note Pop must have left for me.
Drew has two helpings of cobbler with ice cream. Grandma has a sweet tooth. She eats two helpings too. She doesn’t want a lizard or a rooster anymore. “They gonna have to love all-a this if they want love from me.”
I think of how Grandma makes fun of love. And maybe that’s the key.
“Miss Doris, you bad. You bad. Careful how those contributions catch up to you,” Drew says, pointing to Grandma’s “secret” bottle of sherry.
Grandma likes being bad around Drew. She smooths down the front of her dress, the part that stretches across her chest, and she makes a low lizard-eating giggle. Grandma says she feels like a woman when she’s being bad. And Lakeisha says, “I’m scared of you, Miss Doris.” They all laugh.
Grandma puts the cobbler back in the oven to heat up another helping for Drew. He likes it when the ice cream melts all in it. He talks for a long time about his job at the Salvation Army Harbor Lights Center, the way he wants to landscape his yard with rose bushes and grow a garden with tomatoes and cucumbers and lettuce, and how much he’s been missing his sweet Lo. We all hush when he says her name.
Grandma says something first. “It’s been too much. Oh, Loretta. I’m missing my baby girl, and Charles . . .”
“You mean Robbie, Grandma.”
“I mean Charles and Robbie and that baby too,” she says. “I say what I mean.”
It’s hard to know what Grandma means when she’s had the contributions.
And then Drew says thank you and promises to come again soon.
“Rachel, maybe you want to come with us to the parade this weekend? Good spot for watching is up at my job at the Salvation Army on Burnside—not fancy, but you’ll be up close.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I’ma be there,” Lakeisha says.
“Happy to have met you,” Grandma says to Lakeisha as they walk to the door. She’s made Texas very strong. She turns to Drew. “If you still got her next Sunday, come on to church with us.”
“That’s a nice invitation. Maybe we will,” Drew says. “Lakeisha’s a real good singer.”
“I heard you all with the radio up,” Grandma says, touching Lakeisha’s braids. I know she disapproves of braids, but for Lakeisha, today, she makes it okay.
“Lakeisha has a solo in the choir,” Drew says.
“You wanna hear it?” Lakeisha asks. She takes the gum out of her mouth, and this time every one sees. Then she takes off her glasses. She is in the middle of the second line of “Amazing Grace” and Grandma joins in.
I hear a voice I have not heard. The choir sang this at Aunt Loretta’s funeral. Grandma sings now but she didn’t that day. I hear a voice I have not heard. It has the hurt in it.
They finish the song with pitch-perfect harmony. They are holding hands and I want to say that Drew is crying, but I’m not sure. I’m afraid to look. I want to be Lakeisha. She’s hugging Grandma, getting the sad stuck feeling out of her with a song. I am fourteen and know that I am black, but I can’t make the Gospel sound right from my mouth. I can’t help make Grandma’s feelings show. They hold hands and Grandma hugs Lakeisha again. I can see what Grandma sees in Lakeisha. It is a reflection.
I smell something burning.
“Good Lord, that last bit of cobbler’s burnin,” Grandma says and rushes to turn the oven off.
I T’S LATE . D REW and Lakeisha have gone home. Beneath my covers I turn on a flashlight and look through the book. There is no note from Pop, but one from Mor on the title page. It says: “Kære Roger, Together, all the stories will have wishes that come true. Jeg elsker dig . Nella.” And then there’s a date from the year I was born. I trace the words with my fingertips. Then I turn to the story I know best: the story of the bird who didn’t know he was a swan. Only it reads sodifferent than I remember it. There is an Egyptian, a hunter, and a large comfortable nest the duckling must leave. He didn’t decide to go
Drew has two helpings of cobbler with ice cream. Grandma has a sweet tooth. She eats two helpings too. She doesn’t want a lizard or a rooster anymore. “They gonna have to love all-a this if they want love from me.”
I think of how Grandma makes fun of love. And maybe that’s the key.
“Miss Doris, you bad. You bad. Careful how those contributions catch up to you,” Drew says, pointing to Grandma’s “secret” bottle of sherry.
Grandma likes being bad around Drew. She smooths down the front of her dress, the part that stretches across her chest, and she makes a low lizard-eating giggle. Grandma says she feels like a woman when she’s being bad. And Lakeisha says, “I’m scared of you, Miss Doris.” They all laugh.
Grandma puts the cobbler back in the oven to heat up another helping for Drew. He likes it when the ice cream melts all in it. He talks for a long time about his job at the Salvation Army Harbor Lights Center, the way he wants to landscape his yard with rose bushes and grow a garden with tomatoes and cucumbers and lettuce, and how much he’s been missing his sweet Lo. We all hush when he says her name.
Grandma says something first. “It’s been too much. Oh, Loretta. I’m missing my baby girl, and Charles . . .”
“You mean Robbie, Grandma.”
“I mean Charles and Robbie and that baby too,” she says. “I say what I mean.”
It’s hard to know what Grandma means when she’s had the contributions.
And then Drew says thank you and promises to come again soon.
“Rachel, maybe you want to come with us to the parade this weekend? Good spot for watching is up at my job at the Salvation Army on Burnside—not fancy, but you’ll be up close.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I’ma be there,” Lakeisha says.
“Happy to have met you,” Grandma says to Lakeisha as they walk to the door. She’s made Texas very strong. She turns to Drew. “If you still got her next Sunday, come on to church with us.”
“That’s a nice invitation. Maybe we will,” Drew says. “Lakeisha’s a real good singer.”
“I heard you all with the radio up,” Grandma says, touching Lakeisha’s braids. I know she disapproves of braids, but for Lakeisha, today, she makes it okay.
“Lakeisha has a solo in the choir,” Drew says.
“You wanna hear it?” Lakeisha asks. She takes the gum out of her mouth, and this time every one sees. Then she takes off her glasses. She is in the middle of the second line of “Amazing Grace” and Grandma joins in.
I hear a voice I have not heard. The choir sang this at Aunt Loretta’s funeral. Grandma sings now but she didn’t that day. I hear a voice I have not heard. It has the hurt in it.
They finish the song with pitch-perfect harmony. They are holding hands and I want to say that Drew is crying, but I’m not sure. I’m afraid to look. I want to be Lakeisha. She’s hugging Grandma, getting the sad stuck feeling out of her with a song. I am fourteen and know that I am black, but I can’t make the Gospel sound right from my mouth. I can’t help make Grandma’s feelings show. They hold hands and Grandma hugs Lakeisha again. I can see what Grandma sees in Lakeisha. It is a reflection.
I smell something burning.
“Good Lord, that last bit of cobbler’s burnin,” Grandma says and rushes to turn the oven off.
I T’S LATE . D REW and Lakeisha have gone home. Beneath my covers I turn on a flashlight and look through the book. There is no note from Pop, but one from Mor on the title page. It says: “Kære Roger, Together, all the stories will have wishes that come true. Jeg elsker dig . Nella.” And then there’s a date from the year I was born. I trace the words with my fingertips. Then I turn to the story I know best: the story of the bird who didn’t know he was a swan. Only it reads sodifferent than I remember it. There is an Egyptian, a hunter, and a large comfortable nest the duckling must leave. He didn’t decide to go
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