What Momma Left Me Read online

  I stand at the front of the congregation and say, “I drew this picture after we had a lesson about heaven because it sounds like a place where I want to go.” I hold my picture up and show it to everyone. It’s a picture of heaven—streets paved with gold, silver gates. Grandma looks at it and she is smiling and clapping and everyone joins her. I colored the angels brown, like my momma.

  HALLOWED BE THY NAME

  • • • • • • • • • • •

  Silly. Making crazy faces in the mirror;

  dancing and lip-synching to my favorite songs;

  telling knock-knock and Laffy Taffy jokes to

  Danny all night long.

  Empty. Void, blank, abandoned, hollow,

  vacant. A big, deep hole inside me. Can’t see

  it, but I know it’s real. The kind of loneliness

  only a mother’s love can fill.

  Red. The color of embarrassed cheeks, winter

  noses. The color of kissed lips, scraped knees.

  The color of eyes after they’ve cried. The

  color of the kitchen floor, the day my momma

  died.

  Excellent. Good at spelling, good at cooking,

  good at drawing, good at math.

  Good at memorizing Bible verses, good at

  reciting them when I’m lonely or sad.

  Neat. “Clothes in hamper not on the floor,” “Put

  things you play with back where they belong,”

  “Every morning make your bed” are some of

  the things my momma said.

  Impatient. I can’t sleep the night before

  Christmas. I take cookies out of the oven

  before it’s even time. I stand over the stove,

  wanting the water to hurry and boil in its pot.

  I sit by the phone, wishing it was my daddy

  calling. But it’s not.

  Trustworthy. Never telling secrets, always

  keeping promises. Dependable and reliable,

  honest and responsible.

  Young. Not a little girl anymore, not a woman

  either. Thirteen years old, afraid of what my

  future holds.

  I am taking my time picking out an outfit for the first day of school. I think I’ll wear my jean skirt and yellow shirt, but I want to look at all my options. I have them spread across my bed. Danny is mad because he wants me to turn off the light. “It’s not that serious,” he says.

  “If it wasn’t that serious you wouldn’t have asked Grandpa for those shoes,” I say. Danny and Grandpa went shopping for new school clothes. Danny got three pairs of jeans, three pairs of khaki pants, and some dress pants for church. He got shirts, jerseys, and sweaters. He got a new pair of shoes too, but he came home mad because Grandpa couldn’t afford the pair of Nikes that he wanted.

  “If it’s not a big deal, then wear something you had last year,” I tell him.

  “Just hurry up and turn off the light!”

  “That’s what I thought.” I throw a pair of socks at him. He throws his pillow and then we start laughing. Danny runs to his drawer and grabs a bundle of T-shirts that are still wrapped in their plastic. As he lifts his arm to throw it, I block myself by running into the closet. I accidentally slam the door shut because I’ve pulled it with too much force. I hear the T-shirts hit the door. That could’ve been my face.

  “What are you two doing up there?” Grandma shouts.

  “Nothing!” Danny says.

  I start banging on the door. “Danny, let me out. I can’t open it from in here.”

  Danny is laughing. He comes close to the door so I can hear him clearly and sings, “G-o-o-d n-i-g-h-t.” I can tell that he’s flicked the switch because there’s no more light shining under the door.

  “Danny, I’m not playing with you. Open the door!”

  “Now you can take all the time you need to choose your clothes.”

  I start banging on the door and stomping on the floor. “Let me out!”

  “Serenity, what is going on up there?” Grandma yells.

  “Danny locked me in the closet!”

  Grandpa starts yelling now. “Danny!” I can hear him coming up the steps. “By the time I get up there, you both better be in bed.”

  Danny opens the door. I push him hard and run to my bed, pushing my clothes to the floor and jumping under my covers. Grandpa stands at the door. “You two stop all that horsing around, you hear me?”

  “Yes, sir,” we say.

  “Did you say your prayers?”

  “Yes, sir,” we lie.

  “All right, then, good night.” Grandpa goes across the hall to his office. When we hear the door close we start giggling.

