My mother was more austere and refined, with hard edges instead of curves. She always seemed in control and yet she was fragile at the same time, like a brittle tree that could snap in the wind. When she was getting ready for work, she smelled of perfume and bath soap, but on her days off she smelled of cigarettes and beer.
Ruby was what I would consider to be a full person, a person with many dimensions. I think this is one of the many reasons I identified with her so much: I, too, had many sides to me. My mother had always told me that I was like the Bible story of Joseph with the coat of many colors because I changed depending upon whom I was around. What my mother didn’t understand was that I wasn’t changing my personality to mimic someone else or to please someone, the way she accused me of doing; it was that I had so many facets to my personality that different sides of me would blossom depending upon whom I was with. If I was with a quiet person, the quiet side of me would emerge, whereas if I was with a silly, fun-loving person, the clown in me sprang out.
One late afternoon in August, I was playing a kind of make-believe hopscotch on the sidewalk in front of the court when I saw Margaret, a nice lady who lived nearby, coming my way.
“Hi!” I half shouted.
“Hello, how are you today?” Margaret replied, smiling sweetly at me. I could tell she liked me by the gentle way she spoke to me.
“Fine,” I said, returning her smile.
“What was your name again?” Margaret asked, smiling broadly at me.
“Jenny,” I said. That was my name for that day.
Just then Momma walked up to us.
“Hello,” Margaret said, “are you this child’s mother?”
“Why, yes. Can I help you?” Momma replied, all suspicion.
“Well, she’s just so adorable. What is her name? She tells me a different one every time I see her,” Margaret said with a chuckle.
Momma reached out and grabbed my arm. “Why are you always lying?”
I looked down at the sidewalk in shame.
Margaret tried to save me. “Oh, please . . . I didn’t mean to get her in trouble. I think it’s cute. She’s such an imaginative child. I always hear her talking to make-believe playmates. She must be so lonely playing alone all the time. It’s too bad there aren’t any other children in the neighborhood.”
But nothing Margaret said could save me. Momma took me by the arm and yanked me down the walk toward our apartment.
“Why are you always causing trouble?” she scolded.
Like me, Ruby was a different person depending upon her mood. She could be wild and crazy, as she was when we went on our Magic Carpet rides, or she could be quiet and serious, like when we spent the afternoon “holed up” in her tiny, dark apartment. Whatever Ruby was doing, she did it all the way. The same thing could be said about me.
Both my mother and Ruby worked at night: Ruby owned a liquor store called The Little Brown Jug and my mother was working at Thrifty Drugs in downtown Bakersfield. They usually had different days off, but sometimes there were days when they were both at home at the same time. My mother spent most of that time sleeping, so I would get bored and go over to Ruby’s.
On our “holed up” days, Ruby would lay down the law: “If you’re going to stay, I need you to be quiet because I’m going to read.”
I knew she meant business, so if I was in a silly mood I’d leave. But if I was in a quiet mood, Ruby’s was a great place to be.
Even though Ruby’s apartment was a little bigger than the rest of those in the court, it was still small, and it felt even smaller because she had so many books lining the walls. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves were crammed full of all kinds of books, but mostly old paperback romance and mystery novels. She kept her curtains and blinds drawn, even during the day, and read by the light of a floor lamp set next to her easy chair. Adding to the darkness of the room were the dozens of African artifacts scattered around, including the African masks that took up any wall space that hadn’t been consumed by bookshelves. The darkness, the mustiness of the books, and the African warriors, elephants, tigers, and masks created an exotic tapestry of experience for me, taking me away from the mundane dullness of my existence into the exciting world of foreign people and places. I felt transformed by the energy in that room.
Ruby introduced me to many things that would influence me throughout my life, but she gave me two gifts that I will be eternally grateful for. First of all, she set limits and boundaries for me to respect and follow. When she announced that I needed to be quiet if I wanted to stay, I knew she meant it—knew she would not hesitate to ask me to leave if I became noisy or rowdy.
My mother seldom set limits for me, whether it was how much food I could eat, how late I could stay up, or where I could go. It wasn’t that she was permissive or easy-going; if she didn’t want me to do something, she laid down the law. It was that she just didn’t pay attention to what I did—didn’t care really—and somehow didn’t see the value in setting limits for me. The truth is, my mother’s disapproval was usually enough
