A Piece of Heaven
Table of Contents
This book is dedicated to the friendship and wisdom of
Graham and Madeleine Bernard
Eunice Jackson
Thelma Markowitz
Marian Rich
Dr. M. Jerry Weiss and Helen Weiss
Sims and Georgia Wyeth
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks to my editor, Andrea Cascardi. Her comments throughout the phases of
A Piece of Heaven
provided a well of encouragement and insight. I am grateful as well to my agent, Robin Rue, for her enthusiasm and for reading the manuscript in earlier drafts. Georgia Wyeth, my daughter, has read my works-in-progress since the age of five! I always await her response eagerly, because of the truth it provides. My husband, Sims Wyeth, continues to be steadfast and loving in his support.
Conversations I had with Carol Smith-Njiiri, Senior Vice President of Family and Children Services of HeartShare Human Services of New York, helped immeasurably, as did the talk I had with Terry McKeon, Senior Vice President of Developmental Disabilities. Part of the aim of the multi-service agency where Mrs. Smith-Njiiri and Mr. McKeon work is to find ways to help children who have lost their families and homes or who are in need of other support. I hope that
A Piece of Heaven
pays tribute in a small way to the resilience and bravery of such young people and to the dedication of those who reach out to them.
Ever since I learned to read, fairy tales have been a mainstay for me. While I was writing
A Piece of Heaven, Grimms’ Tales for
Young and Old,
translated by Ralph Manheim, Anchor Books, New York, 1977, was never far away. I was especially captured by one of Manheim’s renderings, “Darling Roland.” The fourth edition of
Roget’s International Thesaurus,
revised by Robert L. Chapman, Thomas Y. Crowell Company, New York, 1977, was also at my side. I also found inspiration in
African-American Gardens and Yards in the Rural South
by Richard West Macott, the University of Tennessee Press, Knoxville, 1992. To the authors of these books, I am grateful.
CHAPTER ONE
It was the last day of school and the day before my thirteenth birthday. The temperature that afternoon had hit one hundred. After dinner, in our one-room apartment, it felt like one hundred and ten. I sat perched on the side of my bed near the fire-escape window, trying to catch some air. Sweat collected along the edges of my scalp, crisscrossing my face and dripping into my eyes. My big brother, Otis, lay sprawled on the red pullout couch with his mouth hanging open. Ma, already in her pajamas, sat motionless at the table in the center of the room, staring at the bills. I could hear kids’ laughter and the cracking sound of a stick whacking a ball in the street below. In the projects across the way, a boom box pumped out a bass beat with too much reverb and a barrage of words sharp as bullets. Wailing in the distance was a siren. The world was going about its business in spite of the heat. But Ma had kept us in. Ma believed that the city wasn’t safe for a girl in the evening. Otis she usually let roam. But tonight Otis was cooped up inside, too, on account of his report card. I glanced at my brother’s face. He glared at me.
“What are you looking at?”
I lowered my eyes. “Nothing.” It would be just like my brother to get three D’s and an F, and then try to take it out on me.
“You’d better not be looking at me,” he grumbled. “You scrawny little roach.”
“You’ve got the face of a roach,” I said, not skipping a beat. We enjoyed insulting each other.
Otis smirked and rubbed his chin. “Well, if you ask me, your growth is stunted.”
“So is your brain.”
He stretched his legs. “You’ve been reading too many books,” he said. “You’re beginning to smell like a worm.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I snorted. “Worms don’t even have a smell.”
“Look at this six-pack,” he bragged, baring his stomach. “I’m made of iron! Go ahead, hit me!”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re pathetic.”
He shot up from the couch. “Midget!”
“
Mental
midget!” I shot up from the bed.
“You think you’re such a smart-ass!”
“At least I don’t eat my toenails!” I zinged him.
The hint of a smile curled at the edges of his mouth. He towered over me. “You do pick your nose.”
“That’s a lie!”
“You’re so short, I could cook potatoes and eat them off your wimpy little head!” he said, flicking me on the forehead.
“Oh yeah?” I jumped back. “Well, you couldn’t cook a potato if you tried. Know why? Because you couldn’t read the cookbook!” I got up in his face. “
Dumb
bell!”
Otis’s brown eyes bugged out. I’d hit a nerve. He pulled a cushion off the couch and held it up threateningly.
“What are you going to do?” I taunted. “Smother me?”
He whacked me over the head!
“He hit me!” I cried.
I scrambled past the table where Ma was sitting. Otis tore after me. We zigzagged through the one-room apartment, running past the painted dresser and Ma’s bed in the alcove. We circled the bathtub, which stood on four legs, and skidded by the sink filled with dishes. Then, lurching past the red couch, I lunged toward the fire escape. Otis grabbed me by the hair. We were half angry, half laughing.
“Ouch!” I screamed.
“Take it back!” Otis said, yanking my ponytail.
“Take what back?” I said, digging my fingernails into his hands.
“You called me a dummy!” he said, tightening his grip.
