by Lisa Patton
Ten minutes later Aunt Fee walks by, and motions for me to follow her out the back door.
“Look at her,” Mr. Marvelle says after she walks past. “You see where her hand is, don’t you?”
Stepping out from the pantry, I catch a glimpse of her holding her stomach the instant before she opens the back door. I turn back to him with worry written all over my face.
After rubbing the nape of his neck, he looks me straight in the eye. “I see her doing it all the time.”
“I asked her about it a few weeks ago and she told me it was nothing.”
“It ain’t nothin’.”
I knew it. I knew something was bothering her. Why didn’t she own up to it? “This time I’m not letting her get away with it.” With a firm push on the screen door, I head on out to the backyard.
Fee’s taken a seat in her favorite chair. She pulls her tobacco pouch out of the pocket on her apron and pops a big piece behind her bottom lip. With a deliberate shake of her head she lets me know something or someone has got her goat. “Woo-whee. That Kadeesha. She gets on my last nerve.”
“You and me both.” That might be true. But we have a more important matter to discuss. We sit there in silence awhile before I speak. “Okay, now. Don’t be telling me nothing’s wrong with you. I saw you holding your stomach again.”
“It ain’t nothin’ but a cramp.” She won’t even look at me when she says it.
“What kind of cramp? Your cramps been gone a long time. You’re sixty-four years old.”
“Shoot.” She closes her eyes, plays like she’s napping.
“Don’t ‘shoot’ me. How did it go at the doctor’s last month? You never told me.”
“You never asked.”
I swallow and press my lips together. She’s exactly right. “Forgot all about it. So much going on around here.” Here I’ve spent time thinking about my hair weave and a job I’ll never get, and forgot all about asking my own auntie what happened at the doctor’s. “I’m sorry. Please tell me how it went.”
“Listen here,” she says, in a rigid tone. Her eyes are big as saucers now. “Doctor say I’m okay. If it keeps on bothering me I might have a little surgery. That’s all.”
“What kind of surgery?”
“Exploratory surgery. But I ain’t gone worry about that unless I have to.”
“Then why are you still holding your stomach?”
Her voice softens. She turns to look at me dead-on. Our knees are rubbing together. “It’s fine, baby, and I don’t want to talk about it no more. I want you to talk. What is it you wanted to tell me?”
I squeeze one eye shut, let her know I’m on to her. I’m not ready to switch subjects but Aunt Fee is the most stubborn woman alive today. Finally I say, “Mama Carla’s leaving.”
Her eyebrows shoot to the sky with wrinkles lining her forehead.
I put a finger to my lips. “Shhh, now. Be quiet about it. She doesn’t want anyone knowing. She said she’d be telling you soon. After she tells the board.”
She leans her chair back against the brick, the way she always does. The front legs rise a little. “Here we go. Another new housemother. Lawd have mercy on us all. Just when we had something good.”
“That’s not all.”
“Uh-oh. What else happenin’, baby?”
“She thinks I should apply.”
Fee whips her head around. “For housemama?”
I nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
She doesn’t respond and I could swear she’s thinking it’s a bad idea, but then, “That’s wonderful, dahlin’.” Her lips curve into a big smile.
“You mean it?”
“Anything has to do with you betterin’ your life is good news to me.” She picks up the Gatorade bottle and spits inside. Then I see her face transform, switch from glad to mad as fast as a rabbit can run. “The idea of you spendin’ all these years in front of a toilet, disposin’ of everybody else’s number two. Shoot. It’s about time you put down that ol’ nasty plunger, and put it down for good.” After crossing her arms in a huff on top of her large bosom, I see her jaw clench. “Doing all that nasty work all these years—for eleven dollars an hour. Hmmph.”
“Eleven fifty.”
She just looks at me.
“Mama Carla gets that. I know she does,” I say.
“Mama Carla ain’t dumb.”
“She thinks I’m well qualified.”
Fee rears back. “You are well qualified—smart as a whip. But!” She whips that finger in the air, the way I’ve seen her do a thousand times. “You’ve got one major strike against you and we both know who that strike is. Lawd,” she shakes her head. “I don’t know if I need to be tellin’ you to go for it or to get out of harm’s way, ’fore you get hurt.”
