Read Online Betsey Brown by Ntozake Shange - Free Book Online

doing daywork and looking after white children while her own waited anxiously at the door for her to come home. It was one thing to take mess from white folks, cause that was to be expected, but to have the colored—or the “Negro,” as Betsey would say—do it too, was hurting to Veejay, who just kept mumbling, “That coulda been my mama and you don’t care.”
    â€œVeejay, I didn’t mean any harm.” Betsey rushed alongside Veejay, who wouldn’t look at her. “Really, I didn’t think, that’s all. I’ll tell my mother that it was all my fault. I will, Veejay, I promise. Just please stay my friend.” Betsey tugged Veejay’s arm, wanting her to stop so they could talk before Mrs. Mitchell quieted the class for morning announcements about Assembly, band practice, girls’ volleyball, and the Pledge of Allegiance and the Lord’s Prayer.
    Veejay stopped. “Take your hands off me. Betsey Brown, you a selfish somebody. I don’t want you to call my name. And don’t you tell nobody that I’m your friend, or that I ever was, ya hear me.”
    Veejay stalked off to class, leaving Betsey on the stairwell with a half-eaten apple and a lot on her mind.
    It was true that Veejay wore the same plaid skirt and white blouse every other day, but Betsey thought that was cause Veejay wanted it that way. Veejay’d never invited her or Charlotte Ann to visit her at home, either. And it was always Veejay who had words from her mama on what white folks were really like.
    A heavy red glow came over Betsey’s body. Shame. She was ashamed of herself and her sisters and Charlie and Allard. Veejay was right. Bernice just talked funny was all. Betsey’d passed over the paper bags fulla worn-out clothes, the two shoes of that woven cotton, fraying by the toes, and the calluses on the palms of the woman’s hands. Betsey Brown had been so busy seeing to herself and the skies, she’d let a woman who coulda been Veejay’s mama look a fool and lose her job.
    Betsey threw the apple in the trash and peeked round her carefully. She was gonna run home fast as she could, to see if she could catch her mother and tell her the truth. Maybe there was time to stop Bernice from leaving. Why, Betsey didn’t know if Bernice had a girl her own age or not. Betsey didn’t know if Bernice had anyplace to go, or anyone to go to. Betsey had to get home and apologize to Bernice.
    It was awfully hard to sneak out of Clark School once you were in it. Hall patrols and Mr. Wichiten wandered arbitrarily hither and yon, but Betsey made a good run for it, down the south corridor to the door that opened toward the high school. Sometimes that door was locked or chained to keep out vagrants or bad elements, which really meant gangs, but today the door was open and out Betsey went, praying she’d catch her mother or Bernice to say “I’m sorry, please stay.”
    But all the running in the world and all the praying in theworld couldn’t catch up with the misery Bernice Calhoun knew that morning. Bernice was stepping up into the Hodiamont streetcar when Betsey spied her grandma on the front porch chattering with the wind bout what a blessing it was that trashy country gal was gone. How it was goin’ to take days to put the house back in order. Betsey backed down from the porch before her grandma could lay eyes on her. Running round the back she saw her mother on her hands and knees cleaning the chicken grease off the floor. Mr. Jeff was in the parlor hanging the curtains back up.
    â€œBetsey, what are you doing home?” Jane asked over her shoulder. Her hands were sudsy and sweat rimmed her brow, but she didn’t seem to be in a bad mood like Betsey’d expected.
    â€œI came home to help clean up, Mama, and I wanted to tell you something, too.”
    â€œDon’t worry, darling, I know you did your best this morning. I’m just going to