Free Mama by Terry McMillan

she would have to do before she could pack up and head for the desert. He instructed her on how to go about selling the house so she could make some money. At least a few thousand dollars. Her eyes lit up at the mere thought of having that much money in her possession. She had no idea how much she'd paid in interest and principal. Had never kept track. But since more white folks had started moving into the neighborhood, the house must have appreciated; the boundaries had started changing so that now the portion of Twenty-fifth Street where she lived was considered Mid Town instead of South Park.
    It occurred to Mildred that this would be the first time she could make money off of white people. The agent didn't quite see it that way. First, the house would have to be appraised, then he would have to find a suitable buyer; said he didn't want just anybody moving into this house, especially since Mildred had kept it up so nicely. And there was no telling how long it might take to actually sell the house and consummate all the paperwork, which meant she didn't know how soon she would have a check in her hand. So when Faye Love told her there was an opening at Lapper Lakes Nursing Home, and since she was the supervisor and could hire anybody she wanted to on the spot, Mildred took the job.
    Two months later, Mildred was so sick of smelling old people she didn't know what to do. Her patience had gotten clogged up like hair in a drain. Curly Mae had told her she should get herself a prescription for nerve pills, and Mildred did. Thought they just might be the plunger. They seemed to do the trick. Pushed about fifty pounds away from her skull, put each little worry into its very own compartment, and gave her the keys to unlock each one when she felt up to it. At first, she didn't take more than she was supposed to—most of the time not as many doses per day as she'd been prescribed. But after a few days of taking them that way, she got so dizzy she slept for almost thirteen hours. Mildred didn't like sleeping that long; she liked knowing what her kids were doing and where they were at all times. When she came home from work she would pop one and sip on a beer, like she was doing now, standing in the middle of the sun porch in her white uniform, which had a stain on it from where old Mrs. Henry had thrown up on her.
    She sipped the foam from the top of the glass and sat down in the recliner. The kids were watching "Wagon Train."
    "I got something to tell y'all and I want each and every one of you to keep your mouths closed and listen to every word I have to say, whether you like it or not, you understand?"
    Her children turned around to face her.
    "Now, y'all know that we've been through a few cold and hungry days, but ain't none of you starved or froze to death, have you? Well, sometimes you have to do thangs in this world that you don't want to do in order to make thangs right when they're wrong, easier when they're hard, you know what I mean?"
    They nodded their heads up and down, although they had no idea what she was talking about. They figured if they stayed with her, they would catch on.
    "Ain't y'all tired of this old dull mangy town?" Mildred didn't give them a chance to answer. "Wouldn't y'all like to make some new friends and go to a nicer, prettier school? The main reason I'm asking—telling—you this is because your Uncle Leon, the one out there in Arizona, in Phoenix, wants us to move out there with him and his kids. He say they got good jobs out there for colored people, even women, and cheaper, bigger, finer houses, and guess what? It don't even snow out there, and they ain't got those aggravating-ass mosquitoes. Y'all could learn to swim and play outside all year round without no coats and boots or gloves. Don't that sound nice?" She glared at them.
    "But, Mama," Freda said, "I just tried out for cheerleading this year—the junior varsity team—and it might be my only chance! I'd be the first colored to ever make