4

Odessa

First thing when Odessa arrives, she puts up the coffee for Pops and Mama, then calls me down to her. I am all dressed by myself, I’m brushing my teeth. The toothpaste makes me smile. Odessa calls, Little one, are you ready, don’t make me climb those stairs yet. I rinse out my mouth, grab my towel for a fast wipe and pick up my hairbrush and the elastics and run down to her. I hear Pops in his bathroom. The shower is pounding him and he is singing: When the Saints Go Marching In.

In the kitchen I find Odessa, in her white dress, white apron and white shoes. Her eyebrows are raised in surprise as she looks through the refrigerator shelves for the strawberries. But she won’t find them. Pops and I ate them up last night before I went to bed.

What’s the difference between the South Side and the south? I ask Odessa. She stands up and closes the refrigerator, shakes her head from side to side and then laughs at me. I smell her sweat like the air before a storm. Odessa takes my hairbrush out of my hand, and we go where we go every morning, to the table where Odessa sits in Mama’s chair to brush my long, long, long red hair that finds a million ways to get tangled, as if little fairies tie it up while I’m sleeping. I once dreamed one of them stood next to my bed and said, Wake up Scags, come to me Scags. I reached out my arm to him and woke up grabbing air.

Odessa says, Why don’t you know the difference between the South Side of Chicago and the south of Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia? I came from the south, Odessa says, from Mississippi and I ended up on the South Side. Odessa comes a long way up to us everyday but Sunday. Her friend Maria drives her up in a big old beat up Ford. Going home though she has to take two trains and a bus because Mama keeps her with us longer than the Rappaports keep Maria.

Stand still, Odessa says, as she yanks, hurts me but when she’s done I will have a neat ponytail that keeps me from boiling in this heat. It swings back and forth when I walk. Pops likes to pull on it, yank my head back, and give me a kiss on the tip of my nose.

Pops comes into the kitchen just when Odessa finishes with my hair. Pops looks at me and says, How’s my sweet patutti fruity?

Odessa says, I’ve got your coffee ready but someone ate up all those strawberries I cleaned yesterday.

Pops says to Odessa, I confess.

Me too, I say.

Pops goes to his spot at the table and sits down. He says to me, That razzmatazz smile going to get you a whole lot of jazz. Odessa and I both laugh. Pops says, Don’t laugh, I’m waking up my vocal chords. I’ve got to be excited and smart, a fast talker and a man on time to make those customers sit up and listen.

Pops wears his brown suit, brown loafers, and brown socks. He slowly eats his cereal without strawberries. He looks so handsome with his hair slicked back, his black glasses sitting on his nose. His fingers on his left hand are beating out a tune but I don’t know what it is. I say, What’s that you’re tapping out?

Before Pops finishes what’s in his mouth, Odessa sings out all the words as if she were climbing that stairway to paradise. You could see her making her way to the top of it as she moved from my chair to Pops’.

Pops puts down his spoon and claps and says, Very good Odessa. Excellent singing. Crisp articulation. Don’t you think Odessa sang that well? Pops asks, Don’t you think Odessa has a great set of pipes? He taps me on the shoulder. I look at him sitting with the sun in his glasses and a smile on his face.

Pops asks, Don’t you feel chipper this a.m.?

What’s an a.m.? I ask.

He says, Ante midi, a.m., before noon, and p.m. is post midi, after noon. See Scags you can learn in and out of school.

Yeah, I say, not wanting to do anything but play. Can I go out now? Pops says, Do what you do, do what you do. He jumps up from the table, standing he drinks his light, light coffee. Sets the cup down and leaves. He is gone. It is so quiet. I have the whole day to play and tonight is Friday night, the night Odessa stays with me all night while Mama and Pops go out with their friends. Odessa and I and maybe Julia will listen to Louis Armstrong records and Ella Fitzgerald, all cozy in my room.

There are two beds but I listen to the music snug up tight on my bed with Odessa. She is so soft, filled up with the music and humming under her breath. I feel the vibrations in her chest. Sometimes she says, I could have done that, when Ella sings low. I love this music coming out of Odessa. So does Julia who gets up and dances, her blonde ponytail swinging back and forth. We can all lie on my bed, the three of us. When Julia goes home, Odessa helps me get ready for bed. She gets into the other bed and hums Billie Holiday songs, but they seem so sad I have to fall asleep.