Welcome My Name is Ruby

Welcome My Name Is Ruby These folks, I think they think they can fool me by puttin baby books on the bed but I know a pubic hair when I seen one and I seen one again today on the sheet when I pull the blanket back. I likes too how someone fold down the bedspread on this one side only, sneaky see, and stack the pillows on the same side like it was only one of em readin there or sleepin there and then they got up. But this room, it smells like sex and yesterday was Thursday and Thursday is every other day, and every other day since they checked in a week ago this bedroom is this way, and every other day it's not. Fact, this bedroom ain't even occupied when I thinks about it. They sleep upstairs with the little girl in the portacrib in their room, the little boy's across the hall in the other bedroom, so this has to be their sexin room as I see it, otherwise what's a curly hair doin in bed if you're readin stories to babies right, unless you're doin wrong by babies? And I don't think that's what they doin, no.

They seem like nicer white folks who got money but not so much cause they don't seem to know what to do or how to act with me around, fixin their beds and washin their clothes and foldin their laundry and doin dishes by hand, this rental's old dishwasher just won't clean glass clean. You can see it on their sunburn faces, especially the man, he don't much like to look at me, white folks uncomfortable with a black woman in uniform tendin to them and I know they thinkin: I didn't ask for no slave, just a lovely all clusive rental house on the beach for two glorious weeks in paradise.

Why I say that they got money but not so much is cause I know that look on white faces, like guilt like in the Bible, the sins of the father become the sins of the son. I don't see it much on whites who really rich cause they don't even see you, they

don't even see my nametag Welcome My Name Is Ruby. With them you just like another piece a furniture, cause they got the same furniture workin for them at home or in their office or wherever. In particular white teenage boys that got a lotta money, they can look right through you even if you standin square in front of em, so as to see out the window to the beach and some chicky walkin by.

Cept that white boy last month. Now he looked me right square in these old grey bloodyshot eyes when I opened this bedroom door and he was kneelin on this same mattress, straddlin like he was ridin a stallion my black young Grenadine man who bussed tables at the restaurant, they both whip their heads aroun like the gates a hell parted when I opened that door and me like Lucifer standin in the doorway.

That white boy, he didn't look through me then like he done before, he saw me good and square and it was the first time since he came into my house fo sure. I knocked, I know I knocked, I musta cause I just closed that door without makin a sound and that family checked out four days later and I kept my job, the boy kept his job too, but he since quit I think, I don't see him around no more.

You learn a lot about human beins when they live in your house. This family, they like snacks like I like snacks. They snack all day, candy wrappers and soda pop and three different bags a snackie chips in the frigerator, the mother learned quick after a day open in the cupboard if you wanna keep food from stalin in this humidity, you frigerate it, so that's how I deduce they must be from the north. The wife she younger than the man by ten years I'd say and she babies them babies, they walk all over her skinny ass, the five or six year old most of all and even the girl, she not even three and a what a whiner. But beautiful, just a beautiful white child with bluest blue eyes. They drink pricey alcohol and a lot of it the way them bottles empty each day,

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fancy names I ain't familiar with, but I recognize the words vodka and rum in my life, that tells you somethin. Same with launderin clothes, you learn more than you can begin to wanna know when you turn a stranger's underwear back outside out or smell their smell.

All of it, you learn about their soul.

What these folks are mostly are indifferent, you ask me, and by that of course I mean these parents. Spend nine to two with people every day like I do here in my house, Saturdays and Sundays too, the roles kinda reverse after a certain while, my estimate is four days, and you see through them just as clear as they see through you.

