The next morning we went about getting our own breakfast, seeing as Mama was staying put in bed. I got the oatmeal cooking and Ray set the table. Daddy started brewing up his coffee before going in to check on Mama. When he opened the bedroom door, though, she just hollered for him to get out.
She didn’t have to tell him twice. He shut the door, shaking his head. But he didn’t walk away, not at first. He just stood, his hand on the doorknob like he was fixing to go back in. What he would’ve done, I didn’t know.
“Do unto others as you’d like them to do unto you,” Meemaw would’ve said. “That’s in the Good Book, you know. How you wanna be treated is how you best do to everybody else. Even if they gone and hurt you. You still gotta do it. Praise Jesus.”
Had I been upset, I’d have wanted somebody to use a soft hanky to wipe the tears out from under my eyes. I’d have hoped that somebody would sit on the edge of my bed saying soft words to me, soothing me. Maybe that somebody would read a poem to me or sing a song. She’d bring me a cup of warm milk with a little chocolate stirred in if she had any.
Something told me, though, that Mama would’ve just told me to leave her be if I tried even one of those things.
I spooned out a couple bowls of oats for Ray and me to eat real quick before we left for school.
I wasn’t inclined to go home right after school, so I climbed up the old stairs to Opal’s apartment and knocked on the door. She’d never once turned me away and I didn’t imagine she was like to that day either.
But she didn’t come to the door. She didn’t even call out “Just a minute” or ask who was there. Figuring maybe she hadn’t heard me, I knocked harder so it stung my knuckles more. Still she didn’t answer.
“Opal?” I called out, feeling the doorknob to see if it was unlocked. “It’s me, Pearl.”
The knob didn’t budge. That was when I knew for sure she wasn’t home. Most folks in Bliss left their doors unlocked on account everybody knew everybody and had no reason to mistrust them. Opal’d told me she’d never get used to that.
Seemed living in a big city like Detroit made it so folks didn’t trust each other so easy.
I took my sweet time going back down the steps and hopped off the last one to the pavement. For a good minute or two I stood and watched the people walking up and down the street, going in and out of the stores or stopping to chat it up a minute or two with somebody they met along the way.
Two ladies stood right outside Wheeler’s store, just a package or two under their arms that I imagined to be fixings for supper. One of them had sad-looking eyes, the kind that told more than her mouth ever could. The other put a hand on the sad lady’s shoulder. She made her face soft and moved her mouth around words I imagined to be full of pity and comfort.
I had to turn away from them and walk the other way down the street. Seeing the kindness made me sad on Mama’s behalf. Back in Red River, she’d been the one with soft eyes and comforting words.
It sure didn’t seem all that long ago.
I ended up walking down the winding road toward the library. Even for as nice a day as it was, there wasn’t anybody out and about down that street working on their yards or sipping an iced tea on their porch. That was fine by me.
It seemed all the sudden my eyes had gotten watery, and no matter how hard I clamped on the knot in my throat I couldn’t keep the sadness pushed down anymore. It wasn’t a noisy cry and it wasn’t too messy, either. Still, it lasted longer than I wanted it to. I stopped where I was, right outside the library, and rubbed at my eyes with my knuckles, hoping nobody’d seen me.
That was when I heard the clip-clop of hard-soled shoes on the walk. Looking up, I saw Mrs. Trask coming my way. For how stoop-backed she was, she sure moved quick.
“Are you hurt?” she asked when she was just a couple feet from me. “What ever is the matter, child?”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just shrugged and tried my best at a smile. From the way her eyes got soft, I knew she didn’t buy it.
“Come along,” she said, reaching out and hooking her fingers over my shoulder, pulling me to her side. “Let’s get you inside. I seem to have left my hanky on my desk.”
I let her take my arm as we walked to the library and up the steps to the door. As fast as she’d come to me, I figured she’d worn herself out.
“I believe I need to sit down,” Mrs. Trask told me once we’d gotten beyond the big wood doors. “Would you be a dear and help me to my chair?”
I told her that would be fine and did as she asked.
She held my hands real tight as she lowered her backside into the chair. I couldn’t tell if the creaking was her knees or the chair taking on her weight. I knew it wouldn’t have been proper to ask.
“I was dusting the shelf over by the window,” she said. “When I saw you crying, I came as fast as I could.”
“You didn’t have to do that, ma’am,” I told her, letting her keep hold of my right hand.
“Oh, I know that, my dear.” She smiled up at me.
“Then why did you?”
“I have long been of the opinion that when one sees someone in need, one goes to them,” she said. “If one sees a friend crying, one goes as swiftly as is possible.”
She’d called me a friend. I opened my mouth and tried to tell her even a little bit of what’d been troubling me. Seemed, though, I couldn’t figure out where to start. If I’d told her about one thing I’d have to spill the beans about all of it. Sorrow never did come in small bits. Instead, it arrived as a mass of sadnesses all stuck together.
I closed my mouth. Mrs. Trask wasn’t one to pry and she wasn’t the kind to impose. She wouldn’t force me to say a thing. Mrs. Trask was a lady, and a kind one at that.
“Whatever it is,” she said, patting my hand. “It shall be made right, my dear.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I answered.
Goodness, did I ever hope she was right.