made it myself, and it looks just like you.”
Alma had whistled as she waltzed out that door for the last time.
“Why do you call her Queen Mother?” Alma now asked Joy sharply.
“Oh, we all give each other nicknames in the Red Hats,” Joy replied.
What’s yours, Sister Slave-a-lot?
Alma wondered to herself.
“Delilah is Queen Mother because she started this chapter of the Red Hats.”
“You mean there’s more?”
“Oh, yes, we are a global sisterhood. If you travel anywhere in the world, you can find a chapter of Red Hats that will welcome you with big smiles and open arms,” Queen Mother said.
“Really? Is it part of the mandate to sell books?” Alma inquired.
Magdalena picked up on where Alma was going with her line of questioning. “Honey, we don’t work for no one.We formed a book club where we read one book a month and then meet for tea to discuss whatever it was we read.”
“We had some really heated debates recently regarding a book titled
The Fire Next Time
by James Baldwin,” Dee said proudly.
Alma knew this book well. It was one of her favorites. Baldwin had predicted an intervention by God in the near future for the mistreatment of black folks in America. What Alma wanted to know was what Dee knew about black folks and their pain.
“I bet I know what side of the debate you were on,” Alma said.
“I’ll bet you you’re wrong. Hell, Sister Dee is just as black as one of us.” Joy laughed.
“Yeah, until the cops come. Then I bet she gets real white,” Alma shot back.
Sister Dee laughed off the insult. “I think it’s healthy to keep our minds active while searching for creative solutions to the world’s problems. Most of us have children and grandchildren who have no clue what was suffered for them to have the opportunities they now take for granted. But mostly, this is just
Sex and the City
for old biddies,” Dee joked.
Alma enjoyed her
day in the park with the Red Hats and ended up purchasing several books, although she promisedherself she would not be conned. As she approached her building, she noticed there were police cars in front of it.
“I live in this building. What’s going on here?” she asked the young black officer.
“There’s been a mugging, ma’am,” he said.
“Who?”
“It was the building manager, ma’am.”
“Mrs. Johnson?”
“Yes. Two men broke in, beat her, tied her up, and robbed her. I suggest you lock your door and make sure you know who it is before you open up for any visitors,” he said.
“Did you catch them?”
“Not yet, ma’am. Please be careful. If you notice anything suspicious, please give me a call. My name is Officer Davis. My number is on this card,” he said, handing Alma his card.
She wished he would stop calling her ma’am. It made her feel ancient.
“She’s going to be all right, isn’t she?” Alma asked.
“We certainly hope so, ma’am.”
Alma shook her head in disbelief as she made her way through the crowd and up the stairs. She could only think about how unsafe she felt in this building with all the steps to climb if someone was after her. Alma told herself she might make it up the first flight on adrenaline, but she knew she was too out of shape to get up four long flights withsomeone chasing her. Alma put her books in the apartment and went to check on poor Mrs. Johnson.
Why would someone do such a bad thing to such a good woman? Mrs. Johnson was the sweetest person Alma knew. Never had a cross word to say about anyone and cared about everyone. If she saw a homeless person begging, she would pay them to sweep the front of the building. If she witnessed any of the neighborhood kids getting into trouble, she would be the first to give them an earful about being a better person.
Alma made Mrs. Johnson a pot of her famous chicken noodle soup and a cup of chamomile tea with lemon and honey.
“Thank you so much, Alma.”
“It is my pleasure, Mrs. Johnson. You get some rest now, and if you
Alma had whistled as she waltzed out that door for the last time.
“Why do you call her Queen Mother?” Alma now asked Joy sharply.
“Oh, we all give each other nicknames in the Red Hats,” Joy replied.
What’s yours, Sister Slave-a-lot?
Alma wondered to herself.
“Delilah is Queen Mother because she started this chapter of the Red Hats.”
“You mean there’s more?”
“Oh, yes, we are a global sisterhood. If you travel anywhere in the world, you can find a chapter of Red Hats that will welcome you with big smiles and open arms,” Queen Mother said.
“Really? Is it part of the mandate to sell books?” Alma inquired.
Magdalena picked up on where Alma was going with her line of questioning. “Honey, we don’t work for no one.We formed a book club where we read one book a month and then meet for tea to discuss whatever it was we read.”
“We had some really heated debates recently regarding a book titled
The Fire Next Time
by James Baldwin,” Dee said proudly.
Alma knew this book well. It was one of her favorites. Baldwin had predicted an intervention by God in the near future for the mistreatment of black folks in America. What Alma wanted to know was what Dee knew about black folks and their pain.
“I bet I know what side of the debate you were on,” Alma said.
“I’ll bet you you’re wrong. Hell, Sister Dee is just as black as one of us.” Joy laughed.
“Yeah, until the cops come. Then I bet she gets real white,” Alma shot back.
Sister Dee laughed off the insult. “I think it’s healthy to keep our minds active while searching for creative solutions to the world’s problems. Most of us have children and grandchildren who have no clue what was suffered for them to have the opportunities they now take for granted. But mostly, this is just
Sex and the City
for old biddies,” Dee joked.
Alma enjoyed her
day in the park with the Red Hats and ended up purchasing several books, although she promisedherself she would not be conned. As she approached her building, she noticed there were police cars in front of it.
“I live in this building. What’s going on here?” she asked the young black officer.
“There’s been a mugging, ma’am,” he said.
“Who?”
“It was the building manager, ma’am.”
“Mrs. Johnson?”
“Yes. Two men broke in, beat her, tied her up, and robbed her. I suggest you lock your door and make sure you know who it is before you open up for any visitors,” he said.
“Did you catch them?”
“Not yet, ma’am. Please be careful. If you notice anything suspicious, please give me a call. My name is Officer Davis. My number is on this card,” he said, handing Alma his card.
She wished he would stop calling her ma’am. It made her feel ancient.
“She’s going to be all right, isn’t she?” Alma asked.
“We certainly hope so, ma’am.”
Alma shook her head in disbelief as she made her way through the crowd and up the stairs. She could only think about how unsafe she felt in this building with all the steps to climb if someone was after her. Alma told herself she might make it up the first flight on adrenaline, but she knew she was too out of shape to get up four long flights withsomeone chasing her. Alma put her books in the apartment and went to check on poor Mrs. Johnson.
Why would someone do such a bad thing to such a good woman? Mrs. Johnson was the sweetest person Alma knew. Never had a cross word to say about anyone and cared about everyone. If she saw a homeless person begging, she would pay them to sweep the front of the building. If she witnessed any of the neighborhood kids getting into trouble, she would be the first to give them an earful about being a better person.
Alma made Mrs. Johnson a pot of her famous chicken noodle soup and a cup of chamomile tea with lemon and honey.
“Thank you so much, Alma.”
“It is my pleasure, Mrs. Johnson. You get some rest now, and if you
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