Free The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Decked Out by Neta Jackson Page B

ask, but I’m movin’ a week from Saturday if anyone has a couple of hours to help. Ah, except Jodi.”
    â€œBecky Wallace!” I rolled my eyes. “Will someone stuff a sock in her mouth?”
    Becky sniffed self-righteously. “Well, you can’t help, even if you wanted to.”
    Florida leaned my way. “That’s the men’s breakfast Saturday,” she murmured in my ear. “Think we can volunteer them?”
    Before the meeting ended, we talked about Nony’s e-mail, bemoaning the short visit but agreeing it’d be best
to have our reunion celebration after Christmas. “What about New Year’s Day—that’s a Sunday,” Stu suggested. “That’s our regular Yada Yada time, first Sunday of the month. Weekend would be best for everybody anyway.”
    â€œJust we sistas? Or invite de ’usbands and de kids?” Chanda stuck out her lip in an exaggerated pout. “Dem wit’ ’usbands, anyway.”
    We laughed, but agreed on husbands and kids, lots of food, lots of music, time to share, time to worship and pray . . . exact time and place still to be decided.
    â€œ Humph . You know dat Nonyameko going to be all decked out, wit’ dem blue-an’-gold outfits from Sout’ Africa and dose head-dresses she wear,” Chanda said. “Well, mi too. Going to dress like de Jamaicans dress when we party.”
    Yo-Yo snickered. “Uh-huh. Only problem, Chanda. Your snowboots gonna look mighty funny with those sleeveless beach dresses you brought back last time.”
    I STAYED HOME on Monday, since Avis had already arranged for a substitute, but I told Denny I wanted to go to school on Tuesday if he’d give me a ride. “I’ll get Avis or somebody to give me a ride home . . . I promise,” I added.
    When I arrived at school, hobbling into my classroom on crutches, a stack of handmade get-well cards from my students sat on my desk. How sweet. Another teacher brought my students from the gym when the bell rang, and the kids seemed excited to see me, examining the soft “boot” with Velcro straps I was wearing on my left foot and wanting to know, “Didja like my card?” and, “Can I try your crutches?”
    But the novelty of having me back wore off soon enough, and I found myself raising my voice more than I wanted to, simply because it was too much effort to walk around the classroom supervising their desk work as I usually did. Avis, bless her, showed up unannounced and just hung out in my classroom for ten minutes before lunchtime, walking between the clusters of desks, giving smiles and nods—and a few frowns when needed. And after lunch, she sent Ms. Ivy from the school office to do the same thing.
    But by the time the last bell rang, my foot was throbbing and I was pooped. Avis said she’d give me a ride home, but it’d be four o’clock before she could leave. Fine with me. I tanked up on ibuprofen, propped my foot on an upturned wastebasket, and used the time to grade papers and plan for the next day . . .
    The next day? Sheesh. I’d barely made it through this one.
    But I enjoyed the five minutes I had Avis all to myself as she drove me home in her toasty warm Camry. “How’s Rochelle doing?”
    She glanced sideways at me. “You saw her the last time I did, at the dedication for Manna House. I think she’s tired of being ‘poor Rochelle’ . . . out to prove she’s not going to let HIV stop her from living a full life. And she’s doing a pretty good job of it too. She loves her job working retail at one of the boutiques in downtown Chicago. All glamour and upscale.” She slipped me a wry grin. “Can’t afford the clothes myself.” The grin faded. “I just wish she’d find a good church and settle down.”
    â€œShe was coming to SouledOut for a while. Conny seemed to love it.”
    â€œYes, he did. And it