“No. Where's your pictures?”
I waved him upstairs.
He flopped onto my bed and waited as I got my album out of the closet and opened it.
“Look at her copper eyes. Just like yours.” I pointed to a candid close-up gathering.
He peered at it. “Ralph Pemberton said I had funny eyes.”
“I believe I have heard enough from that ignorant Ralph Pemberton, Besides, he's only a first grader” And I quickly changed the subject to something I liked talking about—Auntie Karyn. “She was so pretty. Just like you.”
“Boys ain't pretty,” he said.
“You are. I guess that makes you a girl.”
He made that fang face at me and pretended to claw at me.
I did a fake claw back at him. Even Steven.
“You have a lot of pictures,” He was absorbed in the book.
“I told you I did.”
I pointed at pictures of Tracy John with his tiny baby fists fighting with the air.
“You were a sweetheart,” I said.
“Sweet thang,” he said.
“Sweet thang,” I said.
? pointed at one from when Auntie Karyn won the statewide “Why I Wanted to Be a Nurse” competition. That one touched a tender spot. Huge tears welled up in my eyes. I smiled sadly and leaned into my cousin.
Auntie Karyn had had a seven days on/five days off scheduler I remembered our day trips on those days off; we went to Center Gity. I remembered how the smells hit us: pungent foods, cars, and women's perfumes, We saw the showy buildings and baffling sculptures (a giant clothes? pin and blocked-out lettering of L-Q, then V-E). Then, around Vine Street, we hit Chinatown, and there we heard another language (probably Mandarin). People prowled the streets on their way to somewhere. Once, we went to South Street. There I saw my first hippie.
“What's with that white man?” Tracy John asked, pointing in horror at a photo of this bearded, beaded man in Day-Glo.
“That's a hippie.”
“Why is he dressed like a weirdo?”
“That was in then.”
There was one of the three of us in front of a cramped little pizza shop on South Street, which was billed the best in the city.
“Who is that guy?” he asked, pointing at the man in the apron.
“The sauce guy.”
“Did I get any pizza?” Tracy John asked.
“No. You were a little baby.”
“Y'all still could have given me some,” he insisted. “I like pizza.”
I went into acting mode. “Oh, wait, let me remember that clearly. Auntie Karyn did give you some of her slice.”
“And you gave me some of your slice, Maine.”
“Of course.” I nodded, playing along, pinching him.
Leo rushed in. “Maine, Maine, phone call—-from Demetrius McGee,” he said, holding his heart and making mooneyes.
“Tell himTm busy,” I said.
Leo looked around the room. “Doing what?” “Maine was showing me pictures,” Tracy John said. Intrigued, Leo advanced. “Pictures?”
All three of us sat on my twin bed, flipping slowly through the pages.
Like cheese in a mousetrap, Demetrius was waiting by my locker. But, for once, I didn't bite. “Where were you when I called?” he asked.
“Well, hello, Demetrius,” I said. “How are you?”
“I wanted to tell you something last night.”
“So tell me now.” I squared off.
“Why didn't you call me back?” he asked.
I looked him dead in the eye. “I guess because I didn't feel like it.”
“Chanhaine, I need you to make me up some notes.”
“Notes?”
His wording was simple and transparent. “Yes, notes. For my U.S. history speech.”
“Demetrius, you can't even make your own speech from the essay I wrote for you?”
“I didn't have time to read that.”
“Don't do it, Maine,” Millicent said, coming up behind me.
“Why don't you shut your fat mouth?” Demetrius yelled at Millicent.
“Hey, hey,” I said, but I was unable to get anything more out. He was insulting my best friend, yet all I was able to muster was this mumbling, lame protest.
The bell rang for first period.
“Put it on; three-by-five cards. Real big so I can read it,” he told me, as if issuing a military order.
As Millicent and I hurried down the hall, she asked me, “That's what Dinah was squawking about? You've been doing his homework for him? Why?”
“I didn't do all his homework.”
“However much, you did, why did you do it?”
“What do you thitik?” I said as I reached French class.
That's not ethical” Millicent said.
“No kidding,” I said.
At lunch, I had to hear more of this. Millicent had told Cissy, and they both lambasted me for being so wrong.
“I don't know what's wrong with you people; you act like you don't know how much I like him. I would do anything for Demetrius.if he asked me to swallow nails, I would. Who are y'all going out with?”
Cissy craned her neck. “The same person you are, Maine—nobody.”
I craned my neck right back at her. “Cissy, Demetrius wilt be my boyfriend; it's just a matter of time.”
“Months, years, decades …,” Millicent said.
“I have a relationship with Demetrius,” I insisted, stomping my foot.
“You have a courier service with Demetrius,” Millicent said.
I stood up. I took my bag lunch—meat loaf from the night before on wheat bread—and my juice carton and tossed it all out. I walked the corridor without a hall pass. I had a purposeful walk. I knew I wouldn't get in trouble. I was an angel—even better than an angel. I was “the smart girl.”
It was 12:10. I still had time to write something for Demetrius.
