Day 110
(Note: If you are a subscriber to this blog the last post did not include the final paragraph written. You may want to go to www.lobsteronmyshoulder.com and read it before continuing on with Part III.) This is Part III of this story … Parts I and II were posted on Days 108 and 109.
It was going to be a hot one. I could tell by the way my cotton shirt clung to my back that the humidity was high and climbing. I’d surely need to pull down that roller shade Aunt Grace had the handyman put up on the porch the summer I got here. I nearly died of heat stroke before she (or I) thought of it. I remember Mama reading a letter from her friend, Lydia, who moved all the way to Colorado. She said it could be 90 degrees outside and you’d never even have one drop of sweat on you – the air was so dry. She said that she thought her lips would fall off her face or that she’d die of thirst those first few weeks she was there, she was so parched. She also said how big and blue the sky was and that it was almost always sunny and there was hardly ever a cloud to be seen. Mama thought it would be a shame not to have clouds or cloudy days or rain (I agreed with her because I always liked clouds and rain) … and how on Earth could a sky be bigger or bluer than right here? It was the same sky, after all.
The birds and the bugs in the yard and around the porch were acting strangely – all sluggish and worn-out like. I learned an awful lot from them since I was here. Amazing what you can learn when you just sit back and watch and listen. Aunt Hattie taught me that. She said, “Girl – you are a present from God waiting to be unwrapped. Bit by bit, little by little, the more you learn the more unwrapped you get and the better you, the gift, get. He gave you a brain; use what you’ve got to do your best. Watch and listen, and you’ll learn. God has a plan for you, honey – everything happens for a reason. Be patient, child.” For not having any education – I think Aunt Hattie was the smartest person I knew. I wished she was coming today.
On hot days like this she took in washing. She’d wash down by the creek and hang everything out on bushes and rope lines she’d strung between the big, old trees. Those trees were gigantic – Cottonwoods she called them; they liked to suck up the water from the creek and I was told they lived forever. Once in a while Miss Hattie would tell me she’d heard an owl or seen a hawk up in those trees. How I wished I could get me down there. With luck and a slight breeze the washing would be dry in no time, so then she could fold the items and take them back and collect her pay. She usually washed for Mrs. DeLaroux, and for a few others on an irregular basis; but Mrs. DeLaroux was a good customer. Aunt Hattie told me that the DeLaroux family had an electric washing machine (I’d only seen one in a Sears catalog once) but that Mrs. DeLaroux preferred Aunt Hattie to do their laundering, as it smelled so fresh and clean, like sunshine and flowers, and it was folded with strength and love. Aunt Hattie did have great hands for all the work she did and for as old as she was. Her hands were soft and supple like well-worn leather.
Not like Mrs. Johnson’s hands from “The Agency”. Mrs. Johnson’s hands were all crinkly and claw-like. She reminded me of an old rooster. I didn’t like her much. She came by from time to time to check on “my welfare”. I don’t really know what that means but it must have to do something about my legs and why I’m here with Aunt Grace. She gave Aunt Grave a talkin’ to about me not being in school and all and what was to become of me if I was a cripple and uneducated? Land sakes and mercy me! So, whenever she came by I’d try to use big, fancy words to show her I didn’t need any more education or other people telling me what to do. I was just fine – thank you very much. I had Aunt Hattie to teach me how to learn from life. I have my books from the library wagon, and I even learned things from Aunt Grace (though I tried not to and didn’t really want to as what she said and did was so different than Mama’s way.) And once in a while, Sara from up the road would come by and we’d talk and she’d tell me what was going on at the schoolhouse and in town; and sometimes she’d have news from as far away as New Jersey. Sometimes she’d let me braid her hair. She was real smart even though she was slightly younger than me, but she was pleasant just the same – even with that old doll she dragged along with her.
The library wagon was really just that … it was a small, somewhat rusted, red wagon that Mr. Bruce pulled down the road over to the house whenever he could get some books together. I loved when Mr. Bruce came by. Mr. Bruce was probably as old as Uncle Lester was when he died – at least he looked 300. Even though he was a colored man his hair was gray; and his skin was so wrinkled he reminded me of a tall raisin – with gray hair. The best thing about Mr. Bruce, besides that he always made me laugh, was his smile. It was dazzling. Once I made him keep smiling so I could count his teeth. He didn’t seem to mind (and he had the normal amount). They were so perfect and so white. They just gleamed out from that brown, wrinkled face. He is a friend of Aunt Hattie’s (Aunt Hattie knows all sorts of folks and has a whole lot of friends). He had suffered some sort of spell a ways back, which left him unable to speak. But we communicated just the same through gestures and nods and by using our hands. I kind of like to think Mr. Bruce and I have something in common – a kindredness of sorts. Every time he comes he brings me books he must think I’d like. I think he looks at the covers, which is a good thing I guess, ’cause most of the time I haven’t read them. A lot of times he brings me my favorite, Black Beauty, just in case I want to read it again. I think I’ve read it 9 times already; though the best time I read it, I read it out loud to Mr. Bruce. You see, Mr. Bruce can’t read.
(Watch for Part IV.)