upstairs. I turn the sound down very low so I can hear her coming. That means I have to sit right up in front of the TV to hear anything.
“You shouldn’t sit so close to the screen, you’ll end up hurting your eyes.”
I nearly leap out of my clothes. I didn’t hear her come into the room, but Auntie Ella is now sitting on the chair beside me. She does not look upset. Suddenly I want her to be my mother. I want to throw my arms around her and cry.
“Auntie Ella, just leave me alone and stop acting like you are my mother! I don’t have no mother. Your sister run gone leave me and me brother! That mean nobody can tell me what to do!”
Grandma walks in and sees me shouting at Auntie Ella. She pulls off her blue house slipper and hits me smack in the mouth. She raises the slipper again and Auntie Ella stops her.
Grandma pushes Auntie Ella away. “No, Ella! No. She have no business talking to you like that! You who treat her so good? No, I not going to allow that kind of behavior in here!”
Grandma sends me outside. “Go on! Go out a door and think about why you so fresh! You must be smelling the young green of you-self in here!”
I sit at the top of the back staircase, crying softly, wishing I were living with my own real mother. I hear Delano’s laughter coming from the yard next door. I can cry as hard and loud as I want. My brother is too far away to hear me. Everybody is too far away to hear me. I lay my head onto my arms and weep.
“Don’t cry, don’t cry, baby, I coming.”
Through the blur of tears I look down the flight of stairs. An intently reassuring face looks up at me. The little girl is about four years old and rust colored. She has a big nose, thin lips, and very long, very kinky hair. She has the most beautiful smile I have ever seen. As she wobbles up the steps, her wild brown hair waves from side to side like a giant shapeless animal. She smiles again with coin-deep dimples on either side of her face.
“Don’t cry, please. I coming, man. Wipe y’ face, wipe y’ face. I coming.”
She looks so funny scrambling up the steps that I start laughing. Finally she makes it to the top. She plops down beside me and hugs me in triumph. Then she pats my face with her dirty hands until the tears are gone.
Moments later a woman with two sturdy braids comes to get her. She tells me the little girl’s name is Racquel. I ask her if she is going to beat Racquel. She laughs and tells me she should. “Racquel is just being nasty and running away from getting her hair wash and comb. But I try me best not to beat them too much. I leave the beating to them parents.”
“So you are not her mother?” I ask.
“No,” Racquel pipes up, “she is my auntie Myrtle and she is our helper.”
Auntie Myrtle tells me she lives and works with the Bremmers in the other half of the house.
“So, Auntie Myrtle, if you work for them and live with them, that means that you at work every day, right?”
“Well, sort of. But me don’t have to work on Sunday, except to cookbreakfast and dinner. After me cook me can do as me please. But how old you is, anyway? Why you asking all these big-woman questions? You is the police?”
I laugh out loud. “No, Auntie Myrtle, my name is Staceyann Chin. Auntie Ella is my aunt and I am here to spend the summer holidays with her.”
“All right, Miss Chin, turn over the prisoner and come with me.”
I follow them to the concrete cistern on the back veranda next door and stay until Racquel’s mass of tangles has been shampooed, conditioned, and braided.
Auntie Myrtle offers me dinner. Racquel and I sit at the table and she puts three plates on the table and yells upstairs, “Chauntelle! Chauntelle! Turn off the TV and come eat your dinner!”
The Bremmers have two girls. Racquel has a big sister, Chauntelle. She is six years old. She has the strangest eyes. They are a brilliant shade of sea green, like she is a white person on a color TV. But she has short thick
“You shouldn’t sit so close to the screen, you’ll end up hurting your eyes.”
I nearly leap out of my clothes. I didn’t hear her come into the room, but Auntie Ella is now sitting on the chair beside me. She does not look upset. Suddenly I want her to be my mother. I want to throw my arms around her and cry.
“Auntie Ella, just leave me alone and stop acting like you are my mother! I don’t have no mother. Your sister run gone leave me and me brother! That mean nobody can tell me what to do!”
Grandma walks in and sees me shouting at Auntie Ella. She pulls off her blue house slipper and hits me smack in the mouth. She raises the slipper again and Auntie Ella stops her.
Grandma pushes Auntie Ella away. “No, Ella! No. She have no business talking to you like that! You who treat her so good? No, I not going to allow that kind of behavior in here!”
Grandma sends me outside. “Go on! Go out a door and think about why you so fresh! You must be smelling the young green of you-self in here!”
I sit at the top of the back staircase, crying softly, wishing I were living with my own real mother. I hear Delano’s laughter coming from the yard next door. I can cry as hard and loud as I want. My brother is too far away to hear me. Everybody is too far away to hear me. I lay my head onto my arms and weep.
“Don’t cry, don’t cry, baby, I coming.”
Through the blur of tears I look down the flight of stairs. An intently reassuring face looks up at me. The little girl is about four years old and rust colored. She has a big nose, thin lips, and very long, very kinky hair. She has the most beautiful smile I have ever seen. As she wobbles up the steps, her wild brown hair waves from side to side like a giant shapeless animal. She smiles again with coin-deep dimples on either side of her face.
“Don’t cry, please. I coming, man. Wipe y’ face, wipe y’ face. I coming.”
She looks so funny scrambling up the steps that I start laughing. Finally she makes it to the top. She plops down beside me and hugs me in triumph. Then she pats my face with her dirty hands until the tears are gone.
Moments later a woman with two sturdy braids comes to get her. She tells me the little girl’s name is Racquel. I ask her if she is going to beat Racquel. She laughs and tells me she should. “Racquel is just being nasty and running away from getting her hair wash and comb. But I try me best not to beat them too much. I leave the beating to them parents.”
“So you are not her mother?” I ask.
“No,” Racquel pipes up, “she is my auntie Myrtle and she is our helper.”
Auntie Myrtle tells me she lives and works with the Bremmers in the other half of the house.
“So, Auntie Myrtle, if you work for them and live with them, that means that you at work every day, right?”
“Well, sort of. But me don’t have to work on Sunday, except to cookbreakfast and dinner. After me cook me can do as me please. But how old you is, anyway? Why you asking all these big-woman questions? You is the police?”
I laugh out loud. “No, Auntie Myrtle, my name is Staceyann Chin. Auntie Ella is my aunt and I am here to spend the summer holidays with her.”
“All right, Miss Chin, turn over the prisoner and come with me.”
I follow them to the concrete cistern on the back veranda next door and stay until Racquel’s mass of tangles has been shampooed, conditioned, and braided.
Auntie Myrtle offers me dinner. Racquel and I sit at the table and she puts three plates on the table and yells upstairs, “Chauntelle! Chauntelle! Turn off the TV and come eat your dinner!”
The Bremmers have two girls. Racquel has a big sister, Chauntelle. She is six years old. She has the strangest eyes. They are a brilliant shade of sea green, like she is a white person on a color TV. But she has short thick
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