  Danny whispers, “God’s gonna get you for lying to Grandpa.”

  “You lied too.”

  “But you’re older. You’re supposed to be my example.”

  “Remember that the next time I tell you to do something,” I tell him. And we fall asleep telling each other corny knock-knock and Laffy Taffy jokes.

  • • • • • • •

  Grandpa drives us to school the next morning. It is raining so hard that I change my mind about wearing a skirt and I put on a pair of jeans instead. “Your grandma will pick you up and take you to your appointment, okay? You guys have your first session today,” Grandpa reminds us. When the school found out about what happened to my momma, they offered to pay for me and Danny to talk to a grief counselor. “All right, have a good day. I’ll see you tonight.”

  Once Danny and I are out of the car, we get separated as we walk through the crowd of wet students, who are holding their umbrellas tight and splashing puddles with their rubber boots. Rose City Academy is about the same size as Eagle Creek, but everything is prettier here. The paint looks fresh, the playground has nets on the basketball hoops, and there are teachers standing outside to greet us. The bell rings and I call out to Danny, “Meet me after school!”

  “Where?”

  I look around trying to find a good meeting place. I point to the flagpole with its red, white, and blue flag dancing in the wind. “There.”

  “All right,” he says and he walks away toward the seventh grade hall.

  I take my schedule out of my folder and look for room 306. I have English, my favorite subject, first. After I put my wet coat in my locker, I find my class. “Serenity?” Someone yells my name as I walk into class. “Hey, girl!” It’s Maria.

  We sit together. “I didn’t know you went here,” I say. I’m glad I know at least one person in this school.

  “Yep, been here since the sixth grade.” Maria scoots over so I have room.

  “You like it?”

  “It’s all right. School is school, you know?”

  “Yeah.” I put my notebook down, face up, on the desk. I have slid a few pictures of my friends from my old school in the plastic sleeve. I have a picture of my momma in my bag too. I’ll always carry it with me, but I don’t take it out. I hang my backpack on the back of my chair. Maria looks different today. Her hair is straight, no curls. And she is wearing makeup.

  Students start piling in the classroom. Friends sit next to each other and catch up, swapping vacation stories. “What other classes do you have?” I ask Maria.

  She shows me her schedule. We have two more classes—health and science—together.

  The tardy bell rings and Mrs. Ross, our teacher, begins class. “Once I learn your names, I won’t have to take roll this way, but for now, please say here when I say your name.” Mrs. Ross reads from a list and checks off names as people respond. She gets through the Ds, then calls out, “Serenity?”

  “Here,” I say.

  “Serenity Evans?” she says, checking her list again, then looking back at me.

  “Yes.”

  She stares at me. “I know you. I mean, well, I knew your mom. I, ah, I went to high school with her.” She stops talking and just stares at me. Now the whole class is looking at me. “Ah, welcome—I’
m glad you’re, ah, it’s nice to meet you.”

  If I was light skinned, my face would be red. My cheeks are hot and I feel my leg shaking under the table. I was wrong about Rose City Academy. Eagle Creek would have been better. I bite my lip. Mrs. Ross finishes roll and I barely listen to anything else she says until I notice her taping three pictures on the board. Under each picture, she tapes their names: Maya Angelou, Sandra Cisneros, Langston Hughes.

  “This year we’re going to be studying poetry and writing some of our own. Every Friday will be our Poetry Workshop,” Mrs. Ross explains. She walks around the room as she talks. “You all must get a journal. Your journal will be for you to practice using the literary devices we learn in class,” she says. “You may also use your journal to record some of your favorite lines or quotes from the poems we read.” Mrs. Ross walks back to the front of the room. “Your weekly journal entries are different from class assignments. They are for your eyes only. I won’t be reading what you write in your journal.”

  I am real glad when I hear this. The pages in my journal are the keepers of my secrets. I don’t want anyone reading them.

  Mrs. Ross passes out a worksheet. “These vocabulary words that I am passing out to you are what poets call literary devices. We’ll talk about that more in a moment. Right now, let’s get started with a free write.”