“I don’t know either.”
“I do know one thing. That Lilith Whitless got a cold black heart. And nobody can convince me otherwise.”
*
The next day, Auntie seems okay. She’s back to her old self and if there’s something wrong with her, I don’t see it. She’s laughing and loving on everyone as usual. I know she’s better because she’s back to bossing poor ol’ Marvelle around. Sometimes I think she’s sweet on him. I know he is on her. I’ve seen him throwing his eyes her way when he thinks no one’s looking.
When he watches her cook there’s a tenderness about him, eagerly anticipating the first plate of the night, which always has his name on it. If there’s something she needs and it’s high up on the pantry shelf, he’s scrambled up his ladder before she has a chance to ask him for it.
Mr. Marvelle, he can get grumpy sometimes, but never around Aunt Fee. One time, when he asked her how she knew everything he’s doing, she said, “You see this big head I’ve got sittin’ on my shoulders? I’ve got two more eyes in back and they’re bigger than the ones in front. That’s how I know.”
THIRTY-THREE
CALI
“Look out, Sorority Row. Here comes Cali Watkins.” Jasmine’s got her arms crossed and she’s inspecting my first-day-of-Rush outfit. Still in her PJs and silk headscarf—the one that hides every hair on her head—she’s as cheeky as ever. “It didn’t take you long to look like the rest of these Martin girls.”
“Busted.” I peer down at my workout shorts, Nike tennis shoes, and extra-large Greek Day T-shirt. It’s seven fifteen on a mid-October Sunday morning and we have to be in the Grove by eight.
“What time does all this Rush hoopla finish, anyway?”
“Somewhere around or six or seven. I think.” Rush parties start at four the rest of the week. My last class on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday—Honors Spanish—doesn’t get out till three. I’ll have to be dressed and ready before I leave for class.
I turn back to the mirror on our door to finish applying my makeup. Specially for Rush week, I treated myself to a brand-new tube of L’Oréal mascara. The first day has me so jittery I’m surprised I’ve got a steady hand.
“Perfect timing. Carl gets back from Greenville around then. Wanna go to dinner with us?”
I sigh. “Damn. I’m already going with Ellie and a bunch of other girls to Volta. Why don’t y’all come, too?”
She puts her hands on her hips, pushes out her chest. “Are you kidding me?”
“Why would I kid about that?” I ask, looking at her through the reflection. Our entire conversation is taking place in the mirror. With her headscarf on—only her ears showing—the beauty of her face and skin is accentuated. It’s as smooth as brown velvet.
“Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I don’t like all a y’all,” she says, even more Jasmine-like. “I don’t want my man in the middle of ten women. He might not make it out alive.” Her delivery—the cadence in her voice—cracks me up. Jasmine’s sense of humor has become one of my most favorite things about her.
“We won’t hurt Carl. We love Carl.”
“Yeah. And that’s the problem. His heart might give out.”
“That Carl loves one wom
an and one woman only,” I say, punctuating my words with my mascara wand.
“That may be. But that one woman is no dummy.”
We both laugh and I get back to my mascara. Ellie has taught me a new trick. “Sweep from the root,” she’s always saying. “It makes your lashes look super long.” There’s only problem with this execution—the dim light near the door.
As I’m sweeping—careful not to poke my eye out, a phrase Mamaw always uses—I notice Jasmine’s expression change. I could almost swear she’s a little blue. So I quickly finish and shove the mascara back in my drawer. Stepping toward her, I ask, “Are you sad you’re not going out for Recruitment?”
Jasmine opens her eyes as wide as they will go. “Cali. Be serious. Do I look like the type of woman who would want to join a bleached-blond sorority?”
“I have red hair,” I say with a wink.
“You know what I mean.”
“Well? You live in a dorm full of sorority girls.” We’ve spent considerable time on this subject. I know I’m well within the boundaries of our friendship to talk with her frankly. “And there are only a couple of other black girls living here as far as I can tell.”