“I called you a dumb
bell
!” I screeched. “Not a dummy! Anyway, it’s not my fault that you got a bad report card!” He pulled my hair even harder and I let out a bloodcurdling scream.
“That hurts! I’m not playing!”
From the center of the room, Ma’s voice came thundering. “LET HER GO, OTIS MOON!” Otis let go and I dropped to my knees. We glanced at each other and then at Ma. I’d never heard her yell that loud in my life.
“I can’t hear myself think!” Ma barked. “That scream almost split my eardrums!”
“It’s not my fault,” I whimpered, rubbing the back of my head where my hair had been pulled. “Otis was trying to scalp me. Degenerate fool!” I muttered under my breath.
Ma slammed her fist on the table. “That’s enough, Mahalia!”
“Yes, Ma,” I said obediently.
“And get up off the floor,” she ordered. “I didn’t pay an arm and a leg for those jeans you’re wearing in order for you to tear them up roughhousing.”
Otis gave me a hand and I clambered up onto my knees.
“We’re sorry, Ma,” he said nervously. “Please don’t snap out on us.”
“Snap out on
you
?” she shot back. “You two behave like three-year-olds!” She stood up. My mother is short, like I am. “You listen here, Otis. Your sister is right. You are a degenerate. Because only a degenerate would disappoint his mother the way you did with that lousy report card. Three D’s and an F! Only a degenerate would say he’s going to get a job to help out around here and then spend all his
durn
nights playing basketball across the street in that
durn
playground in the project!”
Otis and I stole a look at each other. Ma really hated cussing. Using the word
durn
was a big deal for our mother.
“See this mess!” She pointed to the jumble of bills. “I have to take care of this, nobody else. Your father isn’t around asking about the rent increase, or the camp that Mahalia can’t go to because we don’t have the money, or the trip we want to make to Disney World! Or those size-twelve sneakers we couldn’t afford, either, but just
had
to buy for you, Otis. Instead of helping me out, all you two can do is…disturb the
durn
peace!” She scrunched her face up like she was going to cry. She was so bent out of shape, she’d even mentioned Dad, whom we hadn’t seen in years and never talked about.
“We didn’t mean to upset you, Ma,” I ventured timidly. “We didn’t mean to disturb the durn peace.”
“Nobody ever means anything!” she sobbed, collapsing at the table. “My boss at the hospital didn’t mean it when she promised me the day off and then went back on her word! The landlord didn’t mean it when he forgot for the umpteenth time to fix that cracked ceiling that any day is going to fall down and kill us! The president of the United States doesn’t mean it, either!” She threw up her hands. “Give me a break, Lord!”
I stood there dumbfounded.
“Give
us
a break, Ma,” my brother dared grumble. He slinked across the room and slammed his body down onto the couch, making the springs screech. “This is the last day of school,” declared Otis. “We don’t need no cryin’ jag.”
“And I don’t need your disrespect,” Ma countered, wiping her tears. “Nor do I need you to break the couch. So, if you don’t mind, please don’t throw yourself down on it next time. Please sit down on it properly. And while you’re at it, you can locate the cushion that you hit your sister on the head with,” she added, catching her breath.
“It’s my couch,” Otis muttered defiantly. “I’ll do what I want with it. I’m the one who sleeps on it.”
Ma’s eyes watered. Otis was definitely taking advantage.
“Here’s the cushion,” I volunteered quickly. I picked it up, scurried across the room, and put it back into place. Ma had decided to ignore Otis’s last remark. She blew her nose on a napkin.
“Someone could do the dinner dishes,” she said with a little sniff.
Otis and I pointed at each other.
“Your turn!”
Ma’s head dropped. “See what I mean?”
“Otis and I apologize, Ma,” I said. I went up and patted her shoulder. “It’s the last day of school. We’re restless.”
“It’s hot as hell in this place, too,” Otis complained. Ma gave him the evil eye.
“Hot as Hades,” he corrected himself.
“I know,” Ma muttered, wiping her brow. “I know you’re hot, I know you’re restless. I know it’s the last day of school.” She looked confused for an instant. “I can’t solve all the world’s problems. I’m only one person.”
“We don’t expect you to solve everything, Ma,” I said gently.
Her face brightened for a minute. “Tell you one thing. I’m proud of that report card, Haley. All A’s.”
“Thanks,” I said, flushing with pleasure.
“Grades ain’t everything,” Otis growled.
“Education is everything,” Ma insisted.
“Oh yeah?” Otis cocked his head. “You got an education. How come you’re just an admitting clerk at some hospital? You’re probably smarter than a lot of them doctors.”
“I went to night school,” Ma objected. “I never got a degree. I hate to see you throw away your chances.”
He shrugged. “What more can I do?”
“Apply yourself to your schoolwork,” she snapped, “and stop picking on your sister. I can’t stand all that bickering.”
“Haley’s the one who started it,” Otis protested. “You were right here, Ma. You heard her.”
