expensive and her kids were growing entirely too fast.
It cost so much to keep up a three-bedroom house like this, and trying to raise five kids, she thought. Hell, twenty years is a long-ass time to be paying for anything. What will I do with all this room when the kids is grown? Which won't be long. Sit in here by myself and run from room to room? Maybe I'll have some grandbabies. But the thought of being a grandmother was unfathomable to her. She decided not to think so far ahead. Shit. Right now what she needed was some money. A decent job. Maybe even a sugar daddy, which Mildred was seriously considering about now.
"Mama, can I make some cocoa?" asked Bootsey, walking into the kitchen. She was starting to look like a miniature Mildred. Everybody had been telling Bootsey this, but Bootsey didn't see it.
"I don't care what you make, girl," Mildred said.
"Here's the mail," Bootsey said, handing it to her.
Interruptions. Always interruptions. Mama this. Mama that. Mama Mama Mama Mama. Can I have this? Can I have that? Yes. No. Maybe. I need this. I need that. Not now. Mama, please? Why not? Because. Because why? Because I said so. Because because. Her kids were everywhere she turned and everywhere she looked. A hand. A mouth open. Asking asking asking. Do something. Anything. Gimme gimme gimme. And always the very things she didn't have, except her love, which they never once asked her for.
Mildred went through the envelopes quickly, tossing aside the ones she didn't want to look at, and then she came across a letter from her oldest brother, Leon. He lived in Phoenix. What would he be writing me for? she wondered.
She opened the letter and read it. She was surprised to discover that he was well informed about her financial situation and she wondered who had filled him in. It had to be one of her sisters, most likely old fat-ass Georgia or motor-mouth Lula. Mildred let the thought pass when she got to the part where he suggested she consider selling the house and moving out to Phoenix. He said there were better job opportunities out there for colored people, the weather was hot and dry all year long, which meant hardly any mosquitoes, the kids might meet some civilized children instead of those hoodlums running loose in Point Haven, and, above all else, Mildred might meet a stable and loveable serviceman with a pension and she might even consider getting her high school diploma.
She folded the letter and put it back in the envelope, letting her fingers crease it over and over again. She could hear the furnace clicking on. Heat, Mildred thought. Wouldn't need no furnace in Arizona. She walked over and flicked off the switch. She had never really thought of leaving Point Haven before. All her people were here. But she wasn't afraid of taking chances. Always knew something had to happen to make things better. Was this it? She looked down at her puffy hands and saw how years of bleach and ammonia and detergent had made her skin like spiderwebs.
Ain't nothing gon' ever change unless I make it change, she thought. And I need a change, that's for damn sure. Shit, I'm tired of playing catch-up. Working and scrimping and scraping, to get where? Nowhere. Not even past the starting line. She went to the sink and turned on the faucet though there were no dirty dishes in the basin. She poured almost two cups of Tide in the water and let the suds ooze through her fingers. She stood in front of the window and let her hands soak until they felt like liquid silk. Then she pushed the starched curtains aside to unblock the view. Her view. Of Herman and Beulah Dell's ugly brown house. The grass in the side yard was growing too fast. And before spring this house would have to be painted again. The Mercury was starting to fall apart too. Mildred dried her hands on the curtains and picked up the letter again. Then she found Leon's phone number in the junk drawer and picked up the telephone.
Six
M ILDRED'S BROTHER had told her just what
It cost so much to keep up a three-bedroom house like this, and trying to raise five kids, she thought. Hell, twenty years is a long-ass time to be paying for anything. What will I do with all this room when the kids is grown? Which won't be long. Sit in here by myself and run from room to room? Maybe I'll have some grandbabies. But the thought of being a grandmother was unfathomable to her. She decided not to think so far ahead. Shit. Right now what she needed was some money. A decent job. Maybe even a sugar daddy, which Mildred was seriously considering about now.
"Mama, can I make some cocoa?" asked Bootsey, walking into the kitchen. She was starting to look like a miniature Mildred. Everybody had been telling Bootsey this, but Bootsey didn't see it.
"I don't care what you make, girl," Mildred said.
"Here's the mail," Bootsey said, handing it to her.
Interruptions. Always interruptions. Mama this. Mama that. Mama Mama Mama Mama. Can I have this? Can I have that? Yes. No. Maybe. I need this. I need that. Not now. Mama, please? Why not? Because. Because why? Because I said so. Because because. Her kids were everywhere she turned and everywhere she looked. A hand. A mouth open. Asking asking asking. Do something. Anything. Gimme gimme gimme. And always the very things she didn't have, except her love, which they never once asked her for.
Mildred went through the envelopes quickly, tossing aside the ones she didn't want to look at, and then she came across a letter from her oldest brother, Leon. He lived in Phoenix. What would he be writing me for? she wondered.
She opened the letter and read it. She was surprised to discover that he was well informed about her financial situation and she wondered who had filled him in. It had to be one of her sisters, most likely old fat-ass Georgia or motor-mouth Lula. Mildred let the thought pass when she got to the part where he suggested she consider selling the house and moving out to Phoenix. He said there were better job opportunities out there for colored people, the weather was hot and dry all year long, which meant hardly any mosquitoes, the kids might meet some civilized children instead of those hoodlums running loose in Point Haven, and, above all else, Mildred might meet a stable and loveable serviceman with a pension and she might even consider getting her high school diploma.
She folded the letter and put it back in the envelope, letting her fingers crease it over and over again. She could hear the furnace clicking on. Heat, Mildred thought. Wouldn't need no furnace in Arizona. She walked over and flicked off the switch. She had never really thought of leaving Point Haven before. All her people were here. But she wasn't afraid of taking chances. Always knew something had to happen to make things better. Was this it? She looked down at her puffy hands and saw how years of bleach and ammonia and detergent had made her skin like spiderwebs.
Ain't nothing gon' ever change unless I make it change, she thought. And I need a change, that's for damn sure. Shit, I'm tired of playing catch-up. Working and scrimping and scraping, to get where? Nowhere. Not even past the starting line. She went to the sink and turned on the faucet though there were no dirty dishes in the basin. She poured almost two cups of Tide in the water and let the suds ooze through her fingers. She stood in front of the window and let her hands soak until they felt like liquid silk. Then she pushed the starched curtains aside to unblock the view. Her view. Of Herman and Beulah Dell's ugly brown house. The grass in the side yard was growing too fast. And before spring this house would have to be painted again. The Mercury was starting to fall apart too. Mildred dried her hands on the curtains and picked up the letter again. Then she found Leon's phone number in the junk drawer and picked up the telephone.
Six
M ILDRED'S BROTHER had told her just what
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