The Blossoming Universe of Violet Diamond

by Brenda Woods

  “She’s a pretty thing, isn’t she? With that creamy brown complexion.”

  “And so intelligent, just like Warren. It’s a shame he died so young.”

  “A shame,” the other twin commented, and added, “I’ll never forget his hundred-watt smile that could light up a room.”

  “Wasn’t he always just as pleasant as could be?”

  “As could be,” she answered.

  “And from the time he could read, always had his nose in a book. Lord, Roxanne sure loved that child.”

  “His dying broke her.”

  “It did,” the other twin agreed.

  What does that mean? I wondered.

  “You think she looks half white?” one twin asked again. “I suppose when you consider how dark brown her daddy was . . .”

  “I know you’d better hush,” her sister replied.

  At that point I tiptoed to the bathroom, switched on the light, and closed the door. I got close to the mirror and stared at my reflection. Shy, shrinking Violet reappeared.

  To white people, I’m half black.

  To black people, I’m half white.

  50% black + 50% white = 100% Violet?

  Is that what I am, a percentage?

  32

  A DAY AT DISNEYLAND

  Somehow, Ahmed got himself invited to Disneyland. If anyone had asked me, I definitely would have said no, but no one did. Bibi thought it was a good idea because he could go on the rides with me.

  But as soon as we walked through the gates and into Disneyland, I didn’t care anymore. It really was a Magic Kingdom.

  “My auntie Roxanne takes me lots of special places whenever she’s in town. And she brings me stuff back from places she travels to all the time.”

  “Good for you.”

  Creature.

  For a few minutes or so, Ahmed shushed up. And then, the creature spoke as we strolled down Main Street U.S.A. with Bibi trailing us. “One thing I wanna ask you. How come you got a white girl name instead of a black girl name?”

  “You are so stupid. People can be named whatever they want.”

  “That so? I ain’t never met no black girl named Violet.”

  “Have you met every black girl in the world?” I asked.

  “Naw,” he answered.

  “So there. Plus, I’m not just black, in case you didn’t know.”

  “But you look black.”

  “On the outside maybe, but inside my DNA, I’m white, too.”

  That seemed to shut him up for a while. Just a while.

  “That place where you stay, it’s mostly white, huh?”

  “Moon Lake? Mostly.”

  Ahmed smirked. “What kinda joke name is that for a city, Moon Lake? You from outer space or somethin’?”

  Why do I have to be with this annoying person all day long?

  Lucky for me, Bibi must have heard him, because she yanked him by his collar and whispered something in his ear. I don’t know what she said to him, but he got quiet.

  Bibi took my hand, and with Ahmed beside us, we headed to Fantasyland.

  We stayed at Disneyland until the nighttime fireworks show. My eyes were on the explosions of colored light in the sky when Ahmed asked Bibi, “Auntie Roxanne, remember that time you took me clear to New York City, just me and you?”

  “Yep,” she replied.

  Ahmed turned to me and sneered. “We sure had a whole buncha fun, huh? Just me and you,” he repeated.

  Bibi grinned. “Yep, Ahmed. We sure did.”

  New York City, hmm? How many other trips have I missed out on?

  • • •

  On the drive back to Los Angeles, Bibi seemed tired.

  “Thank you for taking me to Disneyland, Bibi. I always wanted to go there,” I told her after we’d dropped off Ahmed and were finally alone.

  “You’re welcome, pickle.”

  “Pickle?”

  “I’m sorry . . . it’s what I used to call your daddy when he was little.”

  “Why’d you call him that?”

  “That boy loved him some pickles, sour ones, sweet ones . . . didn’t matter.”

  “Guess what? So do I,” I told her.

  Bibi grinned from ear to ear.

  You would have figured that after all of that walking around Disneyland, I would have been so tired that as soon as I climbed into bed I would have conked off to sleep, but I didn’t. Instead, I thought about Bibi and how I liked it best when it was just the two of us, like when we were cooking and listening to Nina Simone records.

