Between Madison and Palmetto (2 page)

 

 

 

Now Bo pulled his chair closer to the couch and, excusing himself, leaned over Grandma to speak to Maizon. The music was loud. Behind them, people were dancing. Every now and then someone blew into a noisemaker and shouted, “Happy New Year!”

“I was just telling your grandma about Baldwin Prep.”

Grandma smiled, rubbing Maizon's leg. “It sounds like a good school.”

Maizon nodded. She and Margaret had walked twelve blocks out of their way more than once to pass Baldwin Prep—the all-black, all-boy school Bo was attending now. Baldwin Prep was a school for kids who hadn't done well academically in the regular school system. SELF-ESTEEM, SELF-AWARENESS, SELF-LOVE was engraved in block letters on the front of the school building. It was the first all-black boys' school in the city.

“I can't believe there could be this many fine brothers in one place,” Maizon had said as she and Margaret walked slowly past the high fence enclosing the school-yard. It had been a day when Pace Academy students were dismissed early because of parent-teacher conferences. Margaret and Maizon had bolted off the school bus and made it to Baldwin Prep just as lunch was ending. “Bummer,” Maizon said, as she and Margaret watched the backs of the dozens of boys heading back into the red-brick building. “We missed them.”

“We squashed Stuyvesant seventy-eight to thirty-six right before Christmas.” Bo smiled now, looking off as though he were remembering the game. “Felt a little sorry for them,” he said, shaking his head. “Nobody should lose that badly.”

Grandma smiled, but Maizon threw her head back and laughed. She could almost picture Baldwin Prep, looking like the Harlem Globetrotters—the basketball team so good, they're not even allowed to play professionally—running circles around Stuyvesant.

Grandma leaned over to kiss Maizon, then stood up slowly. “Think I'm going to head home, Maizon. Are you spending the night at Margaret's?”

“Can I?”

Grandma nodded. “If it's okay with Mrs. Tory. I'll check with her on my way out.”

“Be careful on the ice, Grandma.”

“Good night, Bo. Nice talking to you.”

“You, too, Mrs. Singh.”

Maizon scooted over to Grandma's place on the couch.

“I have a question, Maiz ...” Bo began.

“Shoot.”

“If your grandma is your mom's mother, how come you two have the same last name?”

“After my mama died and my dad left, Grandma officially adopted me. I was a baby.”

Bo shrugged. “Makes sense to me. Another question.”

“Get them answered while you can.”

“What's it like to grow up without a pops? I mean, I think about it because I know a lot of kids who don't have a dad. But I can't picture what it would be like to not have my dad in the picture. There'd be an empty chair in the kitchen. My parents' bedroom would always seem half empty. And forget about my life. It would just seem like I was floating from one place to another. I mean, my dad is always there for me. We shoot hoops together, take walks, see movies, talk about girls ...” Bo shook his head. “I don't even like to think about what it would be like without him.”

Maizon thought for a moment. “I don't have any of that stuff to compare it to. He was never in the picture. You can't miss something that was never there, right?”

“What was never there?” Margaret asked, walking up and taking a place beside Maizon on the couch. They linked arms.

“My father,” Maizon said, and saw how Margaret's face seemed to drop, a microslice of an inch that only a close friend would notice. It had been a year and a half since Margaret's father died of a heart attack. Maizon realized how the emptiness Bo talked about seemed to encircle Margaret's life, even though Margaret tried to hide it. There was a sadness about her that had never been there before.

They were all silent for an awkward moment.

Impulsively, Maizon leaned over and kissed Margaret on the cheek. She wanted to be Margaret's closest friend in the world. She wanted Margaret to belong only to her. Something kept gnawing at her, though, telling her this might not happen. Still, she didn't stop hoping.

“So what's up at Pace?” Bo asked, breaking the silence.

“Lotsa lotsa things. I wrote a play, so of course Margaret is directing.”

“And Caroline is starring,” Margaret added.

Bo raised an eyebrow. “That white girl from Palmetto Street?”

They nodded.

