lopsided grin. “Maybe you would have.”
Obviously he thought we weren’t going to kill each other, so he climbed back into the bulldozer. Before he started the engine, he said, “We live across the way in the quarters. Kiah, why don’t you offer Vivi some lemonade?” he said.
And then the horrible motor rumbled to life and he went about his business of ravaging the orange grove. I took a step forward, but she put a gentle hand on my shoulder. I looked into her eyes and saw Mac’s kindness. She nodded and I knew there was nothing I could do. We watched for several minutes as he effortlessly lifted up the trees and added them to the pile. All the while she kept her hand on my shoulder.
She turned to me and asked, “How old are you?”
“Twelve. How old are you?”
“Fourteen. I’m going to high school already.”
I knew that meant she went to Carver downtown, the only high school for black kids. She trudged through the smashed fruit and retrieved a stack of books sitting on the driveway. The back of her dress was covered in a huge dirt streak from her neckline to her hem, and I wondered what names her mother would call her.
I glanced at the huge brown smudge on the front of my shirt. It looked as if I’d been making mud pies. I groaned. Mama would certainly offer her standard comment when she saw me. “Vivi, I should just let you run around naked seeing how you treat your clothes. A bath don’t hardly cost nothing and your skin comes mostly clean except for those awful knees of yours. I’ve seen potatoes come out of the patch cleaner than your knees.”
But for now I was lucky. It was Tuesday and that meant she was at her sewing group with the ladies from our church.
“Are you comin’?” Kiah called.
I followed as she slid between the rows of trees to an irrigation ditch on the east end of the property. She leaped over it and disappeared into an adjoining grove.
“We live over here,” she explained. “Mr. Rubenstein bought up all this land too.”
“Does your daddy work for him?” I asked.
“Uh-huh, he’s one of the head guys,” she said with pride.
Then suddenly the trees were gone and we were standing in a flat field, the earth newly turned. In the distance huge yellow machines rumbled over the soft dirt where rows of little houses would sit. They would all look the same: red brick or painted masonry block with a pop-out front window and a single-car garage.
On our first trip through the city, as we had driven through west Phoenix, Mama had asked Pops what he thought of the tiny houses and he’d remarked, “Don’t think much of ’em except the money we can make.”
She led me past a row of cabins, and we went inside the one on the end. I could see the whole place from the living room since the bedroom and bathroom doors were open. Neither of the beds was made and I was jealous. Mama never tolerated an unmade bed or one full of wrinkles and poor corners.
Kiah threw her books on the small dining room table and went to the kitchen. I was surprised to see a sink, which meant they had running water. Dirty dishes were scattered on the counter and only two clean glasses remained on an empty shelf in the cupboard.
“Where’s your mama?”
“She’s dead,” she said flatly. “It’s just me and Daddy. She died when she was having me, but Daddy said it wasn’t my fault. You want some lemonade?” she asked, removing a pitcher from the refrigerator.
“Sure.”
She poured us each a glass and we sat down at the table. I didn’t know what to say to this odd girl quietly sipping lemonade, who had thrown me to the ground just minutes before. I looked at her stack of schoolbooks, the one on top titled Algebra I . I’d been warned about algebra and told that I’d learn it next year as a freshman, if I got promoted. I wasn’t a very good student, and sometimes I believed Mama when she called me a moron, especially after she got my report card or visited with my teachers.
“Vivi, a
Obviously he thought we weren’t going to kill each other, so he climbed back into the bulldozer. Before he started the engine, he said, “We live across the way in the quarters. Kiah, why don’t you offer Vivi some lemonade?” he said.
And then the horrible motor rumbled to life and he went about his business of ravaging the orange grove. I took a step forward, but she put a gentle hand on my shoulder. I looked into her eyes and saw Mac’s kindness. She nodded and I knew there was nothing I could do. We watched for several minutes as he effortlessly lifted up the trees and added them to the pile. All the while she kept her hand on my shoulder.
She turned to me and asked, “How old are you?”
“Twelve. How old are you?”
“Fourteen. I’m going to high school already.”
I knew that meant she went to Carver downtown, the only high school for black kids. She trudged through the smashed fruit and retrieved a stack of books sitting on the driveway. The back of her dress was covered in a huge dirt streak from her neckline to her hem, and I wondered what names her mother would call her.
I glanced at the huge brown smudge on the front of my shirt. It looked as if I’d been making mud pies. I groaned. Mama would certainly offer her standard comment when she saw me. “Vivi, I should just let you run around naked seeing how you treat your clothes. A bath don’t hardly cost nothing and your skin comes mostly clean except for those awful knees of yours. I’ve seen potatoes come out of the patch cleaner than your knees.”
But for now I was lucky. It was Tuesday and that meant she was at her sewing group with the ladies from our church.
“Are you comin’?” Kiah called.
I followed as she slid between the rows of trees to an irrigation ditch on the east end of the property. She leaped over it and disappeared into an adjoining grove.
“We live over here,” she explained. “Mr. Rubenstein bought up all this land too.”
“Does your daddy work for him?” I asked.
“Uh-huh, he’s one of the head guys,” she said with pride.
Then suddenly the trees were gone and we were standing in a flat field, the earth newly turned. In the distance huge yellow machines rumbled over the soft dirt where rows of little houses would sit. They would all look the same: red brick or painted masonry block with a pop-out front window and a single-car garage.
On our first trip through the city, as we had driven through west Phoenix, Mama had asked Pops what he thought of the tiny houses and he’d remarked, “Don’t think much of ’em except the money we can make.”
She led me past a row of cabins, and we went inside the one on the end. I could see the whole place from the living room since the bedroom and bathroom doors were open. Neither of the beds was made and I was jealous. Mama never tolerated an unmade bed or one full of wrinkles and poor corners.
Kiah threw her books on the small dining room table and went to the kitchen. I was surprised to see a sink, which meant they had running water. Dirty dishes were scattered on the counter and only two clean glasses remained on an empty shelf in the cupboard.
“Where’s your mama?”
“She’s dead,” she said flatly. “It’s just me and Daddy. She died when she was having me, but Daddy said it wasn’t my fault. You want some lemonade?” she asked, removing a pitcher from the refrigerator.
“Sure.”
She poured us each a glass and we sat down at the table. I didn’t know what to say to this odd girl quietly sipping lemonade, who had thrown me to the ground just minutes before. I looked at her stack of schoolbooks, the one on top titled Algebra I . I’d been warned about algebra and told that I’d learn it next year as a freshman, if I got promoted. I wasn’t a very good student, and sometimes I believed Mama when she called me a moron, especially after she got my report card or visited with my teachers.
“Vivi, a
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