by Han Nolan
Mrs. Trane passed me the last picture of Mama. She were standing on the beach holding up a dead stingray in her hand and smiling into the camera.
I said, "Guess we ain't never gonna find out what happened."
Mrs. Trane looked at me, and it were like she be angry with me all the sudden, and I set the pictures down and stood up, thinking I might need to run.
She pointed her finger at me and said, "You've got a little girl. You tell her. You tell her about your fife. And you be honest with her. Don't let her make the same mistakes. Break the pattern, Leshaya. Change her destiny. She doesn't have to grow up just like you. I heard all you said to your mama. You and she are just alike."
"No, we ain't!" I backed away from her. "I ain't nothin' like Mama Linda."
Mrs. Trane shook her head. "Maybe you never meant to be, but you are. You've followed in her footsteps all along. You're both bridge burners."
I said, "No, I ain't What that mean? I ain't never burnt no bridges."
Mrs. Trane looked up at me so serious and mad, her tiny eyes blinking at me. She said, "What happens when you cross over a bridge, then you turn around and burn it? Can you get back over the water?"
"No, not on that bridge you cain't."
"That Paul person you told your mama about. You had a good thing working with him. Then you burned your bridge by going against your agreement, taking those drugs, getting involved with his best friend. You see? You made it just about impossible to return. You make it impossible for anybody to have a relationship with you. You use people up. And that poor Harmon boy." Mrs. Trane shook her head and clicked her tongue.
I shrugged 'cause I didn't know what to say. Then a sound come from Mama Linda's room like Mama suddenly come awake from her coma. We both of us hurried to the room, but it weren't the sound of Mama Linda waking up, were the sound of her last dying.
Chapter Forty-Eight
WHEN MAMA LINDA DIED, Mrs. Trane took all the hoses and stuff out her body and out her mouth. All the machines stopped making their noises.
I looked down at Mama Linda laying flat on her pillow, and she looked real peaceful. Never seen her look that way before. Looked like dying be just the right thing for her.
The medical people who brung all the equipment to the house come and took it all away again, and more medical people come and took away Mama.
We didn't have no funeral. Weren't nobody left to come to it, anyway, 'cause like Mrs. Trane said to me, Mama Linda used people up and burnt all her bridges.
Mama Linda got cremated and I got the ashes in a urn. Didn't know what I were gonna do with them. Seemed a pain to haul them round with me all the time.
Mrs. Trane said I could sprinkle them somewhere or I could leave them in the urn at the beach house, 'cause the beach house were left for me to have. Weren't no money 'cause Mama Linda spent everything, and the beach house couldn't be mine for real till I turned twenty-one. Mama Linda wrote out a legal will, and Mrs. Trane and some lawyer was in charge of it together.
Mrs. Trane said I could come live with her. She said she could help me. She told me about a fine arts school in Birmingham that were free to go to, where I could study music. She said if I didn't want that, I could take a test and get a diploma and go to a community college.
I didn't say nothin', but I already knew 'bout music. I could sing. Didn't need no college or school to sing. I were on the radio! Anyway, I couldn't be goin' to no school, 'cause it were time for me to go get my sweet Etta back. I loved my baby, and I knew if you love a baby, you's'posed to keep it and take good care of it, not give it away so it be adoped and lost, the way I been. I come to understand that, spending all my time with Mama Linda. I seen how losing Mama meant losing my own self, too, and finding her, learning something 'bout her, that give me a Utile bit of myself back A mama's'posed to take care of her baby. So I made my own plans, kept secret from Mrs. Trane. I were gonna go get my baby back, then go find Mick Werner, the producer, and make my own CD with my own made-up songs.
I went home with Mrs. Trane to her house after we picked up Mama's urn, and she fixed me a dinner while I played her piano. She had a real piano in her house, and she didn't never tell me. I could really play songs I couldn't play before, 'cause I practiced on the cardboard, but Lord, it were so much better hearing the music. I played till it were time to eat, then I played till Mrs. Trane gone off to bed.
When I were sure she be asleep, I went to her purse she kept hanging on a doorknob in the kitchen and took out all her money. The lady were rich. She had a hundred and fifty dollars in her purse. I put it back on the doorknob and went to bed. I didn't sleep 'cause I wanted to be awake and gone before Mrs. Trane waked up.
Round five in the morning I called a taxi to come out to the house. I waited outside for it. When it come I climbed in and told the driver to take me to the bus station. I closed the door and looked up at the house.
Mrs. Trane were standing at her bedroom window looking down at us. The taxi pulled away and Mrs. Trane waved.
I didn't wave back. I just stared at her till I couldn't see her no more.
Chapter Forty-Nine
I BOUGHT ME a bus ticket to Tuscaloosa. I were gonna go get my baby back. My Etta Harmony James. I were gonna take her. Weren't like I be kidnapping her, though, 'cause I weren't gonna give her to nobody else. I were gonna keep her, and she already be mine. I give birth to her. I be her mama, and someday she gonna hear 'bout all my mistakes like Mrs. Trane told me to do so she don't do them, too.