It's like they get naked, they all become naked, some it takes longer than others but eventually there it is, stripped away, their bare soul. Now these guests grant you, they willing to acknowledge me but not too much, kinda howdy how are ya that's it gotta go now Ruby, so that tells me what I observe earlier about money, and maybe other circumstance, too, like they been humbled some in their lifetime or maybe they have some Jesus light in em. But washin their dirty plates like I do, by hand at the sink, or wipin their table clean or pickin up their wet towels or sweaty tee shirts off the floor, between it all you see them for real, the man sittin at a computer too much and the lady sunnin too much, while the girl watches TV too much and the boy is in his room with the door closed playin video somethin too much. At least that's how Ruby sees it when I look at em and then outside to that gorgeous stretch a Carolina beach they ignore that God hisself personally came down and traced outa sand with his almighty artist finger. They don't know what they missin and one day it be too late.

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I never got to go to no beach, not that I remember or that Mama ever told me. My daddy died when I was six years old. We lived in Detroit then. When Roy come to live with us I shoulda asked, he had a good job at the auto plant and he was kind to us. But then his cousin Oz come poker playin one Friday night and shushed into my room and climbed his drunk ass on top of me, and I smell his man sex and told him get away and the bedroom door swung open and Oz's Lucifer, Roy, he was standin in my doorway the hall light behind him like the shadow of death. Only they sent Roy to prison for manslaughter and Mama, she never forgave me for takin away her man. Eleven years old, I barely had boobs and Oz wasn't her man.

So yes, I knows a sexin bed when I see one and these people, well, they ain't foolin me, they foolin themselves.

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Shoebox Size Eight I don't remember nothin bout my daddy cept for the pictures and I ain't got many a those. This one he on some pier somewhere with three brothers laughin, his boat I would think is on the left with them cannons kinda stickin out behind the one fella's head. Did you know the day I was borned into this world, August the sixth, 1945, is the same day we drop the mushroom bomb on Japan? I know it for a fact cause Daddy was a lonngg way from Detroit when I come, on that boat fightin the Japanese cookin mess. Daddy sure was a handsome man in his sailor whites, gentle smooth skin black as oil and a smile that lit up his whole face. I like this picture in particular, it got scalloped white edges and it's kinda yellow and it's cracked this way and that, across Daddy's knees then up zig zaggy through the face of the shorter man on his right, I guess that be his left facin the camera. They all got their arms round one another and they look giddy. I don't know when it was taken, before I was borned or after, but I like to think after cause that's why Daddy's so happy, that he comin home to me and Mama. Or that he alive.

This picture a him with his hand slipped tight round Mama's slim hips in front of the Christmas tree, you can see the love and the sex just how he hold her.

His other arm, the one round Mammie, now that hand you can't see like his other cause she too big to reach, Ansel and his two girls the handwritin on the back say, musta been when I was conceived cause Daddy got on his uniform here too. The months would be right about then. There's the ass end of a little white dog with its tail curlied up at Mammie's feet, that's all you can see a the dog, funny ain't it?

There's also somethin like a shadow, dark and round in this upper right corner, that I

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presume is my Grampa's finger in the way. They look happy and young. You can see how much they in love.

Here is a picture inside the restaurant they owned, that's Mama behind the counter. It was called Dollie's Kitchen after my Mammie Dollie who was Daddy's mama who was in the Christmas picture I just told you. Daddy's in the kitchen. You can see it ain't too big a place but you can also see there's lotsa patrons. Odds are I was crawlin at Mama's feet cause she's lookin down and she must be sayin somethin or correctin me cause her mouth is open. All you see a Daddy is the back a his head, he's the man wearin that poofy white hat that look like a shower cap. I most like this picture for this woman at this two top in her white polka dot dress, how graceful she crossin her leg and her hair all swep up and the way she holdin her cigaret, it's like Billie Holiday stopped in for lunch.

This picture's one a my favorites cause I'm sittin on Daddy's lap, I look tired and he's huggin me. I presume we at a picnic, perhaps a church social as Daddy's in a white shirt and loosed tie and sleeves rolled up casual, and that me up on his lap in a puffy dress and him sittin on a picnic table. Mama use to love Jesus, she was soprano in the choir and a beautiful gift a God voice, but years later she wind up hatin him and never go to worship again. Look how he holds his girl, I probably three years old, it look like he protectin me. That's Mama pregnant behind us with Ruthie about to come out. See the shadow in the corner, Grampa musta taken this.