I sat on the steps in the east wing. I'd never known how much dirt was there, especially in the corners. Cobwebs and filth. No matter, though, I wasn't wearing anything all that nice. Just an old blue knit dress that had a few snags. I bet for Christmas I was going to get another knit dress.
I hoped I wouldn't get any taller. I was already a freak of nature, towering over most boys in my grade. I was teacher sized.
I also hoped I would start to develop soon, so that Demetrius could want to be with me for reasons other than my brain.
I checked my watch: two minutes to Mr. Gowdy's class.
I wasn't going to write anything.
My stotnach and scalp tingled.
Next thing I knew, the bell rang.
Mr. Gowdy always just started class, never offering any small talk or comments about the weather. He got straight to business. We took our seats, and he introduced Demetrius as the presenter that day.
Demetrius looked at me. I looked steadily back at him, not giving him cme inch. A telltale tic in his jaw jumped; then he regained his composure. Demetrius wore his charismatic smile all the way up to the podium.
“What can you tell us about Martin Luther King?” Mr. Gowdy asked Demetrius in his heavy Brookiynese.
Demetrius cleared his throat. “Martin Luther King …,” he said. Nothing followed.
“Demetrius, please, please run over the highlights.”
Demetrius gulped. “The highlights?”
“Yes, Demetrius.”
“Martin Luther King?”
“Yes.” Mr. Gowdy gestured wildly for him to continue.
Demetrius gripped the podium. “Martin Luther King … Martin Luther King.”
Silence.
Then Demetrius said, “Martin Luther King was aman.”
A few people snickered.
“Yes.… Tell us about the Montgomery bus boycott.”
Demetrius looked perplexed. “The what?”
Mr. Gowdy's eyebrows went together. He crossed his legs. “You put it in your paper.”
“I did? I mean, I did,
but I really can't… You know what I mean?”
Mr. Gowdy shook his head. “No, I don't… Why don't you tell us about his letter from the Birmingham jail.”
“Martin Luther King was a jailbird?”
“He was jailed over thirty times, Demetrius.”
“What was he, a shoplifter?”
I turned so that he couldn't see me snicker.
“Are you asking me? This is your presentation. Do you remember anything from your research?”
Demetrius cleared his throat again and said, “Lee Harvey Oswald shot Martin Luther King.”
“You mean James Earl Ray,” Mr. Gowdy corrected.
“Well, it was somebody withthree names,” Demetrius snapped.
He looked up and smiled again. “Martin Luther King. Martin Luther King was a man.”
Mr. Gowdy smiled knowingly. “I think you've said enough.”
I looked back at Millicent, who was laughing so hard that tears were coming out of her eyes. She was hitting the desk. She raised her hand to be excused.
I raised my hand too.
Millicent and I made it into the lavatory and totally lost it. We fell into each other, laughing.
“He said Martin Luther King was a shoplifter,” Millicent howled, drying her eyes on paper towels. “He is so pathetic.”
We were still yukking it up in chemistry class. I noticed that Demetrius wasn't there, and that somehow added to the hilarity. I figured he was somewhere kicking his rear end about the whole thing.
After school, though, he caught me by my locker.
“Who do you think you are?” he asked.
“A person who's not feeding you answers,” I said, stepping up to him.
“You made me look like a fool up there, Charmaine.”
“I've been covering for you, prolonging the inevitable, Demetrius. But there's one thing you must know: every road eventually turns. You can't use people forever.”
“You let me use you. You wanted me to.”
“And now I don't want you to.”
“You know something? You are a bitch,” He stepped back and smiled as if he'd gained his little victory.
I tolled my eyes. Big deal, he'd used a cuss word. Like I was supposed to be impressed.
My admonishing finger waved back and forth at him.
I said, “I may be a bitch, Demetrius. But at least I know histoiy.”
• • •
At dinner I told my family about Demetrius's fiasco. I neglected to mention that I'd written the original paper.
“That boy couldn't say anything else?” Daddy shook his head in disgust while passing the rolls counterclockwise. “What a jive turkey.”
Leo took a roll. “He must have looked like a real dummy.”
“Martin Luther King wanted peace,” Tracy John said, and held up four fingers. “And he has this many kids.”
““That is a damn shame. Even little Tracy John knows more than he does,” Daddy said.
“He could have talked about the famous speech at the Lincoln Memorial,” Leo said.
“He also got that big, big prize,” Ma said, sipping ice water before taking a bite of her spinach, chicken, and rice casserole.
“The Nobel Peace Prize,” Leo said.
“ 'I am cognizant of the interrelatedness of all communities and states. I cannot sit idly by in Atlanta and not be concerned about what happens in Birmingham. Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly,’ “ Daddy said, quoting Martin Luther King.
A raunfall of clapping followed.
Tracy John said, “Right on, Unc!”
Daddy was an excellent orator. As opposed to Demetrius in his white shirt and pin-striped tie, Daddy, in his T-shirt and dungarees, could rattle off a critical response just speaking loosely. The funny thing was that Daddy always disparaged his mere ninth-grade education, but I believed that he was the smartest person in the world.
