"They Might Need Some Hugs"

Melvina, Edna, and Aunt Myrtle---aka Aunt Mip---had been in Melvina’s kitchen drinking hot tea with hunks of the german chocolate cake that Aunt Mip baked from scratch the day before.  Melvina collected their empty cake plates and stacked them in the sink.  

     Aunt Mip had been staying at Edna’s, but in the last month had divided much of her time between the Smalls’s and Tompkins’ households:  cooking, looking after young folks, and being in everybody’s business as much as they would allow.  

  

“Now, I know its none of my business but I’m surprised you let Sukie go and get Leslie all by herself.”  Aunt Mip’s upper body softly rolled in a 360 degree circle,  centering on her haunches as she said this.

“Oh, she’ll be okay.  I walk her up to Oakland and watch her cross the street.  Besides, there’s safety guards on the corners between here and the school.  It makes her feel like a big girl.”

Aunt Mip made a face.  “It doesn’t make you nervous having your little girls crossing big streets with all these cars and things?”  

By things Aunt Mip was referring to slick-talking people walking down the street wearing loud clothes, listening to transistor radios, drinking wine, signifying, and tipping ashes off their cigarettes.

Edna and Melvina gave each other the briefest of glances before Melvina replied, “There’s lot’s of children out after school, Aunt Mip.”

“Mmhmm.”

Melvina looked at the clock only to realize that it was a bit later than when her daughters usually bounded up the porch steps and clattered through the front doors bringing in all kinds of sweet and sour smells, gusts of cold air, conversation, dirt and leaves; as well as the treasures of awesome wonder which so excited them:  pieces of a robin’s egg shell; a dead butterfly; an empty cola bottle; a well-worn leather glove; and maybe a few coins.  

“In fact, they should be getting here any minute, now.”

All three women gravitated toward the front of the house with Melvina going straight to the door and Myrtle seating herself in a chair at one end of the oblong coffee table.  Edna lingered to gaze at a photo of Melvina’s mother dressed to the nines and posing in front of a parked car with her new husband---her super-red lipstick looked so real that Edna touched her finger to it with the unconscious hope that it would leave a stain. 

“Melvina, how’s your mother doing?” she asked but Melvina had opened the screen door and was stepping out onto the porch. 

Nearing the house was a woman she knew by face from around the neighborhood---they always waved---with Sukie, Leslie, and Sharalynn in tow.  47 degree winds had ruddied their faces and watered their eyes.  They were holding hands and looked as if they might need some hugs. 
“Hey, there.” Melvina welcomed them with a voice to test the waters as she came down the steps.  “Everything okay?” 

Sukie nodded yes and Leslie said “No!” while Sharalynn thought about her need to use the bathroom.  Mrs. Metrey gave Melvina a tiny smile.  “Hi.  I’m Gladys Metrey.  I live over on Cameron Street.”  She threw her hand in the direction of her house.

“Oh---Mrs. Metrey!---all this time I never knew your name....I’m Melvina---” as she offered her hand with an awkward shrug, Sukie lunged forth and wrapped her arms around Melvina’s legs.  “Hi Mommy! We didn’t do anything bad.”  She hugged her mother reassuringly.  Frowning, Melvina crooked a forefinger at Leslie.  “Why is your lip poked-out? Come here.  And Sharalynn, what’s wrong with you? Are you sick?”  Leslie tried to hang back a little.    

"Hey White Girl!"

Hey white girl! Stop walking on my street!

Yeah! You smell like pee-pee!

*

Sharalynn waited over-long in her hiding place by the thick hedges of a house near the corners of Marston and Oakland.  Having run there, her breathing was just now becoming regular.  She was on her knees, the handle of her book-bag still hooked inside her elbow while her heart pounded loudly in the aftermath of the boisterous part of the afternoon.  Peeking between two limbs of scratchy green she could see the muted colors of Sukie and Leslie’s coats still stalled in front of Mrs. Metrey’s house.  Sharalynn wondered why Leslie did not join her in their shared secret spot.  She rubbed a finger soothingly to her front gums while inhaling the smell of fallen leaves just beginning to rot.  A fat water bug strove to climb the mountains of mud clots that Sharalynn thought about puncturing with her thumb but changed her mind.  She felt dastardly:  2nd grade was turning out to be not-so-friendly for her and her friend, Leslie.

“Hey white girl---what you doing in those bushes?”

“I’m not white, I’m peach!” Sharalynn shouted in the direction of the teenage-boy-voice who had spotted her.  It seemed like the bushes were talking and that made the boy laugh but he was on his way somewhere important and didn’t have time to stop.  “See you later, Peaches!” he tossed the reply over his shoulder at Sharalynn who caught it with a gulp of surprise.

At school she knew some kids had nicknames like Junior, Candy, Neicy, Junebug, CeeCee and Peewee.  Teachers were not members of the club who could invent, call, or respond to nicknames.  Teachers always pronounced proper names aloud from their roll books, a red ink pen at-the-ready for marking someone absent, tardy, good, or bad:  Stanley Bronwell, Jr..  Candace Cummings.  Denise Espers.  Henry Flynn.  Cynthia Robinson.  Karo Abernathy.  

In the house where she lived with her three generations of family, Sharalynn Richmond was always called Sharalynn---her mother saying it breathily as though it was the most beautiful, ethereal name in the world.  But, then again, if her mother was in a bad mood she pronounced the Sh real hard like a curse word, then spit out the remaining syllables without a hint of music.

“Peaches.”  Sharalynn whispered to herself.

Then she heard Mrs. Metrey say “Come on, you two,” to Leslie and Sukie.  As Sharalynn stepped out onto the sidewalk a short limb from the hedges grazed her cheek.

Sukie was the first to see Sharalynn and it made her feel as proud as if she had actually rescued her from the taunts of Teddy, Wynn, and Sonya and the pebbles they had thrown; and how the one boy---dashing fast like a gazelle---had managed to stick his hands up under the coats of both Leslie and Sharalynn and yanked-up the hems of their skirts to reveal their underwear to the neighborhood.  Drying tears streaked Sukie’s face and a little ribbon of snot waved from her nostril.  “Look!” she gave Sharalynn a short-toothed smile and ran ahead to pat her her sister’s friend on the shoulder “Are you okay?”

Leslie’s grouchy scowl gave way to a tattered sigh.

“Oh, Lord,”  said Mrs. Metrey “I guess I’m going to have to walk you home, too.”  Sharalynn nodded her head.