chapter 6 Barry White

If Easy day ended up sweetly, Barry’s one was about to begin just then, at

night, when people usually relax and sleep peacefully.

When he opened his home’s door, an old scene welcomed him: John and

George were fighting about who was going to pick up the TV channels that

evening. Barry passed by his two brothers, smiling, and tapped them on the

head.

“Hi Barry” they said, stopPing to argue for a tiny second.

They were identical twins, and about eight years old. But they weren’t sons

of his mother. They were sons of someone else, who just like Barry’s mom,

couldn’t take care of them or whatever, and had left them on the doorstep

of Mama Sheryl. Sheryl was a known good hearted woman, living in a poor

neighborhood of New York, were mostly colored people helped each other

as they could.

Mama Sheryl’s big heart made her adopt six children: Barry, the oldest,

Mary, Trisha, Jeremiah, George and John. She decided the name for each

one of them, because they all came to her as babies. Except for Barry. She

knew he was named Barry White, and she still remembered the day when a

six years old boy knocked on her door, saying: “My momma says if I can

stay here ‘till she comes back”. He stayed for sixteen years.

But he wasn’t waiting for his mom anymore. He knew his true Mama was

Sheryl now, and he almost forgot even how Miss White looked like.

Each time Barry came back home, Sheryl was very happy: she knew he

worked a lot to keep his numerous family up. He was the man there, and

she just couldn’t thank him more, never making troubles, never asking for

whims. But of course, every young man has his dreams and passions, and

Sheryl knew very well what her son’s passion was: he liked to sing. 

With the excuse that they needed a second job than the one in the

bookstore, Barry worked as a waiter in a pub, to make some extra money.

But everyone in his family knew he went there to listen to the young

singers and musicians who tried to break through with their music.

Barry dreamed hard to be on the stage one day, just like them, and make

the customers listen to his voice. Sometimes even a manager or two went

to that pub to discover some new talents.

That night, Barry’s dream came true: he didn’t go to the pub to serve at the

tables. He went there to sing! He’d prayed the pub’s owner so longed to

give him a try, and finally he had accepted. Barry thought that he was giving

him a chance because he pissed him off too much, or just because there

was a missing place on that stage to fill. He just didn’t care. He was going to

sing!

He came home exhausted, but still he had some energy to go upstairs and

wear his nice black suite Mama Sheryl had given to him: it was of her dead

husband Patrick, and just fitted him perfectly.

“Wait a minute young gentleman!” Mama Sheryl said, before his son put

his feet on the stairs to up to his room. “You ain’t going to that pub before

you ate something, are you?”

“Mom, I just can’t. I’m late” Barry answered, although he knew he had

already lost his battle: when Mama Sheryl said something, she made it

happen in all ways.

“No “moms”, c’mon, Trisha’s prepared the dinner on the table. Everyone at

the table, hurry!” she yelled with authority. Dining all together was a very

important thing to her, because it was the only time of the day every

member of the family was at home. Mama Sheryl cared a lot about this,

and her sons knew why: it kept the family strong.

“Where’s Mary?” Barry asked when everyone reached his or her seat at the

table.

“Oh, she’s dining with her future in-law family” Mama answered: she was

sitting at the head of the table.

Mary was only one year younger than Barry, and she was engaged with a

young fireman who came two weeks ago to ask for her hand to Mama

Sheryl. Mama said he was going to be a good husband, and blessed their

marriage. They have never seen Mary happier since then.

“Okay now, all together, let’s pray” Mama said, and everyone took his

neighbor’s hand, forming a lovely circle. Sheryl used to pray a lot. She

believed God heard the prayers of all his sons and never left them alone.

And praying at the dinner table was another thing she cared about a lot.

Speaking aloud, she said: “Oh good Lord- and all her sons repeated after

her, as she has taught themwe

thank You,

for all you give

the food we eat

the lives we live”

And then, Mama Sheryl alone continued. She always added an extra part to

the prayer that changed from day to day:

“Good Lord, please help our Barry to make good, to show people the

strength and light you gave him. Amen”

“Amen” everyone followed.

After dinner, Barry went upstairs to change his clothes. When he opened

the door, he was very glad to found the suite on his bed, clean and ironed,

ready to be weared.

It was little bit old, but it still seemed pretty good to him. As he dressed up,

Barry imagined how was it going to be to stand in front of dozens of people,

singing aloud. Most people can barely speak in public, how was he going to

sing in public? What if he didn’t make it?

He pushed that thought away, and recalled her Mama’s words: “Just close

your eyes and sing. Sing, son. No matter what.”

That night the pub was even more crowded than usual. Barry entered

reluctantly and went to meet his boss.

“Berry! Where the hell have you been? Do you know what time is it?” he

burst out as soon as the poor Barry opened his office’s door.

“Yes, sir. It’s half past nine, sir.” Barry answered, trying to mask his fear.

“And do you know what time do you have to sing your damned song?”

“Nine thirty five, sir.”

“So what the hell are you doing here! Get to the stage, now!” he yelled out

to the poor Barry. The boss was always too sour to be loved. For a moment

Barry compared him to his other boss, Eddie, and he couldn’t help smile.

After the presenter had read his name aloud, Barry managed to reach the

stage, even if his legs were trembling. There was silence, like in a graveyard,

and a big flash pointed to his face. Barry looked at the audience: their faces

weren’t that friendly, but his eyes met the ones of a pretty young lady sat

at number 25. She was wearing a lot of make-up and gaudy earrings that

matched her coffee-and-milk like skin very nicely. He had seen her in that

pub very often, each time with a different guy, and each time he had

always found her beautiful. Singing in front of her was making things worse.

“Focus!” he tried to think. “Close your eyes and sing! No matter what.”

And so, he sang.