P.S. Be Eleven (16 page)

Vonetta didn't notice, or she pretended she didn't notice, but Fern had stopped clinging to Uncle D. Fern heard him hollering at night like the boogeyman howling and rattling in the radiator pipes. She was afraid of him.

One day Uncle D was sort of fine and the next day he wasn't, even though he said, “Everything is everything.” But he didn't sing “everything is everything” like it was a Stevie Wonder tune. I think Pa knew his brother was being changed by the war when I showed him that letter
back then. I think Pa didn't want me to be afraid of my uncle or his letters. I think Papa loved him then, when he was in Vietnam, but he didn't seem to love him anymore.

Big Ma was different. Her love was like her hate. It was true-blue. Big Ma would never love my mother. Even though my sisters and I came from Cecile and looked like her in different ways. Big Ma would not love Cecile, but she would love us, even when she was whipping us. Even when she was calling us a bunch of untrained chimps.

Big Ma would love Uncle Darnell even when he was rattling around like a ghost on her couch. Even when Papa couldn't love him, Big Ma would. Big Ma's love would stay true.

I felt it in my fingertips while we walked to school that morning. This November promised to be chillier than past Novembers. Leaves had already turned yellow and had fallen everywhere. Soon our classes would all file into the auditorium while we waited for our teachers to come and collect us. For now, we ran around on the playground until the lineup bell rang and our teachers stood at the head of our lines.

I couldn't help but notice a change in more than the seasons. The clusters of girlfriend groups where I would have fallen in with Frieda, Lucy, and whoever they stood with were dotted with the Jameses. Two Michaels. Enrique. Upton. Anthony, but not Ant. I couldn't believe
it. The boys weren't tagging girls on the back and running off, but talking with them. It felt like it was happening behind my back. Suddenly the boys were acting human and were able to be around girls without clowning or starting trouble. Not with me. Or Rukia. But they were all talking to each other. Or maybe because I noticed two or three boys talking to two or three girls, it seemed like the whole world had changed in an instant and I was on the outside watching it change. Not that I had anything to say to the boys in my class. And I had no intention of standing near Danny the K or Ellis. They kept their distance from me, which was fine by me. The way Danny the K glared at me, I could only guess his mama had given him the whipping of his lifetime the other day.

Lucy turned and saw me. She grabbed Frieda's hand, came running over, and did a less goosey version of her Lucy-goosey dance. Frieda rolled her eyes. Then Lucy waved a card in her hand to the beat of her dance and shoved it in my face. She sang, “I got it, I got it, I got it, OW!” She was a female James Brown screaming and sliding back and forth.

There, before my eyes, was a real Madison Square Garden ticket with
THE JACKSON FIVE IN CONCERT
printed on it. I was both excited and turning green inside and out. All I could do was look.

“Mine is on my dresser,” Frieda said. “At home where
the wind can't blow it away.”

Lucy kept dancing and showing off her ticket. “You've got yours, right, Delphine?”

“Not yet,” I said, “but almost.”

“Almost? Almost?” Lucy went on as if I had said I almost had polio. “There's no such thing as almost. Not with the Jackson Five! Girl, are you crazy?”

I didn't see what the problem was. December was still a few weeks away. “We have half the money,” I told them.

“You better get a whole ticket,” Lucy said.

“Yeah, Delphine. They're going to be sold out.” Frieda was almost as dramatic as Lucy, except she really cared and wasn't showing off. “Mom made John-Isaac get my ticket. And he's taking me.”

“And we're sitting together,” Lucy said. But Frieda shot her a look, like she didn't want me to know that. Lucy didn't care.

“I have mine,” Evelyn said.

“Me too,” Monique said. Theresa and Carmen also chimed in.

Rukia said she wasn't going. Then Lucy said no one had asked her, so I said, “It's a free country. She can say what she wants to say.” Frieda said nothing.

