by Renée Watson
“I don’t want to talk to Ann anymore.”
“Why not?”
“There’s no point,” I answer.
“What do you mean there’s no point?” Grandma starts fussing at me. She goes on and on about Ann being a person and how it’s not fair to just leave her sitting in an office waiting for me. She has feelings too. She fusses and fusses and fusses. “I just can’t believe you’d do something like this. What were you thinking? Why would you—?”
“You want to know what I’m thinking? I’m thinking that talking to Ann is stupid and so is talking to God. Neither of them really cares about me. They just like to see me cry and be in pain!” I can’t stop the words from coming out now. “I don’t ever want to go back to see Ann and I’m never going back to church again!”
I expect Grandma to hush me, but instead she just lets me talk. She lets me scream and yell about how unfair it is that I don’t have a mother when I loved her so much and how Ricky died when, really, he was doing the right thing by sticking up for a friend. I tell Grandma that I am so mad, so angry that every time things start looking good they go bad. “It’s not fair, Grandma. It’s not fair.” My eyes are so full of hot tears, I can barely see.
Grandma holds me and wipes my tears away with her plump hands, and now I can see that she is crying with me. “Serenity, baby. Who told you life was going to be fair?”
“Well, what’s the point? What’s the point of going to church and praying and doing right if nothing good is going to happen to you?”
“Baby, if you try to tally it up like that—you’ll never have peace or joy. You don’t get rewarded right away for good deeds. And every time something bad happens doesn’t mean God is out to get you.” Grandma rubs my back and I cry softer and softer, and peace comes over me like at the end of a rainstorm.
Grandma looks me in my eyes and says, “Now I know you haven’t baked in the kitchen for a while, but you do remember the main ingredients for a cake, don’t you?”
I really don’t feel like talking about her cookbook right now, but I say yes.
“And what are they?”
I sit back against my pillow and face Grandma. “Well, you need eggs, flour, and oil,” I tell her.
“Right,” Grandma says. “Now, tell me, would you ever eat a raw egg?”
“No, Grandma.” I have no idea why she is asking me this.
“Would you take a spoon and eat spoonfuls of flour? Or drink a cup of oil?”
I am grossed out just thinking about it. “Grandma, that’s nasty.”
“Exactly. Those things don’t taste good by themselves, do they?”
“No.”
“But what happens when you mix all those ingredients together and bake it in the oven?”
“It tastes good,” I answer.
Grandma smiles. “Real good if I’m baking it.” Then she takes my hands. “Serenity, baby, it’s the same way with life. The deaths of loved ones, friends hurting your feelings. There are all kinds of things that happen in life that don’t feel good. They’re just downright awful, but I know from experience that all those hard, hurtful things get combined with the good, joyful things and somehow the good outweighs the bad.” Grandma shifts her weight and makes herself more comfortable on my bed. “You know how many times I’ve cried in my life? So many I can’t count.” Grandma smiles. “But guess what? I can’t count the laughs either. I’ve had plenty of both,” Grandma says. “It’s been a tough year, Serenity, baby. I know. But it won’t always hurt this bad.”
Grandma lets go of my hands. “The next time you look at a cake with all that pretty frosting I want you think about what it took to get it to look that good.” She makes eye contact with me. “It’s the same with life. You never know what not-so-sweet things have happened in someone’s life—even the life you think is perfect. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes.”
Grandma stands up and walks to the door. “Now, I’m not going to make you talk to Ann, but if you don’t want to go back, you need to let me know so I can cancel it. Do you need to think about it before you make your final decision?”
“Yes,” I tell her.
“Okay. We’ll talk about it more tomorrow.” Grandma says good night and closes my door.
I change my clothes and get into bed. I can hardly sleep thinking about what Grandma said. I know my momma isn’t with me but right now it feels like she is. I hear her telling me, “I told you so.” And she did. When I was younger, Momma read me bedtime stories. I always wanted her to skip to the end so I could know what would happen. Especially if there was a scary scene. I wanted to make sure that the characters would be okay. Momma would say, “You can’t truly enjoy a happy ending if you skip through all the bad parts.”
FOR THINE IS THE KINGDOM
• • • • • • • • • • •
Serenity Evans
Mrs. Ross, 1st Period
Poetry Workshop
“A bird doesn’t sing because it has an
answer, it sings because it has a song.”
—Maya Angelou
Grandma and Erica are in the kitchen at the banquet hall talking about how time is flying. “April done rolled around here quick,” Grandma says. “I can’t believe your wedding is tomorrow.” Grandpa has been teasing Grandma that she’s more excited about Erica’s wedding than she was about her own.
The banquet hall is beautiful. We decorated all night while the wedding party rehearsed for tomorrow’s ceremony. Now that the rehearsal is over, we are having dinner to celebrate and so our family can spend time with Ivan’s family.
Grandma’s cooked a feast. I actually miss being in the kitchen, preparing the food and helping watch it. I asked Grandma if she needed any help, but by the time I asked, all the cooking was done. “But you can help me bring it out,” she says. “Here, take these trays out to the table, please.” Grandma points to the cheese, fruit, and vegetable trays she assembled. I take them out one at a time.
