by J. J. Murray
"Somethin' I made up," he says.
"Sounds nice. What you call it?"
"No name. I just play it."
"How 'bout callin' it `Kevin's First Symphony'?"
"Cool. I like it."
And Kevin's symphony is all we hear till Mildred bangs through the door in her wheelchair at eleven. "Hey, Mildred," I say with a smile. I get my brushes ready.
"Mornin'," Mildred says to Diana, but she only scowls at me. What's this? "Diana, I want you to do my hair this mornin'." Mildred wheels herself next to Diana's chair and continues to make faces at me. What's going on?
"Everything okay today, Mildred?" I ask.
"Diana," Mildred says, "you tell that person over there to leave me alone."
"Excuse me?" I ask.
"Diana, you tell that person over there that she needs to learn when to speak and when not to speak."
I march over to her chair. "Don't play that with me, Miss Millie. I been doin' your hair for free for far too long to put up with this shit. What you talkin' about?"
"Diana," Mildred says, "you tell this person that the house of the Lord is no place to talk shit."
"What did you say?" I ask.
"She was talkin' shit in the house of the Lord yesterday," she says to Diana. "Surprised you let a person like that work here."
Oh, this is too much! "You weren't even there!" I shout.
"I heard a few things last night, Diana. Wicked, sinful things. You tell that person she should be ashamed of herself. You tell her that she needs to get right with God."
I ain't ashamed of anything I said because it was all true," I say, trying to catch Mildred's eyes. She's not very good at dodging them. "Who'd you hear this from?"
Mildred finally turns to me. "Mrs. Finn. She said you threatened to kick her ass."
I did no such thing!"
"She said it, I believe it, that settles it." Mildred folds her arms in front of her.
"I said that I felt a kick-ass in my legs. I didn't kick any- one's ass. I just wanted them off my porch"
Mildred rolls her eyes. "You threatened her, and Mrs. Finn is older than me. Threatenin' an old woman. Don't know what this world is comin' to "" She blinks her eyes at Diana. "You gonna plait my hair or what?"
Diana starts to loosen Mildred's plaits. "Soon as you're done badmouthin' my friend, I will."
"If I was you, she wouldn't be my friend," Mildred says. "She's gonna cost you some business. Mrs. Finn has been busy, let me tell you. Nubian Designs is open today." Nubian Designs is never open on a Monday. "Folks is goin' to Nubian Designs this mornin', saw a whole lot of them marchin' in there together." Oh shit. I'm the reason business is slow. I am the gossip target. Again. The gossip target cannot be present for gossip to begin. It's a tradition as ancient as hairstyling. Mrs. Finn and the board have been busy lining up folks against me, and they've even gone so far as to open up a salon to do their dirty work. I'm already being excommunicated, and I'm costing me and Diana a small fortune! My hands go cold. "Where your customers at, Diana?"
"You're here," Diana says.
"Nubian Designs was gonna charge me ten bucks for this. Y'all will do me for free"
Diana pulls out the last of Mildred's plaits and cuts her eyes at me. "Not anymore"
"What?" That's what I would have said, too, but I can't get my mouth to work. Every part of me is going numb.
"You gonna keep badmouthin' my friend?"
"I'm just tellin' you what I heard, Diana."
Diana sighs. "You need to learn when to speak and when not to speak, Mildred Overstreet. You got five dollars?"
"You know I don't "
"Oh, well," Diana says, and she walks away from Mildred's wheelchair.
Mildred looks fit to be tied. "Wait till I get over to Nubian Designs and tell them about this shit!" She starts to wheel away. "I'll do it," I say.
She stops but doesn't turn to look at me. "For free?"
"Yes"
She sits a minute rolling her chair back and forth. "Can't go out lookin' like this. I guess I can let you do it this one last time." She locks her wheels in place near the door. "And tell that boy over there to stop playin' that dreadful music."
I approach her. "It ain't dreadful, Millie," I say. "Would you prefer something else? He takes requests"
"I'm requestin' that he stop"
Ain't nothin' workin' right this mornin'! I turn to Kevin. "Play some Etta James or some Muddy Waters for us, Kevin. I could use me some blues."