I got on the bus and sat down next to a white dude who kept wanting to talk to me. He said I be real pretty. He touched my hair, but I didn't pay him no mind. All I wanted to do were get my baby back and get singin' again.
Were dark by the time I got to the Jameses' house. I felt shaky walkin' up the long driveway, and kinda sick to my stomach 'cause I were nervous 'bout how I gonna get my baby. The house looked extra giant in the dark.
I went up to a kitchen window and looked in, and there be Mr. James cookin' at the stove, and there be a little girl standing on a step stool and shoving paper plates on the table. I wondered who that be and thought at first Mr. James and Mrs. James adopted themselves another little child.
Then I knew. It just come to me, bam! My baby, Etta, don't be no little baby no more. She be more 'n two years old. That girl going round the table be mine, she be my Etta Harmony James. I felt all swolled with pride and had to step back a bit from the window to think 'bout it. I forgot how she were gonna grow up while I been away. She were walking already. She like a real, whole person already. I peered back in at her, and I seen her skin had got darker and her hair were brown and had curls in it She had fat little legs and arms and fat cheeks, and I felt so proud in my heart to see her. My Etta Harmony be so pretty and smart, the way she could do them plates at the table. She were perfect. She were the perfect little girl.
Then Harmon come into the kitchen. He didn't look no different Same old Harmon. He picked up Etta and lifted her high. I could hear her squeal clear through the window, and my heart got all excited. She were gonna be a singer like me.
Harmon put her down, and in come a grown girl I ain't never seen before. She went round the table, fixing the paper plates so they be in place, then went to a drawer and pulled out some forks. I figured she were the new maid. She give Etta a fork to put on the table, and Harmon come up behind her and rubbed at her back. She give him a quick kiss on the mouth. Weren't no maid.
Mr. James dumped a load of spaghetti into a bowl and set it on the table. Harmon poured out the sauce in another bowl, and he put that on the table, too. The girlfriend finished setting the table, and Harmon leaned over to say something to Etta, putting his arm round her to do it. Etta run out the room, and I heard her squeal again. Then back she come, and so did Mrs. James and their other little boy, Samson, looking taller and thin. All them sat at the table, and Etta had her a special seat set in her chair just so she could sit high like everybody else.
I didn't think h
ow she gonna need one of them. Maybe when I took Etta back I could grab up that seat thing, too, and maybe some clothes; she gonna need clothes, and that step stool so she could set me a table the way she done them.
They got to eating, and I saw Harmon rock back in his chair and reach out his arms and put one round the back of the girlfriend's chair and one round Etta's.
I pulled away from the window. I didn't want to watch them people no more. I stood out on the lawn, not knowing how I were gonna get Etta away from them. Seemed like they hung awfully close to her. Then that picture I saw of Mama Linda and her family sitting round a table at a restaurant in Italy come to mind. They looked like a nice family in that picture. My Etta, she be in a nice family, too. She got her a good daddy and a grandmama and a grandaddy and Samson—all them folks lovin' her. And she got a special seat for her chair and pretty clothes on and a big house to live in. She got all that.
I looked at the kitchen window, at the bright light shining from it. What if I didn't take her? What if I left her? But if you love your baby you's'posed to keep her and take care of her. I stepped up to the window again, and there Etta be with a doll, feedin' it spaghetti. She were takin' good care of her baby just like I's'posed to do so she don't grow up lost.
I stepped back and turned round so I don't be seeing that cheery lighted window no more. I needed to think. What be the right thing to do? Mrs. Trane said how I got to break the pattern so Etta don't grow up like me and Mama. How I gonna do that if I don't take her? But she be so perfect. She be exactly what I always wanted to be. She got black skin. She got real African American blood running through her. She be African American—I took in a deep breath that seemed to draw on my heart and squeeze it—and all I be is a wigga.
I felt tears on my face but I brushed them away and shook my head. It time to face the truth of that. Alls I be is a wigga. I got no black in me 'cept what 1 put there my own self. Etta, she got it all. She got just what I always wanted—black skin and a black family to love her. Only way she gonna feel lost in her life be if I take her. Don't matter if I love her and a mama's'posed to have her. It ain't right. It don't feel right. Leaving her be loving her the right way. I know it. I feel it in my heart. I done the right and loving thing the first time, leaving her with Harmon.
I lifted my head, looked at the dark sky. And maybe it be the only right thing I ever do in my whole life, but that be okay, 'cause I think it be the one thing that matters most—that and singin'.
I brushed off the tears that kept wantin' to pour out, even when my mind told them not to. Weren't gonna cry. This be right. I gotta leave Etta and go my own way. Maybe someday I'll write her, tell her my life story. Maybe she'll hear 'bout me in the news, how I be a famous singer.
I looked cross the yard to the house next door. It looked far away through all them high bushes the Jameses had. I headed out cross the lawn toward that house, hoping the people there would let me call a taxi. Then I stopped, thought a second, and turned round and went back—right up to the Jameses' front door.
