Last Summer with Maizon (8 page)

“You walk pretty fast!” he said, catching his breath. “I've been trying to catch up with you for a block!” He had never been this close to her before and Margaret glanced nervously at his smooth brown skin and square jaw. He was at least a foot taller than her. “I heard your poem won a prize in the all-city poetry contest. Congratulations!”

“Th-Thanks,” Margaret stuttered. “I knew Ms. Peazle had entered it in the contest, but I didn't think it would win!”

Bo stuck out his hand and Margaret stared at it for a moment. Was she supposed to shake it? She shifted her books awkwardly and touched it with her own.

“Thank you,” she said again.

“Well, we might as well walk to school together since we're both headed that way,” Bo said shyly. He pulled the stark white T-shirt away from his neck as if it were uncomfortable, and brushed something invisible off the creased blue jeans he was wearing. They stopped short, above new-looking basketball sneakers.

“Are you coming to the assembly today?” Margaret asked.

“Can't you see I'm dressed up for it? This is as dressed up as the Bo gets.” He laughed.

Margaret blushed.

“Aren't you nervous about reading your poem in front of all those people, Margaret?”

“No . . . not yet. I guess when I get onstage I will be, though. Anyway, this is just like a practice, sort of.”

“When do you read it at city hall?”

“The day before Thanksgiving. My mother's taking the day off, and Ms. Dell and Hattie—they're my neighbors—are coming too.”

Bo shook his head. “I doubt if I could ever do anything that good—that the mayor would want to see.”

“I bet you could play basketball real well.”

Bo stopped suddenly. “We might make it to the playoffs this season.” He faked a dribble and took a shot into the air. Margaret wondered how he could move so much and still hold on to the three books he was carrying. “If we do, you want to come?”

“To watch you play?” She felt the heat rise in her face again. “Sure.” She hoped Bo didn't want to shake on it. Her hands were drenched with sweat.

“Cool!”

They turned into the school yard.

“Hey, Margaret,” Bo said, heading toward a group of basketball buddies, “I'll give you a wave when you go up onstage.”

“Okay.”

“See you later.”

“Bye,” Margaret said, staring at his back as he walked away. Wait until Maizon hears about this! She stopped to say hello to a group of girls in her class before rushing off to the auditorium.

Ms. Peazle had said it would be okay, this once, to meet the class in the auditorium. When the first-period bell rang, Margaret hid behind the curtain and watched as the students filed in.

“Just relax,” Ms. Peazle whispered, coming up behind her. But looking out over the auditorium only made her tremble more. She hid until the principal introduced her.

Margaret couldn't remember ever being this nervous. Her heart raced between her mouth and stomach. Then faces began to come into focus and Margaret recognized friends from last year when she was in 5-2. None of them had made it to 6—1 with her. She put the poem on the podium and counted to ten as Ms. Dell had suggested. Her breath slowed and when she opened her mouth, the words of the poem spilled out freely.

“My pen doesn't write anymore,” she began. Her voice filled up every crevice in the auditorium and she liked the way it sounded.

When she finished, Margaret expected the same silence that had followed when she read in class. But the auditorium rumbled with applause. Some people were even standing. A few whistled. In the back, Bo's long brown arm waved back and forth.

“We should all be very proud of Margaret,” Ms. Peazle said once the class had settled back in their room. “She has shown us the true meaning of being in 6—1. This is an honor given only to students who have shown that they are willing to work hard and do their best. I'd like to congratulate not only Margaret, but all of you!”

The class cheered.

Margaret eased her plaque into her schoolbag. She didn't want the kids to think she was showing off or anything.

After school, Margaret walked home slowly. Clouds hung low in the sky and a cold wind blew down Madison Street. The brownstones looked gray and cold. Margaret stopped at the stoop and looked toward the compromise spot. Most of the leaves had fallen off the tree. She entered her building and tapped lightly on Ms. Dell's door. It was unlocked.

“Anyone comin' in must be a friend, 'cause we ain't got anything here crooks would want or strangers would care to see,” Ms. Dell always said.