Oh, here's when I turned five years old. We at the kitchen table in our house.

Mama made me that cake, she baked all the cakes and pies for the restaurant, she was a baker dee-luxe. It look like me and Ruthie are gonna fight over who gonna blow out those candles. I don't know who took the picture cause there's just a couple

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grownup bodies in the back and you can't see no faces, cept that I'm pretty certain Grampa's dead cause it would be about now and there ain't no more pictures with his thumb or finger in em. It's hard to believe it been forty-five years to the day that I been alive. Sweet Jesus, that's longer'n Mama or Daddy or Ruth walk this earth.

This was our house from the outside. That's me there sillyin on one leg on the sidewalk. It must be summer. I can't read the numbers but I remember, twelve sixty. We lived kitty corner from Mammie and Grampa across the street, they were twelve sixty seven. That window to the right a the front door was my bedroom, then me and Ruth's. I remember I useta stand on my bed an look out my window to see if I could see Mammie and Grampa. Sometimes he'd call on the telephone and tell me to go to the window and when I did there he be, his face to the glass, wavin at me.

Your mama and daddy must a been rich.

Why you say that? I don't think so. I remember they jus worked hard.

They owned a house and that ain't cheap, there's the down payment alone.

I don't know. I never owned a house. Stop.

And they owned a restaurant too? You was rich, baby.

We was not rich and would you politely stop toyin with that?

But it's your birthday.

Yes it is, so stop it. Thank you. Oh look, here's a picture a Mama and Daddy's gettin married runnin from the rice. She was so beautiful wasn't she? Lookit that dress, she look like a black Missus Jackie Kennedy with her hair curled up that way comin outa that veil, don't she? Grampa took this.

They rich, that's a fancy weddin dress and your daddy got a tuxedo.

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My Grampa own a liquor store, maybe Jesus bless my family, so what? Mama and Daddy, they both graduate high school, they sweethearts, after which Daddy go to war, that was before me, kinda, and then after me, kinda, and when he come back they work every day, at least is all I know. Besides there ain't no money left, just look around. My goodness, all the snow piled up in this one -What's this?

Gimme that.

This a picture a your daddy's face in the newspaper ain't it?

Gimme that.

No, lemme read.

Stop it, gimme.

Man killed in restaurant robbery. Your daddy was shot?

Please gimme that! Who invited you here?

I'm sorry Ruby. Here's your picture. You invite me, remember? You spill that beer, remember? I ain't never had no woman wipe my lap -Now I wish I wouldn't. I never done this with, not like, shame on me, Sweet Jesus ya hadda find that.

You wish you wouldn't? You hurt my feelings.

I whorin jus like Mama did, I'm sorry Daddy.

Whore, why you say that? We jus havin fun.

I don't wanna talk about it all no more. What're you lookin at? Stop lookin at my saggy boobs.

I'm lookin at a beautiful, beautiful work a art.

I don't believe you, you jus pillow talkin.

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Here, let go that shoebox, I'll put it over here on the nightstand.

No, they my pictures. You leave it alone.

C'mere now, and don't you cry no more Ruby. It's okay, it was a fine present I gave you wasn't it?

Wouldjya hold me?

Baby I'll do more than hold you, you a beautiful woman and they ain't saggy.

Holdin is jus fine. Please.

But it's your birthday honey and Franklin's got a lotta gifts left to give. I'll let you blow out my candle.

I gotta go to work. Must you talk that way?

You said you work at midnight, we got two hours baby.

I wish -Two more hours it's your birthday baby, lemme sing you happy birthday.