Mildred squints. "He know Etta James and Muddy Waters?"
I grasp Mildred's hair and start to brush. "Yep" Kevin plays a little "Rolling Stone," a song that matches my mood. I should be a rolling stone and roll on up out of here. "You want to hear the whole story now?"
"What whole story?"
"My whole story. The whole truth and nothin' but"
"I'm listenin'."
For the next half hour, I tell Mildred Overstreet the entire story of fifteen years with Jonas, of the last few months alone, of the last few weeks with Dewey, Dee, and Tee. I leave out nothing, mainly because telling the story is good for me, like I'm flushing out my system or something. During my story, Kevin plays softer, Diana sits in her chair and acts like she's not listening so I know she is, and Mildred nods every once in a while. When I'm through, Kevin plays his symphony again, and Diana drifts to the back.
"So now you know everything," I tell Mildred, clipping the last plait in place.
"You expect me to believe all that shit?"
"Believe what you want," I say. "It's the truth."
"As you see it."
"As I know it. Least now you have my side of it." I stand in front of her. "See you next Monday?"
"Maybe," Mildred says.
"I hope I do," I say. "Can't start my week without you. Your hair gives me a good workout, warms up my hands"
Mildred fumbles with her hands a moment before grabbing her wheels. "If you see me, you see me ""
"I can accept that" I smile. I watch her bang out the door, and instead of turning right to go home, she rolls to the left. Maybe she's going to Nubian Designs to straighten things out, but whether she is or isn't, I have to leave for Diana's sake. "Gonna take the rest of the day off, Diana," I call out.
"What for?"
"Not feeling too good," I say, and it isn't a total lie. I don't feel well. I feel achy all over, like I got the flu comin' on. It's probably just my body's reactions to all this shit.
"You don't have to go, Ruth," Diana says. "They'll be back. Nubian Designs charges way too much"
"It's all right." I get my coat. "You can call me if business picks up" I pause at the door. "Oh, and I won't be in tomorrow or Wednesday. I'm workin' over at Avery, remember?"
Diana walks toward me. "Ruth, they'll be back. I remember when Nubian Designs opened. I only lost them for one day."
I shake my head. "It's okay, Diana. See you Thursday."
The walk home is ice cold, and the thoughts in my head are colder, tears dripping from my eyes. Lord, they're messin' with my job now! Lord Jesus, what Your people can do when they put their simple minds to it. I can't lose that job; I mean, what else am I gonna do? Where You leadin' me? I would go back as a full-time aide at Avery, but that pay's barely above minimum wage, I won't have no summer work, and Mrs. Holland says there's no funding anyway! What am I gonna do?
When I get to the apartment, I hear Fred humming a song from his spot on the grass. It sounds so familiar, but I'm just not sure what it is. I wipe a tear away. "What you hummin', Fred?"
"Old song," he says. "Good old song. It'll come to you, Ruth" He hums louder, but I still can't place it.
"Just tell me."
He shakes his head. "Let it come to you, Ruth"
I leave him, walk up the stairs, open my door, close it gently behind me, and have a good old weeping session right there on my kitchen floor. Lord Jesus, I'm hurtin' here. Only thing holdin' me up just now is the linoleum on this dusty floor. I ain't g
ot but a few friends left, I got no family, and I might not have a job or a church soon. I might not be playin' the organ no more. I ain't got much left to hold on to. Give me something, anything to hold on to.
And then Fred's song comes to me ... and the pain bleeds away as I hum "Hold On," the ancient words going through my head:
I wipe my tears on a paper towel and throw open the window to hear Fred singing out the last, triumphant verse of that old spiritual:
The phone rings. I clear my throat and answer. "Hello?"
"Ruth, girl, you gotta get back here quick!" Diana shouts.
"Why?"
"They all came back, and, girl, there's lots of hair to fix!"
Thank You, Jesus! "I ain't been gone but half an hour."
"Millie hauled ass to Nubian Designs. Now get your ass down here!" Click.
I don't say anything to Fred, and he doesn't say anything to me as I'm leaving the apartment. He merely tips his hat and smiles.
