Read Online I Wish I Had a Red Dress by Pearl Cleage - Free Book Online
Authors: Pearl Cleage
Ads: Link
his mother.”
“You are not!” she said. “He’s forty if he’s a day.”
“He’s thirty, max, ” I said, zipping up my coat. “Thanks for dinner. Next time, my place.”
“Shall we invite Nate?”
“Sure,” I said, remembering the low rumble of his laugh and wondering how much bigger he’d look in the confines of my tiny kitchen. “The more the merrier.”
“Good,” she said, beaming.
“You’re incorrigible! Good night!” I laughed, slipping out fast to let in a minimum of cold air and to cut off any further conversation about Nate’s romantic potential. I liked him, but I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend. I had the best and I’m not greedy. Besides, Sister’s wrong. I know plenty of fifteen-year-old mothers.
Bill was patiently scraping the ice from my back windshield.
“Want some help?” I said.
He shook his head, chipping away methodically at the last stubborn corner. “You’re wrong, you know.”
“About what?”
“About me not knowing any love poems.”
“Oh, yeah?” I said, lobbing a soft snowball in his general direction. “Let’s hear one.”
“Poets don’t work on demand,” he said, dodging it easily. “You should know that.”
The air was so cold and clear I wanted to drink it like water. “Then what good are they?”
That made him laugh. “Philistine!” he said, finishing up and stashing the scraper back in the trunk. “Okay! Here’s one just for you.”
He closed his eyes and touched his right temple lightly like he was receiving a transmission from Venus.
“A Poem for Joyce,” he said, starting slowly, as all things associated with love are wont to do. “This woman/who cannot surrender/without freedom/who will not surrender/without peace . . .” He hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words, finding them. “This woman is so brand new/It’s all I can do . . .” He opened his eyes triumphantly. “Just to love her.”
“Show-off!” I said, kissing his cold cheek.
“Watch it.” He pointed to Sister smiling in the window. “My wife doesn’t play that stuff.”
“Your wife is a saint,” I said, climbing into my car.
“That’s what you think,” Bill said, grinning as he slammed the door behind me and took his back steps two at a time.
And just for a minute, I was jealous of their closeness; envious of the fact that after they cleared the table and washed the dishes, they were going to crawl into bed with each other to ward off the chill. It’s been so long since I’ve fallen asleep with someone’s arms around me that I should be used to sleeping alone, but I guess it’s like getting older. No matter how many times you celebrate those postforty birthdays, you’re never quite ready to greet that woman of a certain age looking back at you from the bathroom mirror.
ELEVEN
better than that
“DID YOU KNOW I was named after a poet?” Nikki Solomon said as soon as I walked into The Circus the next morning. Tomika had opened up early and Mavis was watching a video of The Lion King in the community room until her friends arrived, which on Saturday, was usually about noon. When she saw me, she waved and pointed enthusiastically at the TV screen.
“Nala!” She smiled, her pleasure in the big-eyed female cub undiminished after more viewings than she or I could count. I waved back and threw her a kiss.
“Don’t change the subject!” Tee said while I hung up my coat. “We ain’t talkin’ ’bout no poetry.”
Nikki rolled her eyes and frowned. Tall and voluptuous with dark velvety skin and big smoky eyes, she was widely acknowledgedto be the prettiest girl in Lake County, but this morning she looked edgy and tired.
“Ask her about her new job, Miz J.” Tee sounded a little edgy herself.
“Can you just chill for a second”—Nikki looked annoyed— “and let me tell her my own news in my own way?”
That’s not a good sign, I thought. “In my own way” means putting the best face on something that is probably
“You are not!” she said. “He’s forty if he’s a day.”
“He’s thirty, max, ” I said, zipping up my coat. “Thanks for dinner. Next time, my place.”
“Shall we invite Nate?”
“Sure,” I said, remembering the low rumble of his laugh and wondering how much bigger he’d look in the confines of my tiny kitchen. “The more the merrier.”
“Good,” she said, beaming.
“You’re incorrigible! Good night!” I laughed, slipping out fast to let in a minimum of cold air and to cut off any further conversation about Nate’s romantic potential. I liked him, but I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend. I had the best and I’m not greedy. Besides, Sister’s wrong. I know plenty of fifteen-year-old mothers.
Bill was patiently scraping the ice from my back windshield.
“Want some help?” I said.
He shook his head, chipping away methodically at the last stubborn corner. “You’re wrong, you know.”
“About what?”
“About me not knowing any love poems.”
“Oh, yeah?” I said, lobbing a soft snowball in his general direction. “Let’s hear one.”
“Poets don’t work on demand,” he said, dodging it easily. “You should know that.”
The air was so cold and clear I wanted to drink it like water. “Then what good are they?”
That made him laugh. “Philistine!” he said, finishing up and stashing the scraper back in the trunk. “Okay! Here’s one just for you.”
He closed his eyes and touched his right temple lightly like he was receiving a transmission from Venus.
“A Poem for Joyce,” he said, starting slowly, as all things associated with love are wont to do. “This woman/who cannot surrender/without freedom/who will not surrender/without peace . . .” He hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words, finding them. “This woman is so brand new/It’s all I can do . . .” He opened his eyes triumphantly. “Just to love her.”
“Show-off!” I said, kissing his cold cheek.
“Watch it.” He pointed to Sister smiling in the window. “My wife doesn’t play that stuff.”
“Your wife is a saint,” I said, climbing into my car.
“That’s what you think,” Bill said, grinning as he slammed the door behind me and took his back steps two at a time.
And just for a minute, I was jealous of their closeness; envious of the fact that after they cleared the table and washed the dishes, they were going to crawl into bed with each other to ward off the chill. It’s been so long since I’ve fallen asleep with someone’s arms around me that I should be used to sleeping alone, but I guess it’s like getting older. No matter how many times you celebrate those postforty birthdays, you’re never quite ready to greet that woman of a certain age looking back at you from the bathroom mirror.
ELEVEN
better than that
“DID YOU KNOW I was named after a poet?” Nikki Solomon said as soon as I walked into The Circus the next morning. Tomika had opened up early and Mavis was watching a video of The Lion King in the community room until her friends arrived, which on Saturday, was usually about noon. When she saw me, she waved and pointed enthusiastically at the TV screen.
“Nala!” She smiled, her pleasure in the big-eyed female cub undiminished after more viewings than she or I could count. I waved back and threw her a kiss.
“Don’t change the subject!” Tee said while I hung up my coat. “We ain’t talkin’ ’bout no poetry.”
Nikki rolled her eyes and frowned. Tall and voluptuous with dark velvety skin and big smoky eyes, she was widely acknowledgedto be the prettiest girl in Lake County, but this morning she looked edgy and tired.
“Ask her about her new job, Miz J.” Tee sounded a little edgy herself.
“Can you just chill for a second”—Nikki looked annoyed— “and let me tell her my own news in my own way?”
That’s not a good sign, I thought. “In my own way” means putting the best face on something that is probably
Similar Books
