each other. And that includes you kids.”
Tears are running down my face and snot too. Aunt Geneva offers me a tissue but I don’t want it. I want to get off this bus and find Mr. Willie wherever he is. We’ll play duets, that’s what we’ll do, in the front room of the big mansion. We’ll play for money and sandwiches and peaches. Mr. Willie listens when I talk and says I see your point, Jerome, like Mama used to.
“If it’s not legal, somebody could come along—you never know, Jerome,” Aunt Geneva says. She is opening and shutting her purse, fiddling with the papers. I look out the dirty window. We are passing the City Garden Center. Me and Mama went there to get plants for our garden, some perennials for along the side of the house. Year after year they came back, getting so big we had to divide them. I start moving my fingers on the bus window. The right hand crosses over the left, back and forth, moving faster and faster. The bus stops at the corner and an old man gets on.
“I want Mr. Willie to adopt me,” I say so loud that thelady in front of us turns around.
Aunt Geneva acts like she doesn’t hear. “Your mother was my sister,” she whispers. She dabs at the tears on her cheeks.
I want Mama to be sitting here beside me. We could be heading downtown to the main library like we used to every Sunday. We could be picking out books and music and movies for the week. “I want a piano,” I say finally.
“Someday, Jerome.” Aunt Geneva takes another tissue out of her purse.
The bus pulls into the last stop at Government Square. We get off and cross the street to the courthouse. Inside are two marble staircases. We take the one on the left up to the second floor. “Room 201,” Aunt Geneva says.
We have to wait a long time for our turn. People are coming and going. I could run fast down these stairs and out the door. But where would I go? Aunt Geneva asks me if I’m hungry.
“No, ma’am.”
She hands me a peppermint anyway. “Helps the time pass,” she says, unwrapping one and putting it into her mouth.
Mama liked mints too, the real hot ones that take your breath away.
When we finally see the lawyer, he says Aunt Geneva needs some other papers like her birth certificate andher marriage certificate to Uncle James. “Nobody told me to bring all that,” Aunt Geneva says.
“Getting adopted is a process,” the lawyer says. “We have to make sure everything is in order.”
She makes another appointment for next week. The lawyer smiles at me with his big white teeth. “Don’t worry,” he says. “It’ll all work out. We just have to take it step by step.”
I want to tell him I’m not worried at all. It’s not me that started this whole thing in the first place.
Aunt Geneva stands. “Thank you,” she says, ushering me out into the hallway.
On the way home on the bus, Aunt Geneva falls asleep. With her eyes closed like that she looks a little like Mama. Same tall forehead and broad nose. But her mouth and chin are different.
Mama talked things over with me, big things and small things and everything in between. Jerome, should I take that other job over in the nursing home or stick with what I have? Should we plant purple hostas on the side of the house or white ones? You’re the one with the good eye, Jerome. Thank you, Jerome, you are a big help, you know that?
The bus stops suddenly. Aunt Geneva opens her eyes for a minute, then closes them again. She never tells me a thing.
22
Monte is up by the carriage house. “Where were you?” he asks.
“Downtown.”
“Doing what?”
“Visiting a lawyer.”
“What for?”
I don’t answer.
“That lady was here looking for you,” Monte says.
“Ginny?”
“Skinny white lady,” he says.
Maybe she came to tell me she found the piano in there, or the sculptures or something. I start running up toward the mansion.
“Can I go with you?” Monte asks. “No.” My voice is sharp.
“Why not?”
Monte is
Tears are running down my face and snot too. Aunt Geneva offers me a tissue but I don’t want it. I want to get off this bus and find Mr. Willie wherever he is. We’ll play duets, that’s what we’ll do, in the front room of the big mansion. We’ll play for money and sandwiches and peaches. Mr. Willie listens when I talk and says I see your point, Jerome, like Mama used to.
“If it’s not legal, somebody could come along—you never know, Jerome,” Aunt Geneva says. She is opening and shutting her purse, fiddling with the papers. I look out the dirty window. We are passing the City Garden Center. Me and Mama went there to get plants for our garden, some perennials for along the side of the house. Year after year they came back, getting so big we had to divide them. I start moving my fingers on the bus window. The right hand crosses over the left, back and forth, moving faster and faster. The bus stops at the corner and an old man gets on.
“I want Mr. Willie to adopt me,” I say so loud that thelady in front of us turns around.
Aunt Geneva acts like she doesn’t hear. “Your mother was my sister,” she whispers. She dabs at the tears on her cheeks.
I want Mama to be sitting here beside me. We could be heading downtown to the main library like we used to every Sunday. We could be picking out books and music and movies for the week. “I want a piano,” I say finally.
“Someday, Jerome.” Aunt Geneva takes another tissue out of her purse.
The bus pulls into the last stop at Government Square. We get off and cross the street to the courthouse. Inside are two marble staircases. We take the one on the left up to the second floor. “Room 201,” Aunt Geneva says.
We have to wait a long time for our turn. People are coming and going. I could run fast down these stairs and out the door. But where would I go? Aunt Geneva asks me if I’m hungry.
“No, ma’am.”
She hands me a peppermint anyway. “Helps the time pass,” she says, unwrapping one and putting it into her mouth.
Mama liked mints too, the real hot ones that take your breath away.
When we finally see the lawyer, he says Aunt Geneva needs some other papers like her birth certificate andher marriage certificate to Uncle James. “Nobody told me to bring all that,” Aunt Geneva says.
“Getting adopted is a process,” the lawyer says. “We have to make sure everything is in order.”
She makes another appointment for next week. The lawyer smiles at me with his big white teeth. “Don’t worry,” he says. “It’ll all work out. We just have to take it step by step.”
I want to tell him I’m not worried at all. It’s not me that started this whole thing in the first place.
Aunt Geneva stands. “Thank you,” she says, ushering me out into the hallway.
On the way home on the bus, Aunt Geneva falls asleep. With her eyes closed like that she looks a little like Mama. Same tall forehead and broad nose. But her mouth and chin are different.
Mama talked things over with me, big things and small things and everything in between. Jerome, should I take that other job over in the nursing home or stick with what I have? Should we plant purple hostas on the side of the house or white ones? You’re the one with the good eye, Jerome. Thank you, Jerome, you are a big help, you know that?
The bus stops suddenly. Aunt Geneva opens her eyes for a minute, then closes them again. She never tells me a thing.
22
Monte is up by the carriage house. “Where were you?” he asks.
“Downtown.”
“Doing what?”
“Visiting a lawyer.”
“What for?”
I don’t answer.
“That lady was here looking for you,” Monte says.
“Ginny?”
“Skinny white lady,” he says.
Maybe she came to tell me she found the piano in there, or the sculptures or something. I start running up toward the mansion.
“Can I go with you?” Monte asks. “No.” My voice is sharp.
“Why not?”
Monte is
Similar Books