Everything will be all right.
When I walk into Diana's, the only voice I hear is Mildred's. "And after that ho, he started messin' with a man." The ladies look at me, eyes wide, hands on chests, little sighs escaping. "That's when she divorced him."
"You poor dear," Mrs. Phillips says. I want to thank Mrs. Phillips, but I'm afraid I'll start laughing. Someone at Nubian Designs colored her white hair yellow, not blond, and that is one color that just does not belong on a dark black woman. She looks like a black candle.
"I told 'em everything," Mildred says, wheeling over to me. "And we'll all be at the church come Sunday."
"I will be in the front row of that church cuz what they tryin' to do to you is just plain wrong," Mrs. Thompson says. And what Nubian Designs did to her hair was wrong, too. It's been colored bright red and stacked in a triangle to a point about ten inches above her forehead. She looks like an upside-down yield sign.
"Thanks y'all," I say. "I'll need all the help I can get"
Mrs. Wilomena Monroe busts through the door a split second later, and no one seems to breathe. Her poor hair! Someone has added light brown extensions that snake off her head to two long ponytails hanging down to her bubble butt while her natural jet-black hair sticks straight up, the tips frosted white. Dear Jesus, they put an Indian headdress on her! "Can y'all please help me?"
With a pair of hedge trimmers, maybe.
"She can go in front of me," Mrs. Thompson says, looking away and giggling. "She need some emergency treatment ""
"I can be a blonde a little longer," Mrs. Phillips says with a smile.
For the rest of the day, the topic of gossip-me-repairs a dozen heads of hair while the gossip about me rages on all around me.
And I don't have to say a single thing.
Everything will be all right.
eighteen
I rise with the sun the next morning and don't have to struggle to get out of bed like I used to. Guess I'm gettin' more country tryin' to get me a country man. During my shower, I get two glorious minutes of lukewarm water and hope that the water wakes Fred since I need to speak to him about Dee. If anyone on this planet knows anything about that boy, it will be Fred. I dress in jeans and a white sweater, throw on a ratty coat, and head out the door.
Fred is in his usual spot, but today he looks more ragged than usual. "Good morning, Fred."
"It would be a good mornin' if you didn't have to take a shower so damn early, woman," he growls. "Why you take so many showers?"
"You know what they say about cleanliness, Fred"
He sniffs under his arms. "I prefer godliness. God don't take no showers. God is in the earth, you know. He only showers when it rains." He frowns as he screws the jar back to his ear. "You woke me up for a reason. What is it?"
"Urn, Fred, you hear anything in that jar about Dee Jones?"
"The little boy?"
"Yes"
"What you need to know?"
I'm afraid to ask. "Will Dee ... Will he ever speak again?"
"Yes," Fred says with no hesitation.
Thank You, Jesus! "That's wonderful! When?"
"When you least expect it."
Oh, that was helpful. "Will it happen soon?"
"You want it to happen?"
More than you'll ever know, Fred. "Oh, yes"
"Then, it ain't gonna happen"
"Why not?"
"Cuz you're expectin' it. A watched pot-"
"I know," I interrupt. "A watched pot never boils. You soundin' like my grandma, Fred." I pout. "It'll be a quiet day, then, huh?"
"Just listen with your heart, Ruth, and you'll hear an earful today."
"I'll try." I take a few steps and stop. "You feelin' okay this morning, Fred?"
"Yeah. Why you ask?"
"You, uh, look more ... " He raises his eyebrows. "You look more worse for wear."
"Didn't get enough sleep. The pipes woke my ass up."
"Oh, yeah. Sorry about that"
"It's all right. Folks sleep more than they need to" He smiles. "Go on. Ask the next question."
"What question?"
"The one that's been eatin' at you to ask me"
"You answered the question. It was about Dee"
He shakes his head. "No it wasn't. You wanna know if God tells me things about myself."
"Well, I am kinda curious. Does He?"
"Sometimes"
I walk back to him. "What does He say?"
"He doesn't say anythin' exactly. He just kinda ... moves me from place to place."
I get chill bumps. "Like you're in His hand?"
