Renee.â
âOh yes, of course. I know that, I was just saying that you didnât need to rush. Iâll support you in any way I can.â
âIâm getting unemploymentââ
âBut that doesnât pay much, Iâm sure. Donât worry, while youâre here, let little sis take care of you,â she said, patting my hand.
âThanks,â I said. I slipped my hand away and started twirling my straw around in my water. Getting support from Renee was the last thing I wanted right now, but I was so low, I had to take what I could get.
âSo I havenât heard from you since Peterâs funeral last year. What else has been going on in your life?â
âWhy are you so interested in whatâs going on in my life?â
âI just wanted to knowâI meanâ¦I havenât seen you in forever. Every time I call you or ask to visit you, youâre always so busy. What has you so busy that you canât see your baby sister?â
âWork mostly. Just going out and doing thingsââ
âYou and Norma are still friends, right?â
âYes.â
She nodded. âShe wrote to me a couple of times after Peter died. Iâll never forget that.â
âShe wrote to you?â
âYes. Whatâs wrong with that?â
âNothing,â I said. Our waitress reappeared with plates of food, and I stared at the huge omelet before me that was stuffed with bacon and sausage and covered in cheddar cheese.
âExcuse me. This doesnât look like an egg white omelet.â
âIt ainât one. Thatâs just a plain âole omelet. If you wanted to eat healthy you came to the wrong place.â She walked off while I stared at the massive omelet on my plate.
âI canât eat all this.â
Renee was dousing her French toast with maple syrup. âWhy not?â
âThis isnât what I ordered.â
âJust relax, Mariah. Eat what you can and then just bag the rest for later.â
I sighed and dug into my omelet, grease turning my lips shiny as wet gloss.
âGood, huh?â
I nodded as I took another huge bite, forgetting about calories and what it would do to my hips and my ulcer. I just kept eating until, several minutes later, it was gone.
I sat back in the booth, feeling stuffed and satisfied.
âI forgot how good the food is here.â
âYou forgot about a lot of things. Letâs hope you start remembering.â
Greasy
I remember being eight years old and Beverly combing our hair in the morning, getting us ready for school. It took all of five minutes to do Reneeâs hair, just a quick brush and her waves fell into a long ponytail that swished behind her like a horseâs mane. She gave my hair the same attention, even though my hair needed much more time. With Beverlyâs hair being so straight, she wasnât accustomed to dealing with hair like mine; she and Renee shared the same texture. So dealing with my short ethnic hair was a challenge that Beverly was not up to taking.
I would watch in horror as short, curly hairs landed without a sound on my white t-shirt as she brushed my inch-long hair in a ponytail. Keeping my hair in a ponytail required the skill of a magicianâin minutes my hair would sprout free from the rubber band, my edges sticking out like porcupine quills, the rubber band only holding the hair in the center of my head.
You can imagine the friends I made with my hair looking like Cealy from The Color Purple . I was the only black girl in the entire private school of Westmont Elementary. Well, take that back, there were two other black girls there, but their hair would shine, and be almost as straight as their white counterparts. Curious, I asked one of the girls what they used on their hair.
âYour hair is nappy. You need a perm.â
âAnd some grease,â the other one chimed in. âThatâs why your hair is sticking up all over