all those cakes. The room was silent. I continued to eeelaborate. “There will be a good assortment of pies... say, chocolate, pecan, buttermilk, egg custard, coconut, peach, peanut butter, blackberry, and cobblers! Granny will have pot o’green beans simmering on the stove in the kitchen... she tops off the beans with pieces of quartered white potatoes, sprinkled with black pepper. Sometimes I sneak in the kitchen, lift off the top of the pot, and reach down inside for a tater or two.” All eyes were on me. I bet the preacher never had this much attention when he eeelaborates. In my opinion, if he’d talk a little bit more about eatin’ and less about dyin’, folks might act interested.

“The family shows up to help out. Some will bring a dish, but they don’t have to. It’s okay with Granny if you show up empty-handed. Granny just loves to feed folks. My aunt always brings “Blueberry Fluff.” Now, there’s a dish even Jesus would love. All eyes were still on me, even Miss Sorrells. I thought I saw her lick the carnation-pink lips. I wondered if that lipstick was still on her tooth. Maybe, I should take her to the side later and tell her, you know, just to be all Jesus-like and nice.

“Go ahead, Hun,” said Miss Sorrells, the twinkly glasses nodding up and down. Her voice sounded just like she was talking to Eliza Jane.

“Yes Ma'am,” I replied. I raised my arms and spread out my hands just like the preacher when he eeelaborated on Sundays.

“All them folks my Grandaddy invites from the Congregational Holiness church come driving up in the yard. They get out of their cars and stand out in the yard talking about the service and the preacher. All the family is driving up at the same time and ever’body gets excited when they see each other, like it’s been years or something. The men are dressed in their Sunday suits and smell like my Daddy’s Old Spice cologne. The ladies are still in their Sunday best dresses. Well, except for Momma. She usually sneaks to the bathroom and takes off her pantyhose because they hurt by that time.” Miss Sorrells’ carnation-pink lips turned down. “Oops.” I forgot I was standing in the presence of boys. I changed the subject. “Everyone comes in through the front porch screen door, into the kitchen. There’s so many folks and food, the table can’t hold them all! Granny starts putting dishes on top of whatever space she can find. She spreads food onto the top of the freezer and even the dryer. That’s three tables of food! Sometimes, we have to set the desserts in the kitchen by the stove because we run out of room on the freezer and the dryer. Next, the men folk all sit down at the big aluminum kitchen table with the red vinyl chairs. Their wives fix their plates and set them down on the table before them. By that time, the kids have come in and washed up. We all gather ‘round, so Grandaddy can ask the blessing.”

Grandaddy prays, “Good Lord, bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies and our hands to greater service...”

Half way through the blessing my mind wanders because of the macaroni-and-cheese. I always get distracted by the macaroni-and-cheese. Miss Sorrells was nodding at me again. I could tell she wanted to know more about that macaroni. “Granny makes her macaroni with spaghetti noodles. She don’t buy no store bought. It’s all homemade. She throws in an egg and some canned milk. But, the best part is the hoop cheese slices she lays on top of the dish. She sprinkles black pepper over the top, just like the taters.”

Bobby Hanley yelled. “Yummy!”

That was as good as an amen to me.

“Grandaddy finally gets to the ‘amen’ part of the blessing. The men dig into their plates. The mommas are getting children plates of food and sending them out to the porch to eat. Finally, the women get to eat. They sit in the den together, that way they can talk about women things.

Once the men finish their first round, they start passin’ dishes for the second. Granny helps hand them the dishes from the tables, so they don’t have to reach. They pass the meats, then the vegetables: creamed corn, green beans, collards, mashed taters, macaroni and cheese, sweet potatoes, peas, potato salad, cabbage, pinto beans, fried okra....” I shook my head thinking of what was to come after church was over. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. Granny walks around asking, “More tea?”

She waits on everybody. She passes the bread baskets full of biscuits and cornbread. Then she passes her homemade jams and butter. The men all smile at Granny, nod politely, and brag on her food. They tell her to sit down and eat, but they don’t really want her to. They like the pettin’ she gives them. We all eat until we can’t hold another bite, completely satisfied. And, just when we can’t eat another bite, guess what?”

“What!” everyone yelled, even Eliza Jane.

“Granny goes in the kitchen and stirs up chocolate gravy.” I eeelaborated. “Oh!” yelled Miss Sorrells, her eyes closed dreamily behind the twinkly glasses. She had licked off the carnation-pink.

“Miss Sorrells, that’s the kingdom of heaven! Everybody’s invited. It’s okay to show up empty-handed. And, when you can’t eat another bite, God’s in the kitchen stirring up chocolate gravy!”

“Amen, Hun, amen!” yelled Miss Sorrells. I think I like her calling me that.

DeLane Phillips is a Southern voice. She is a mom, a daughter, caregiver, dog mom, writer, and teacher. Many characters and settings featured are from her childhood in Monroe, Georgia. Later in her life, DeLane attended Emmanuel College in Franklin Springs, Georgia, where she was featured in Emmanuel’s annual “Montage,” receiving first place in prose. A few years later, after the passing of her mother, DeLane returned to the muse of much of her writing, her homeplace in Walton County. She continues to write and supports her 83 year old father, as he battles Alzheimers’ disease.