So Much More(80)

“Your name’s Jane?” I ask.

She stops walking and faces me. Sometimes Hope’s stories are random. She tells them like I’m privy to every detail of her life. I follow along the best I can. This is one of those stories. “When I was eighteen, Mama married Jonas. Jonas moved into Mama’s house and told me I couldn’t live there no more. Mama knew a lady, Mrs. Lipokowski, who had an apartment. Mrs. Lipokowski was real nice and gave me a job. I wasn’t no good at it though, working with customers and money, so she filled out a bunch of papers for me and I got money in the mail every month instead. She says it’s called public assistance. She takes a little bit for my rent, and I buy food with the rest. Mrs. Lipokowski’s always been real nice to me. Like I wish my mama would’ve been. When I turned twenty years old, I told her that I didn’t like my name, that I liked Hope better. She said I could be called whatever I want. Ever since that day I called myself Hope ‘cause I feel better with that name. It’s special.”

“Where are we going, Hope?” I’m nervous now. I have no idea why, but the tears running down her cheeks are puzzling.

She takes my hand and walks silently to room four hundred. She slows as we approach the open door. We take a few steps inside. There’s a woman sleeping in the bed.

When I start to retreat, retracing my steps backward so we don’t disturb the patient, Hope stops me with a firm, but gentle hand. “Do you know her?” I whisper.

She shakes her head without turning around to look at me. “No,” she whispers.

“Why are we here?” When I ask the question, I know the answer. I feel it in her touch.

Hope.

It felt like hope.





Good at keeping secrets





past





“You’re pretty.”

Pretty.

I hear that a lot.

Sometimes it’s said nice, and makes me feel good. “Well, isn’t she a pretty, little thing,” or “Pretty girl, she looks just like her mama.”

Or sometimes, when my mama says it, even though she’s smiling real big, it makes me feel bad. “Being smart is only important if you’re not pretty, Jane,” or “Just smile pretty and don’t talk, Jane.”

My mama’s real pretty. Men tell her so all the time.

But when Dan says, “You’re pretty,” it makes me feel different. Like bees are buzzing in my chest, loud and tickley. And it makes my cheeks feel hot like I been outside on a summer day running around chasing dragonflies. I wanna tell him about the bees in my chest or chasing dragonflies, but I don’t. I smile instead, ‘cause that’s what Mama always tells me to do. And I add, “Thank you,” ‘cause Mama always says when someone says something nice that I should always say thank you. Just like on my birthday when I get a present, she says compliments are presents, too. I don’t really understand what that means, but I do like she says.

Dan smiles big. It makes the bees buzz again. I can see all his teeth. And I start counting ‘em in my head. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

But I stop when he starts talking ‘cause I can’t see number six, “When does your mom get home from work, Jane?”

“My mama works at the bank. She counts people’s money. She comes home at five o’clock.”

Dan smiles real big again, and I’m counting his teeth starting with six. Seven. Eight. “Wanna watch TV?”

We sit on the sofa. I sit on one end, and he sits on the other end.

We watch a movie that’s on. I seen it before. It’s funny.

Dan laughs a lot. I like watching him laugh. His eyes squeeze shut and his face looks like someone I wanna be friends with. I ain’t never had a friend, Mama said I couldn’t. But I want one. “Want a popsicle?”

He does.

I get a popsicle out of the freezer, a red one, ‘cause they’re my favorite. It has two sticks. Usually, I break it in two and eat ‘em both. But this time, when I break it, I give one to him.

We eat our popsicles, and he moves over and sits right next to me.

He holds my hand while we finish watching the movie.

I seen the way my mama smiles when men hold her hand. She looks extra happy and extra pretty when she smiles that way. I think I know why now. ‘Cause the bees aren’t just buzzing in my chest, they’re buzzing in my head, too, and I feel all funny and floaty. My cheeks hurt from smiling, but I can’t stop.

At four forty-five he says, “I better go.”

“Okay,” I say. The bees in my chest turned into a gorilla squeezing tight. It feels like when Grandma Tressa would leave every night when Mama came home from work, and I didn’t want her to. It makes me sad.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at school, Jane.”

“Okay.” This time when I say it, the gorilla ain’t squeezing tight no more. And I’m not sad ‘cause I’ll see him in the halls at school tomorrow.





*****





Wednesday is my favorite day of the week ‘cause Dan walks me home.

He asks me questions while we walk. “Did you just move here, Jane?”

“No. I lived here my whole life,” I tell him. “I just never went to real school before.” Grandma Tressa used to home school me, ‘cause Mama says the devil’s got his hand in the public school system and the lies and filth they teach, whatever that means. But Grandma died this summer, so now I go to real school, ‘cause Mama has to work at the bank during the day.