The following day, I took Tracy John to the library. Together, we read about the solar system and dinosaurs; then we read Aesop's fable about the fox and the stork. The fox invited the stork over for dinner and served soup in a shallow dish, though physically the stork was incapable of eating soup. The stork reciprocated by inviting the fox over for a supper, which he served in a tail narrow glass.
Moral of the story: one bad turn deserves another.
“You are the stork, cuz you have a long neck,” Tracy John said to me.
Nothing could spoil my shimmering mood, certainly not being told that I had a scrawny throat, But then I ran into a couple who threatened my ease. Until then, I had thought um library was a G-rated place. There they were by the section that hardly anyone used, the section dedicated to seniors, called Fifty-Plus. Dinahs with her fair skin and long glamorous locks, grahbed Demetrius's face and kissed it. She pressed against him, massaging his bottom.
Something tightened inside me. Tracy John tugged on my sleeve, asking, “Why is he with her?”
“I don't know, Tracy John. Hush, this is a library.”
“What is he doing with her?” He took it down to a medium volume.
I threw him a peace sign.
He gave me a quizzical look.
“Peace, Tracy John.” Then I covered my lips.
He pinched me. “She did like this.”
“Ouch!” I exclaimed, and swatted his hands away. I decided that this was a good time to leave, so we gathered up our books and went to the counter.
From the back room, a short redheaded lady came out. She spoke with a clogged voice. “Well, well, what a cute little boy.”
“This is Tracy John.”
“When do I get my own card?” he asked.
“You don't need your own card. You can use mine,” I told him.
“He's adorable!” the librarian exclaimed. “Let me get him something.” That happened quite a bit when I was with Tracy John. People would give him a sticker or a lollipop. If they didn't have a trinket handy, they would run into the back and look around for something. The librarian came back smiling big and handed him a bookmark with a worm on it.
“Say thank you to Mrs. Latimer, Tracy John.”
Tracy John said, “Thank you.”
The librarian asked, “Say, would you two mind being in a picture?”
She brought a camera from the back room, explaining that this would make lovely publicity to show to the board members. We went back to the children's section. I patted Tracy John's head to make sure his 'fro was even, I straightened his shirt and told him to smile.
“She didn't say cheese,” he said.
“It's so rare that I see a big sister and a little brother get along so Well,” Mrs. Latimer said.
At that, Tracy John smiled.
The librarian took an extra shot for us to keep. I showed it to Daddy when he came home. “Now, who are these two celebrities?” he asked.
“Me and Maine,” Tracy John said, beaming.
“You two make a lovely couple.” He nodded admiringly. “Don't they, Mis& Sweet Thang?”
“My, my, my,” Ma said, and took a break from battering die okra. She dried her hand on het apron. “You twojook sa darling.”
I placed the picture oft/the fridge under plastic butterfly magnets.
The following Sunday, as I was leaving church, the reverend pulled me to the side, saying, “I can't think of a more fitting young lady to deliver the Kwanzaa address. You have such poise and grace. Such beauty.”
“Beauty?” I blushed vividly.
I smiled. That kind of thing never happened to me. I was picked out of the crowd for my brains but never my looks.
Now there was only one small thing J had to do. I had to find out exactly what Kwanzaa was. I knew that it was something like a black Christmas. Oddly enough, though, this holiday wasn't religious. The school library had nothing on it, but I knew that Dardon Public wouldn't let me d
own.
I took Tracy John and pored over books till supper-time; then we lugged as many as we could home. The following day, he had peewee practice, but the day after that, Tracy John was front and center asking, “Are we going to read about Kwanzaa?”
“Maybe later. Right now we have to visit Cissy and Millicent.”
“We? Me too?”
“That's what I said; Get your coat.”
He wasn't budging. “They're boring.”
I shook my head. “Tracy John, not that again. Don't be that way. Both Cissy and Millicent want you to come over because they got you a present.”
“A present for me?” he asked. He wore a look of total confusion.
“Of course. You're their friend.”
“I am?”
“You're gonna like this present.”
“Tell me what it is?”
I resisted his urgings and insisted that he go to pick it up.
“They say nice things about you.”
“They do?”
“All the time. You know that. And I'll tell you some-thing else; every time we have a fight, they always take your side?”
He stood up. “I'll get my coat.”
Cissy's place smelled like her baby niece's throw-up, but her niece, sisters, and mother were gone for the after-noon, leaving us with this combination living room, rec room, den, kitchen, and baby's room to ourselves. Cissy had the table kicked back and standing on its end.
“What day does the maid come in?” Tracy John asked me.
I threw him the peace sign.
“Hi, T.J.,” Cissy greeted him.
He looked behind him. “Who's TJ.?”
Cissy pointed at him. “That's you. Sometimes it takes too long to say your whole name.”
“I ain't gonna be no letters. I'm gonna be a name. Two names. Tracy and John.”
“You are so cute.” Cissy hugged him.
“My turn,” Millicent said, and got in her squeeze.
She asked me, “Should we give him the present now, or should we make him wait?”
“You should give it to me now,” he answered.
Millicent ran into the hall and came back with a big box. Tracy John took it, held it to his ear and shook it, pulled at the ribbon, and took off the glossy wrapping paper, which featured snowmen. He opened the box and jumped for joy.
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