I touched the door handle. Then I reached into my pack and pulled out a cloth sack Inside were Harmon's silver stopwatch, the only thing I stole that I didn't never lose. I stared at it a long time, thinking how I should tie the sack to the door handle and go on.
Were too much to give up that night, though. Harmon had Etta. He got the better deal. I stuffed the watch back in my pack and set out cross the lawn.
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Chat Page
1. Why does Janie change her name to Leshaya?
2. What is it about blues singers like Etta James and Billie Holiday that touches Leshaya?
3. Why isn't Leshaya happy with the James family? Why does she steal from them?
4. Twice Leshaya decides to leave Etta with Harmon. What is her motive the first time? The second time? Why doesn't Leshaya leave her bag of stolen items?
5. Paul tells Leshaya, "You don't let anybody care about you. You don't let anybody get close enough!" Why do you think Leshaya pushes people away?
6. How does taking care of Mama Linda at the beach house change Leshaya?
7. Do you think Leshaya is following her dreams or running away from things?
* * *
Chatting with Han Nolan
Question: How long have you been writing?
Han Nolan: I started writing stories as soon as I could write, or so my mother says. What I remember is reading Nancy Drew mysteries and wanting to write some of my own mysteries. I was about nine years old at the time. Harriet the Spy also influenced me back then. I started spying and keeping a journal. I soon realized that I didn't make a very good spy (I kept getting caught), and that I wanted to write more about my own thoughts than about the people I spied on. Still, that was the beginning of keeping a journal, and I've kept one ever since. I wrote my first novel-length story in the hopes of getting it published back in 1988.
Q: What is your writing process? Do you work certain hours or days?
HN: I use a computer to write, and I try to write from about five or six o'clock in the morning until about four o'clock in the afternoon. When my children were living at home, I wrote during the hours they were at school and stopped when they came home.
Q: Are your characters inspired by people you know?
HN: I guess they would have to be in some way—but not really. I never sit down to write and think I'm going to write a story based on this person I know. The characters evolve as I'm writing and they act and react to the situations I've created. I never know who I'm going to meet when I write.
Q: How do you come up with story ideas?
HN: I write about things I care about—those things closest to my heart or things that scare me the most. My ideas come from inside me, but they are stimulated by conversations I've had, things I've read, and stories I've heard.
Q: Do personal experiences or details ever end up in your books?
HN: Yes. All the interiors of the houses in my stories come from houses I've been in before. They never come out just the way they are in real life, but in my mind's eye I am picturing a certain familiar house. Casper, Alabama, in the book Send Me Down a Miracle, was based on a street in Dothan, Alabama, where many of my relatives have lived. The street is named after my great-uncle. I created a small town based on that one street.
Q: Your characters often face a life without one or both parents. What do you hope readers will take away from your exploration of this situation?
HN: Every reader comes to a book with their own history and will respond to the book according to that history. I would want my readers to take away from this exploration whatever they need. I don't create a story to teach a certain lesson to my readers. I create a story to explore a certain truth about life.
Q: How did you come up with the idea for Born Blue?
HN: This is one of those amazing stories that just came to me full-blown. Leshaya just arrived [in my head] one day while I was sitting at my computer, and I knew everything about her. I knew her story; I knew exactly what she would think, do, and say.
Q: What role does music play in your life? How is this reflected in your characters or plot?
HN: Music has always played an important role in my life. My mother is a pianist, so music was always in our house. I learned about classical music from her. My father likes jazz and the big bands so I learned those things from him. Now I listen to a mix of music—classical, folk, blues, jazz, rock. I used to be a dancer, and music, of course, is an important element in the choreography of a piece. I also sang in chorus and then choir for much of my life. In most of my books, music is there. In Born Blue, music has a leading role. But it is in If I Should Die Before I Wake with the violin music, and A Face in Every Window with the cello, and Dancing on the Edge with both singing and dancing. I like that I have characters in my stories who are excited by music because I am, too.
Q: Do you imagine Leshaya realizing her dream of becoming a famous singer?
HN: I'll let my readers
imagine that for now. People have written to me asking me if I'll write a sequel and tell what happens to Leshaya, but I like it that everyone has their own idea of how her story ends.
Q: What were your dreams as a little girl? Was being a writer one of them?
HN: I did dream of being a writer, but I never thought I would become one because I didn't know how to do it. I didn't understand the process. However, I once rode in a car past the McDowell Colony in Peterborough, New Hampshire, and when I asked someone about it, she said that it was a place where writers go—they each have their own little hut and someone sets a basket of lunch outside their door every day. Well, I thought that was the coolest thing. I thought that I would love to be a writer and sit in a little hut writing my stories.
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Also by Han Nolan
NATIONAL BOOK AWARD WINNER
Dancing on the Edge
A girl teeters on the edge of insanity.
Miracle McCloy has always known that there is something different about her. Gigi, her clairvoyant grandmother, won't let her forget that she had been pulled from the womb of a dead woman—a "miracle" birth—and that she expects Miracle to be a prodigy, much like Dane, the girl's brooding novelist father.