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The Love of God How I most remembers the Reverend Cartier J. Trumane is the enormous size a his hands. I was thirteen years old. We was livin in Tampa Florida then. The year was 1958. My Aunt Nattie come get us all the ways in Detroit in her station wagon after our flat burn down and we sleep in a shelter for a week. That was the last time I seen Detroit, never went back and I don't ever wanna, on my knees lookin out that big back station wagon window, we was far away but you could still see the tall office buildings and thunder clouds hangin over the city like smolderin smoke.

Aunt Nattie was a nurse at a VA hospital, that stands for Veteran Administration. She was older than Mama by two years and got a diploma from college. She the only person in our family ever go to college. Mama, she was smart as Aunt Nattie but she marry Daddy outta high school and went to work at the restaurant until, well, until Daddy got shot. I think that's when Mama walk away from the church, it was Baptists, though I was so young I don't remember really.

Then came Roy, but he went to prison when he saved me by killin Oz, that been almost two years now, and thereafter is my guess when Mama stop believin in the Lord Jesus altogether, though at the time all I knowed was boozin and cryin and yellin at Ruthie'n me. I know today as a woman where that bitterness come from but as a chile, of course, you think it you. Thessalonians teaches we to always be thankful no matter what, that whatever come is God's will for our life, so maybe in her heart Mama never had real, Holy Spirit faith cause she lose it so quick. What I ain't ever understood however is why she lose her purpose. Weren't me and Ruthie purpose?

Aunt Nattie took us in. She had a extra bedroom in her house which was Isaiah's, so I guess it weren't extra really, cause Isaiah he hadda go sleep with baby 10

Ephraim thereafter. I doubt today as an adult that Uncle Sewell was joyed at sharin his home with his sister-law and kids, but he never said nothin that I heared, and he always had a big hug for Ruthie'n me whenever we needed it, which was often then as I recall.

We all lived in their one story yella house on 28th Avenue and Lexington Street. It was a old neighborhood in the black part, long potholed streets lined with cinder block houses, pretty much every one dentical cept for what color, with little front yards that was mostly dirty white sand and clumps a that scraggly Florida grass or whatever it is. Some had flowers in the front, some bushes. A lot a them was dried up dead, like a desert. A few lucky houses had big old trees. The sidewalk was broken in many places, sometimes chunks was missin you could twist a ankle in. Most of all I remember it bein hot. It was summer when we come and it was hot in the days, white hot like to blind you, but when you felt it most of all was nighttime, when you tryin to sleep but the air don't move, and there's bodies sticky nexta you, like Mama and Ruthie and me was on this queen size mattress bought special for us. Sometimes I'd roll off and put my pillow on the floor, feel that cool floor on my sweaty skin and fall asleep right there, hard and uncomfortable as that floor was. That's what I remember too, that cool.

Our back yard had a chain link fence round it. Behind us live this tiny nasty black'n white little dog. We come out to play, that dog'd jump up and tear right after us, all ferocious nasty barkin like to eat you alive, till it run outta chain and snap! it head go back. At first I was afraid but then after I sees that it could only get so far, I'd brave up to that fence once in a while to see if it calm down once it got to know me. It never did. It was just mean.

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We had a little block patio with weeds growin between the blocks. Uncle Sewell had a barbecue grill that I recall he liked to stand over, I picture this large man lookin down into smoke. There was a old white picnic table that needed paint. Next to the patio was a little round yellow inflatable baby pool. Every mornin Aunt Nattie would step her bare foot down on one a them yellow inflatable sides, let the dirty water drain, rinse it clean with the hose and filler up again. There weren't much room left when the four a us kids all got in that pool, but I remember it happy. Most of all I remember sittin in that warm water splashin with little Ephraim, the boy was always naked. Once in a while he'd poop an we all hadda get out, and Aunt Natttie'd hafta start over.