“Margaret, it's sure good to see you,” Ms. Dell said, coaching a spoonful of chopped green beans into Li'l Jay's mouth. He was in a bad mood and wouldn't eat. “This baby has been hollering all day. Maybe he'll hush now that you're here. I'm getting too old for this,” she said tiredly.

“How did the reading go?” Hattie asked from the kitchen window as she dusted a framed picture of a younger Ms. Dell.

“Great! And guess what,” Margaret said, watching Li'l Jay play with his beans.

“What?”

“People cheered. Everybody cheered!”

“Well, what did you expect them to do?” Ms. Dell asked, winking at Hattie.

The phone rang.

“Hello?” Hattie said. There was a long pause. “Yes, operator. I'll accept the charges.” She handed the phone to Margaret.

“Who is it?” Margaret mouthed.

“It's for you.”

“Hello?” Margaret said. There was a lot of static on the line and the voice sounded tiny and far away.

“Maizon?”

M
argaret hung up the phone and frowned. Ms. Dell took one look at her and sat down. They stared at each other silently.

“She's coming home, isn't she?”

Margaret nodded. She looked around the kitchen, wondering what she should do with her hands. Her conversation with Maizon ran crazily through her mind.

“Coming home!” Hattie said. “It hasn't even been three months.”

“She's coming home,” she repeated, and began chewing on her cuticle.

“Sit down, Margaret,” Ms. Dell said.

Margaret kneeled beside her and rested her chin on Ms. Dell's thighs. They were warm and soft beneath the corduroy skirt she wore.

“She said . . .” Margaret began, then frowned. The words had disappeared as quickly as they had come.

“Think about it a moment,” Hattie said, taking a seat at the other end of the table.

Margaret felt her heart constrict into a small, painful lump. She took a breath and continued.

“I should be happy, right?” She looked up at Ms. Dell, biting her lip to keep from crying. “I should be happy she's coming home.”

“You feel what you feel, Margaret.”

“She said they hate her there.”

“Who hates her?” Hattie said softly.

“She said the other girls. No one speaks to her.”

“Now, Margaret,” Hattie said calmly. “You know how Maizon can exaggerate some things sometimes . . .”

“No, Hattie,” Margaret said quickly, “I heard it in her voice. I heard the way she was feeling.” She looked at Ms. Dell for encouragement. Ms. Dell nodded. “She wasn't lying.”

“I could feel it, Hattie.” Margaret began to cry. “She wants me to tell her grandmother.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and looked up. “She thinks her grandmother doesn't want her back.”

Ms. Dell sucked her teeth. “That's just foolishness.”

Margaret sighed and stood up. Her stomach felt like it had a thousand tiny men marching in it. She thought about Maizon's voice. It had been soft and painful as a bruise.

“I gotta go talk to Grandma. Do you mind staying with Li'l Jay awhile longer?”

“Jay go!” Li'l Jay shouted, struggling to free himself from the highchair.

Hattie nodded.

Margaret pulled her coat on, then stood at the door for a moment. She turned back to Li'l Jay.

“I gotta go, Jay. She's my best friend. Best friends are best friends always,” Margaret said, pulling the door closed behind her. “No matter what.”

“Isn't it just like Maizon to make her do the dirty work?” she heard Hattie say.

G
randma brought two cups of tea into the living room Gand handed one to Margaret. It smelled of cinnamon and oranges. Margaret blew on it and continued to stare out the window. A streetlamp flickered on, lighting up the small evergreen Grandma had set out.

“I've been thinking about you, Margaret.”

Margaret turned to her. “I've been thinking about you too. I'm sorry I haven't come by since the last time, when Ms. Dell was here.”

Grandma waved her hand. “Oh, I know how school is these days. Keeps you so busy, I'm surprised I'm getting to see you again before June.” She took a sip and looked past Margaret out the window. “I suppose Maizon is pretty busy too. I haven't heard much from her at all.”

Margaret swallowed and Grandma continued.

