Legend of Buddy Bush (9781439131824) Read Online Free Page B

enough to sit under yet. So I’ll just set under Mer’s tree to read my letter.
    The paper is blue like always and it smells like BarJean’s favorite perfume. I can hardly wait to sit down as Hobo, who has followed me all the way,lies down beside me. The words make me feel closer to the North that I will soon see.
    Dear Pattie Mae:
    How are you, Ma, Grandpa, Grandma, and Uncle Buddy doing? I am doing fine and so is Coy. You know we have been sharing an apartment together all year. Well, the big day has come and I am moving into my own place down on 125th Street. Your big brother has met a really nice girl and they are getting married. That’s right! Now you will have two big sisters.
    Guess what? Her name is Mary, just like Ma’s. Isn’t that nice?
    Now you have to keep this whole marriage thing a secret and not tell Ma. Coy wants to tell her himself. So be a big girl and don’t tell her. Okay?
    My dear little sister, I’m glad you want to come here in late August.
    I have to go now and I am looking forward to seeing you soon. You, my dear sister, will be my first guest in my new apartment.
    Love, your big sister
    BarJean
    Coy is going to get married! More importantly, BarJean trust me enough to tell me a secret.
    I put my letter back in my pocket and tuck my secret in the back of my mind. At least until I see Grandpa. I’ll tell him and he will tell no one. Difference from me.
    I stick my tongue out at the bulls that are far away now and start walking as fast as my legs can carry me to get me some breakfast.

2
Dancing White Ladies
    I can smell Grandma’s biscuits as I get closer to the steps that Grandpa built with his bare hands. Their house is painted white with green trimming around the windows. Yes, my grandpa painted the house. He tried to get Old Man Taylor to let him paint our house, too. Ole Man Taylor said no and Grandpa ain’t spoke to that white man since then. Grandpa’s cat, Hudson, meets me at the door. He and Hobo sure ain’t friends. They fight like . . . Well, they fight like cats and dogs. I open the back door that’s painted green too, and there she is. My grandma. The woman of the house. And everybody that walks in this door knows that. She ain’t no taller than I am. Black, as Grandpa is yellow. Her hair the same color as thesilver quarters that Uncle Buddy gave me to save. He said that Grandma is what men folks call “black gal pretty.”
    â€œGood mornin’, Grandma. How are you feeling today?”
    I know the answer before she even answers. All my life I have asked her the same question and get the same answer.
    â€œChild, Grandma don’t feel so good today.”
    She just loves saying it, like it was a hymn she and Ma sang in the choir on Sunday morning. No matter how many times you ask, she gives you the same answer. When BarJean and Coy were at home with me, each of us asked the same question and got the same answer. Ma would skin us alive if one of us run in and just said “Hey.” We had to line up like soldiers ready to salute our commander and ask her how she was doing. Then we stood there and waited for her to answer. I still have to do the ritual. Sometimes it takes Grandma five minutes to answer. Sometimes ten, if she really ain’t feeling so good. Whatever the time, you just stand there and wait.
    Grandpa said that was Grandma’s way of controlling us. He and Mr. Charlie use that word “control” a lot when they are talking about their wives. They said them two live to tell other folks what to do. I guess they are controlling Grandpa and Mr. Charlie too, because they don’t ever say that mess about the women loud enough for the women to hear them.
    I wish I were grown so I could do like Uncle Buddy does when he comes in Grandma’s house. He don’t ask her nothing. He just says, “Ma Babe, you shoo looking good today.” He said he ain’t asking her nothing,