waiting for me to say something more.
“Are you going to Shady Acres today?” he asked.
I gladly went along with the subject change. “I’m heading there now.”
“Okay. I’ll see you later at home,” he said. “Drive carefully.”
“I always do.”
I was nothing if not careful.
CHAPTER 6
I LEFT THE OFFICE FEELING DEFEATED. WHICH WAS odd, since I’d basically been victorious arguing my case. I needed to hear a friendly voice, so the second I was outside the school doors, I pulled out my iPhone and called Tara. She skipped the hello and got right to the point.
“Oh my God, are you alive?”
“Barely. It was brutal.”
“I’m so sorry, B. I wish I was there. Imagine I’m giving you a big hug.”
“I wish you were here too so you could give me a ride to my car. This parking lot is like five hundred square miles.”
“Okay, now I know it’s bad because you only exaggerate when you’re upset. What happened?”
“Oh, you know. The usual new-kid bloodbath.”
“They were mean to you?”
“Only when they weren’t ignoring my existence,” I said.
“Those little white-trash bastards. Ugh, I can’t believe you have to go to school there! It’s like a bad dream.”
“Tell me about it. Listen, T, I have to go volunteer. Want to get together later and I’ll give you all the gory details?”
“Sure. Food court?”
“Sure.”
We set a time to meet at the mall and hung up. I climbed into my car and made my way over to Shady Acres. I’d been volunteering at the nursing home since I was a freshman. At first I did it because I knew it would look good on my college applications one day. And Shady Acres wasn’t too bad, once you got used to the pervasive odor of antiseptic and stale urine. My job was to talk to the residents or play cards with them, call bingo, wheel them around outside for a while, whatever. It was actually kind of fun.
But the real reasons I kept volunteering all these years were Ms. Franny and Ms. Eulalie. Frances Calhoun and Eulalie Jones. Two crotchety, ninety-something-year-old roommates spending the remainder of their days bickering and pecking each other to death. They were a riot.
Those two would argue about the color of the sky if they had the chance. Every Monday, almost without fail, I could hear them from down the hall, more than twenty feet before I reached their door. Today was no exception.
“I’m tired of hearing about it every damn day!” That was Ms. Franny. “If I have to listen one more time to how you marched on Birmingham with Dr. King, I’m going to get out of this bed and march on your skull!”
“Well, pardon me, your whiteness!” Ms. Eulalie had a thick southern drawl. “Excuse me if I happened to be proud of doing something to change this world for the better.”
“Aw, you never changed anything but your big ol’ underwear. And even that you don’t do anymore. So tighten up your diaper and be quiet.”
“I don’t have to be quiet! I don’t have to be quiet just because some white lady say I do! I don’t take orders from nobody.”
“ANYBODY. Jesus H. Christ, will you learn to speak English for once before you die? Which I hope will be any moment now.”
“Don’t you go taking my Lord’s name in vain, you she-devil! You leave my sweet Jesus outta your conversation. You sure enough leave him outta your heart. That is if you have a heart, which I seriously doubt that you do.”
“Hello, ladies!” I sang loudly, peeking through the doorway.
Ms. Franny threw her bony arms in the air. “Oh, thank the devil. Get your butt in here, Blythe, so I don’t have to listen to this broken record anymore.” She patted a spot her bed and I plopped down on it.
“See?” Ms. Eulalie gestured emphatically at her roommate. “See how she thank the devil? You’d think that someone who has everything but one toe in the grave’d be a little more polite to God. Not that she’s got much of a chance to get into heaven. Not at this late a
“Are you going to Shady Acres today?” he asked.
I gladly went along with the subject change. “I’m heading there now.”
“Okay. I’ll see you later at home,” he said. “Drive carefully.”
“I always do.”
I was nothing if not careful.
CHAPTER 6
I LEFT THE OFFICE FEELING DEFEATED. WHICH WAS odd, since I’d basically been victorious arguing my case. I needed to hear a friendly voice, so the second I was outside the school doors, I pulled out my iPhone and called Tara. She skipped the hello and got right to the point.
“Oh my God, are you alive?”
“Barely. It was brutal.”
“I’m so sorry, B. I wish I was there. Imagine I’m giving you a big hug.”
“I wish you were here too so you could give me a ride to my car. This parking lot is like five hundred square miles.”
“Okay, now I know it’s bad because you only exaggerate when you’re upset. What happened?”
“Oh, you know. The usual new-kid bloodbath.”
“They were mean to you?”
“Only when they weren’t ignoring my existence,” I said.
“Those little white-trash bastards. Ugh, I can’t believe you have to go to school there! It’s like a bad dream.”
“Tell me about it. Listen, T, I have to go volunteer. Want to get together later and I’ll give you all the gory details?”
“Sure. Food court?”
“Sure.”
We set a time to meet at the mall and hung up. I climbed into my car and made my way over to Shady Acres. I’d been volunteering at the nursing home since I was a freshman. At first I did it because I knew it would look good on my college applications one day. And Shady Acres wasn’t too bad, once you got used to the pervasive odor of antiseptic and stale urine. My job was to talk to the residents or play cards with them, call bingo, wheel them around outside for a while, whatever. It was actually kind of fun.
But the real reasons I kept volunteering all these years were Ms. Franny and Ms. Eulalie. Frances Calhoun and Eulalie Jones. Two crotchety, ninety-something-year-old roommates spending the remainder of their days bickering and pecking each other to death. They were a riot.
Those two would argue about the color of the sky if they had the chance. Every Monday, almost without fail, I could hear them from down the hall, more than twenty feet before I reached their door. Today was no exception.
“I’m tired of hearing about it every damn day!” That was Ms. Franny. “If I have to listen one more time to how you marched on Birmingham with Dr. King, I’m going to get out of this bed and march on your skull!”
“Well, pardon me, your whiteness!” Ms. Eulalie had a thick southern drawl. “Excuse me if I happened to be proud of doing something to change this world for the better.”
“Aw, you never changed anything but your big ol’ underwear. And even that you don’t do anymore. So tighten up your diaper and be quiet.”
“I don’t have to be quiet! I don’t have to be quiet just because some white lady say I do! I don’t take orders from nobody.”
“ANYBODY. Jesus H. Christ, will you learn to speak English for once before you die? Which I hope will be any moment now.”
“Don’t you go taking my Lord’s name in vain, you she-devil! You leave my sweet Jesus outta your conversation. You sure enough leave him outta your heart. That is if you have a heart, which I seriously doubt that you do.”
“Hello, ladies!” I sang loudly, peeking through the doorway.
Ms. Franny threw her bony arms in the air. “Oh, thank the devil. Get your butt in here, Blythe, so I don’t have to listen to this broken record anymore.” She patted a spot her bed and I plopped down on it.
“See?” Ms. Eulalie gestured emphatically at her roommate. “See how she thank the devil? You’d think that someone who has everything but one toe in the grave’d be a little more polite to God. Not that she’s got much of a chance to get into heaven. Not at this late a
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