I was glad we didn't have group discussion, but instead worked silently on writing our presentations. The boys
stayed on their side of the classroom—except for Ellis—and we stayed on our side. The next day we continued our work on the presidential election project. Thanks to Miss Marva Hendrix, I brought in a Shirley Chisholm button along with her leaflet. Even though Miss Shirley Chisholm wasn't running for president, she was running for a seat in Congress. That was enough to show that a woman could hold a high office in politics. If enough men and women voted for her to be elected as our congressman, then who knew? Pigs might be flying over Alabama.

When I practiced my points and conclusion for Big Ma and Pa that night, Big Ma said she couldn't believe they handed out grades for that. Pa said I spoke well. But neither of them said my points made sense. For the first time in a while, Big Ma and Pa seemed to be on the same side.

I showed my materials to my group. I was glad I at least had something to contribute. Rukia had so much information on the first woman governor and senators from the encyclopedia, she couldn't stop talking. She said her mother had helped her. Mrs. Marshall was a principal at a different school. No wonder Rukia believed women could be president. Her mother ran an entire school.

Ellis had a piece of paper that he'd written his points on, but he kept it crumpled.

Danny the K had his big mouth open. “It will never happen,” he said.

The more he spoke, the more I thought, Yes it will. I wasn't sure if I believed a woman could be president, but if Danny the K said it would never happen, I had to believe the opposite.

Danny the K didn't dampen Rukia Marshall's far-out thinking one iota. Rukia said, “Since you guys don't believe a woman can run and we do, why don't we do our presentation like a debate?”

“That's dumb,” the K said.

Ellis shrugged.

I said, “That's a smart idea.”

“Shut up, Stretch,” the K said.

“You shut up,” Rukia said.

Then Ellis said, “Debate. You mean us two against you two?”

It wasn't that I didn't think a woman could run the country. I didn't think enough people would vote for her. There were more people out there like Big Ma, Pa, and Danny the K than there were people like Rukia and Miss Marva Hendrix.

I knew what would happen with Miss Shirley Chisholm on election night. She would run. Some people would vote for her and then she'd lose. Folks would say, “Nice try for a woman,” and “Nice try for a black woman.” Then we'd get a man for our congressman. A white man.

“We'll slaughter them,” the K said.

“We're prepared,” I said. “We'll debate you under the table.”

Ellis Carter uncrumpled his loose-leaf sheet. To my surprise, he had a lot written on it.

We all gathered in Vonetta and Fern's room as we had been doing since Pa insisted we save our money to earn our way to the concert.

“Drumroll, please,” Vonetta said.

Instead of a drumroll, Vonetta handed Fern the Jackson Five concert jar, and Fern shook it round and round so the quarters, dimes, nickels, and pennies made a metal whirling against the glass, softened by a few bills. We probably wouldn't have the best seats in the Garden, since we'd have to buy our tickets late, but at least we'd be there. So what if Lucy, Frieda, and John-Isaac bought their tickets early and had seats closer to the stage? Close enough that Jackie Jackson could spin around, stop, pose, and then
point dead at them and be looking in their eyes while I'd be just another girl screaming from way, way back. Way, way high. I could still say I saw the Jackson Five live, at Madison Square Garden.

Vonetta added up our deposits on her savings chart and signaled for Fern to stop shaking the jar. “According to my tally, we've saved a grand total of . . .”

That was Fern's cue to give the mummy jar another drumroll.

“Ten dollars and seventy-three cents,” Vonetta said. “That means we only need—”

“One dollar—”

“No, Delphine! I got it. I got it,” Vonetta said. She closed her eyes to do the subtraction. “The zero becomes a ten . . . minus three, equals seven . . . and the other zero becomes a nine, minus seven . . . so it's one dollar and twenty-seven cents!”

We cheered and jumped and sang “I'm Going Back to Indiana,” messing up the song lyrics to announce that we were going to New York City to see the Jackson Five at Madison Square Garden. We couldn't make those words fit no matter how hard we tried, but that didn't stop us from squeezing, dropping, and rhyming the words.

