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“I will give thanks to You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Your works are wonderful. My soul knows that very well.”
Psalm 139:14
‘How did school go today?’ Aunt Ruth asked the next afternoon, with that look of motherly concern she had. For no reason I could explain, I felt irritated. No one asked my friends this kind of question. I was no longer in elementary school. Was it because I had no siblings? Without any show of how indignant I felt, I answered her.
‘Okay.’
‘Just okay? What would have made it great, my sweet pie?’
I looked at her, hoping she could not sense how close I was to snapping at her. What was the point of putting on the TV and not being able to concentrate and enjoy it? All of a sudden, understanding hit me. Aunt Ruth must be a lonely person. She spent her whole life working as a nurse. I reminded myself that she had no husband and children of her own, and I was like the child she never had. So she was in a way like me. I felt my irritation melt away as the kindred spirit we shared became clear to me. I snuggled up to her instead and looked at her TV set, which was black and white and small like in many homes in Detroit at the time. Colour TVs like Mom’s were a luxury and still rare.
Moving closer did not do the trick. ‘I know how you must be feeling, Marsha. Your Mom surprised me with her presence today while you were in school and told me about the poem thing.’
I nodded my head, then I became distracted by the TV. ‘This is the part of the movie I love. Look what he is going to do, Aunt.’
But it was obvious she wanted to hear the story of my poem afresh from the horse’s mouth. Why did adults do this? It occurred to me that Mom might have spent her day off going round our relatives telling them about my poem! Each in turn would want to hear it from me. What if the principal had torn it out of my book and aimed it at the bin? That had happened before. In my very first year of junior high, most of my essays were torn up by the teachers, and I was either asked to rewrite them entirely or modify them by omitting things. Gradually, I realised that I had to lower my standard to that of my classmates and write what I felt our teachers expected to see – or face the consequences.
I was getting carried away, thinking about my poem. I could picture myself going to everyone’s house to retell my story. Aunt Ruth was first up, and I looked at her, realising she was watching me. I sighed.
‘So, what happened in class yesterday that you had to miss your break and lunch time redoing your work and writing lines?’
‘Aunt, Mom already told you. You’ve just said it all. That’s what.’
‘No. Your mom might have left out some bits to spare my feelings. I want to hear it all, or when your mom comes, she’ll have to wait till I’ve heard every bit.’
Black women were stubborn! I suddenly felt like the biblical Moses, who had two mothers. Aunt Ruth pampered me a lot and shared secret stuff about family members with me. It was through her that I knew that Uncle Joe, who taught me my music lessons, was also Mom’s boyfriend. However, Moses had shown more allegiance and devotion to his birth mother.
Aunt Ruth put an arm round me and grazed my cheek with several kisses. Though I felt her love, my mood did not change. Still feeling angry, I sullenly told her all that had happened and more. I included how I had felt and then told her about other, similar incidents I had not bothered to tell anyone. I wasn’t sure who I was angrier with – Aunt Ruth or Principal White!
By the time Mom came to pick me up, I had managed to enjoy a musical on TV while Aunt Ruth had baked a cake and made cookies for me to take to school for my break. Mom said, ‘I hope it is a big cake. Marsha knows that I will eat more than half of it.’ We all laughed. I’d prayed to have Mom’s kind of body. She ate whatever she liked, but she did not gain weight easily.
Ruth always had food in her fridge for people like me, my mother, or even my Coleman grandparents. No one was ever disappointed. She cooked a huge pot of stew every other week during her two days off. When she was working, she ate her meals in the hospital; a close friend of hers worked in the kitchen and there was always excess food which the kitchen staff shared with Aunt Ruth and some others.
After Mom had stuffed her tummy and packed some food for us, we left Aunt Ruth’s house. On the way home, Mom suddenly asked, ‘Would you like a bicycle?’
I was surprised but pleased. ‘Sure! That would be a wonderful idea, Mom. Can you imagine... I would be able to go wherever I needed to in a shorter time!’
Even though it was already dark, and I could barely see her expression, I caught a bit of the sadness in her tone. ‘I agree with you,’ she said softly. ‘Do you know how to ride a bicycle?’
‘I could learn.’ I would show her the stuff I was made of – a chip off the old block! I could already imagine our break time talk at school. It would be all about my new bicycle. Everyone would think how lucky I was to have a parent working in an office with white people. Loads of stuff like our TV and Mom’s car came second hand and sold at giveaway prices. So Aunt Ruth said, and I didn’t have to ask questions for confirmation. I knew this bicycle would be the same.
As we entered the house, I asked Mom, ‘Are you going to work tomorrow?’
‘Didn’t Aunty Ruth tell you?’ Question answers a question. Lovely game!
‘Tell me what?’
‘Uh, I thought she already did. So, what were you guys talking about the whole evening then?’
I shrugged my shoulders. ‘What did Aunt Ruth not tell me?’
‘That I took today and tomorrow off as unpaid leave to attend to some crucial personal stuff.’
‘Like?’
‘Oh, don’t bother your little head. You’ll know tomorrow in good time. Now is your bedtime.’
Bedtime! Like I was a five-year-old!
‘Good night, Mom,’ I said, humouring her.
‘Prayers first, Marsha. Never in your life must you ever forget to thank the Lord for His mercy, love, provision, and devotion to us. You don’t want to know what it is like in some other homes right now, as we speak.’
Of course! Many were afraid of their voice, and some were too scared to breathe.
After prayers, I went up to bed and could not wait to dream of cycling round Cherokee and everywhere else on my new bicycle. I would be the first in our part of our woods to own one.