but I liked them. I’d play with them whenever I got the chance, snapping the slats up and down to cast ribbons of sun and shadow over a room. I was wise enough to gather that the blinds in the public finance office were off-limits to children. Ethel grunted as she pushed open the big door to the office.
There was a man in a shortsleeved shirt and a greasy tie sitting behind a massive ugly, gray desk that bisected the room. The fabric of his shirt was so thin you could see his sleeveless undershirt through it. Two gray metal chairs sat on our side of the desk. There were magazines scattered haphazardly on the windowsill along with a couple of dusty looking plants. Gordy and I stood in front of the desk beside Ethel. She set Helen down and pulled out a frayed little book, just like the little books my daddy had. He called them our “saving accounts.” Ethel’s book was wrapped in a rubber band. She also pulled out her change purse and took out some money. After removing the rubber band, she handed the book and her money to the man. He unfolded the money, counted it, and then wrote something in Ethel’s book. He picked up a stamp from his desk, smacked it down on a big black pad, and stamped the book at a precise spot. As he returned it to Ethel, his thin mustache twitched like a horse’s back when a fly lands. There was an ugly black stain on the edge of his hand from the inkpad. He placed the money in a drawer. Ethel carefully rewound the rubber band around the book and said something pleasant to the man. They both laughed, though he didn’t look like he thought it was funny.
Even though the room was so small that you could sling a cat from one end of the room to the other, the man pretended not to notice that the door was proving to be problematic for us to open. Ethel had her arms full of Helen and her belongings. Gordy and I weren’t big enough; try as we might, we didn’t have the heft to move it. Ethel tried to pullthe door without disgorging herself of her load, but she couldn’t. She put Helen in a chair, pulled the door open, instructed Gordy to hold it, picked Helen up again, grabbed my hand, and went through, checking herself to make sure she had everything she came with. As we emerged, Gordy stood still as a post, holding the door. She told him to come along, muttering and fussing as we walked down the street.
Then a friend of Ethel’s spotted us. “How ya doin’, Miz Ethel?” the woman said. “Is them Mr. Mackey’s chil’ren? Mighty fine lookin’, they is! Ya keepin’ pretty good? Hot, ain’t it?” Ethel held Helen on her hip as she chatted. Whenever Gordy and I ventured farther down the sidewalk than she thought we should, she’d grunt in midsentence to call us back. Before long, we were on our way again. The bus stop was in front of the bakery, and this was always our last errand. No trip downtown was complete without a cookie for the four of us to share on the bus ride home.
As we looked over the counter, mulling over just which cookie to buy, Mrs. Dabney walked into the shop. “Hey, Miz Dabney,” I said, skipping over to her. “Are you gonna be riding the bus, too?”
“Well, what a surprise,” Mrs. Dabney said. She smiled and patted me on the head, then ordered a half dozen dinner rolls. “My darling little neighbor children, what brings you down this way?”
I heard the bus hiss to a stop, and then Ethel hustled us outside with barely a glance in Mrs. Dabney’s direction. Mrs. Dabney waved to me as she came out of the shop and the bus door smacked closed behind us.
A week or two later it had, thankfully, cooled off a bit. While Ethel made mayonnaise, I watched with my head nestled in the crook of my arm and my legs swinging lazily up against the chair legs. “Was it ‘cause my granddaddy gave her the locket? Did he git to decide whose picture is in it? Was he the boss of everything?”
“What you talkin’ ‘bout?” she asked as she worked the mayonnaise churn up and
There was a man in a shortsleeved shirt and a greasy tie sitting behind a massive ugly, gray desk that bisected the room. The fabric of his shirt was so thin you could see his sleeveless undershirt through it. Two gray metal chairs sat on our side of the desk. There were magazines scattered haphazardly on the windowsill along with a couple of dusty looking plants. Gordy and I stood in front of the desk beside Ethel. She set Helen down and pulled out a frayed little book, just like the little books my daddy had. He called them our “saving accounts.” Ethel’s book was wrapped in a rubber band. She also pulled out her change purse and took out some money. After removing the rubber band, she handed the book and her money to the man. He unfolded the money, counted it, and then wrote something in Ethel’s book. He picked up a stamp from his desk, smacked it down on a big black pad, and stamped the book at a precise spot. As he returned it to Ethel, his thin mustache twitched like a horse’s back when a fly lands. There was an ugly black stain on the edge of his hand from the inkpad. He placed the money in a drawer. Ethel carefully rewound the rubber band around the book and said something pleasant to the man. They both laughed, though he didn’t look like he thought it was funny.
Even though the room was so small that you could sling a cat from one end of the room to the other, the man pretended not to notice that the door was proving to be problematic for us to open. Ethel had her arms full of Helen and her belongings. Gordy and I weren’t big enough; try as we might, we didn’t have the heft to move it. Ethel tried to pullthe door without disgorging herself of her load, but she couldn’t. She put Helen in a chair, pulled the door open, instructed Gordy to hold it, picked Helen up again, grabbed my hand, and went through, checking herself to make sure she had everything she came with. As we emerged, Gordy stood still as a post, holding the door. She told him to come along, muttering and fussing as we walked down the street.
Then a friend of Ethel’s spotted us. “How ya doin’, Miz Ethel?” the woman said. “Is them Mr. Mackey’s chil’ren? Mighty fine lookin’, they is! Ya keepin’ pretty good? Hot, ain’t it?” Ethel held Helen on her hip as she chatted. Whenever Gordy and I ventured farther down the sidewalk than she thought we should, she’d grunt in midsentence to call us back. Before long, we were on our way again. The bus stop was in front of the bakery, and this was always our last errand. No trip downtown was complete without a cookie for the four of us to share on the bus ride home.
As we looked over the counter, mulling over just which cookie to buy, Mrs. Dabney walked into the shop. “Hey, Miz Dabney,” I said, skipping over to her. “Are you gonna be riding the bus, too?”
“Well, what a surprise,” Mrs. Dabney said. She smiled and patted me on the head, then ordered a half dozen dinner rolls. “My darling little neighbor children, what brings you down this way?”
I heard the bus hiss to a stop, and then Ethel hustled us outside with barely a glance in Mrs. Dabney’s direction. Mrs. Dabney waved to me as she came out of the shop and the bus door smacked closed behind us.
A week or two later it had, thankfully, cooled off a bit. While Ethel made mayonnaise, I watched with my head nestled in the crook of my arm and my legs swinging lazily up against the chair legs. “Was it ‘cause my granddaddy gave her the locket? Did he git to decide whose picture is in it? Was he the boss of everything?”
“What you talkin’ ‘bout?” she asked as she worked the mayonnaise churn up and
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