I SAY TO WILLIE, “YOU KNOW THAT GIRL who came here singing?”
“What girl?” he asks.
“The girl from the church choir, Hibernia. Hibernia Lee Tyson.”
“Who?”
How could Willie forget that singing? I remind him of the True Vine Baptist Youth Singers and their Christmas concert, and how Hibernia Lee stood in the back and had the best voice of all.
Willie nods. He remembers now. “That pretty-skinned girl with the singing that goes high up.”
“I saw you talking to her at True Vine.”
I tell Willie about giving Hibernia the gum but forgetting to say my name to her. “Still, I’m sweet on that girl,” I blurt. I have never told a soul about this. I feel it even more when I say it.
The words fly out from me a second time. “I’m sweet on Hibernia Lee Tyson.”
Willie shakes his head. He’s got a smirk. “Sound like you announcing good news.”
“Love is good, especially when you show it.”
“How you gonna show that girl you love her? She don’t even know your name.”
From my pocket I pull a handful of gum wrappers. I’ve been saving those wrappers. When Ma and Daddy were here, those wrappers were full of shiny promises. Now the sweet is chewed away. But memories can be sweet, too. I think on Daddy and Ma every time I sniff the minty smell of those colored paper squares.
“I’ll show Hibernia I love her with these,” I say.
Willie says, “Most girls I know don’t get soft from a pile of paper.”
I don’t even answer Willie. I just line up the wrappers, is all.
White. Yellow. Green. Yellow. Yellow. White.
The order doesn’t matter one way or another. But already the crumpled bunch is a parade of color.
White. Yellow. Green. Yellow. Yellow. White.
I crease each paper strip, one at a time.
Willie looks like he’s seeing magic.
“Where you learn to do that?”
I pull the paper parade taut to build a gum-wrapper chain.
“From my ma,” I say. “Once, after my daddy left Ma and me to go back to his work, Ma told me we could pass the time until Daddy came back by making a wrapper chain. Ma showed me how.”
Willie says, “She sure did show you.”
“I can show you,” I say.
Willie shakes his head. “Can’t,” he says. “You need fingers that work for folding.”
I say, “Try.”
Willie gives the creased paper strips a hard look. There’s eagerness in his eyes. The little squint on his face gives it away. He’s wanting a challenge. He says, “I’ll watch while you do it,” but he’s leaning in, and focused. So I push.
I say right back, “I’ll watch while you do it.”
“Be a sissy, then.” I line up four wrappers in front of Willie.
White. White. Green. Yellow.
Willie’s ready to curse. “Give a green one.”
I put a green in his left hand, and another green in his right.
Willie holds them with his sewed-together fingers and his stumpy thumb. He licks his lips. “How I start?”
I put my hands over top of Willie’s. I guide him in the folding. Together we tuck the first two pieces. The link is lopsided. Willie’s jaw goes tight. “Let’s add the next one,” he says.
It takes our four hands to weave the paper squares. Two more links and Willie’s got the start of his own wrapper chain. “How I tuck it good like yours?” he asks.
“Keep at it,” I say.
Willie reaches for more wrappers. “I want to add some yellow.”
I cradle my hands around his again. But he nudges me off. “I’ll try myself.”
I go back to tucking the links on the chain I’m making for Hibernia. I try to keep my eyes on my own wrappers. I try not to tell Willie what to do.
His work is slow. His weaving takes time, one link to my four. He stops to give his hands a rest, then starts up again.
“Good, Willie. Real good.”