  Gam and Poppy I had to share, not only with Daisy but with their other grandchildren and my mom and my mom’s sister and brother.

  I’d just opened up a book to read when a gentle knock on my door cracked it open. “Are you asleep?” Bibi asked.

  “Nope,” I replied.

  “Thought I’d give you a kiss good night and tuck you in. You’re not too old for that, are you?”

  I sat up in bed. “Not.”

  Even though Daisy claimed Bibi as her grandmother, too, and Ahmed seemed to want to own her as well, right then Bibi was all mine. And about that—I was glad.

  33

  HOLLYWOOD

  The next morning, Bibi and I both slept in. “Gonna be a hot one,” she said as we lounged on the back patio, her drinking coffee with cream, me chomping Cheerios. “So what’s on our agenda today, V?” Bibi looked tired, and dark circles that looked like half-moons hung under her eyes.

  “We could just hang out here, if you want, and you could teach me how to paint.”

  “Didn’t you want to go to Hollywood?”

  “I did, but we don’t have to if you’re tired,” I told her.

  “How about painting tomorrow? I have a hankering to take you to Hollywood today . . . can’t come to Los Angeles without going to Hollywood.”

  I made a wish, then asked, “Is Ahmed coming with us?”

  “No,” Bibi replied.

  Good.

  I got dressed in a hurry, but Bibi was a slowpoke, and when I passed her room, she was sitting at her vanity, staring at her reflection, tying a scarf around her dreadlocks. In her bathroom, the shower was turned on, sending steam through the half-open door.

  “Can I come in?” I asked.

  She smiled. “Of course, Violet.”

  Beside the vanity was a tall jewelry box with six drawers, one of which was open. “Can I look?” I asked.

  Bibi nodded. “It’s mostly inexpensive. Trinkets from my travels. If you see something you like, it’s yours.”

  She swept my hair back, fingered one of my pierced earlobes, and asked, “Why don’t you pick out some earrings? I have some very pretty studs.” She picked out a green pair. “You have a beautiful complexion. These emeralds would look good on you.”

  “I barely wear earrings. My ears are way too big. Plus, the way I wear my hair, no one would see them.”

  “You have lovely ears, Violet. Besides, in some cultures, large ears are prized possessions. Pick out anything you want,” she replied, and headed to the bathroom.

  “Even the emeralds?”

  “Even the emeralds,” she replied. “Just a quick shower,” Bibi said as she entered the fogged-up room and closed the door.

  I was betting she had all kinds of cool, interesting stuff, and I was right. Rings, old wind-up watches, a ton of earrings—some with no mates—brooches, bracelets, and chains. You name it. I opened one drawer, then another, trying on pair after pair of earrings, slipping rings on and off my fingers. Stuck in the side of one of the pillowed drawers, something caught my eye. It looked like a ring. I tried digging it out with my baby finger but couldn’t, so I took a bobby pin from Bibi’s dresser and finally pried it out. It was a gold ring, and I held it to the window, studying it closely, wondering
if the stones, which looked like diamonds, were real or fake. There were supposed to be three stones, but the one in the middle was gone. I put the ring on my finger and admired the jewels as they glistened in the light.

  Seconds later, when Bibi came out of the bathroom, I asked her, “Are these real diamonds? They kind of look like it. I did a report on diamonds this year.” I held up the ring for her to see.

  Bibi’s eyes got big. “Where did you find it? I looked for it everywhere.”

  “It was stuck down in the side of one of the drawers and I had to dig it out.” I slid the ring off my finger and gave it to her. “Are they real diamonds?”

  “Yes, they’re real,” she answered as she clasped the ring with both hands and sat down on the foot of the bed. She had a strange look on her face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. I thought it was gone forever.” Bibi had tears in her eyes.

  I plopped beside her. “Was it a present from your husband?”