Uncle Sewell worked at a Bentmann's nearby on 14th Avenue, that's a grocery store. He was a butcher. He went to work early cause he always be gone when I would wake up. Every afternoon the station wagon pull into the driveway, and just a few minutes later it be gone again, Aunt Nattie off in her ironed white uniform to the second shift at the hospital.

Mama never got outta bed much them first weeks. I think she decided she just didn't wanna get up no more, you could see it in her eyes, like there was nothin left inside. I knew it wasn't the rum cause Aunt Nattie warn her when she pick us up in Detroit, right there in front of Salvation Army before we drive away, there'd be no more a that, and I knew it wasn't whorin that was makin her tired cause Mama didn't go out at night like she useta, leavin Ruthie an me alone in the flat. Of course there was Uncle Sewell now to keep an eye on all a us too, sittin in his recline chair in the front room listenin to this new kinda music that he liked so much on the black radio.

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Me bein the oldest, Uncle Sewell soon made me his helper girl. It was my task to put Ephraim down in his crib after Uncle Sewell pin his diaper, then I'd help him give Isaiah and Ruthie their bath. As they was only a year apart, Ruthie was eight then, they was pretty big to share a tub and mosta the water wound up on the floor.

Every night Uncle Sewell would remind em to keep the water in, and every night after I put a towel to Ruthie I'd mop up that floor. Following they got underwear on before we'd all go into the boys' room to say prayers, which would commence only when Isaiah finally settle down in his bed. I remember Uncle Sewell would pray for each a us by name, for angels to watch over us, Mama and Aunt Nattie too. Mama never heard those prayers. Every night when I walked Ruthie into our bedroom down the hall, she had already given up on the day and was curled in a ball asleep.

That lasted about three weeks, I believe. All of what transpired thereafter started the first Sunday in September, the Labor Day holiday, which was also the first weekend since we in Florida that Aunt Nattie didn't volunteer for double shift at the hospital to earn back what she lost when she take the week off to come get us, which is the reason altogether everything that happen happened.

Bein a pious Christian woman, and Sunday bein the Lord's day a worship, Aunt Nattie let it be known Saturday night that we was all goin to church, and that this included Mama. I remember sittin at the picnic table, watchin and waitin for Mama to laugh derisive or utter profanity or jus go off to sleep. Instead she jus push her vanilla ice cream around with a fork, which had melted into a thick puddle aside the cake she hadn't eaten either. There ain't no ifs ands or buts about it when it come to your sister and church, Uncle Sewell tell Mama when Aunt Nattie gone inside with dirty plates. You know that. I know that. Then Uncle Sewell, he was sittin across

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from Mama, he kinda leaned closer. Now you do this tomorrow, he says in a way like there ain't no question. Understand me, Florence?

So Sunday morning I wake up, and Mama ain't in bed with us. My natural instinct is to quick look for Ruthie. One night when Mama didn't come home in Detroit, Ruthie had got up before me, somehow undone the locks and was already two flights down headed for the streets before I found her. She wanted Mama. But thank God we wasn't in Detroit, and thank God there was Ruthie too, still asleep on our mattress, cuddlin her snuggle bear.

It's amazing how quick one's mind can go off in a panic. I musta sat up in that bed a minute feelin my heart pound in my chest, graspin for air like I been runnin, when the door opened and in walk Mama. She flipped the light switch on the wall, looked at us, then walked away, didn't say good morning or nothin. I seen that she was already dressed up, a navy blue skirt and pale blouse that I later learned Aunt Nattie had bought her. She left the faint sweet odor a Aunt Nattie's perfume in the room.

Love of God Christian Church was about a ten-minute ride. I got to sit in the front, between Uncle Sewell an Aunt Nattie, who was bouncin baby Ephraim on her lap. Fact, it was the first time all of us was in the car together as I could recall. I turned round to look at Mama only once, when Aunt Nattie discipline Ruthie and Isaiah for jumpin like maniacs in the back seat. She was starin out the window like she was admirin the weather, however she didn't look happy at all. She paid no mind to the bouncin children or their admonishment.