There are so many people here. Family from both sides and people who are in the wedding are lined up at the tables to fix their plates. I see faces that I do not recognize and some faces that have changed—more wrinkles, less hair.
The banquet hall is full of chatter and laughter and all kinds of noise. Babies are crying, music is playing. The gray-haired women sit at one table, reminding each other of how things used to be. Young girls sit across from them, at another table, talking about what they want to be.
Before we eat Grandpa says a prayer and Ivan’s father gives a toast. People go back for seconds and thirds. I am sitting with my cousins Michael and Brian. Danny has been hanging out with them when he’s not with Ivan. We are eating and talking when Erica comes over to the table. “I ate too much,” she says. “I need to go walk some of this off.” Erica rubs her stomach. “You want to come with me?”
“Okay.” I throw my paper plate in the garbage and follow Erica to the deck that wraps around the building.
As we walk out on the deck, the voices from inside fade and all I can hear is the calming water under us tickling and teasing the rocks by coming to the shore and going back again.
After we walk around for a while, Erica sits down on a bench. I sit beside her. “So how have you been?” she asks me in a voice that tells me she wants a real answer. Not the usual “I’m fine” response. She takes her sandals off and frees her manicured toes.
“I’m okay,” I tell Erica.
“You looking forward to starting high school?” she asks.
“I can’t wait,” I tell her.
“It goes by fast, so enjoy it. Don’t rush,” Erica says.
“That’s what Grandma says. I’m excited to get promoted from middle school, but part of me is scared too.”
“What are you scared of?” Erica asks me.
“My mom got pregnant with me her senior year in high school. When she graduated she felt pressured into marrying my dad.” I am quiet for a moment. I am staring out at th
e water, wondering what’s on the other side. “What if I make the same mistakes?”
“Your mother was more than her mistakes,” Erica says. “She was a beautiful, smart, kind woman.” Erica rests her back on the iron bench. “You know, your mom was the one who pushed me to do well in high school. She was always checking on me, making sure I was doing my best. And when I went away to college, I got really lonely. The work was hard and I wanted to come back home. Your mom encouraged me to stay in school.”
“I miss her so much,” I say. “Sometimes I feel like it’s all my fault.”
“Serenity, why? Why would you ever think that?”
“Because if I would have told what my dad was doing, how he was abusing her—maybe she could’ve gotten help.”
“Oh, Serenity, that’s such a big burden for you to carry.” Erica scoots in real close to me. “Lots of people knew about your mom. I know she thought she was keeping it from us, but we knew.”
“Really?”
“Well, we weren’t positive, but we definitely suspected it. My mom, Grandma, Uncle Brian, me—we all tried to talk your mom into leaving your dad.” Erica looks sad and I feel bad that she’s talking about this the day before her wedding. “I think we all feel responsible. Like maybe we didn’t try hard enough. We believed her lies too, I guess. She said she was okay and we believed her. But we all knew something wasn’t right.”
Erica takes a breath. “I think we expected her to come to us for help when she was ready. But some people are never ready. Sometimes they need someone to help them take the first step.”
I never thought about other people feeling responsible for what happened to my momma. I say to Erica, “It’s not your fault.” I know how tight-lipped my momma was about her business. She was stubborn and if she didn’t want something being discussed, it wasn’t going to be talked about. Period.
“It’s not your fault either,” Erica says. “Your parents made their own choices. There’s absolutely no excuse for what your father did.”
“Why do you think my momma stayed?”
“I think she was holding on to the person she met and wanted things to get back to that. It’s hard to leave someone you love. And he wasn’t always so angry,” Erica tells me. “Your dad was such a great person when your mom met him.”
“What happened?”
“Well, it’s complicated,” Erica tells me. “After he graduated, instead of going to college, he worked. Your mom was pregnant and he needed money,” Erica says. “It was hard in the beginning. And your dad wanted to be able to provide for his family, so he started hustling on the side. And—he—he just got caught up,” Erica explains. “And from what I know, all his father ever did was beat up on his mother,” she tells me. “I don’t think your dad knew what to do with his anger or with his disappointment. All he knew was what his father showed him. Sometimes you can’t be nothing more than what you see.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I tell Erica. The water under us continues to sway back and forth, making a steady rhythm, giving the birds a beat to sing to.
Erica gets real serious when she says this. “Serenity, your mom was a strong woman. Yes, she stayed too long with a man who abused her. But the day she died, she was standing up for herself. She was fighting for her children,” Erica says. “When you remember your mom, remember that. Remember that she stood up for herself.”
Erica puts her sandals back on. “And remember that you’ve got other women in this family to pull strength and wisdom from. You come from generations of strong, smart, brave women who have overcome great sadness and who have also had tremendous success. They left behind valuable gifts of wisdom to learn from.”