  Mrs. Ross tells us that a free write has no rules. We can write about anything we want for five minutes. I write how I already have a journal and how I like to write and how I think I’ll do well in this class.

  At the end of class, I tell Mrs. Ross about my journal. I don’t tell her my daddy gave it to me. I just say, “It already has writing in it from during the summer, but can I use it for your class anyway?”

  Mrs. Ross smiles at me. “Sure, Serenity. I think that’s a great idea.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Ross. See you tomorrow.”

  Maria and I leave English. I have math next. Maria points me in the right direction. “Look for me at lunch,” she says.

  “Okay.” We hug each other and Maria walks down the hall.

  Even though Maria told me which way to go, I get lost. Somehow I’ve ended up back in front of Mrs. Ross’s class. The tardy bell rings and students vanish into their classrooms. Teachers close their doors and I’m left alone standing in the hallway.

  Great. I’m going to be late on the first day of school. I stand there and look at the numbers on the classrooms, then at my schedule. I see a guy walking toward me. He looks too tall to be a student, but once he gets closer I can tell he’s the same age as me. His hair is neatly braided in cornrows. His baggy jeans fit him perfectly, not sagging too low, not too tight. “Excuse me, do you know where Mr. Nelson’s class is?”

  “Yeah. Come with me. That’s my next class,” he says. He doesn’t seem to be concerned that he’s late. “You new?”

  “Yeah. I transferred from Eagle Creek,” I tell him.

  “You went to the Creek? My boy Greg goes there.”

  “Greg Roberts?”

  “Yeah.”

  Greg got kicked out of class almost every day last year. Even on the last day of school.

  “What’s your name?” he asks.

  “Serenity.”

  “I’m Jay,” he says. We get to room 407 and he opens the door.

  “Thanks for walking me to class.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  When we step in the class, the teacher gives us an evil eye. “Do either of you have hall passes?”

  “I got lost and he—”

  “I don’t need no pass,” Jay says. He turns to the class. “Everybody, this is Serenity. She’s from the Creek.” He pulls out a chair for me. I sit down. Random people say hi to me.

  Jay continues. “I was asked to show her around the school. Sorry we’re late.”

  I think the teacher knows he’s lying. But he doesn’t care. He checks our names off on his roll sheet and asks a student to pass out the math books. “Turn to page twenty-five,” he says.

  I open the book to page twenty-five. Jay doesn’t open his. He puts his hat on and slouches down in his seat. “No hats in class,” Mr. Nelson shouts. “You know the rules.” He takes Jay’s hat from off his head.

  “Mr. Nelson, why you hatin’?”

  “You’ll get it back after school. Now come on, you’re wasting time.” Mr. Nelson goes back to the dry erase board.

  “I was paying attention. It’s not like I was doing anything,” Jay mumbles.

  “I don’t make the rules,” Mr. Nelson says.

  Jay leans back in his chair. He mumbles something under his breath about Mr. Nelson, and the students at our table burst into laughter. “All right, Jay. Move,” Mr. Nelson says. He points to another table that has no one sitting at it. Jay doesn’t move. “Now,” Mr. Nelson says.

  Jay gets up and sits at the table. Mr. Nelson takes his math book and opens it to page twenty-five. “Let’s start the year off right,” Mr. Nelson says. When Mr. Nelson turns his back to write on the board, Jay closes his book. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a stack of bills. He counts them. The green is moving so fast in his hands, I can’t keep up with how much money he has. He must feel me staring at him because he looks across the aisle at me. I try to play it off, like I wasn’t just looking at him, like I don’t see all that green in his hands. Our eyes meet. I get hot all over and look away.

  When the bell rings, Jay asks, “You good, or you need me to take you to your next class?”

  “I’m good,” I say. I know where my health class is. It’s right next to Mrs. Ross’s class. But I wouldn’t mind it if he walked with me.

  “All right, then,” Jay says. “See you later.”