“First off—and you already know this—I’m only staying here because I plan to be an RA next year. It’s helping me to understand the needs and desires of the residents firsthand.”
That’s incredible, I think to myself. So unselfish. “I can’t imagine anyone else doing something like that. You’ll be the best RA ever.”
“Well, I hope so.” Our rug has been curling up on the edge and she mashes the corner down with her foot. “Can I tell you something you don’t know?”
“Sure.” I back up and sit on the edge of my bed.
“You’re playing a big part in all that. Living with you is helping me to understand white girls and how y’all think.”
“Aww, that’s so sweet. I’m glad.”
“As far as a sorority goes, I might join. But it’ll be a black one.” She takes off her headscarf. “You can be sure of that.” When her braids fall around her shoulders, she reaches back and ties the scarf securely around them, making a big fat ponytail. “Look around today. You won’t see many chocolate sisters going out for your Rush.”
I shrug. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“And why the ones who do, do it in the first place—has me unzipped. You know what I’m sayin’?” The way she emphasizes “unzipped,” and teeters back and forth—like she’s a bobblehead—makes me laugh out loud.
But something else about what she said pulls me down. “There’s something really sad and wrong about all that. Don’t you think?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean … we’re still so divided around here.”
“It’s not just here, Cali; it’s everywhere.”
“I know. And I’m not sure of the answer, but I still hate it.”
She bends toward me. “All we can do is our part. And I think we”—she flicks a finger back and forth between us—“are doing just that.”
“We are. I know that. But … I wanna do more. That’s why I want to be governor one day. I really want to make a difference in people’s lives.”
When Jasmine reaches out to hug me I stand up, pull her in tight. After she lets go she keeps her hands on my shoulders. “You are a sweet person, Cali Watkins. You’re always concerned about me and everybody else. I love that about you.”
“You’re a sweet person yourself, Jasmine Crawford. And I’ll always be concerned about you. Probably till I’m ninety and can’t remember my own name.”
“We might be old ladies together. Never can tell.” She turns around to make her bed.
So I do the same. As I’m fluffing my pillow, I turn back around. “Does that mean we’ll move to Florida and knit all day?”
She looks over her shoulder. “Either that or crochet. And when we’re finished, we’ll get in the car and drive twenty miles an hour down the beach highway.”
“It would have to be in a convertible.”
“Of course it’ll be in a convertible.” She tugs on her pajama shorts. “We’ll wear granny bikinis. Take our tops off and swing them high in the air while we’re driving.”
The thought of that—the two of us topless with the top down—gets me laughing. “And then we’ll park the car, run across the sand, and take a buck-naked dip in the ocean.”
A hard pounding on the door interrupts our banter.
“Who is it?” Jasmine says, in a loud voice.
“The Resident Advisor’s boyfriend.” It’s no guy. It’s a girl, disguising her voice, and it’s followed by laughter from a gaggle of ninth-floor rushees. “Open up. Now.”
Jasmine sashays over, snatches the door open. “Why if it’s not the ninth-floor Martinian sextuplets. Come on in,” she says, waving them inside.
Ellie, Annie Laurie, Bailey, Tara, Hannah, and Claudia—all wearing identical yellow Greek Day T-shirts—come rushing in. Ellie holds the hem of her shirt. “Whatever makes you say that?”
Everyone laughs.
Hannah and Bailey lift their legs and touch their matching Nike tennis shoes together. “Great minds,” they both say at the same time.
“Jasmine and Carl may come to dinner with us tonight,” I say.
Tara’s hand flies to her chest. “I thought you knew we canceled Volta.”
I shake my head. “Why?”
“My Gamma Chi said there’s a good chance we might be at Weir Hall till nine or ten tonight.”
“Depending on your schedule, you might wait in line three hours to rank,” Bailey adds. “We’ll have to eat at different times.”
At the end of every Rush day we’ll be ranking our bottom three sororities. I know that from Rush Orientation.
“I wasn’t going with y’all anyway,” Jasmine says.
“And why not?” Ellie asks, with a hand on one hip.
Jasmine mimics Ellie, puts a hand on her own hip. “Because Carl couldn’t get enough of all y’all.”
