she had been holding in her handkerchief for seven first-class stamps. The postal employee behind the counter was smiling indulgently like she had all the time in the world. Nobody in line seemed to mind, probably hoping she would grant us the same sweet smile when we finally got to the counter and greeted her face-to-face.
Postal workers have such a terrible reputation for being volatile and slow, but I never find them to be anything but calm, efficient, and patient to the point of sainthood, especially when we lose our minds and start demanding that our poorly wrapped packages reach our granny's house in time for Christmas morning, even if it is December 24 and we'd like to send it as cheaply as possible.
“Six months ain't nothing,” Aretha said. “She told me there are private clubs where all the guys want to see are pregnant women, the bigger the better.”
A friend of mine once told me that I would never really understand men because I had no clue about how lowdown they are. Of course, I defended the brothers, by saying they can't be more low-down than I've seen them be, but then I hear this kind of stuff and I think maybe my friend is right. Pregnant strippers and prostituting children are both beyond the scope of my imagination.
“Is that where she was working?”
“No. That's why she's quitting. Six months is the most they'll go at the regular places before you have to take maternity leave.”
“What did she wear for the reality pose?”
Aretha smiled. “She wore a pair of low-slung jeans and a little tiny T-shirt that said ‘baby on board.’”
I was next in line. “Do you think she'll start again after the baby comes?”
Aretha shrugged. “Probably. She makes good money, and she doesn't know how to do anything else.”
The postal worker who had accepted the handkerchief's worth ofcoins beckoned me over as the next in line.
“Your turn,” Aretha said, but that was too abrupt an end to our conversation. “Want to walk back together?”
“Sure.”
We each completed our business and headed back outside.
“I'm actually meeting Lu over at the school,” Aretha said, “but we can walk that far together.”
Brown Junior High School was right on the way, and Aretha and I fell in step easily together, me matching my shorter stride to her longer, loping one.
“I'm looking forward to brunch tomorrow,” I said.
“Me, too. Flora is a serious cook. I think she's going to fry some catfish, and Lu promised to make me some biscuits. She's almost as good a cook as Flora. Almost! ”
I tried to keep my voice casual as we strolled along. “Are you going to the party next Saturday night?”
“I wouldn't miss it,” she said. “This will be my eighth year in a row.”
“Eight years? That's a lot of parties!”
She nodded as we turned off Oglethorpe and headed down Peeples Street. “Ever since my freshman year at Spelman.”
“You've been living here that long?”
“Since 1994. I grew up in a really tiny town in Michigan, and when I got accepted at Spelman, my aunt Ava was worried about me coming to the big city all alone, so she called Mr. Hamilton and asked him to look out for me. He gave me this apartment in exchange for picking up his mail when he's out of town and the occasional paint job.” She grinned at me, recalling how we'd met. “I've been here ever since.”
So I wasn't the first tenant to be given a break on the rent. My guess was that Flora and Lu weren't paying much either. I guess when Blue said he wasn't in it for the money, he wasn't kidding.
“He's kind of like my godfather,” she said as we waited for the light at Abernathy. “That's why I'm not riding with you and Flora to the party.”
“Why?”
She grinned at me again, two deep dimples reminding me of my mother's explanation when I asked her what dimples were.
“Angel's kisses,” she had said, unwittingly plunging me into despair because I didn't have any. When I told her this years later, she laughed so
Postal workers have such a terrible reputation for being volatile and slow, but I never find them to be anything but calm, efficient, and patient to the point of sainthood, especially when we lose our minds and start demanding that our poorly wrapped packages reach our granny's house in time for Christmas morning, even if it is December 24 and we'd like to send it as cheaply as possible.
“Six months ain't nothing,” Aretha said. “She told me there are private clubs where all the guys want to see are pregnant women, the bigger the better.”
A friend of mine once told me that I would never really understand men because I had no clue about how lowdown they are. Of course, I defended the brothers, by saying they can't be more low-down than I've seen them be, but then I hear this kind of stuff and I think maybe my friend is right. Pregnant strippers and prostituting children are both beyond the scope of my imagination.
“Is that where she was working?”
“No. That's why she's quitting. Six months is the most they'll go at the regular places before you have to take maternity leave.”
“What did she wear for the reality pose?”
Aretha smiled. “She wore a pair of low-slung jeans and a little tiny T-shirt that said ‘baby on board.’”
I was next in line. “Do you think she'll start again after the baby comes?”
Aretha shrugged. “Probably. She makes good money, and she doesn't know how to do anything else.”
The postal worker who had accepted the handkerchief's worth ofcoins beckoned me over as the next in line.
“Your turn,” Aretha said, but that was too abrupt an end to our conversation. “Want to walk back together?”
“Sure.”
We each completed our business and headed back outside.
“I'm actually meeting Lu over at the school,” Aretha said, “but we can walk that far together.”
Brown Junior High School was right on the way, and Aretha and I fell in step easily together, me matching my shorter stride to her longer, loping one.
“I'm looking forward to brunch tomorrow,” I said.
“Me, too. Flora is a serious cook. I think she's going to fry some catfish, and Lu promised to make me some biscuits. She's almost as good a cook as Flora. Almost! ”
I tried to keep my voice casual as we strolled along. “Are you going to the party next Saturday night?”
“I wouldn't miss it,” she said. “This will be my eighth year in a row.”
“Eight years? That's a lot of parties!”
She nodded as we turned off Oglethorpe and headed down Peeples Street. “Ever since my freshman year at Spelman.”
“You've been living here that long?”
“Since 1994. I grew up in a really tiny town in Michigan, and when I got accepted at Spelman, my aunt Ava was worried about me coming to the big city all alone, so she called Mr. Hamilton and asked him to look out for me. He gave me this apartment in exchange for picking up his mail when he's out of town and the occasional paint job.” She grinned at me, recalling how we'd met. “I've been here ever since.”
So I wasn't the first tenant to be given a break on the rent. My guess was that Flora and Lu weren't paying much either. I guess when Blue said he wasn't in it for the money, he wasn't kidding.
“He's kind of like my godfather,” she said as we waited for the light at Abernathy. “That's why I'm not riding with you and Flora to the party.”
“Why?”
She grinned at me again, two deep dimples reminding me of my mother's explanation when I asked her what dimples were.
“Angel's kisses,” she had said, unwittingly plunging me into despair because I didn't have any. When I told her this years later, she laughed so
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