500 Black People and Me

The tiny braid-covered heads slowly rose
above the back of the pew in front of me.
The girls couldn't have been more than four and six
and their jaws dropped open at the sight of me.
Their adorable astonished faces were highlighted
by their wide inquisitive eyes.
I had the distinct feeling they had never seen a white person.
My flight attendant school friend Irving blended right in
but as I gazed over the hundreds of well-groomed heads and
fancy floral hats I noticed I was the only white person
at church that morning.
Irving and I had felt homesick after four weeks of living
at the Houston Intercontinental Airport Sheraton hotel
and our darling black doorman, Stacey, gave us directions to his church.
We drove my hot red & black Camaro endlessly until
we arrived at a large white church on the outskirts of Houston.
Irving and I sang and prayed along with the flock and
I noticed two adult choirs, a teen choir and a children's choir
who were accompanied by an orchestra, blues band,
rock band or brass only band at various times.
As the adult gospel choir revved up with the band
part of our swaying flock began to faint.
Well-built nurses in white drifted down the aisles with smelling salts
and revived those slumped in the pews as the hymmn
reached a fever pitch I had never known.
After an hour of singing and praying the minister began
his sermon. He was of medium height and weight but the way he
carried himself and spoke the word of god began to bring down the house.
Shouts of, "Amen!" rang through the air and more fainting began.
Filled with awe of the spirit and in fear of damnation,
I glanced at my watch and realized another hour had passed.
I whispered to the lady next to me and asked her when the service ended
and she replied, "We're just getting started. We break for lunch at two
and begin again at four."
I tapped Irving's arm and pointed to my watch. He made a covert
motion at the door and when we all jumped to our feet to sing,
he and I slipped out the door.