I guess not having been in no church in my chilehood's memory, I pictured that we was gonna pull up to this large, beautiful building with a tall, white steeple

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that would reach way up to the sky, bells ringin and choirs singin and all that. Instead Uncle Sewell turned the Dodge into what look like a old hardware store or some kinda fix-it place, with big plate glass windows all across the street front. Above them windows, mounted over the door, was a hand-painted, black and white sign that spell «Love Of God Christian Church» with a fancy cross. In smaller letters below were the words «Reverend Cartier J. Trumane» on the left, and «Sunday 10:00» on the right.

We walked in, and that's when my life changed forever.

The place was full up with nice-dress folks, sittin close in row after row a old gray folding chairs. It was very warm and stuffy. The men all wear ties and a lotta ladies wore pretty hats. I seen many children too. Lotsa people was fannin themselves with the paper programs they got when they come in. There was this kinda low hushed excitement that I could feel. Somewhere was a piano playin softly.

Up front in the center I could see a table, draped with white cloth, which I would come to know was a altar, upon which was candles and flowers and a tall, shiny brass cross. Then the music stopped and the room fell silent.

I was sittin at the end of our row, which was near the back, nexta the center aisle. Mama was aside me, aside her was Aunt Nattie, holdin Ephraim, then the cousins gigglin, then Uncle Sewell way down shushin them best he could. Suddenly the piano took up again, this time bangin out a up-tempo Gospel song like I heard the other night on Uncle Sewell's radio. Folks began to clap in time to the music.

The Reverend Cartier J. Trumane enter from the rear a the church. Even at thirteen years, I could tell he was a powerful good lookin man. He wore a flowin black robe that shined like silk drapes. He traveled slowly, helloin people with a smile or a nod,

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sometimes pausin to shake a hand, which he did with my Aunt Nattie. That was the first time I noticed the huge size a his hands, when he reach across me into our aisle and place em both around her slender right wrist. He did the same to Mama, then touched Ephraim's little head and my head, too. He had a beautiful, radiant smile. I reckon he hadda be bout the same as Mama's age, which'd make him thirty-two years or so. When I happen to glance over at her, she wasn't starin off into space no more like the ride over, or the last three lousy weeks or, Sweet Jesus, years for that matter.

She was sittin up, eyeballin that preacher as he work his way toward the altar. When Aunt Nattie whispered in Mama's ear, they both laughed quiet in that, I don't know, lusty adult way that kids my age somehow knew was sex talk. It made me feel funny.

When Reverend Trumane reached the altar, he turned to face his gathering and smiled that beautiful smile again for all a us to enjoy. He raised his large hands.

The piano stopped.

Good morning, he proclaimed with great enthusiasm.

Good morning, the people responded.

This is the day that the Lord has made, he exclaimed.

A number a voices shouted hallelujah.

Let us rejoice and be glad, he sang in a jazzy soulful way.

Amen, folks agreed. My Aunt Nattie agreed.

What time you're born again a chile a God, how do you explain it? I can't. I don't know if I was born again in our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ that first time I hear Cartier J. Trumane preach, or durin his Bible studies that Mama and I attended the weeks thereafter, or when he led me and Mama and them others to Hillsborough River Park that glorious Sunday mornin in October to immerse me in my eternal

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salvation. I only knows the Bible says that all any a us gotta do is open our heart to receive his promise, and the Holy Spirit do the rest. That's why I still pray for Mama's soul, God rest it, and sometimes when I think it for Reverend Trumane.

What one a them done, and nobody'll ever know fo sure who done what, it weren't the Holy Spirit at work, not what I been taught.

According to Mama, Reverend Trumane put his large hands on her.

According to Reverend Trumane, it was Mama that throw herself at him.

The only thing everyone agree on, it happen on a Saturday.

I wanna believe my Mama for a lotta reasons, most a all cause she my Mama.

