Last Summer with Maizon (5 page)

“I'll drink it when I wake up,” Margaret promised, heading toward the stairs.

Maizon sucked her teeth. “Sleepyhead,” she mumbled.

Maizon's grandmother put her hand on Maizon's shoulder and said, “Let her rest, Maiz.”

Margaret made her way down the quiet hallway. The stairs were covered with the same brown carpet as the living room, but the upstairs floors were bare. This part of Maizon's house always smelled like wax and wood. Over the years, Margaret had come to love that smell.

Maizon's room was pink, with rainbow sheets and a matching comforter. She had shelves of books and stuffed animals. The dark oak dresser matched the wood of her canopied bed. Margaret wondered why Maizon loved sleeping at her house so much when she had such a great room. But she was too sleepy to think about it now.

She took off her black patent leather shoes and climbed up onto Maizon's bed. She watched the sun stream through the curtains for a while. Thoughts of her father brought fresh tears to her eyes. They had never made things the way Grandma did but they had talked about things. And he would sing to her. Margaret thought about the song he used to sing about blue skies after rain-storms and someone watching over her. Grandma's voice drifted up from the kitchen.

“You have to be patient with Margaret, Maizon,” Grandma was saying. “Death is hard. You're lucky you haven't experienced it.”

“My mama died. Then Daddy went away. And I knew Mr. Tory.”

“It's not the same,” Grandma said patiently. “Your mama died when you were just a baby and your father left when you were not much older than that. You knew neither of them. And Mr. Tory you didn't know much better. He was just your friend and not a very close one. But he was Margaret's father. A father she had known.”

“Margaret seems sadder now, Grandma,” Maizon said.

“And she will be for a long time. Just be patient with her, Maizon. And be a friend.”

“I am her friend, Grandma. We're best friends!”

“Sometimes being a friend is harder than you think, Maizon. My people had a saying for that, you know. They said a friend is someone who knows when to be there and when not to be.”

“Friends should always be together, Grandma.”

“Not always, Maizon. Not always,” Grandma said. Their voices were coming from the living room now. Margaret wondered if this was eavesdropping. She closed her eyes and tried to shut the voices out. She heard the knitting needles clicking softly and imagined Grandma's hands moving swiftly over the dark-green yarn she was working with these days.

“I had a friend, Maizon,” she heard Grandma say softly. The knitting needles were silent, which meant Grandma was leaning toward Maizon, about to tell an important story.
Grandma loves sharing stories, so it couldn't be eavesdropping,
Margaret thought. “... before I married your grandfather. I thought I knew her so well and she knew me even better. We grew up together in Colorado. She, too, lived on the reservation before the government came and took us from the land. But I brought your grandfather to meet her and she said to me, ‘You can't marry him. He's a black man.' I knew that there had come a point where I still called this girl my friend but we didn't even know each other. Because I loved your grandfather and saw him as someone I loved. But she saw him as black and refused to know him.”

“But Margaret and I agree on everything.”

“You won't always, though. If the Lord separates you from her and you go to that school, you will learn things that are different from what Margaret is learning. You will grow in different ways.”

“Then I don't want to go away.”

And I don't want you to go away,
Margaret thought.

“But, Maizon, you must understand, you have to grow. I remembered my childhood with this friend and I kept those memories because they were important to me. But I knew she had grown into someone I wasn't. I still love her for who she was, not who she became. Do you understand, Maizon?”

“No,” Maizon said stubbornly.

“Oh, but you will. You will.”

Margaret fell asleep to the soft clicking of Grandma's needles.

W
hen nearly another month passed with no word from Blue Hill, Margaret let her hopes rise a little. Saturday was sunny and hot, a perfect day for a block party. Madison Street was noisy and filled with kids, happy that the street was closed off to traffic. From the kitchen, Margaret heard Maizon bound up the stairs and pound on the door. Ms. Tory sat in the living room with Li‘l Jay on her lap, gazing absently out the window. Margaret heard Li'l Jay yell when Maizon entered.

“Hi, Ms. Tory! Your door's unlocked. Where's Margaret?” she shouted.

“She's in the kitchen helping me get this baby something to eat. I see you're all ready for the block party. What do you have there?” she asked.

“Something I gotta tell Margaret about right away!”

Maizon darted into the kitchen just as Margaret pulled Li'l Jay's bottle from the pan of hot water.

“Hey, Maizon! When I finish with this bottle we can practice our double-dutch again before the contest. Did you bring the rope?”

Maizon gasped. “I forgot.”

“Maizon, how could you forget? We've been practicing for a week now.”

“I got into Blue Hill!” Maizon shouted, handing Margaret a white envelope.

Margaret ripped the letter from it and moved her lips silently as she read.

“Maizon! They want you to leave September first! That's not even two weeks away!”

“I know, and I still have to pack and buy clothes and say good-bye and ...”

“But, Maizon, you're leaving in two weeks! Two weeks! Don't you care!”

“About what?”

“About leaving,” Margaret said, carrying the bottle into the living room. Her hand shook as she handed it to her mother.

“Maizon got into Blue Hill, Mama,” she said, inching off to her room. Behind her she heard her mother congratulating Maizon.

“Yeah, wonderful,” Margaret whispered, flinging the window open.

She stared out at the construction site. The usually noisy cranes and trucks were still. The frame of the building was complete now, four stories higher than her own. Margaret sighed. She felt so empty all of a sudden.

“You sad 'cause I'm going away, Margaret?” Maizon asked from the doorway.

“I don't care,” Margaret said.

“I wish you were going, too, Margaret. I didn't even think of us not being together when I first got the letter. All I thought about was how happy my grandmother was. She said this was a good chance for me to meet different kinds of people and get a real good education.”

