I was almost finished with the kitchen floor and was about to get started on sweeping the back porch when Ma Pearl yelled from the parlor. “Rose Lee! Come read this.”
I scrambled up from the floor and dried my hands on a dishrag. I welcomed the break from my work, even if it was only to read the mail. Ma Pearl was one of the reasons I knew I had to get as much schooling as possible. She’d been born in 1899, her mama and papa were former slaves, and she couldn’t read or write a lick. She couldn’t even read the mail when it came in. Papa, however, had taught himself to read when he was a boy. He told me that while his mama cleaned the white woman’s house, he read the white children’s books, figuring out the words by studying the pictures. He couldn’t read all that good, but at least he could read some. Good thing too, since he studied that Farmer’s Almanac like it was the Bible. His favorite reading, however, was the three-day-old Memphis Commercial Appeal, a white-owned newspaper that the Robinsons passed on to Ma Pearl. Papa read the paper in the late evening, after what he called a hard day of cotton-field meditation. He said that after spending a whole day looking inside his own head, it was nice to take a break and look inside someone else’s.
I knew before seeing it that the letter in Ma Pearl’s hand was from Mama. And I also knew, from the sour look on Ma Pearl’s face, that the letter didn’t contain that lil’ something Mama had promised to send as soon as she got settled.
When Ma Pearl thrust the letter in my face, she cussed under her breath and said, “See what that heffa got to say.”
Mama shouldn’t have promised money she couldn’t deliver. Now Ma Pearl would be in a dark mood all weekend. And with her not having to go to Mrs. Robinson’s again until Monday, I dreaded the three-day wrath we all had coming.
As I studied the letter before I read it out loud, it broke my heart. The penmanship was so poor I couldn’t tell whether it had been written by my twenty-eight-year-old mama or my six-year-old stepbrother. Mama had had to quit school at fifteen because she was “in the family way.” Despite her age, she had still gotten only as far as sixth grade. Ma Pearl said she was too busy studying Johnny Lee Banks instead of studying her books.
But even with a sixth-grade education, I would think Mama could do better than the mishmash of so-called words I was staring at. Mama’s spelling was so bad it read like some kind of secret code.
Dear Mama and Papa,
How ya doin. Fin I hop. We fin to. Pete got lost wen we got her. He went to the rong bildin. A white girl told us we was on the rong side a the free way. She tol us go a cupa mo blocs soth. She was nic. We fond our bildin. It so tall. It bout the talless thing I eva seed. Our partmint aint nar bout big as the hose in Grenwood. But at lees it got a bafrum. We aint got to go otsid. And we got swichs on the wall for the lites. We aint got to pull no strng to trun them on. And we got closit to put our cloths in.
Pete lik his job. I aint fond one yet. They say thar pline hear. But they bout as hard to com by as they is in Missippi. They say pline white wimens hirin mads. But I aint come all way to Chicgo to be no mad.
Baby Susta com frum st luis last wek to see us. She said she goin to Missippi on the 21 to see ya. She gon be ther for a cupa weks. Pete say it be a whil four we com back. We got to git our mony back rit.
Ma Pearl grunted. “You go’n read the dirn letter or burn a hole in it with yo’ eyes?” She stood so close to me that I could feel her breath on my ear. At that moment, I was glad she couldn’t read.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and tried to figure out a way to read the letter out loud and not make my mama sound stupid, especially with Queen sitting right there in the room. Her mama, Aunt Clara Jean, had finished eighth grade. But I don’t know what Queen was so proud for; her mama dropped out for the same reason mine did. And at least I knew who my daddy was. Besides, everybody knew Mama wasn’t the brightest flower in Ma Pearl’s bouquet, even if she was the prettiest.
I quickly finished scanning the letter to get the gist of it so I could say out loud what my mama wasn’t competent enough to write in a letter.
“Dear Mama and Papa,” I read.
“How y’all doing? Fine I hope. We’re fine too. Pete got lost when we got here. He went to the wrong building. A white girl told us we were on the wrong side of the freeway. She told us to go a couple more blocks south. She was nice. We found our building. It’s so tall. It’s about the tallest thing I’ve ever seen. Our apartment ain’t near as big as the house in Greenwood, but at least it’s got a bathroom. And light switches and closets to put our clothes in.