Read Online God Don’t Like Ugly by Mary Monroe - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary Monroe
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Every time he did, Mama had to stay late cooking and running around serving his guests.
Something happened shortly after Judge Lawson’s offer, and Mama was forced to call on him for a favor. An inspector came snooping around our neighborhood, and our house was one of the ones he condemned because the place had extremely bad and dangerous wiring, termites and roaches sliding up and down the walls, plaster falling from the ceiling, and holes everywhere he looked. We had thirty days to find a new place to live.
Mama couldn’t afford to take time off from work, so Mr. Boatwright and I went out looking for a new house. We took buses when we could, but we did most of our searching on foot. With Mr. Boatwright’s leg situation it was a long, exasperating experience. Because of him I couldn’t walk as fast as I normally did. And every ten or fifteen minutes we had to find a bench for him to rest.
The next day we looked at three more places. The ones we could afford looked worse than the one we were in and were located in neighborhoods even rougher and more run-down.
“I don’t know what to do,” Mama moaned one evening. She had just come in from work and still had her coat on. Her eyes appeared to be in pain. They were red and swollen from all the crying she had done over our knotty problem. “We ain’t got but ten more days to vacate these premises.”
“What happens if we don’t move by then?” I asked. I was on the living room couch with Mr. Boatwright. An hour earlier he and I had prayed out loud on our knees asking God to help us find the right house.
With a worried look on his face, Mr. Boatwright replied, “The sheriff will come out with a crew, set our stuff on the ground, and put a lock on the door.”
Time was running out, and we still had not found a suitable house to move to.
“What are we going to do, Mama?” I was getting scared. I was not that crazy about our house, but it was all we had.
“Well, Scary Mary done already told me, I can stretch out on a pallet on her livin’-room floor, you can sleep with Mott, Brother Boatwright can pile up on her livin’-room couch ’til we find a place.”
It was never discussed, but I knew that Mama was tired of having to fall back on Scary Mary so often. I sure was. Scary Mary was the type of person who would eventually call her favors in. Whenever she wanted Mama to come and help entertain her male friends, Mama got kicking and screaming mad, but she went. “Blackmail. Scary Mary blackmailin’ me,” Mama said under her breath to herself one day after getting off the phone with Scary Mary.
“What did you say, Mama?” I had entered the kitchen just in time to hear her.
“Nothin’!” She then sucked in her breath, and told me, “Go lay me out some clean step-ins that ain’t got no holes or ravels, go to my bureau and dig out my black brassiere, and iron my red dress.”
“That red dress you said was too short and tight?” I gasped, worried about what I had heard her say about Scary Mary blackmailing her.
Mama looked away from me as she spoke. “Uh…it ain’t that short and tight,” she said, her voice cracking.
Scary Mary now lived across the tracks in a huge green-shingled house in a neighborhood with nothing but nice houses. With all the women working for her, and the money the rich dead husband had left her, she could afford to. She had moved there several years earlier. It was the same neighborhood where our only Black undertaker, our only Black doctor, and one of the only two Black barbers lived. The rest of the neighborhood was white. I liked Scary Mary’s house, but I didn’t want to stay there even for a few days. I didn’t want to live in that big nice comfortable place, then have to give it up and go back to living in another falling-down shack like the ones we always rented.
With just five days left for us to vacate, Mama came rushing into the house after Judge Lawson had dropped her off. “Annette, Brother Boatwright,
Something happened shortly after Judge Lawson’s offer, and Mama was forced to call on him for a favor. An inspector came snooping around our neighborhood, and our house was one of the ones he condemned because the place had extremely bad and dangerous wiring, termites and roaches sliding up and down the walls, plaster falling from the ceiling, and holes everywhere he looked. We had thirty days to find a new place to live.
Mama couldn’t afford to take time off from work, so Mr. Boatwright and I went out looking for a new house. We took buses when we could, but we did most of our searching on foot. With Mr. Boatwright’s leg situation it was a long, exasperating experience. Because of him I couldn’t walk as fast as I normally did. And every ten or fifteen minutes we had to find a bench for him to rest.
The next day we looked at three more places. The ones we could afford looked worse than the one we were in and were located in neighborhoods even rougher and more run-down.
“I don’t know what to do,” Mama moaned one evening. She had just come in from work and still had her coat on. Her eyes appeared to be in pain. They were red and swollen from all the crying she had done over our knotty problem. “We ain’t got but ten more days to vacate these premises.”
“What happens if we don’t move by then?” I asked. I was on the living room couch with Mr. Boatwright. An hour earlier he and I had prayed out loud on our knees asking God to help us find the right house.
With a worried look on his face, Mr. Boatwright replied, “The sheriff will come out with a crew, set our stuff on the ground, and put a lock on the door.”
Time was running out, and we still had not found a suitable house to move to.
“What are we going to do, Mama?” I was getting scared. I was not that crazy about our house, but it was all we had.
“Well, Scary Mary done already told me, I can stretch out on a pallet on her livin’-room floor, you can sleep with Mott, Brother Boatwright can pile up on her livin’-room couch ’til we find a place.”
It was never discussed, but I knew that Mama was tired of having to fall back on Scary Mary so often. I sure was. Scary Mary was the type of person who would eventually call her favors in. Whenever she wanted Mama to come and help entertain her male friends, Mama got kicking and screaming mad, but she went. “Blackmail. Scary Mary blackmailin’ me,” Mama said under her breath to herself one day after getting off the phone with Scary Mary.
“What did you say, Mama?” I had entered the kitchen just in time to hear her.
“Nothin’!” She then sucked in her breath, and told me, “Go lay me out some clean step-ins that ain’t got no holes or ravels, go to my bureau and dig out my black brassiere, and iron my red dress.”
“That red dress you said was too short and tight?” I gasped, worried about what I had heard her say about Scary Mary blackmailing her.
Mama looked away from me as she spoke. “Uh…it ain’t that short and tight,” she said, her voice cracking.
Scary Mary now lived across the tracks in a huge green-shingled house in a neighborhood with nothing but nice houses. With all the women working for her, and the money the rich dead husband had left her, she could afford to. She had moved there several years earlier. It was the same neighborhood where our only Black undertaker, our only Black doctor, and one of the only two Black barbers lived. The rest of the neighborhood was white. I liked Scary Mary’s house, but I didn’t want to stay there even for a few days. I didn’t want to live in that big nice comfortable place, then have to give it up and go back to living in another falling-down shack like the ones we always rented.
With just five days left for us to vacate, Mama came rushing into the house after Judge Lawson had dropped her off. “Annette, Brother Boatwright,
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