Free Lost in Dreams by Roger Bruner Page B

found out what
    I wanted to know.
    So Aleesha had been right about Jo all along, and the restoration of a good relationship between Jo and me wasn’t apt to bring her any closer to a friendship with Aleesha. I wondered why she’d bothered pretending to be nice to Aleesha. Probably to gain my approval.
    And it had almost worked.

    During those rare times I could focus enough to pray, I asked God to convict Jo of her prejudice—or could it just have been a strong dislike?—and to make ours a genuine, three-way friendship.
    Although Jo came over more frequently after that—she no longer tried avoiding Aleesha—I couldn’t see any improvement in their relationship. I really had to bite my tongue the time Jo said, “Aleesha, why don’t you run out to the kitchen and get Kim and me something to drink?”
    That superiority mentality angered and frustrated me, but Aleesha—future star of stage and screen—took control of the situation and appeared to have a great time doing it.
    “Yes’m, Miss Jo.”
    Despite Aleesha’s distaste for the racially derogatory aspects of
Gone with the
Wind—something she’d made me self-conscious about in Santa María when I told her
GWTW
had always been my favorite book and movie—she was playing the subservient Mammy role with style and sarcasm for Jo’s benefit. So Jo would benefit from the lesson Aleesha wanted to teach her, that was.
    “Would you gentle white folks prefer a soda, milk, coffee, iced tea, or water? And would you prefer sugared or unsugared drinks? I can run to the store if you want something we don’t have.”
    How Jo could have missed the sarcasm, I’ll never understand.
    “Maybe I’ll whip up a nice cake for you … from scratch,” she said.
“And serve it unbaked,”
she mouthed to me,
“complete with eggshell fragments. “
    Jo couldn’t see what Aleesha was doing to her. No matter how much I felt like laughing—Jo deserved every bit of Aleesha’s put-on Uncle Tomfoolery—I almost felt sorry for her.
    Aleesha could take care of herself, but Jo? Uh-uh. She was no match for Aleesha.
    Before I could intervene, Jo announced, “No cake, but I am in the mood for a homemade milkshake. Aren’t you, Kim?”
    Jo, you don’t know what you’re asking for …
    “Sure ‘nough, Miss Jo. I just need to run out back and milk the cow first so the ingredients will be as fresh as you deserve.”
    Jo actually laughed at that, but she didn’t appear to notice that Aleesha was laughing even harder.
    “Miss Kim, your dad does have an ice cream maker, doesn’t he? Not one of those fancy electric ones that do all the hard work for you, but one I can hand-crank until I’m satisfied with the results.”
    “Sure. There ought to be one of those in the kitchen somewhere. Just check the cabinets. Or maybe the pantry. I’d help you if I—”
    “No, Kim,” Jo said. “You just stay where you are and rest. I’m sure Aleesha can find it.”
    I had no idea whether we owned an ice cream maker of any kind, but Aleesha had payback in mind, and I could hardly wait.
    “Chocolate or vanilla, Miss Jo?”
    “Surely you know chocolate will make my face break out …”
    Bad mistake telling her that, Jo. She’ll probably load your vanilla shake down with chocolate
.
    “Could you just bring me a cola, please?” I said. “A diet cola, that is. With caffeine.” Since I was trying to set a good
    example, I smiled and said, “Thank you, Aleesha. That’s very thoughtful of you. You don’t have to do this, you know.”
    Okay, maybe I overdid it a tad, but I wanted to give Jo one last chance to avoid the consequences of her attitude. Unless she changed her mind about the milkshake and began treating Aleesha like the equal she was, she was in for big trouble.
    “One vanilla shake, one diet cola—with extra caffeine—and one belly laugh coming right up,” Aleesha said as she left the room.
    “Belly laugh?” Jo asked me. “What’s that? Some kind of mixed drink those black