Anne Marie means well, but damn. When she first moved to South Cakalacky, she couldn’t believe none of us kids had never been to or heard of a Juneteenth party. She’s into history, so this holiday is tailor-made for her. She’s a sweetheart and my closest girlfriend, so I don’t complain about the swelterin’ heat. Or the flies. Out loud.
“Did we run outta lemons or water or what?”
“Weren’t you the one complainin’ about all the flies?” Anne Marie smirks at me.
She’s right. I was.
“I’m startin’ to think dehydration is the lesser evil,” I say.
She makes a goofy face and curtsies low. “What else can I get for Your Highness?”
“Highness? Please! I’ll make it myself. Just hand over the lemons.”
She stands up straight again, giggling. “Kidding. I’m the hostess. You stay put,” she tells me as she heads over to the serving table.
I told her I’d get out here early to help her set up, but that didn’t happen. I did try, but I was layin’ under the fan, lettin’ ice cubes melt on my neck and face, and it felt a little too good to just stop so I could come out here to carry chairs and shit. Lookin’ at the sad, droopy JUNETEENTH 1962 banner she made with construction paper and glue, I feel guilty. Somebody shoulda told her not to put up that raggedy thing, but nobody did, and now it’s too late. Oh well. I’ll make it up to her at some point.
In my defense, I wasn’t the onliest one on CP time. As I was crossing the bridge earlier, I ran into Bernadette, Peggy, Marcus, and a couple others. All of us over an hour late. On the other side there was a thick grove of trees, and we all took a breather to enjoy the glorious shade. We’d been laughin’ and cuttin’ up and complainin’, but then, all at once, we got quiet. We were facing the same direction, and we all saw the same thing: about fifty yards away was a big, gorgeous swimming pool. Kids were over there splashin’ around, and it looked like a slice of paradise to me. That big, bright, fake blue. Bet they keep the water nice and cold. We stared like it was a desert mirage from a Bugs Bunny cartoon. Might as well have been. Since none of us will ever be allowed in that pool.
“Um, Evvie?” Anne Marie calls, bringing me back from my pool dreams.
“What?” I’m fannin’ myself, tryna sound pleasant.
“I think that’s for you,” Anne Marie says, lookin’ past me. I turn around and—oh come on now! What the hell is she doin’ here?
“Hi, Evalene! Don’t you look pretty,” Miss Ethel says, looking me up and down. I know I look pretty. I’m in my new peach-colored swing dress that hugs me in all the right spots and makes my bosoms look like a movie star’s. And even though this humidity is doin’ a number on my hair, it looks a damn sight better than Miss Ethel’s on a good day. I always try to look decent, but I look even better today, and I certainly don’t need her to tell me.
“Why, thank you, Miss Ethel,” I say, because I was raised right. “Thought you wouldn’t be gettin’ back in town till late.”
“We just got in.” Miss Ethel smiles a phony smile and glances around at everybody here like she ain’t never seen colored people havin’ a cookout in her whole life. Hell, maybe she ain’t.
“I just happened to see you out here, and I wanted to make sure you wadn’t plannin’ on stayin’ out to all hours, since I’ll need you bright and early. In all her four years, Abigail has yet to sleep in.” She tries to joke. Oh, this woman. Go home!
“Don’t you worry. I’ll be there on time like always,” I promise, flashing my best, most white-people-pleasing smile. Yes. Always on time to feed and tend to that li’l demon spawn you spat out into the world.
“Well,” she adds, “you’ve been late before. But I know what it’s like to be young. You just don’t make that a habit, ya hear? Bye-bye.” Miss Ethel looks around, a little lost, but when she gets her bearings, she scoots herself back out to the main road. I couldn’t imagine why she’d be in this neighborhood at all until I spy the brown paper bag under her arm, tied with blue string. She got herself some grub from Miss Johnnie’s. White people will venture into deepest Africa for colored-people food.
“Daggone! Boss lady keepin’ a eye on you,” Leon teases as he flips some burgers on the grill.
“She needs to keep them eyes to herself,” I tell him.
“She pay pretty good, though, right?” Anne Marie asks, bringing out a fresh pitcher of lemonade. Hallelujah!
“You are an angel,” I say, grabbing it from her hands and pouring myself a glass. “She pay good enough. She could pay better, and I’m finna tell her so. ’Specially if she wants me to stay on when school starts up.”
“You goin’ back to school?” R. J. asks, a bit too eagerly.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Ya know? You workin’ now. You sixteen. Seventeen soon, right? You could just quit and work if you want to,” he explains.
That comment gets me so mad that for an instant, the ground rumbles beneath us.
“What the hell?” Leon exclaims, holding on to a picnic table for support.
“Language!” Anne Marie scolds, but she also looks frightened.
Leon sucks his teeth at her and I take an easy breath and the earth settles down, like nothin’ unusual
