Miss Annamae turned to the big window that faced her backgarden, calling, “Come here, child.”
I moved directly to her.
When I got there, she lifted her scrawny, veined hand to myshoulder and rested it there.
It felt light and warm.
“She works in her garden, a good Southern woman,” sheshared, her eyes still aimed out the window.“She cuts her own flowers,arranges them for her own table.”
We didn’t have any flowers at our house.It was actuallygood when the yard died during that drought last summer and became a big patchof dirt and scrub.It looked better not overgrown.Like someone lived there,they just didn’t care.Instead of looking like no one lived there, and no onewould ever want to.
The landlord didn’t agree.He got up in Momma’s face aboutit a lot.But she ignored him like she always ignored him when he got up in herface about things.Like the neighbors complaining about the fights or whenshe’d play her music too loud, which was also a lot, on all counts.
“You have sweet tea in your fridge, sugar, always,” she saidto me.
I nodded, looking from her colorful garden to her andfeeling some pressure from her hand on my shoulder as she rested into me,giving me her weight.
I stood strong and took it.I’d take all her weight if sheneeded to give it to me.That’s how much I liked Miss Annamae.And she hadallmy like seeing as Momma was how she was, her men were how they were, the kidsat school were how they were, the teachers, the lady behind the counter at thestore.
Everybody.
Yes, Miss Annamae had all my like mostly because there wasno one else who’d let me give it to them.
This made it sad that Momma didn’t let me come with her toMiss Annamae’s house often, even though Miss Annamae always acted like she wasreal happy when I came.And I knew down deep in my heart this wasn’t because Ihelped Momma and did all the gross stuff, like cleaning the toilets, so shecould have a break from that kind of thing.But I did it a whole lot betterthan Momma did so Miss Annamae actually had the house kept the way she waspaying to keep it.
Still, Momma didn’t let me come often.Not even when I wasin school and I had to walk home by myself and stay there by myself until shefinished work (and then again stayed by myself when she went right back out).
I didn’t know why this was either, except, even if it wasmean to think, Momma didn’t like it that Miss Annamae liked me.
I didn’t understand this.If Momma was quiet and respectful,like Miss Annamae had told me a lady should be, a lot more people would likeher.
I was beginning to think Momma didn’t care if anyone likedher.So much, she’d rather theydidn’tlike her so she didn’t have tobother with people at all.
“No matter what you’re in the middle of, a caller comes, youopen your door to them, you invite them into your home, and you make certainthey don’t leave hungry,” Miss Annamae carried on, taking my attention again.
Not easy to do in my house where Momma spent her money onsmokes and booze and not so much on food for her kid.
I was looking forward to the day when I could get a job andI could have money and I could use it for whatever I wanted.I wasn’t going touse it on smokes and booze, for certain.I wasn’t going to use it on fancydresses or shoes or handbags either.
I was going to keep my house like a good Southern womanwould.My yard would be perfect.My house would be tidy.And there’d always besweet tea and food in the fridge.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said to Miss Annamae.
I felt her fingers curl on my shoulder and I was looking ather but I still felt sure as certain that her gaze grew sharper on me.
“A good Southern girl pays attention in school.”She liftedher other hand to her temple then reached out and touched the middle of myforehead before she dropped it.“Ain’tno call for aSouthern woman to rub your nose in the fact she’s smarter than you.But make nomistake, she’sgonnabe smarter than you.”
I nodded.
She shifted closer and it felt like her eyes were burninginto me.
“You find that time when you get yourself a boy, child, heholds the door for you.You enter a room before him.He closes you safe in hiscar.If you’re at a restaurant, he gives you the seat with the best view.Hestands when you stand.He offers you his hand when it’s needed.And if you’vegot a touch with a drill and ahankerin’ to use it,then you use it, girl.But if you don’t and you got hooks you need put up inyour bathroom, he best begettin’ on that for you anddoin’ it without any backtalk or delay.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I whispered, the wonders of such a boy as I’dnever known making my insides feel funny.
“As for you, Miss Daisy, you take care of yourself,” shecontinued.“Don’t you leave the house without your hair set, your face done,and your earrings in.”She patted my shoulder but then gripped again tight.“You get older, you’ll find your style.And don’t you let anyone tell you whatthat is.You’re a good girl in a way I know you’ll always be a good girl.Beproud of that.Good posture.Chin up.Show your pride, sugar.Be who you arehowever that evolves and don’t let anyone cut you down.”
Gosh, but it felt nice her saying I was a good girl.
