The bus was like Pa said it would be. More kids traveling down south than adults. Half of the travelers wore blue and white T-shirts that declared them Young Saints of Shiloh Baptist from Queens. Ours was a double-decker bus, which was exciting in itself. We had never been on a double-decker bus and we all said, “I want to go up there!” The bus driver, a man older than our father but not as old as Big Ma, stopped us. “Bunch of teenagers up there. Young ones stay where I can see you. Plenty of seats down here.”
I started to tell the driver I was thirteen and could watch my sisters, but Vonetta told him, “You can’t drive the bus and keep an eye on us,” and then I said, “Shut your mouth, Vonetta,” and as if Big Ma had been poking me in the back telling me what to say, I added, “Sorry, sir,” and we moved down the narrow aisle to join the Young Saints.
My sisters sat together on one side of the aisle and I sat across from them in the aisle seat, next to a boy about my age. I geared myself up for some conversation, mainly to practice talking to a real teenage boy, but he closed his eyes almost as soon as I slid into the seat next to him. That was fine with me, although some conversation would have been nice. Besides, I would get in all the practice I wanted in talking to teenage boys when we got to my great-grandmother Ma Charles’s house. My cousin JimmyTrotter would do. And I hoped he felt like talking. I hoped he wasn’t sad and quiet like he was when we left Alabama three years ago. But I’d understand if he was.
The plan to dole out one piece of bubble gum, one Jolly Rancher sucking candy, and a Pixy Stix for every state we entered fell apart long before we reached the middle of Virginia, but that was all right. I glanced over at my sisters. Vonetta erased and filled in her crossword puzzle. Fern read Charlotte’s Web. I didn’t know how much longer they’d remain fuss-free but I was grateful for their good behavior and plowed onward with Things Fall Apart.
I’d been saving my book since Christmas, waiting for a long stretch of time that didn’t include bickering sisters, a heap of chores, and homework. When Pa announced our bus trip I knew I’d have hours and hours on the road with the perfect companion if my sisters let me read in peace. I felt a surge of pride as I read my first adult book—and a book about Africa written by an African. With everyone in the neighborhood taking on African names and trying to go back to Africa, I was anxious to learn more about the place of our ancestors.
It didn’t take too long for me to know I wouldn’t be changing my name to some Swahili translation for “oldest, tallest daughter.” Even the cherry Jolly Rancher soured in my mouth as I read. How could this be a great African novel if the people weren’t so great?
The more I read, the less I liked Okonkwo, the main character. I couldn’t understand why the writer would spend an entire book on such a mean, selfish ogre, or why my sixth-grade teacher thought it was a great book. He’d read the cover ragged! I kept waiting for the story to be the fine literature that even my stepmother declared it to be. Even if Okonkwo changed or did something right or heroic, I still wouldn’t like him.
I could have kicked myself for being trapped with mean, murdering Okonkwo when The Soul Brothers and Sister Lou and The Outsiders rattled around unread in the underbelly of our Greyhound. It wasn’t fair to have waited for so long to read a book that was less than what I’d imagined.
There I was, without the book I’d hoped for. Stuck for hours and hours with a story I didn’t want to read. Next to a boy who wouldn’t let me practice boy-talking with him. I might as well have been stuck between Vonetta and Fern, kicking, punching, and yowling like cats.
At least my sisters weren’t miserable.
I glanced over at Fern and envied the way she raised her eyebrows, a sure sign that she was loving her story and couldn’t wait to turn the page. I could even guess which part of her story she was at. How I longed for any one of my books locked in my suitcase.
When we pulled in for our stop in Spartanburg, South Carolina, the bus driver refused to let me retrieve my other books from my suitcase, no matter how politely I asked. You think I can haul out every piece of luggage for every passenger? The bus driver didn’t have time for that, although he did retrieve my seatmate’s luggage—only because Spartanburg turned out to be the boy’s stop. We didn’t even bother to say any good-byes, and to boot, I’d soon be stuck with mean and unlucky Okonkwo for the rest of our trip, and we had a long, long way to go.
My sisters and I stood guard for one another in the bathrooms at every rest stop. If we stopped long enough, we’d join a few of the Young Saints from the bus for games of freeze tag and Mother May I? until it was time to reboard the bus. I didn’t want to use up our money in Spartanburg, but I had to reload our cooler with snacks and drinks for the rest of the ride.
There were only two working telephone booths. I was overdue for the call home to let Pa and Mrs. know that we were safely on our journey. I was anxious to get to the phone booth and had to wait my turn. I took my dimes and quarters and fed them into the slot, each coin clinking down one after the other. I dialed the number while Vonetta and Fern cupped their hands at the coin return just in case. I had everything well timed. The phone rang once. I prepared to hang up the receiver but I heard a sound on the other end. A voice. It was Mrs. She’d picked up the phone when she was supposed to let it ring. Now we’d lose our coins!
“Hullo?” Her voice was heavy with sleep.
It was too late to hang up so I answered. “Hello, Mrs.”
“Delphine!” She perked up like she missed us and was genuinely glad to hear my voice. I couldn’t stop Vonetta and Fern from saying their hellos in the background, and she seemed to like it because she laughed.
“We’re fine, Mrs. But you weren’t supposed to pick up the phone,” I said, almost scolding her. “Pa and I had it worked out so I could call in one more time before we got to Atlanta.”
“Pure nonsense!” Mrs. declared. “Pure, utter nonsense. You call collect at every stop to let us know you and your sisters are all right. I wasn’t crazy about you girls traveling south all alone to begin with.”
“We’re all right,” I said.
“We’re safe,” Vonetta said. “There’s lots of kids going south for the summer.”
“Surely are. Like birds flying south in the winter.”
Then Vonetta made fun of what Fern said and I had to push them away from the phone.
“We’re all right,” I said again. The last thing I wanted was for Mrs. and Pa to fight over us traveling by ourselves.
“Delphine, you call collect every chance you get,” Mrs. said.
“Pa won’t like it,” I said.
She laughed. “Don’t you worry about that.”
“Mrs. . . . ?” I asked slowly, even though I was eating up the coins and minutes.
“Yes, Delphine?”
“Is everything with you and Pa—”
She cut me off as if she knew what was on my mind. “Everything is fine, Delphine.”
The last fight they had was because Mrs. was sick. Pa said, “I never knew a woman could get so sick,” and Mrs. yelled at him, “Stop comparing me to Cecile!” and she took some things and left for a few days. Then she came back.
“And are you—”
“Delphine, I’m fine.” I could almost see her smile. “Now stop worrying, and have some fun. It’s summertime.”
But I couldn’t help it. I added, “See you when we get back home,” just to hear what she’d say.
“We’ll be here,” she sang.
She almost sounded like the old Mrs., or like Miss Marva Hendrix. Sure of herself and speaking her mind. It had taken me a while to like her, and I knew I really liked her when I began to miss hearing her speak her mind.
“Fifty cents, please,” the operator interrupted. “Please deposit another fifty cents for the next three minutes.”
Vonetta and Fern yelped their good-byes and we lost the connection.