Bo rolled his eyes.

“What do you have against her?” Maizon asked.

Bo raised both hands and shrugged. “Same thing I have against all of them.”

“That's racist, Bo—” Margaret began.

“Gimme a break, Margaret. You mean to tell me you don't see what's happening to this neighborhood?”

Margaret leaned back against the couch. “Yeah, I see. New buildings going up. The street cleaner coming around more. What's wrong with that? We need the streets cleaned.”

“Ah Margaret, c‘mon. It's because of white people”—Bo looked over at Maizon—“like your friend Caroline.”

“Well, what has she personally done to you?” Maizon asked.

“Man!” Bo leaned forward, as though he could make them understand by moving closer. “I'm almost six feet tall.”

Maizon raised her eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“I'm black.”

Margaret smiled. “No kidding?”

“I'm a man.”

“A teenager,” Maizon corrected. “You're thirteen.”

Bo shook his head. “Whatever. It doesn't matter. What matters is you get me on a dark street with your Caroline or your Caroline's mom, and if they don't run like Pete to cross the street, my name's not Bo Douglas.”

Margaret and Maizon were silent.

“If it wasn't for Baldwin Prep teaching me that it's okay to walk through this world a black male,” Bo continued, “I'd probably be feeling kind of low.”

“We don't get taught that stuff and we feel okay,” Margaret said.

“Just okay?” Bo smirked. “Who wants to feel
okay?
I want to feel
great
about who I am.”

“Well, there should be a school for black girls like that. How come boys get everything?” Maizon said. She couldn't help thinking about Blue Hill and all the white girls there. There had only been four other black students and she had been so lonely for Madison Street, for the dark faces of her friends and grandmother. She hadn't felt as sure of herself at Blue Hill as she felt on Madison Street. She looked at Bo. “But I know what you're saying.”

“Me too,” Margaret said. “But what does that have to do with the construction?”

Bo looked as if he were about to say something, then stopped. After a moment, he said, “You'll see.” He looked around at the crowded party. In the corner of the living room Hattie, her back to the wall, laughed into the face of her current boyfriend. Ms. Dell sat across the room, rocking a sleeping Li‘l Jay on her lap while she talked to a woman in a green Sunday hat. A bluesy song was playing softly now.

“We'll all see,” Bo said.

3

Y
ears pass,“ Ms. Dell said slowly. It had been a week since the New Year's party, and still confetti littered the corners of the kitchen and living room. Ms. Dell sat opposite Margaret at the huge kitchen table. Behind her, Hattie was busy at the stove, warming up soup for their lunch. In a few minutes Hattie, looking older than twenty-one in Ms. Dell's apron, would be setting a steaming bowl of it in front of Margaret, warming up every single part of her against the chill. Outside, snow had laid a thick white cape over every inch of Madison Street. Li‘l Jay napped in the bedroom off of the kitchen—Hattie's room. ”Here it is more than a year since Maizon went away and came back from that boarding school.“

Hattie looked over her shoulder at Margaret. “You two are growing up before everybody's eyes. Where is Maizon, anyway?”

Margaret shrugged. “I don't know and I don't care.” She hadn't seen much of Maizon since the New Year's party. Tomorrow would be the first day of school since Christmas break. Maybe she'd see Maizon on the bus. The smell of Hattie's spicy chicken soup filled the kitchen. Margaret couldn't believe how hungry she was.

“Uh-oh,” Hattie said under her breath.

“She's probably with Caroline or something.”

“How come Caroline didn't come to the party?” Ms. Dell asked.

“They were away visiting her grandparents in Vermont. I guess she's back now and Maizon's being buddy-buddy with her.”

Hattie smiled. “Sounds like a little bit of jealousy to me.”

“I don't care about it. She can hang out with whoever she wants.” Margaret cut her eyes at Hattie. Hunger made her crabby.

“Sometimes,” Ms. Dell continued, “it seems as though not a moment has moved, but then you look up and you're already old or you already have a houseful of kids or you look down and see your feet are miles and miles away from the rest of you—and you realize you've grown up.”