We danced until Big Ma told us to stop that noise-making “like a herd of stampeding hippos.” That we should use that energy for praising the Lord. And that was enough to start the other two praising Jesus for
helping us to save and I fell in with them, praising and stomping. Then Big Ma said, “That's not the meaning of ‘Jesus saves.'” But it was too late. “Jesus saves for the Jackson Five” was the only praising going on in our room. Even Big Ma had to laugh.

We had soon worn ourselves out and I heard the rumble of the Wildcat. It needed a new muffler that Pa said he didn't have money to fix. I think Pa just liked the way the Wildcat growled and rumbled like a crouching animal about to strike. I think Pa liked his Wildcat just fine.

I looked out the window. Pa and Miss Marva Hendrix were coming up the steps. He carried a large suitcase and she carried a smaller one. Their hands were joined.

When I opened the door, they stood there smooching on the porch. I was flustered and went to close the door, but they broke apart and Pa said, “No need for that.” He was smiling and I felt stupid. “Go on to the car and grab a box from the backseat.”

I didn't run to the car like he told me. I just stood there. Miss Marva Hendrix kissed me on the cheek, then followed Pa.

Pa called out, “Darnell! Darnell!” but Uncle D wasn't home.

I went out to the car to get a box from the backseat. There were a few boxes on the seat, and smaller ones on the floor. Boxes marked
MH BOOKS. MH RECORDS. MH SHOES. MH CUPS
. I grabbed one marked
MH BOOKS
.
She had a few of those.

Pa was still asking where Darnell was. He needed help to bring in the rest of Marva's things, he said.

Big Ma said, “He's out like you told him. Looking for work.” She put her hands on her hips and hooked her head toward the kitchen, their arguing place. “Now, son, we need to talk.”

But Pa held up his left hand. His left hand with a gold band around his ring finger. Miss Marva Hendrix leaned into him.

“Ma. Darling daughters,” he said. “I'd like you to welcome my wife into our house.”

I was both shocked and not surprised. Shocked because we were hearing about it just like that. Not surprised because Pa wanted to be with Miss Marva Hendrix forever.

I was all right. Sort of. But Big Ma's hat feather could have knocked her flat on her back.

Miss Marva Hendrix was beaming, showing us her gold band.

Big Ma needed a moment. The hands that had been planted on her hips were now fanning her face.

I looked over at Vonetta and Fern. They wrapped their arms around each other. Finally Vonetta spoke. “You had the wedding, Pa?”

“Without us?”

I hadn't seen anything more pitiful than my sisters' 'bout-to-cry faces.

Pa couldn't see how hurt they were. We were. He was happy to bring Miss Marva Hendrix into our house for good.

“We didn't need a wedding,” Pa said. “We went to the courthouse.”

Miss Hendrix poked him in the ribs. It was meant to be playful, but there was too much shock and hurt and silence in the room and she wasn't blindly happy like Pa. “You see,” she scolded him.

“You're married?” Big Ma asked. “Without family?”

Miss Hendrix felt bad. “Mrs. Gaither,” Pa's wife said. She had sense enough to not call Big Ma “Ma” or whatever she called her own mother. And it hit me: I knew nothing about her. Other than how she dressed, that she believed in Vonetta before I did, and that she thought women could run things.

“My lease is coming up on my apartment and—”

Big Ma put a smile over her real face and said, “Welcome to our home. Your home.” She turned to Pa and said, “Congratulations, son.”

I had never heard Big Ma's voice sound like that. Like someone who was sick but had to pull herself up out of bed anyway.

I followed my grandmother in saying the right thing. “Congratulations, Pa.” I turned to my father's wife. “Congratulations, Miss, Miss . . .”

“Missus,” she said, smiling, and she kissed me again.

Vonetta and Fern came outside with me to finish bringing Mrs. Marva Gaither's things inside the house.

Mrs. Marva Gaither. It didn't sound right.

“I told you they weren't having a wedding,” I said.

“Shut up, Delphine,” Vonetta said.

“Yeah. Shut up.”

They were hurt and mad, but we moved quickly bringing Pa's wife's boxes inside. The night air was chilly.