Death Ain't a Receipt

Chile, let me tell you what happened at Calvin Moss's funeral.

I was there. Third pew from the back, in my good hat. Living Waters Tabernacle was packed out. Cal's wife, Vivian, Deacon Ray's daughter, sitting on the second pew in a black St. John suit and a hat as wide as a car tire, crying all pretty. The choir singing. The pastor talking about a good man gone too soon in that truck on I-20.

Then, right in the middle of the eulogy, the back doors open.

In walks a woman none of us had ever laid eyes on. Bodycon dress. Red bottoms. Braids down to her waist with little gold cuffs. And a baby on her hip with Cal's whole face.

She walks straight down the center aisle and tells the whole church she's his wife. His other wife. From Miami.

And baby, that's not even the part everybody's still talking about. Before the ushers could get to her, she turned around and pointed at the back pew. At Jireh. The girl who braids hair over on Chapel Hill Road. And she let the whole church know Jireh knew. The whole time.

I'm not saying another word. Read it for yourself.