Without thinking, Margaret looked down. Already her breasts had begun to build tiny mountains on her chest. Mama had bought her three bras, each one a little bit stretchier than the last. She smoothed her hands over her chest. The bulky sweaters she wore almost hid this growing she had absolutely no control over. But her jeans didn't hide the extra meat rounding out her behind and thighs. Hattie laughed. Margaret raised her head slowly, knowing already that Hattie would be looking at her and smiling. This wasn't the first time she had been caught checking out this new unfamiliar body of hers. Margaret felt her face growing hot.

“You'll get used to it, Margaret,” Hattie said, setting a bowl of soup down in front of her.

“I'd rather it just went away.”

“But it doesn‘t—” Hattie began.

“I know, Hattie,” Margaret said, cutting her off. “That doesn't make me stop wishing.” She took a spoonful of soup before continuing. “Every morning I wake up, it seems everything is bigger than it was the day before. I hate all this growing!”

“So many girls wish they had breasts.” Ms. Dell laughed. “Girls walking around all flat chested, stuffing their bras with tissue, doing exercises and praying. You should count yourself lucky.”

“How fat am I gonna get?”

“It's not fat,” Hattie said softly, touching Margaret's forehead. “It's just growing.” She sat down in the chair closest to Margaret, tore a piece of the warm bread Ms. Dell had baked, and dipped it into her soup. “When I was little, I used to be so flat chested, I didn't even want to go outside. Remember, Mama?”

Ms. Dell nodded, smiling. “How could I forget that little girl standing at the screen door looking sad and me not knowing the reason?”

“Those girls down south,” Hattie continued, “seemed to be stacked by the time they were ten. They had two years on you, Margaret. But when we moved up here to New York, I seemed to be caught up with everybody. Then it was safe to go outside again.”

Hattie laughed. “Eat your soup.”

Margaret smiled, taking a big spoonful. Leave it to Ms. Dell and Hattie to make her feel okay about herself.

“What time's your mama home, tonight?” Ms. Dell asked.

“She said around eight. There's a meeting today. Some people might want her to do some illustrations for a magazine. If they do, she said they're going to pay her good money.”

A few months after her father died, Margaret's mother started working for an architectural firm while she took drawing classes at City College at night. Now she had a new job, designing everything from company manuals to Christmas-party matchbooks.

Ms. Dell shook her head proudly and turned to get what must have been the hundredth look at the picture Mrs. Tory had given them New Year's Eve. “Every one of you Torys has a gift,” she said slowly. “Even your father, God rest his soul.”

“God rest it,” Margaret and Hattie echoed.

In the year and a half since he had died, Margaret thought of her father less and less. Before, he had been like his real self hovering over her, making her remember him every single day; now he was just a small shadow that followed her. All of a sudden she would look to the side or behind her and catch a glimpse of him. When this happened, her throat swelled up. She would feel the tears before they came to the surface. But she was crying for him less and less these days. Ms. Dell had said that was a good sign. Margaret disagreed. It was just a sign that there were other things in her life to cry about. There was the empty apartment that greeted her when she ran in from school some days, hoping her mother would be there, having forgotten that Mama would be at work. There was Li‘l Jay, growing tall and talking more and more, Li'l Jay with his gift of clairvoyance like Ms. Dell's. But most of all, Margaret knew, behind all the other things to cry about, there was Maizon. The old Maizon and the new one. The one that had gone off to Blue Hill and come home different. The Maizon who hardly ever called up to her window anymore, who walked to the pizzeria with Caroline Berg, who sat on the school bus with her only when Caroline was absent or being driven to Pace Academy by her dad.

It's not fair,
Margaret thought. Maizon hadn't even liked Caroline in the beginning. It was Margaret who wanted them all to be friends. Maizon had thought Caroline would be like all the white girls at Blue Hill. Margaret closed her eyes and remembered climbing on the Pace Academy bus in front of Maizon for the first time.

“A school bus and everything,” Margaret said excitedly. “This is going to be great.”