"Something like that"
"And you're in His hand now."
"Yep "
That must be the best feeling! "How long you gonna stay here?"
"Don't know. I like it here. But ... " He sighs. "But whenever I like a place, I get moved. Might not be here much longer."
Not yet, God! Since this man has been here, my life has changed for the better! "Well, when I get back, I'll make you some biscuits."
"I'd like that" He screws the jar tighter onto his ear. "But I won't like 'em that much, okay?"
"Okay."
He tilts his head to the sky. "Wouldn't want Anyone up there listenin' to think I actually like it here!"
"God heard you, Fred"
He drops his chin to his chest. "I know." He narrows his eyes. "You goin' to see the little girl's teacher today?"
Dag, the man can even read my thoughts from days ago. "Hadn't planned on it today."
"Go. But be careful. She a hard-headed somethin' somethin'."
"Tee or the teacher?"
"The teacher. Thinks she knows every damn thing. You gots to set her straight."
"I'll try."
He eyes me from head to toe. "You're wearin' the right clothes today."
"For what?"
He winks. "You'll see"
"Be here when I get back, Fred"
"I'll try. Wish I had me an anchor"
I mist up a little. "Fred, you have been my anchor these last few days"
He looks away and flexes his nose like old men do when they don't want to cry in front of you. "Go on, you gonna be late."
I step over to him, bend down, and kiss him on the forehead. "Thank you for everything, Fred."
His eyes well with tears. "I'll be gone for sure now, woman. Why you gotta do that?"
"God told me to"
He grunts. "That Man talk too much"
I kiss his forehead again. "Hope you're here when I get back."
"I hope so, too"
On the way to Avery, I think about Fred. To anyone walking or driving by, he's a crazy old stank man with ajar at his ear, just another crazy Negro. What they don't know-what they should know man's tuned in to WGOD every day. Dag, I get chill bumps just thinking about that.
I also wonder what I'm going to say to Miss Freitag. Hi, I'm not Tee's mama, but I got a bone to pick with you? Hello, I'm Tee's temporary baby-sitter who's in love with Tee's daddy, and we have a few things t
o straighten out? What right do I have to say anything?
I sign in before even Mrs. Holland arrives and slip around to Miss Freitag's room. I peek inside and see Miss Freitag sitting at a table full to bursting with stacks of paper. She's hard at work grading papers, and this obviously ain't a good time. But Fred said to talk to her, so ...
"Good morning."
Miss Freitag looks up. "Yes?" she says in that mousy voice of hers.
"Is this a bad time?"
She folds her hands deliberately and forces a tight smile. "What can I help you with?"
I move into the room. "I'm Ruth Borum, and I'm here to talk to you about Tee Jones." Miss Freitag's little knuckles whiten. Dag, all I did was say Tee's name. "I think I can help you out with her, Miss Freitag."
"You can?"
That's what I said. "Yes."
She motions me to a tiny-ass chair where I sit, both my butt-cheeks hanging over the sides. "You volunteer here, right?"
"Yes. I work mainly with Tee's brother, Dec."
"You do?"
She must be hard of hearing. "Yes"
"And you think you can help me with Tee?"
All this rat-faced wench does is ask questions! "Yes. You see, I think-"
"Are you Tee's mother?"
"No, but I mind her after school, and-"
"Then, we shouldn't be having this conversation."
Hard-headed? This girl is hard-hearted! "What conversation, Miss Freitag? All you doin' is interruptin' and askin' questions." I stare the bitch down. "If you want Tee to behave, you'll listen to me without interrupting or asking any more questions."
She rolls her eyes. "I'm listening."
"No you ain't!" I stand. "You're just waitin' for me to say my piece and get out"
"You're very observant, Mrs. Borum."
What a smart-ass! And they let this rat-faced, squeakyvoiced ho teach here? I take a deep breath. "Miss Freitag, you need my help."
She smiles. "I do?"
I have had enough. "You don't want my help, fine. I hope Tee kills all your damn fish."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me. Just cuz you don't know how to teach a little black girl-"
"How dare you!"
"How dare me? How dare you treat her like shit! Tee is a very bright girl."