I wanna believe she'd really become a different woman, a Christian woman. I wanna believe she truly was borned again. I wanna believe she ask Uncle Sewell to get her a part-time cashier job at Bentmann's cause she believe in herself again, or in life again, like she hadn't since Roy. I wanna believe she volunteer every third Saturday afternoon to help set up church for Sunday mornin cause that's God's work, too, and God bless her to find joy and purpose in it. I wanna believe that she loved me and Ruthie. I wanna believe our life woulda been better. I wanna believe her when she plead with Uncle Sewell and Aunt Nattie that awful Saturday night after the phone ring that no, no, he's a man a God but he's a liar, it was him who snuck up behind her while she was layin out communion trays at the altar, slid his big hands round her waist over her bosoms, that's why she walk some forty blocks home instead a gettin a ride from him like always. I wanna believe Reverend Cartier J. Trumane because yes, he's a man of God. I wanna believe him cause he taught me that although my daddy's gone, I got God the father who loves me like his chile and watches over me.

I wanna believe him cause he help me to understand that even though Mama never

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forgive me for Oz layin on me, or for Roy goin away to prison for fifteen to twentyfive years, however I may sin I'm forgiven because Jesus paid for my transgressions.

I wanna believe that jus like it look every Sunday after worship, he was a man in love with his wife and two daughters. I wanna believe that Aunt Nattie wouldn't lead us into the lion's den. I wanna believe that no, he's not a liar he's a man a God, that when he telephone Uncle Sewell over supper that night, he was sorry but the Gospel truth was, Mama grope him when he was standin at the altar and he banish her from Love of God Christian Church, that's why she walk home.

But here's Ruby's cross to bear: if I'm to believe one, I must therefore not believe the other. And if I do so, I must therefore damn the other.

Most times in life, unfortunately, it ultimately don't matter if or what you believe or not. Within a month, we was on a Greyhound bus to Mobile, Alabama, where we went to live with Mama's cousin, but that's another story. Mama and Aunt Nattie never talk in this world again. And years later, I happen to learn by strange coincidence that Reverend Cartier J. Trumane suffered a similar accusation from another female parishioner, was defrocked this time and hung himself in his garage.

In this regard, for my life, I prefer to judge not, lest I be judged.

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BREAK MY BONES The first time I hear the word nigger use was in my own home. It come outta Roy's mouth.

Roy was angry like I ain't never seen, not in any way loud cause he wasn't a yeller, but agitated indignant like. He was walkin round the kitchen while he tell his story. Mama sat at the table, which only a little while earlier I help her set, that was my job. The big pot a chili Mama been cookin all afternoon was still atop the stove.

The stir stick was still in the pot. The flame was off now. I was standin in the kitchen doorway cause I was scared. Ruthie was behind me in the front room, on the floor, puttin her crayons to a Cinderella colorin book. She like to think she a princess when she was a baby.

Roy was a big fan a the Cleveland Indians baseballers, I guess since he was a little boy growin up in Toledo. I seen a picture a him in his uniform from when he play baseball in the Negro League. He was a catcher so was wearin a mask, but if you knew him you could tell it was Roy behind them bars. His team was called Red Sox and they was from Memphis. He like to tell Ruthie and me baseball stories, mostly he'd tell em when we lay in bed before Mama'd turn off the light. They was always about workin hard or never givin up or doin your best or bein honest. Roy always say baseball teach you about life like no other sports. I think what Roy's baseball teach me about life is that jus cause somebody say that it this way it is don't mean it is, cause girls wasn't much encouraged to play sports back then but I was the only girl I knowed that had a glove and Tigers cap. It wasn't until many years later, when I was in my twenties, that I come to learn and appreciate who the man Roy talk about was, the great Satchel Paige, and why Roy so proud a the home run he hit.

