got up and said something bad to him and now everybody
is mad with me.”
Tasha waited for Octavia to finish chewing.
“How come you didn’t want to be his partner?” she asked.
Tasha didn’t say anything right away. Her big mouth had gotten her into enough trouble for this one day. And besides, the
truth was humiliating now. She opened her mouth to say, “I didn’t want to run in the race with my good coat on,” when she
noticed Octavia’s wrists protruding from the sleeves of her turtleneck sweater. When Tasha’s clothes started fitting like
that, Mama would pack them up and send them to cousins in the country or to the Goodwill. How could she even mention fur-trimmed
pink satin, now marked with red clay, to someone so obviously poor? Tasha couldn’t say anything in her own defense. She felt
hopelessly lost and unsure. She wanted her father.
“How come you didn’t want to be partners with Shante?” Octavia asked again. Her voice was challenging.
“I just wasn’t feeling well. That’s all,” Tasha said.
She had never been sadder. The tears came suddenly and deeply as the enormity of everything pressed her chest and stole her
air. She cried for her father’s empty dresser drawers and the TV pictures that had brought him back. Her tears were for deserted
playgrounds, clothes that didn’t look like they did in catalogs, and words that wouldn’t be taken back. There was no air.
Her mouth was open but there was no noise. No air. Asphyxiation. Octavia was out of her seat, shaking her shoulder, shouting,
“Mr. Harrell! Mr. Harrell!” Tasha inhaled. Lemonade.
Mama came to pick Tasha up with the rapid worried clatter of heels against tile and the nervous jingle of keys.
“Tasha—” She said her name almost like a question as she entered the sick bay and sat on the edge of the narrow bed.
“Mama, it was such a bad day.”
Mama pulled her onto her lap. Tasha was getting taller; her feet touched the ground as her mother rocked her gently. She smelled
like coffee and peppermint. Tasha shut her eyes.
Mama whispered to the nurse, “Where are her things?”
“In her classroom,” the nurse replied, looking up from her paperback.
“I don’t want to go in there,” Tasha said.
“It’s okay,” Mama said, rubbing her back in tiny circles.
“Will you stay home with me?” Mama was in charge of the payroll department at Pitman and Sons. She often complained that the
whole place would fall apart if she took even a day off.
“Of course I’ll stay with you.” Mama kissed the top of Tasha’s head.
“Mr. Pitman said it was okay?”
“You let me worry about Mr. Pitman. Family comes first.”
Tasha closed her eyes until there was a tiny polite tap on the door.
“Come in,” Mama said.
Monica came in carrying Tasha’s book satchel. She put it on the cot.
“Hello, Monica,” Mama said in a friendly voice.
Tasha squeezed her eyes tight. There was nothing she could do to keep Monica from witnessing her curled up in her mother’s
lap like a baby, but she didn’t have to see Monica seeing her.
Mama felt Tasha stiffen and held her a little closer. Tasha never wanted to go to school again.
Monica put the red-and-white satchel on the floor near the bed. “I hope you feel better, Tasha.”
She didn’t open her eyes or reply, although she could feel Monica standing there, all innocent looking, waiting for some sort
of response.
There was another knock. Tasha wiggled from the warm lap. She wasn’t going to be humiliated twice.
Octavia opened the door. She looked a little startled to see so many people in the cramped sick bay.
“Her coat,” she said. “Monica left it.”
Mama said, “Thank you, young lady.”
Octavia returned the smile and then looked at the floor. “I got to go. I got to get this hall pass back before I get into
trouble.”
Monica, standing by the door, mashed her lips together as if it were taking all of her strength to keep from lying
is mad with me.”
Tasha waited for Octavia to finish chewing.
“How come you didn’t want to be his partner?” she asked.
Tasha didn’t say anything right away. Her big mouth had gotten her into enough trouble for this one day. And besides, the
truth was humiliating now. She opened her mouth to say, “I didn’t want to run in the race with my good coat on,” when she
noticed Octavia’s wrists protruding from the sleeves of her turtleneck sweater. When Tasha’s clothes started fitting like
that, Mama would pack them up and send them to cousins in the country or to the Goodwill. How could she even mention fur-trimmed
pink satin, now marked with red clay, to someone so obviously poor? Tasha couldn’t say anything in her own defense. She felt
hopelessly lost and unsure. She wanted her father.
“How come you didn’t want to be partners with Shante?” Octavia asked again. Her voice was challenging.
“I just wasn’t feeling well. That’s all,” Tasha said.
She had never been sadder. The tears came suddenly and deeply as the enormity of everything pressed her chest and stole her
air. She cried for her father’s empty dresser drawers and the TV pictures that had brought him back. Her tears were for deserted
playgrounds, clothes that didn’t look like they did in catalogs, and words that wouldn’t be taken back. There was no air.
Her mouth was open but there was no noise. No air. Asphyxiation. Octavia was out of her seat, shaking her shoulder, shouting,
“Mr. Harrell! Mr. Harrell!” Tasha inhaled. Lemonade.
Mama came to pick Tasha up with the rapid worried clatter of heels against tile and the nervous jingle of keys.
“Tasha—” She said her name almost like a question as she entered the sick bay and sat on the edge of the narrow bed.
“Mama, it was such a bad day.”
Mama pulled her onto her lap. Tasha was getting taller; her feet touched the ground as her mother rocked her gently. She smelled
like coffee and peppermint. Tasha shut her eyes.
Mama whispered to the nurse, “Where are her things?”
“In her classroom,” the nurse replied, looking up from her paperback.
“I don’t want to go in there,” Tasha said.
“It’s okay,” Mama said, rubbing her back in tiny circles.
“Will you stay home with me?” Mama was in charge of the payroll department at Pitman and Sons. She often complained that the
whole place would fall apart if she took even a day off.
“Of course I’ll stay with you.” Mama kissed the top of Tasha’s head.
“Mr. Pitman said it was okay?”
“You let me worry about Mr. Pitman. Family comes first.”
Tasha closed her eyes until there was a tiny polite tap on the door.
“Come in,” Mama said.
Monica came in carrying Tasha’s book satchel. She put it on the cot.
“Hello, Monica,” Mama said in a friendly voice.
Tasha squeezed her eyes tight. There was nothing she could do to keep Monica from witnessing her curled up in her mother’s
lap like a baby, but she didn’t have to see Monica seeing her.
Mama felt Tasha stiffen and held her a little closer. Tasha never wanted to go to school again.
Monica put the red-and-white satchel on the floor near the bed. “I hope you feel better, Tasha.”
She didn’t open her eyes or reply, although she could feel Monica standing there, all innocent looking, waiting for some sort
of response.
There was another knock. Tasha wiggled from the warm lap. She wasn’t going to be humiliated twice.
Octavia opened the door. She looked a little startled to see so many people in the cramped sick bay.
“Her coat,” she said. “Monica left it.”
Mama said, “Thank you, young lady.”
Octavia returned the smile and then looked at the floor. “I got to go. I got to get this hall pass back before I get into
trouble.”
Monica, standing by the door, mashed her lips together as if it were taking all of her strength to keep from lying
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