  “No, your daddy gave it to me one Mother’s Day. Told me the three diamonds represented him, his father, and me. Get it, the three Diamonds.”

  “But one is gone.”

  “Fell out years ago, not long after your father died. I took it off one day, promising myself I was going to fix it, but then I never could find it.” Bibi wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “Thank you.”

  I grinned big. “You’re welcome . . . can we go to Hollywood now?”

  • • •

  We were lucky enough to find parking near Hollywood and Vine and strolled the Walk of Fame to Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. I took lots of photos with my digital camera, and Bibi had hers, too. Over and over she asked people to take pictures of the two of us, and in every single one we were both smiling and happy.

  “Y’all sure look alike,” one lady who took our picture commented.

  Bibi’s face lit up like a lightbulb. “She’s my granddaughter. Isn’t she beautiful?”

  Beautiful, me?

  Bibi squeezed my hand.

  In Madame Tussauds Wax Museum, where the replicas of people looked too real, Bibi took pictures of me with the wax figures.

  “Freaky, huh?” I asked.

  “Lifelike,” she replied.

  “Did you ever do sculptures of people?” I asked.

  “I haven’t for a very long time.”

  “Could you do one of me, please?” I begged.

  “How about a painting? I’m better at that,” she offered.

  “A painting would be okay, too. Thanks.”

  From the wax museum we headed to the Hard Rock Cafe for lunch and afterward went to the Babylon Courtyard at Hollywood and Highland and took the escalators up to the viewing bridge to check out the Hollywood sign.

  “Take a picture of me with the sign in the background, Bibi. I promised Daisy.” I put on my sunglasses and posed. Snap.

  Through a coin-operated telescope, I got a really close look at the Hollywood sign.

  “What’s it like to be famous?” I asked her as I gazed through the lens.

  “I’m only famous in the art world, Violet. It’s not the same as being a movie star,” she explained.

  “Oh. What’s your favorite movie?” I asked.

  “Dunno. Have a long list of favorites.”

  “C’mon, pick one.”

  Bibi gazed away into the sky. “Lilies of the Field, with Sidney Poitier,” she answered.

  “I never heard of that. What’s it about?” I asked.

  “A very good man. A man as good as your grandfather was.”

  My grandfather. I’d seen his pictures, but I knew almost nothing about him. “What was his name?”

  “Moses. Moses Diamond.”

  “What kind of job did he have?”

  “Got his degree from Prairie View College in electrical engineering, but back then, he couldn’t find work as an engineer, so he set up his own business as an electrician,” she told me.

  “Where’s Prairie View College?” I asked her.

  “It’s an African American college in Texas,” Bibi replied.

  “Lilies of the Field . . . can we rent that movie?”

  Bibi smiled. “Sure thing, little sweet.”

  Little sweet?

  Later, on the way home, as we sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic, Bibi proclaimed that taking La Brea Avenue at that time of day was a big mistake. “I should have known better.”

  I didn’t care. I’d had a bunch of fun in my life, but this was one of the best times ever!

  34

  THE MISSING DIAMOND

  The next day, we had a lazy morning, but in the afternoon we headed to a section of Downtown Los Angeles Bibi called the Jewelry District. Shop after shop window displayed bracelets, necklaces, rings, and other sparkly things. “Are we here to fix the ring?” I asked as we went into one of the stores.

  Bibi held out her hand and flashed the ring. “Yes, indeed, time to replace that stone.”

  “Diamonds are expensive, huh?” I asked as I scanned the store jewelry cases.

  “Yes, they’re precious.”

  “You can find them in two kinds of volcanic rocks, and the word diamond comes from a Greek word, adamas. There’s no mineral on Earth that’s harder, and they even use them to cut other jewels.”

  Bibi patted my cheek softly as a feather. “My, the things you know!”

  “Can I help you?” a man asked Bibi from behind the counter.

  “Yes,” she replied, then took off her ring and held it out for the man to see. “One of the diamonds is missing. Can you replace it?”