“But there are different kinds of people here, Maizon. And more people are going to move in. Rich people.”

“I know. But I know just about everyone here and P.S. 102 doesn't have such good teachers. Remember last year when I knew more than Ms. Shawn?”

Margaret frowned and nodded.

“Blue Hill is supposed to be smarter than any school in Brooklyn. And since I got a scholarship, my grandmother says I should go. She says I could get into good colleges and everything!”

“College?”

Maizon came over to the window.

“I know it's a long way away. But my grandmother says I should start thinking.”

After a moment Margaret asked, “What's Blue Hill going to be like?”

“I don't know. Lots of strangers dressed alike. Scary. I heard there are hardly any black people there. I won't know anybody.”

“Maizon, I don't want you to go away.” Margaret pressed her face against the cool pane. She didn't feel like double-dutch or block parties or anything anymore. “I was wishing you wouldn't get accepted.”

“I was hoping that too,” Maizon said. “But now that I got in, I know I have to go.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Margaret sighed. “I guess everyone has to go away sometime.”

“We can still buy the same clothes, Margaret. The letter says we don't have to wear uniforms all the time.”

Margaret nodded. What did it matter? They were going to be wearing them so far away from each other.

“Maizon, you think Ms. Dell was right about us? Remember she said one day all the things we did together won't matter 'cause other things will be more important?”

“Ah, I don't believe that, Margaret! I know you'll always be my best friend and I'll always be yours. It'll still be just like we're living on the same block.”

“You think so? You think we'll still be best friends? Connecticut is a long way away.”

“If we promise to be.”

“I promise. I promise I won't talk to anybody about any secrets but you. Sometimes I'll talk to Hattie and Ms. Dell, and Mama ... and maybe Li'l Jay, when he can carry on a conversation.”

“And I'll only talk to teachers. I'll write you about everything and call you and tell you what happens every day.”

They were silent for a long moment. Slowly, Margaret began to realize Maizon was really going away. The thought was a dull ache that started at her feet and worked its way up to her heart. She groped for words to fill the silence, but found none.

“Maybe I can visit, Maizon,” she said weakly.

“Yeah, and maybe I can come home on the weekend sometimes!”

“And maybe I can get a scholarship if I study and get real smart like you!”

“Yeah!”

“Promise always, Maizon?”

“Uh huh. You promise?”

“Uh huh.”

Maizon leaned over and kissed her gently on the cheek. Margaret was startled. She put her hand to her cheek and looked at Maizon.

“You're my best friend in the whole world,” Maizon said solemnly. “I love you. Best friends should tell each other that.”

“You're mine too, Maizon,” Maizon said softly, still a little surprised.

“And ... ?” Maizon prodded.

“And I love you.” Margaret smiled.

“Come on then,” Maizon said, sounding slightly embarrassed. “We have a double-dutch contest!”

They raced past Ms. Tory and Li'l Jay and slammed out the front door.

“Hey! Hey! Where you two off to so fast?” Ms. Dell said. She and Hattie were sitting on the stoop. They had done most of the baking for the block party and now glanced proudly at the table set up on the sidewalk. “Come back here and try one of these desserts me and Hattie put so much time into,” Ms. Dell said, fanning herself with her hand.

Maizon inched backward toward a strawberry-frosted cake with white sugar roses. She scooped up a fingerful from behind her back and turned quickly to stuff the frosting into her mouth.

“I guess you think no one saw that, Maizon?” Ms. Dell teased, folding her arms across her chest.

“We have to go,” Maizon said quickly, grabbing Margaret's hand. “It's almost time for the contest.”

She pulled Margaret behind her.

Maizon began chanting what they had practiced. “Almost twins. We're best friends, jumpin' side by side.” Margaret joined in.

“Turn around, touch the ground, up and give me five.” They slapped their palms together.

“Almost twins—could be cousins—coolest girls alive!” They sang as they made their way toward the crowd of girls that had gathered for the contest.

“S
ure wish you weren't going away,” Margaret said, choking back tears for what seemed like the millionth time. They were sitting on the M train, crossing the Williamsburg Bridge, and Margaret shivered as the train passed over the water. The L train would have made the trip easier but the L didn't go over the bridge and Maizon had wanted to ride over it once more before she left.

Maizon sat nervously drumming her fingers against the windowpane. “Me too,” she said absently.

Margaret looked over at Mama and Grandma. Grandma stared out of her window. She looked old and out of place on the train.

“Maizon?” Margaret said, turning back toward her.

“Hmm?” Maizon frowned. She seemed to be concentrating on something in the water. It rippled and danced below them.

“Even though I wrote you those two letters, you only have to write me one back if you don't have a lot of time or something.” Margaret looked down at her fingers. She had begun biting the cuticles, and now the skin surrounding her nails was red and ragged.

“I'll write you back,” Maizon promised.

“Maizon ...”

“What, Margaret!”

Margaret jumped and looked at Maizon. There was an uneasiness in her eyes she had never seen before.

“Forget it,” she said.

Ms. Tory leaned over. “We'll be getting off in a few stops.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence. At Delancey Street they changed for another train and a half hour later they were at Penn Station.

“I guess now we'll have to call each other to plan the same outfits,” Maizon said as they waited for her train. Her voice sounded forced and fake, Margaret thought, like a grown-up trying to make a kid smile.

“I guess,” Margaret said. The conductor called Maizon's train.

“I guess I gotta go,” Maizon said softly, and Margaret felt a lump rise in her throat.

“I'll write you back, Margaret. Promise. Thanks for letting me keep the double-dutch trophy even if it is only second place.” They hugged for a long time. Maizon sniffed loudly. “I'm scared, Margaret,” she whispered.

Margaret didn't know what to say. “Don't be.”

“Bye, Ms. Tory.”