25

BIBI

Even though she was my grandmother, because I’d only met her twice before, it was like being with a stranger.

Sitting in the seat beside me, Roxanne kept staring at me.

When is this plane going to take off?

“I’m not trying to be impolite, but you’re sort of making me feel like a zoo animal,” I whispered.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered back.

The engine began to roar and the pilot started talking and when the flight attendants gave their safety talk, I memorized the exits.

“Do you think it’d be fun to fly a plane?” I asked her.

“It’s lots of fun, Violet,” she replied.

“No way . . . you flew an airplane?”

“Yep. I took a few lessons in a two-seater plane a long time ago.”

I studied her face to see if she was lying and decided she wasn’t. “Wow. Did you get a pilot’s license?”

“No, my uncle had been a Tuskegee Airman and he used to take me up with him when I’d go to visit him during the summer. So I suppose flying is in my blood.”

“A real Tuskegee Airman, seriously?”

No wonder I like airplanes. It must be in my blood, too.

“So you know who they were?”

I nodded. “Of course, we learned about it in school. I even know about Elizabeth Coleman, the first black woman to get an international pilot’s license, because I bought a book about her at the book fair.”

“I see,” she said.

“So is the Tuskegee Airman guy still alive?”

“Yep,” she replied. This was the second time she’d said it. And I thought I was the only person who said yep.

“Do you think maybe he’ll take us flying?”

“His flying days are long gone, Violet . . . He lives in Memphis with his daughter, and he’s almost a hundred years old and in a wheelchair.”

Right then, the plane started moving and soon we were ready for takeoff. Faster and faster it went until finally we were off the ground. “This is my favorite part,” I told her.

“Mine too.”

I gazed out the window at the city below, and soon we were soaring. I love soaring.

During the flight, I started the what-name-I-should-call-you conversation.

“Mom thinks I should call you a grandmother name instead of Roxanne,” I confided.

“What do you think?” she asked me.

I shrugged. “Don’t know. Did you know that Roxanne means ‘star’?”

“Yep.”

“Do you always say yep?”

She smiled and nodded.

“Because I do, too . . . anyway . . . back to what I should call you.”

“I did a little digging and came up with the name Bibi. What do you think of that?” she replied.

“Bibi?” I’d never heard anyone call their grandma that before. “How do you spell it?”

“B-i-b-i. It’s Swahili for ‘grandmother,’” she replied.

“Swahili?” I’d done some research about Swahili, and this seemed like a good time to impress her. “There are only five countries where Swahili is the official language. TDUCK.”

“TDUCK?” Roxanne repeated.

“Tanzania, Democratic Republic of the Congo, Uganda, the Comoros, and Kenya. TDUCK.” The pleased look she gave me let me know I could instantly add her name to my people who think Violet Diamond is incredibly smart list.

“You’re very smart, aren’t you? Your dad was very smart.”

The last time she’d talked about my dad, it had made her cry. Quickly, I made a silent prayer-wish that she wouldn’t start boohooing, and when I glanced up at her face, her eyes were dry. Whew.

“So what do you think about calling me Bibi?” she asked.

“Bibi,” I repeated. Just saying it made me smile. “I like it a lot.”

And so Roxanne Kamaria Diamond became my bibi.

• • •

The landing was very un-smooth. The plane skidded and did a couple of hops in the air, and I held my breath. Please let me live, I thought. Finally, we came to a stop and I breathed.

“That was a really bad landing,” I told Bibi as we gathered our things.

“Really bad.”

“Don’t worry, Bibi. I’ll do a better job than that when I’m a pilot.”