“Whatever,” Hannah says. “Carl hasn’t seen nothin’ yet.”
“We better go, y’all,” Tara says, looking at her watch. “We have to be there in twenty minutes.”
I start to grab my phone from the nightstand when Ellie puts her hand out to stop me. “Remember? No phones allowed.”
“Oops. Almost forgot.”
“Wait. What?” Jasmine asks. “Y’all can’t take your phones?”
Annie Laurie pulls hers out of her bra. “No one is gonna tell me I can’t bring my phone.”
“You go, girl,” Jasmine says, and they give each other a high five.
No one else comments.
THIRTY-FOUR
CALI
After taking the steps down from the ninth floor—the line for the elevator was ridiculous—we have to get in another line. It seems like a thousand of us are making the trek up the gargantuan flight of stairs from the Martin parking lot to Rebel Drive. It’ll take a little longer to get to the Grove this morning with all of us walking over at the same time.
When we crest the hill, not far from the back of the Union, I can already hear the chatter, and when the Grove is finally in view I literally feel like pinching myself, because the moment I’ve been living for is here. The Grove looks like a giant sunflower field, with thousands of girls clustered together in yellow shirts—their cheery faces beaming in the sunlight.
I had heard there would be this many—the largest Ole Miss Rush ever—but seeing everyone congregated together is insane. I’m not exactly sure, but it seems like blondes have the majority—with a smaller percentage of brunettes and a tiny spattering of us redheads. Every now and then I spot a black girl sticking out like a raisin in a bowl of milk, but Jasmine was right. Not many.
Sarah’s arm is high in the air, and she’s waving at me when I walk up to our designated spot: the far right corner of the Union steps. She’s wearing the cutest purple Gamma Chi T-shirt, khaki shorts, and leather flip-flops.
“Hey, girl. How are you?” she says with that sweet voice of hers. Instantly I feel my muscles relaxing. Her bubbly personality and sparkly eyes remind me of one of the reasons I wanted to join a sorority in the first place. When she wraps her arms around me, I’m reminded of her kindness. During Rush Orientation she made it a point to give every one of us in her group private time, to divulge any fears we had about the process. I never told her my biggest fear, but I still felt like the luckiest person on earth to have gotten her as my Gamma Chi.
“Honestly? I’m nervous,” I tell her. “But I’m super excited at the same time.”
She reaches out, takes both of my hands in hers. “Please don’t be nervous. It’s all gonna be fine. We have thirteen sororities on this campus and they’re all looking for great girls like you.”
“Aww, thanks, Sarah. I know there’s a House for me. I’m just … I don’t know … nervous.” A part of me is dying to explain the reason for my fear—that I don’t have a pedigree and I’m just a girl from a tiny town where people don’t belong to sororities or fraternities—but I don’t. She wouldn’t understand.
“I don’t want you to be. Today is gonna be a blast. Just enjoy it, okay?”
Even though I nod in agreement, I’m still worried.
Five more girls in our group walk up at the same time and Sarah embraces each of them, too. No one on my floor is in my Gamma Chi group, but I do know Bridgett, a girl in my Honors English class. I try looking around the massive crowd for Ellie, but quickly realize there’s no point. She’s just another blonde.
All of us spend the next fifteen minutes engaging in high-strung small talk while we eagerly await our first Water Party at nine. Turning a slow circle, I look around at thousands of happy girls, bouncing on their toes, full of excitement and hope, and I’m reminded that some of the girls I’m watching right this minute will have their hearts broken. And that one of them could be me.
At eight twenty, Sarah climbs up to one of the higher steps with a small box in her hand and corrals us for a brief meeting. She has to raise her voice a little so we can hear her. “The most important thing I want y’all to do today is have fun. I know a few of you have been telling me how stressed you are, but I want y’all to try and relax. And enjoy yourselves. Rush is meant to be one of the best experiences of your life. You’ll be meeting tons of new people,” she says, while handing each of us a Ziploc bag labeled with our names. Our official Rush name tags are tucked inside. “But don’t let that worry you. You aren’t required to remember all their names.”
