The Sweet by and By by Todd Johnson Page B

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    Cameron tries once more with Bernice, looking down at the f loor and shuffling again. “Mama, it won’t be for long.”
    “No!” Bernice screams. “No, no, no, no!” She is slapping the air with her hands, like waving smoke away.
    The wife jumps in. “Stop making a scene. I mean it, Mrs. Stokes.
    That’s enough, I mean it.”
    Bernice is sobbing. She staggers back and slumps in the chair. “Should I go get Lorraine?” I ask.
    The son puts a hand on Bernice’s shoulder. “Mama, I think we’re going to go on. You don’t feel like going to a restaurant today. Just sit here and get some rest ’til you’re feeling better. We’re going to go on now. We’ll come back though.”
    “I’ll pull the car around.” The wife reaches out an open palm for the keys, but he doesn’t offer them.
    Someone makes a gagging sound in the hall. From a distance, Lor- raine calls out, “I need Alvin to clean this up, please. Mr. Evans has got sick all over creation.”
    “Good Lord,” the wife hisses and turns on her heels.
    “Bye-bye, Mama. I’ll see you later, I promise.” Cameron Stokes turns in the doorway back to me. “Y’all have a good Mother’s Day. I’ll see you again soon, okay Mama?” His jangle fades down the hall along with the sound of leather shoes on linoleum.
    I sit down with Bernice. She lays Mister Benny’s head in my lap while she massages his legs. “Sometimes they hurt,” she says through tears. “I can’t stand it when he’s hurting. I’ll rub them a little while, and he’ll be all right.”

    c h a p te r te n
    Rhonda

    T

    he first time I did Mrs. Stokes’s hair she didn’t say a word, but the second time, a couple weeks later, she pulled out
    a wrinkled picture of someone in a deep burgundy cap and gown. She f lashed it so quick that I couldn’t see it clear at first. “His name’s Wade. That’s my boy Wade.” Bernice held onto the creased and worn picture like she thought I might take it. She was showing it to me, but definitely not giving it to me. I wanted to tell her, “I was there. I heard him give a speech. I’m so sorry for you.” But from the way she said what she did, he might still be alive in her mind, I couldn’t tell. I said, “He looks like a real good guy,” and let it go at that.
    We all guessed in high school that Wade was his mama’s fa- vorite. He was everybody’s favorite. He was smart and made all the grades and honors, but he was real nice, and I mean to any- body, not just the ones that everybody liked. Wade spoke to me every single time he saw me in the hall or outside. Didn’t matter to him that we didn’t have a thing in common. I was all the time trying to find a corner to smoke a cigarette, and shoot, I bet he never tasted tobacco in his life. I’d say “hey” back, take a puff off my cigarette, and blow smoke straight up in the air like a chim- ney, the way I still do when I’m feeling nervous or f lirting.
    We came from two different worlds. That much was drilled into me before I was old enough to start school. Mama and me
    lived with my Grandma in her house, the only house I remember. Grandma told us that somebody needed to teach me about the way of the world and it was going to have to be her because my mama was too sorry. She said, “You might as well get used to doing for other people, Rhonda, because that’s how you’re goin to survive in this world. That’s what we do, what other people need done, and no use thinking you’re different. You’re not. Your fool Mama can’t get that through her head, but I be damned if I’m not goin to get it through yours.”
    Mama got out of that house cause it’s the only thing she could do to take care of herself. If she thought she coulda done that and take care of me too, she’d have took me with her. I know that. She didn’t listen to Grandma; she did what she pleased, and I made up my mind to be like that too. At least I didn’t think I was listening to her, but I was, and