and Drew and Aunt Loretta in front of the frozen falls.
“Your mom was pretty.”
“Aunt Loretta is not my mom.”
“Oh?”
“She’s my aunt.”
“What your mom look like?”
I wish I could say: Just like me, but taller. Like a grown-up me. If I describe what Mor really looks like it will make her seem plain: long blond hair, white skin; she had an accent (and that’s important even though it’s not something you could tell by looking at her). If I describe her to Lakeisha, it will make Mor seem like any other white person you’d see.
“My mom was light-skinned.”
“Light-skinned-ed? For real? That’s why you so light?”
“Yeah.”
“My mama’s not light-skinned-ed but she’s pretty. Prettier than her too.” She points at the picture of Aunt Loretta.
“How come you don’t have a picture of your mama? She done past?”
I nod, holding the book Drew gave me close to my middle like a shield. I wish Lakeisha would go.
“You ever kissed a boy?” she asks.
I shrug my shoulders.
“My brother has a friend I like.”
“Oh.”
“He’s not my real brother. He’s cute. But his friend Damon is cuter.”
“I have a brother.”
“Where he at? He cute?”
“He’s not here . . . today.”
“He with his daddy, huh?” Lakeisha says with gum in her mouth again. She makes it pop as she chews. “I’ma braid your hair.” She grabs the brush from my dresser and starts brushing my hair. “You got good hair. Bet you could grow it real long.”
“I guess so.” My hair reaches past my shoulders now.
“If I had me some hair like this I’d be workin it.” She pretends to swish her hair off her shoulders, then she punches me on the arm.
“You like to dance?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know how to do the Pac-Man? It’s all tired, but it’s easy. I could show you.”
Lakeisha stands in front of the bed and does the Pac-Man.She pulls me off the bed. “See, like this,” she says, and she does it real slow. “In-out. In-out.”
Her feet look like windshield wipers when she does it slow. But then she speeds it up and it looks like dancing.
“You got a radio?”
“Over there.”
She walks around to the other side of the bed and turns on the radio. When she turns it on, we both jump because the music plays so loud. Lakeisha turns down the volume quickly and we both laugh.
“You listen to white music.”
“That’s jazz.”
“You ain’t got no tapes or nothing?”
I shrug.
She dials through the radio stations. She pauses when one comes in clear.
“Y’all got some sorry radio stations,” she says.
She stops turning the dial when she hears “her song.” She sings to the chorus. She stands in the mirror and pulls the braids off her face. She makes my brush a microphone. “I’m saving all my love . . . Yes, I’m saving all my love . . .”
When the song is over, she bows and I clap. I wonder how come she seems so brave. There is no part of her she hides. Lakeisha sits with me now on the bed and says, “Wanna hear a story?” I don’t have to say yes before she tells me.
Lakeisha tells a story about how this one girl at her school thought she was looking all fly in some white jeans and then she turned around and “you could see she got her menstruations and she didn’t know it. We was laughin!”
I hold my book again as a shield wishing I could laugh. Lakeisha might change her mind about me too.
“My dad, he gave me twenty dollars to go to the movies. I’ma buy me some candy and popcorn. You wanna go? You have to have your own money.”
“No, thank you,” I say.
“No thank you,” she says repeating me in a high voice. “Why you talk all proper?”
I shrug.
“My dad said you were really smart. I think you retarded.” She pauses. “Not! I’m just playin. Why you so serious?”
I AM HAPPY that Grandma calls us back to the table. We will eat cobbler and then say our good nights, and I will be able to look through each page of this book and find the
“Your mom was pretty.”
“Aunt Loretta is not my mom.”
“Oh?”
“She’s my aunt.”
“What your mom look like?”
I wish I could say: Just like me, but taller. Like a grown-up me. If I describe what Mor really looks like it will make her seem plain: long blond hair, white skin; she had an accent (and that’s important even though it’s not something you could tell by looking at her). If I describe her to Lakeisha, it will make Mor seem like any other white person you’d see.
“My mom was light-skinned.”
“Light-skinned-ed? For real? That’s why you so light?”
“Yeah.”
“My mama’s not light-skinned-ed but she’s pretty. Prettier than her too.” She points at the picture of Aunt Loretta.
“How come you don’t have a picture of your mama? She done past?”
I nod, holding the book Drew gave me close to my middle like a shield. I wish Lakeisha would go.
“You ever kissed a boy?” she asks.
I shrug my shoulders.
“My brother has a friend I like.”
“Oh.”
“He’s not my real brother. He’s cute. But his friend Damon is cuter.”
“I have a brother.”
“Where he at? He cute?”
“He’s not here . . . today.”
“He with his daddy, huh?” Lakeisha says with gum in her mouth again. She makes it pop as she chews. “I’ma braid your hair.” She grabs the brush from my dresser and starts brushing my hair. “You got good hair. Bet you could grow it real long.”
“I guess so.” My hair reaches past my shoulders now.
“If I had me some hair like this I’d be workin it.” She pretends to swish her hair off her shoulders, then she punches me on the arm.
“You like to dance?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know how to do the Pac-Man? It’s all tired, but it’s easy. I could show you.”
Lakeisha stands in front of the bed and does the Pac-Man.She pulls me off the bed. “See, like this,” she says, and she does it real slow. “In-out. In-out.”
Her feet look like windshield wipers when she does it slow. But then she speeds it up and it looks like dancing.
“You got a radio?”
“Over there.”
She walks around to the other side of the bed and turns on the radio. When she turns it on, we both jump because the music plays so loud. Lakeisha turns down the volume quickly and we both laugh.
“You listen to white music.”
“That’s jazz.”
“You ain’t got no tapes or nothing?”
I shrug.
She dials through the radio stations. She pauses when one comes in clear.
“Y’all got some sorry radio stations,” she says.
She stops turning the dial when she hears “her song.” She sings to the chorus. She stands in the mirror and pulls the braids off her face. She makes my brush a microphone. “I’m saving all my love . . . Yes, I’m saving all my love . . .”
When the song is over, she bows and I clap. I wonder how come she seems so brave. There is no part of her she hides. Lakeisha sits with me now on the bed and says, “Wanna hear a story?” I don’t have to say yes before she tells me.
Lakeisha tells a story about how this one girl at her school thought she was looking all fly in some white jeans and then she turned around and “you could see she got her menstruations and she didn’t know it. We was laughin!”
I hold my book again as a shield wishing I could laugh. Lakeisha might change her mind about me too.
“My dad, he gave me twenty dollars to go to the movies. I’ma buy me some candy and popcorn. You wanna go? You have to have your own money.”
“No, thank you,” I say.
“No thank you,” she says repeating me in a high voice. “Why you talk all proper?”
I shrug.
“My dad said you were really smart. I think you retarded.” She pauses. “Not! I’m just playin. Why you so serious?”
I AM HAPPY that Grandma calls us back to the table. We will eat cobbler and then say our good nights, and I will be able to look through each page of this book and find the
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