Above our heads a flock of birds rest in a tree singing, chirping, and talking to each other. The sky is changing colors and it’s chilly now that the sun is fading. “Your father had a choice to make. He decided not to change,” Erica says. “Don’t ever trick yourself into believing you’re out of options. You’ve always got choices to make.” Erica stands up and we start walking. “You are who you want to be,” she tells me.
We walk back to the reception hall. And I just have to say one more thing before we go in. I stop on the deck and lean against the banister. Couples from the banquet have come out and are walking hand in hand. “Erica, you know how you said some people need someone to help them take the first step?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What if I have a secret about someone who needs help taking the first step to get out of a bad situation?”
Erica says, “Serenity, you can’t keep carrying everyone’s burdens.”
I look out at the water. Now that it’s getting dark, the water looks like a bottle of black ink spilled on the ground.
“Is there something you need to tell me?” Erica asks.
I don’t say anything.
“Serenity—”
“I’m not supposed to say anything,” I tell Erica. “But I can’t keep it in anymore. If something happens to Maria, I don’t know what I’d do.”
“What’s going on with Maria?”
I tell Erica about Maria’s dad. I know Maria is going to hate me for this, but I also feel like I kept my promise. I swore I wouldn’t tell my grandparents. I didn’t say anything about my cousin.
Erica tells me, “I’ll figure something out.” And we come up with all kinds of options for Maria.
“She’s going to be all right, Serenity,” Erica says.
I hope so.
We walk back to the banquet hall. Voices circle around the room. Grandma’s laugh is the loudest. She is laughing at Natasha, my three-year-old cousin. The family is circled around Natasha and she is in the middle dancing to the music, performing for everyone. Soon everyone starts dancing. My uncle tries to show off his dance moves. His children look embarrassed, but I think it’s funny. I see Danny sitting next to Ivan, laughing hard and having a good time.
Grandma leaves the dance floor. “I need you again,” she tells me. I follow her to the kitchen. It’s time for the cake. She carefully places it in my hands and walks behind me, carrying extra jugs of punch. The cake is so pretty. It’s Erica’s favorite. A lemon cake with cream cheese frosting. It has Erica’s and Ivan’s names on it and there are flowers made out of frosting on the corner.
One of Ivan’s aunts cuts the cake in squares. She gives me a big, big piece. “That’s for helping,” she says. I take a bite. “How does it taste?”
“Good,” I tell her. And I think of Grandma and what she told me about cake. “Real good.”
AND THE POWER
• • • • • • • • • • •
Serenity Evans
Mrs. Ross, 1st Period
Poetry Workshop
“I rise.”
—Maya Angelou
I’ve asked Maria to come over after school. She has no idea what’s about to happen, and I feel bad—like I’m setting her up—but I know that if I told her that her mom was waiting at my house, she wouldn’t come.
As soon as we step on my block, Maria spots her mother’s car. And Erica’s. “Serenity, what’s going on? What did you do? What did you do?” She stops walking.
I take a deep breath. “Maria, Erica said you could stay with her if you needed to.” I say it real fast. It wasn’t the plan to just blurt it out like that, but I don’t know how else to say it.
Maria looks angry. Angry and confused. “Why would Erica say that?”
I answer, “Because I told her about your dad.”
“Serenity—”
“Maria, listen to me!” I yell. “I couldn’t let him hurt you and not say anything.” I don’t know where this new courage comes from. Maria doesn’t either. She is quiet for a change and lets me do the talking. “Wouldn’t you have done the same for me? If I was in trouble and needed help, wouldn’t you have helped me?”
Maria’s face is red.
“Your mom doesn’t know yet. She just knows that you need to talk with her. Erica and my grandma ar
e just there to support you, to help you.”
Maria starts to walk away.
I grab her hand. “Let me help you. Please,” I say. “Your dad shouldn’t get away with this. And if your mom doesn’t believe you, then you can stay with us or with Erica. But I’m not going to pretend like everything is fine and keep up this lie. You need to get out of your dad’s house.”
We walk to my house. I unlock the door and we step in. Erica, Grandma, and Isabel are sitting in the living room. Maria takes my hand. We sit down. I hold her hand while she tells her mother everything.
There are tears; there are apologies. And, thank God, there are promises made. Isabel holds Maria in her arms and says, “I wish you would have told me sooner. I’ll never let him touch you again.”
Grandma asks us to go to my room while the adults talk. When we get upstairs, Maria bursts into more tears.
“Don’t cry, Maria,” I say.
“These are good tears,” she tells me. She’s smiling and crying. “I can’t believe you did this for me.”
“I’d do anything for you,” I tell Maria. I did it for my momma too.
• • • • • • •
I step into Ann’s office feeling a little nervous. Grandma and I decided that it would be okay for me to take a break, so I haven’t been to see her for the past two weeks.
“Anything you want to talk about?” Ann asks.
“I’m sorry about skipping out on you,” I say.
“I understand. Sometimes it’s just too much, huh?”
“Yeah,” I say. “And I didn’t want to talk about what I’d done.”
“Do you want to talk about it now?”