“Just little notes here and there.” She lifted her shoulders. “But how can I fault her? Blue Hill is challenging, I suppose”.

“Maybe it's too challenging, Grandma.”

Grandma smiled. She looked faraway. “Not for my Maizon,” she said proudly. “She's a survivor if I ever saw one”.

Margaret nodded.

“She still believes her daddy's going to come back someday. And who knows, maybe he will. But I stopped believing in him the day he left my daughter to die.”

“How did she die, Grandma?” Margaret asked, hoping to avoid the subject of Blue Hill for as long as she could.

“Giving birth to Maizon,” Grandma said, a little surprised. “Maizon never told you that?”

Margaret shook her head. The men were back in her stomach again.

“No, no. Of course she wouldn't. I think Maizon blames herself. She blames herself for everything, it seems. She covers it up, though. She tries to be brave and—What's the word you kids use these days?” She frowned for a moment, then looked at Margaret again. “Cool. Every time I turn around, she's telling me about the latest something.”

“I used to think Maizon knew everything, Grandma,” Margaret said. “Now I know she doesn't.”

“Nobody does, Margaret.”

“I know.... Now I know.”

They looked at each other for a moment. Grandma smiled.

“What is it, Margaret?” she asked.

Margaret felt the tears well up in her throat again. She looked down at her tea. A small dark mass had collected at the bottom of her cup. She swished it around absently, thinking about her conversation with Maizon.

“Maizon's coming home,” she said finally, looking up at Grandma. “She called me at Ms. Dell's just now.”

“She wants to leave the school?”

Margaret nodded and wrapped her hands around the cup. The tea was growing cold. “She says they don't treat her like a human there. She says she's not happy.”

“But why didn't she call me, Margaret? Doesn't she know she can talk to her grandmother?”

Margaret didn't know how to answer. For a second, she hated Maizon for making her do this.

“She was scared, Grandma.”

“Scared?”

“That you would think she's a failure or something.”

Grandma gazed out at her evergreen. “She can never fail me, Margaret.”

Margaret wanted to tell Grandma how important it was to Maizon to come home now, how she needed Madison Street and her and Ms. Dell and especially Grandma to understand. But when she looked up, Grandma was smiling slowly, like she knew already and it was all right.

“How come Maizon can still surprise me?” She raised a hand, palm flat out toward the ceiling, and sighed.

Margaret laughed a little. It seemed like the first time she'd laughed in a long time and the sound felt good against the quiet.

“Margaret ...”

Margaret looked up. Thick tears spilled from the corners of Grandma's eyes. Margaret darted to the couch and reached for her hand. The skin was dry and warm.

“I missed her, Margaret. I'm glad she'll be coming home.”

“Me too, Grandma.”

M
argaret pulled a chair to the window and looked out toward the bridge. It was too warm for November. Indian summer is what Ms. Dell called it. Maizon would be sitting by the train window now, watching the white Connecticut snow turn gray, then yellow, as the train neared the city. New York would seem dirty and overcast.

“Connecticut smells like grass and rain even after the last grass has died,” Margaret wrote in the legal pad she used as a diary now that her old one was full. “New York air is gray and still.”

Li'l Jay crept up beside her.

“Pow!” he said, pointing a finger at her head.

Margaret ignored him and kept writing. “The buildings rush by in blurs of gray and red brick. Below, hundreds of cars move slowly.”

“Word,” Li'l Jay said, pointing to the pad.

“Writer,” Margaret said, pointing to herself. She turned to a clean page and continued. “Just like Ms. Peazle said I should be. She says I have a gift, Li'l Jay.”

Li'l Jay giggled and ran to the window.

“You can laugh if you want to. But just wait,” Margaret said, bending back down over her diary and continuing to write. “Yesterday, Mama came into the living room and hugged me for no reason at all. She said it was the first day since Daddy died that she hadn't cried. I hugged her back hard. I feel Daddy's spirit in this house. Every time the wind blows the curtains against the walls, every time I hear Li'l Jay laugh in his sleep or Mama singing, I know Daddy is here.”