  The man studied the ring, and when he and Bibi started to talk, I asked if I could look around. “Yes, but stay inside the store, V.”

  I went from case to case in the huge store, imagining I owned all the pretty things, occasionally glancing over at Bibi. She and the man were having a long conversation.

  After what felt like an hour, I watched as she paid the man with her credit card. “C’mon, Violet, let’s go,” she said.

  “Did you get it fixed already?” I asked.

  Bibi held her hand up for me to see and we both admired it. All three diamonds glistened, but even though Bibi was smiling, tears made water wells inside her eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Nothing’s wrong . . . nothing at all.” Bibi embraced me and stroked my hair. “My Diamond’s not missing anymore.”

  I didn’t have to ask what she meant. I knew she was talking about me. Her hug was long and made me feel like I was important in her life.

  “I love you,” Bibi whispered.

  What should I say?

  Should I tell her I love her, too?

  I like her and she’s nice, but . . .

  “Thank you,” I replied.

  • • •

  On the way home, we stopped at a bakery. Fancy cakes filled the display. “Which one do you want, Violet?” Bibi asked.

  “Any one?” I eyed the cakes. “Red velvet with cream cheese frosting.”

  “We’ll take it. And can you write ‘Happy Birthday Violet’ on it?” she asked the woman behind the counter. “And do you have candles?”

  I tugged her sleeve. “It’s not my birthday, Bibi,” I said quietly.

  “For every birthday I missed,” she replied. Love shone from her.

  And that night, after we’d eaten chili dogs with pickles and shredded cheese, Bibi brought out the cake, lit eleven candles, and sang the birthday song. The diamond ring on her finger caught the light and glimmered.

  35

  THE MASHED POTATOES

  Since I’d gotten to Los Angeles, I’d mailed the postcards and been sending Mom and Daisy daily e-mails, but that night, because I’d started missing them, I asked if I could call. Bibi said, “Of cours
e.”

  “I went to the Hollywood sign,” I bragged to Daisy.

  “The Hollywood sign? You brat,” she said playfully.

  In the background, I heard Wyatt yell, “Viva la Hollyweird!”

  He is so strangely odd!

  “Can I talk to Mom?” I asked.

  “Hey, Mom! The world traveler’s on the line! Pick up, please!” D hollered.

  “Hello, V.” The sound of Mom’s voice was better than dessert.

  “Hi, Mom,” I replied, and rattled off the events of the day.

  “Sounds like you’re having a great time.”

  “I am . . . and I met some of my dad’s cousins, and Bibi’s Sisters in the Lord at church—”

  Mom interrupted, “Bibi? Who’s Bibi?”

  “Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. Bibi is what I call Roxanne. It means ‘grandmother’ in Swahili. I like it, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I like it.” I pictured the smile I knew was on Mom’s face.

  “And like I told you yesterday,” I rattled on, “Disneyland was fun except for Ahmed, plus I’ve been taking lots of pictures . . . Is Hazel okay?”

  Mom giggled. “Hazel is fine.”

  “Thanks for taking care of her for me.”

  “You’re welcome, sweetie pie. What do you two have planned for tomorrow?” Mom asked.

  “Bibi is going to teach me how to paint, but I don’t think it’s something I can learn in just a day . . . Are Gam and Poppy okay, too?”

  “They miss you.”

  I asked to talk to them, but Mom told me they’d gone to the movies.

  “Well, make sure they know I’ll be home on Saturday. Are you all coming to the airport like you said?” I asked.

  “Yes, and D’s been nagging me to go to Serious Pie, so we’re going there afterward.”

  “Cool and awesome . . . and one last thing. Bibi is flying back to Seattle with me because she wants to keep me company. She already bought her ticket. I just wanted you to know. Do you think she can go to Serious Pie with us?”

  “Fine by me,” Mom replied.

  “Okay. See you on Saturday. Bye.”