It's All About The Moon When The Sun Ain't Shining by Ernest Hill Page A

said.
    â€œMust be something,” she said, “or else you wouldn’t be laughing.”
    â€œJust reminded me of somebody, that’s all.”
    â€œWho?” she asked.
    â€œJust a friend,” I said.
    I dipped my spoon in the bowl, and when it was full, I lifted it to my mouth and I felt my body tingle as the warm stew slid across my tongue and down the back of my throat. The stew was good, but the warmth was even better. In the silence of the moment, I watched Omenita eating from the bowl. Her soft brown eyes danced in the light of the room. She saw me looking at her.
    â€œWell,” she said, “you gon’ tell me or not?”
    â€œI got into law school,” I said.
    â€œWhat!” she said, then dropped her spoon and stared at me.
    â€œI applied a few months ago,” I said. “Just heard last week.”
    â€œLaw school!” she said. “I don’t understand.”
    â€œLSU,” I said. “I got back in, and get this, I was awarded a scholarship, which was surprising because they don’t usually award scholarships for law school. But there’s this new program aimed at keeping some of Louisiana’s brightest young lawyers from leaving the state. I applied for one and won. It pays full tuition, plus a small stipend to cover my living expenses while I’m in school. The only catch is that I have to agree to practice law in Louisiana for at least three years after graduation. But, that’s no big deal though, because this is where I planned to live anyway ...” I paused and looked at her and I saw her eyes had begun to water.
    â€œDo you love me?” she asked.
    I squinted and looked at her strangely. I thought the question odd. “Of course I do,” I said.
    â€œDo you want to be with me?”
    â€œMore than anything in the world.”
    â€œThen why are you doing this?”
    â€œFor us,” I said. “I’m doing this for us.”
    â€œThis ain’t got nothing to do with us,” she said. “This all about that tack-head cousin of yours, and your obsession with getting him out the pen.”
    â€œLet’s talk about something else,” I said.
    â€œI ain’t gon’ do it,” she said.
    â€œAin’t gon’ do what?” I asked.
    â€œLet this happen,” she said.
    â€œLet what happen?” I asked.
    â€œYou go off to school again while I sit around and wait my life away.”
    â€œI don’t want to talk about it anymore,” I said.
    â€œWe gon’ talk about it,” she said.
    â€œKeep your voice down,” I said.
    â€œI mean it, Maurice. I ain’t gon’ wait no more. Either we gon’ be together or we gon’ be apart. But I ain’t gon’ be in one place while you in another one.”
    â€œOmenita!” I said.
    â€œNo,” she said. “I ain’t gon’ do it. And I mean that. I swear, Maurice, all you think about is yourself.”
    â€œMyself,” I said. “This is for us. Why can’t you see that?”
    â€œThis ain’t got nothing to do with us,” she said again.
    â€œIt has everything to do with us,” I said. “Everything.”
    â€œTell that lie to somebody else,” she said.
    â€œHold on,” I said. “Hold on now.”
    â€œHold on, my foot,” she said. I knew she wanted to say something else, but couldn’t on account we were in a public place.
    â€œI guess it would be asking too much for a little support,” I said.
    â€œSupport!” she shouted.
    â€œKeep your voice down,” I said again.
    â€œHow dare you say that to me,” she said.
    â€œWell it’s how I feel,” I said.
    â€œI don’t give a damn how you feel,” she said.
    â€œDon’t cuss at me,” I said. “I mean it. Don’t cuss at me.”
    I looked around and saw that the old couple was staring at us.
    â€œDon’t tell me how to