  Before going to health, I stop at the water fountain. The water comes out in slow motion—little squirts—just enough to barely wet my tongue. Mrs. Ross is standing near the fountain with another teacher, Mrs. Wilson. Mrs. Wilson whispers, “You remember Loretta Evans, don’t you? That’s her child right there.” I figure Mrs. Wilson is pointing at me, and I am uncomfortable knowing someone is looking at me while I’m bent over. “You heard about what happened, right?” she asks.

  And I think about what Grandma always says about the truth following you wherever you go.

  “Yeah. I know. Serenity is in my class,” Mrs. Ross says.

  Mrs. Wilson sighs. “Terrible thing Loretta put them kids through,” she says. “Poor girl. Hope she don’t end up like her momma.”

  “Me too,” Mrs. Ross says.

  I slurp my last sip and walk away hearing Mrs. Wilson say, “Well, you know what they say—the fruit don’t fall far from the tree.”

  I don’t know how it is that Maria knows just when to show up, but here she is walking toward me from down the hall just as my tears fall. “What’s the matter?” Maria swings her backpack on her right shoulder.

  “Nothing,” I say, wiping my eyes. I just keep walking. I want to find a bathroom, but I don’t know which way to go.

  “Here, come with me.” Maria turns right at the end of the hall and two doors down there’s a bathroom. Three girls are standing in the mirror fixing their hair and reapplying their lip gloss. Maria takes me into a stall. She locks the door.

  “What’s the matter?” Maria asks again.

  I can’t talk. I’m choking on my tears and I can barely breathe.

  “Is somebody talking about you? Tell me who it is and I’ll go find them right now.”

  I shake my head no.

  “Are you sick?”

  I shake my head again.

  Maria just looks at me. And it’s like we have an entire conversation with our eyes. “You don’t have to tell me unless you want to.”

  I take a few deep breaths.

  “All right,” Maria says. “Here.” She pulls toilet paper out of the dispenser and hands it to me. “Blow your nose and clean your face.” Then she says, “Don’t wipe too hard—that tissue is so tough it’ll cut you.”

  I smile.

&nbs
p; Maria leaves the stall. I hear the girls asking her what’s wrong with me. “She’s okay,” Maria says. “Everything’s going to be fine.” Maria says it so firmly that I believe her.

  I come out of the stall so we are not late for class. The three girls that were in the bathroom are in my health class too. We also have them—Lisa, Denise, and Sommer—in English. They keep looking at us. Maria turns and whispers to me, “Ask them if they got a staring problem!”

  I tell Maria that I am fine. I take my notebook out and start to write my name over and over in different styles—bubble letters, cursive, print. Then out of nowhere, Maria grabs my notebook and tears out the sheet of paper I am writing on.

  “You want her autograph or something?” She throws the paper at them. “Serenity, I didn’t know you were a celebrity. Girl, I’m high status hangin’ ’round you.” Some of the class laughs. Lisa, Denise, and Sommer don’t. They roll their eyes. Lisa takes the paper, balls it up, and throws it away. When she walks past Maria, I think they might fight, but Lisa goes back to her seat, not saying a word. I think Maria could take her down. Which is probably why Lisa just sits back in her seat. Lisa looks like the type of girl who’d call an older sister or cousin to fight for her. Maria doesn’t need anyone but herself. They are both pretty and I think maybe that is why they don’t like each other. Denise and Sommer, Lisa’s shadows, are pretty too, but they are more regular. Kind of like me.

  “I can’t stand those girls,” Maria says.

  I turn and look at Maria’s enemies. They are dressed in outfits that look like they’ve come straight off a mannequin. When Lisa finally talks later in class, she says, “Like, oh my God!” a million times and all three of them laugh and toss their hair over their shoulders every five seconds. If I closed my eyes, I would think they were on some after-school special about cheerleaders.

  Mr. Harvey finishes taking roll and tells us about all the things we will learn this school year. When he mentions sex and sexually transmitted diseases a few students start laughing.

  At the end of school, I get my coat from my locker and meet Danny at the flagpole. He is standing there with Ricky. “Hi, Ricky. You go here too?” Ricky looks more our age now that he is dressed in jeans. His pants are sagging and so are Danny’s.