Free God Ain't Through Yet by Mary Monroe

same dimension with youth anymore. No matter what else you try to do, you’re a decade late and a thousand dollars short.”
    â€œA day late and a dollar short would have been enough. Do you have to bury me that deep?”
    â€œI’m sorry,” I said, and I really was. I had just made a pretty heavy-handed comment. Sadly, it was the way I really felt….
    â€œLike I just said, I’m not dead yet, Annette. As long as I’m alive and kickin’, I can still do other things with my life,” he said sharply, and with a fierce scowl.
    One of the reasons I didn’t like for people to confide in me about a serious matter was that no matter what I said, they copped an attitude. I didn’t even want to think about what Pee Wee would say if I agreed with him that life was passing him by and that it was time for him to pursue a change. And the reason I didn’t go in that direction was because no matter what he decided to do, it would have an impact on my life. After all I’d already been through, all I really wanted to do now was spend the rest of my years living a quiet, happy life. I didn’t want to make any more changes. I finally had everything I needed to be happy; so as far as I was concerned, the only thing left for me to do was enjoy myself and keep Pee Wee happy.
    â€œMaybe you need a hobby,” I suggested. “Or some other kind of social outlet.” I felt like I was grabbing at straws, or a life jacket or something. Whatever it was that I was trying to get a hold on, it was a lifeline because I felt like Pee Wee was sinking fast into some kind of abyss and he was dragging me down with him. “Brother Barnes and some of the other brothers from church get together every week and play Chinese checkers. Deacon Maize has a domino club.”
    Pee Wee looked at me like I’d slapped him. “Brother Barnes and Deacon Maize and all their checker and domino playin’ buddies are in their seventies and eighties!”
    â€œWell, so what? If it’s not too late for them to put some spark in their lives, it’s not too late for you. I think a hobby would do you a lot of good,” I insisted. It still felt like we were both sinking.
    â€œI already got all the hobbies I need!” he retorted. “I go fishin’, I spend time playin’ pool and drinkin’ with my boys—what I need another hobby for?”
    Not only was I getting tired of this conversation, I was also getting impatient and bored. “But exactly what do you really want to do?”
    â€œThat’s what I’m tryin’ to figure out, baby,” he replied.
    â€œAll right, let’s look at things from a different perspective.”
    â€œSuch as?”
    â€œRemember when your boy Victor Ford closed up his sports bar and went on that round-the-world trip when his wife ran off with that musician? He sold his house, his SUV, his furniture, everything. He didn’t even make it halfway around the world before he came running back to Richland. He ended up opening another sports bar, but it was ten steps behind where he was before he sold the first one. You are a barber, that’s what you were born to do. And what about all your loyal customers? If you even think about going out of business, what will become of them? There’s only one other black barber in town now, but you get most of the business.”
    I rose from my seat, went around the table, and stood behind Pee Wee. He covered his face with his hands and released some of the deepest, loudest, most painful-sounding moans I’d ever heard.
    It scared me to death because it sounded like he was dying.

CHAPTER 12
    N othing was more painful to me than to see one of my loved ones in such a hopeless manner like Pee Wee was in now. I hadn’t even seen him look or act this hopeless at any of the many funerals we had attended together.
    I placed my hands on his shoulders and began to massage him, but