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I went to Hawthorne Street Elementary School in Detroit then. It was a few blocks from our duplex. Mama once told me that as a chile, I very much enjoyed readin and stories. Maybe that was Roy's influence, I don't know or remember that. I do know that thanks to Roy, I could throw a baseball better'n all them boys, which I often demonstrated at recess when it come rollin over by us girls, swingin on the swings or jumpin hopscotch. Of course, they never invited me to play with em at school. It jus wasn't somethin that boys did or girls was suppose to wanna do. I was also tall for my age and faster'n all a them, so at some point I become a object a ridicule. I don't remember any names they call me, on the playground or walkin home, I jus remember that it was hurtful.

That Saturday was the very first time Roy ever attend a major league baseball game. He was goin with his daddy, Artrand, and his cousin Oz. It was 1954 or `55.

Colored players was bein more accepted then, but not necessarily colored folks cheerin em on, I don't think. For days, Roy didn't talk bout baseball at night but what goin to that game mean to him. He tell us about his great grandpapa. He was a freed slave who go from Charleston, South Carolina to Kentucky and then Ohio to better his life. Roy said that when it come time to sing the National Anthem, they was all gonna close their eyes and think about Mister Ozwald Titus Jones the first, where it goes the land a the free and the home a the brave.

It was the Cleveland Indians against the Detroit Tigers. This is the story Roy tell.

When he and Artrand and Oz walk into Tiger Stadium, there was more white people in one place than they ever seen in their life, thousands and thousands, and only a handful a coloreds. Roy said he ain't never been scared fo his life, but that this

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coulda been close, what with all them white men dressed in suits and ties and hats, eyeballin every move they made. While he talked, he took off the light wind jacket he wore and drape it around the back of a kitchen chair. I seen that the blue shirt he had didn't have no fancy tie neither. He then told how they stood for the Anthem, and how at the end part when he open his eyes, his daddy be cryin tears down his cheeks.

The game, it was tied two-two after six innings and since he was a fan a both teams, growin up near Cleveland and livin in Detroit, Roy say how he nicely cheer when both did somethin good. But the next time to bat, this black player hits a three-run homer for the Indians and Roy, he couldn't help hisself, he stand up right in that aisle and applaud when that man run the bases cause he the first player a color in the American League and he play in the Negro League too. Then them white folks round him starts to holler and boo and tell him sit down, and somebody behinds him he don't know who yells, it ain't bad enough we got niggers cheerin niggers, now we got niggers cheerin Indians. So Roy goes and sits and Oz, he laughin like the fool he is, says, yeah, what you cheerin Injuns for nigger? Roy stop and look out the window.

I been called nigger more'n once in my life, he tell Mama, you too, and it was bitter, but I swallow it, but I ain't never ever been called that by my own. Great grandpapa done fight his whole life, hell, we all fight every day gainst that hatred, ya know that.

What in hell's a matter with him? I wanted to take him down right there in fronta all them whiteys. Instead I jus left. I didn't know what else to do. I jus couldn't sit there no more.

I remember Mama stand up to put her arms round Roy. They held each other and didn't say nothin.

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That's when I spoke up: what's a nigger? Of course, I learn. We all learn one day, don't we?

So now I hear black on black sayin it all the time, at least it seems that way to me, mostly young folks, I hear it a lot on the bus like today with them hoodlum boys. All I ask em is must they be so profane, and they say that nastiness to me. It saddens me so. We been made slave to that word for hundreds a years, it's like we puttin ourselves in chains now. It's jus terrible, you ask me. Either they don't care, or they ain't been brought up right. I say shame on them, shame on their mamas and daddies.

There was also this nice young black man sittin cross from me on the bus. I see him many a mornin. He always wear a shirt and tie. Sometimes our eyes meet and he smile hello. Today when those hoodlum boys stand over me say I ain’t yo nigger, they frighten me. But that young man, he jus like Roy. He jus got up and walk away. Shame, shame on him. Shame on thems all.

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