wide.
“Oh, I almost
forgot it,” Ava said. “Did you want to add something?”
Helena blinked, looking
confused. “No, not the grocery list. The drawing.”
There was a
little pencil drawing of Regina, sketched in detail on the corner of the page.
She was in motion, her hands out in front of her and her mouth open, as if she
was speaking. Ava said. “I guess I was doodling while Mama was telling her
story.”
“ Doodling?”
Ava nodded.
“But this is
wonderful,” Helena said. “Ava, do you know how wonderful this is?”
Ava was always
doodling in the corners of pages. Every grocery list she wrote had some sketch
in its margins, drawn while she waited for Sarah to decide whether she wanted
to buy pork or beef for Sunday dinner, or for Paul to make up his mind about
milk or orange juice. She never thought anything about it, never assessed her scribblings , never even looked at
them afterward. She had certainly never considered that they were wonderful . She looked again at the
drawing Helena held out and noticed that Regina’s face seemed alive with the story
she was telling. Her mouth and hands suggested movement. The tiny creases
around her eyes and the lines along her brow held heavy emotion. It wasn’t just a scribbling of Regina , it was Regina .
Ava took the pad and peered close at the drawing.
Helena was right. It was wonderful. Ava could see now that it was.
1953
S arah
Haley was called Mother Haley by everyone who knew her . She was called Mother Haley because of her standing
as an elder in her church in Hayden, Georgia, the church that both her son,
George, and his wife, Regina, had grown up in and had been members of all their
lives before moving up north. Mother Haley was devoted to her church, where she
had met and eulogized two husbands and raised her only son, and she believed in
everything it stood for, including community and family and togetherness and,
especially, judgment.
When Regina and
George had moved to Philadelphia, Mother Haley had begun visiting them once a
year at their little apartment. When they moved into the house on Radnor
Street, she called within days to say that, now that they had more room, she
was planning to visit more often. Regina assured her that it was too soon for
company, that they weren’t yet able to accommodate her, that the house was a mess with their belongings only half unpacked. She told her mother-in-law
that for two and a half years until, finally, Mother Haley could be discouraged
no longer. In the spring of 1953, she called to say that she was coming, that
she had already bought her train ticket. Regina told George to tell her no.
“I can’t function
when she’s here. She spends half her time telling me what I’m doing wrong, and
the other half telling me what I aint doing right.”
Mother Haley’s visits at their apartment had been hard
on Regina, for reasons she did not think the existence of more rooms would
necessarily help. Regina always believed that Mother Haley didn’t think much of
her and that she imagined George could have done better, got himself a lighter-skinned,
less-kinky-haired, better cook of a wife. Their relationship had always been
strained, from way back, when George and Regina were first going together.
Mother Haley was bossy, with other women and with men, and Regina did not take
kindly to being bossed. But George could not say no to his mother. He had been
raised to be an obedient child, to study on everything his mother and father
told him and, as a grown man, he found it difficult to break the habit.
He met his mother alone at the train station, and the
first thing she said was, "Where everybody at?"
"Regina had
to stay home with the children,” he told her.
"Why aint
she bring the chiren out to meet me, like she usually
do?"
“I don’t know
what to tell you, Mama,” George said, picking up her bags.
"Don't make no sense. I don't know what Regina be thinking."
Regina was thinking
that if she
“Oh, I almost
forgot it,” Ava said. “Did you want to add something?”
Helena blinked, looking
confused. “No, not the grocery list. The drawing.”
There was a
little pencil drawing of Regina, sketched in detail on the corner of the page.
She was in motion, her hands out in front of her and her mouth open, as if she
was speaking. Ava said. “I guess I was doodling while Mama was telling her
story.”
“ Doodling?”
Ava nodded.
“But this is
wonderful,” Helena said. “Ava, do you know how wonderful this is?”
Ava was always
doodling in the corners of pages. Every grocery list she wrote had some sketch
in its margins, drawn while she waited for Sarah to decide whether she wanted
to buy pork or beef for Sunday dinner, or for Paul to make up his mind about
milk or orange juice. She never thought anything about it, never assessed her scribblings , never even looked at
them afterward. She had certainly never considered that they were wonderful . She looked again at the
drawing Helena held out and noticed that Regina’s face seemed alive with the story
she was telling. Her mouth and hands suggested movement. The tiny creases
around her eyes and the lines along her brow held heavy emotion. It wasn’t just a scribbling of Regina , it was Regina .
Ava took the pad and peered close at the drawing.
Helena was right. It was wonderful. Ava could see now that it was.
1953
S arah
Haley was called Mother Haley by everyone who knew her . She was called Mother Haley because of her standing
as an elder in her church in Hayden, Georgia, the church that both her son,
George, and his wife, Regina, had grown up in and had been members of all their
lives before moving up north. Mother Haley was devoted to her church, where she
had met and eulogized two husbands and raised her only son, and she believed in
everything it stood for, including community and family and togetherness and,
especially, judgment.
When Regina and
George had moved to Philadelphia, Mother Haley had begun visiting them once a
year at their little apartment. When they moved into the house on Radnor
Street, she called within days to say that, now that they had more room, she
was planning to visit more often. Regina assured her that it was too soon for
company, that they weren’t yet able to accommodate her, that the house was a mess with their belongings only half unpacked. She told her mother-in-law
that for two and a half years until, finally, Mother Haley could be discouraged
no longer. In the spring of 1953, she called to say that she was coming, that
she had already bought her train ticket. Regina told George to tell her no.
“I can’t function
when she’s here. She spends half her time telling me what I’m doing wrong, and
the other half telling me what I aint doing right.”
Mother Haley’s visits at their apartment had been hard
on Regina, for reasons she did not think the existence of more rooms would
necessarily help. Regina always believed that Mother Haley didn’t think much of
her and that she imagined George could have done better, got himself a lighter-skinned,
less-kinky-haired, better cook of a wife. Their relationship had always been
strained, from way back, when George and Regina were first going together.
Mother Haley was bossy, with other women and with men, and Regina did not take
kindly to being bossed. But George could not say no to his mother. He had been
raised to be an obedient child, to study on everything his mother and father
told him and, as a grown man, he found it difficult to break the habit.
He met his mother alone at the train station, and the
first thing she said was, "Where everybody at?"
"Regina had
to stay home with the children,” he told her.
"Why aint
she bring the chiren out to meet me, like she usually
do?"
“I don’t know
what to tell you, Mama,” George said, picking up her bags.
"Don't make no sense. I don't know what Regina be thinking."
Regina was thinking
that if she
Similar Books