Ma stared blankly. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“There wasn’t anything to hear,” I jumped in. “Otis just started picking on me.”
“What was the fight about?” Ma asked.
Otis scratched his head. “Heck if I know. But I know that Haley started it.”
“I didn’t start it! You did!”
“You called me a dumb-ass,” Otis declared.
“You called
me
a smart-ass,” I argued. “A dumb
bell
is what I called you.”
“Same thing,” Otis said angrily. “You’re putting me down because of the bad luck I had with my report card, and it wasn’t even my fault.”
“Whose fault was it?” I exclaimed.
“I have one of those learning disabilities,” Otis said, pacing the room. He knocked his head with his fist. “That’s the reason!”
“The only disability you have is that you don’t study,” I grumbled. “Anyway, you started the fight, because you knew I brought home a good report card and you got jealous!”
“You’re always trying to show me up,” Otis shouted.
“Shut up, you two!” Ma cried. There was a ragged edge to her voice, almost as if she were in pain. Otis and I got quiet.
“Are you okay, Ma?” I ventured.
She sighed. “Why don’t we all have a glass of ice water?” she suggested. That was Ma’s remedy for everything.
“I’ll get it,” volunteered Otis. He yanked open our tiny refrigerator. There was plenty of ice, but not much food. Otis cracked a tray of ice and divided it among three plastic tumblers. In a minute or two, we each had a tall drink in our hands.
“Thanks, Otis,” Ma said, rubbing the tumbler along her forehead. A dark curl fell over one eye. She took a sip of water. “Ah, that’s better.”
Otis and I paused to drink our own water. A tiny breeze ventured in from the fire escape and slipped toward us. For a blessed instant, it was cool and quiet and nobody was getting on anyone’s nerves. But then Otis made an announcement.
“I’m going out.”
“You’re grounded,” Ma reminded him wearily. There were circles beneath her eyes.
“Are you okay, Ma?” I repeated.
“Fine,” she replied. “Do the dishes.”
I turned to the sink and ran the hot water. The steam hit me in the face, making me sweat again.
“You can’t keep me cooped up in here,” Otis said, slamming his glass down on the table. “It’s the last day of school. Everybody in the world is outside but us. What is this? Some kind of prison?”
“Go ahead, Otis—insult the home I work hard to provide for you,” countered Ma.
“I ain’t insultin’ nobody,” Otis declared. “Just that I got to get out of this trap. Y’all two women be raggin’ me night and day. You forgettin’ that I’m the man around here! What yo’ problem, Ma?” He strutted across the room. Otis loved the sound of his voice when he was talking that way. But it was just that tone of voice that always irritated Ma. And today it more than irritated her.
“My problem is that I have a fifteen-year-old son whose great ambition in life is to sound like a hoodlum,” she said in a spurt. Then she started to cry again. Otis stared in surprise.
“He’s sorry, Ma,” I said, hurrying over.
“Yeah, I’m sorry,” said Otis. “I’ll do better in school next year. I promise. Besides, the reason I’ve got to go out tonight is to see about a job. I have one all lined up. I’m getting a job, Ma,” he pressed, standing over her. “Isn’t that what you want?”
“What kind of job?” I chimed in eagerly. “A job like Dill McCoy’s?” Dill McCoy was the boyfriend of my next-door neighbor and former baby-sitter, Nirvana Brown.
Otis scowled. “No, definitely not a job like Dill McCoy’s. I ain’t going to spend my summer being some low-paid burger flipper.”
“What are you going to do, then?” I persisted. “Work at the sneaker store, like Nirvana does?”
“Why is everybody always throwing those two up in my face?” Otis scoffed. “There are other people in the world with jobs besides Nirvana Brown and Dill McCoy.”
“What kind of job do you have in mind, Otis?” Ma asked quietly.
He rubbed his chin. “I’m going into business for myself.”
“An entrepreneur!” I exclaimed.
He frowned. “What’s that?”
“A person who goes into business for himself,” I said, scrubbing a plate. “I learned the word in school.”
“Entrepreneur.”
Otis rolled the word around in his mouth. “You got that right, Sis,” he said, crossing the room. “And tonight is the night I’m getting my entrepreneur situation all set up.” He pushed open the front door and left.
“How come he gets to go out?” I complained, flicking the suds off my fingers. “You said he was grounded.”
“I can’t control him,” Ma admitted. “Besides, he’s seeing about a job.” She gathered up the bills and buried them beneath the knives in the silverware drawer.
“Aren’t those the bills?” I asked with a worried glance.
“Yes. I’ve paid what I can. They’ll just have to wait for the rest,” she said, slamming the drawer.
“Is that okay?”
She kissed me on the cheek. “Don’t worry so much, Mahalia.”
“So, can I go out tonight, too?” I asked, rinsing a glass.
“No way,” Ma said, grabbing a dish towel.
“How is that fair?” I sulked. “Otis got all D’s and an F. I got all A’s.”
“Where would you go?” Ma asked.
