Free Growl Power! by Deborah Gregory Page A

attraction in the rodeo!
    “Everybody is feeling our cheetah-ness!” I exclaim.
    “There they are!” Angie says, spotting Fish ’N’ Chips. “Look, they’re playing!”
    Fish ’N’ Chips are holding court for the tourists walking by. Mr. Fred Fish is plucking on his banjo and Mr. Chips Carter is shaking his tambourine. Mr. Fred’s banjo case is opened and lying on the ground. A few tourists throw change into it.
    As soon as Fish ’N’ Chips see us, they light up as bright as a Christmas tree. Then they circle around us, and start singing up a storm:
    “
I went down to the store to get a root beer
    But when I came back, nobody was near
    Not my woman, not my banjo, and not my dear
    Then one of my neighbors made it real clear
    He said, son, you done lost your woman
    to a bad case of the blues
    The next time you go to the store
    you’d better look at the news
    I said, I lost my woman to a bad case of the blues
    And maybe that’s why she ran off with my shoes
    I’ve got those lost-woman blues
    those dirty, lowdown, lost-woman blues
!”
    Galleria, Chanel, and Dorinda are grinning from ear to ear and clapping.
    “See?” I tell Angie, “I
told
Mrs. Fenilworth we young people can groove to the blues—it’s just in our blood!”
    “Can you believe they picked a couple of old-timers like us, out of all them younguns?” Mr. Fish exclaims.
    Angie and I grin like two foxes who’ve swallowed some hens. I poke her, just to make sure she doesn’t say a word to Fish ’N’ Chips about us pulling a few strings. I’m just grateful we had a few strings to pull!
    I look at Dorinda, and see tears welling in her eyes. “Can I see that?” she asks, pointing to Mr. Fred’s banjo.
    “Sure thing, little lady.”
    Dorinda is just fascinated with Mr. Fish’s instrument. We all sit on the railing and watch, while he shows her how to play.
    “Now, when you pluck the banjo to play the blues, you gotta
feel
the blues—you know, slump down some, and think about all the people who done you wrong,” Mr. Fish says, grinning his toothless grin.
    “Word. That won’t be too hard,” Dorinda says, slumping her tiny little shoulders and putting a funny scowl on her face.
    “Now just make up any words you want, so you can get the melody to match the plucking.”
    “Um, okay—um, let’s see:
    “
I’m sitting on the porch
    just minding my bizness
    trying to light a torch
    For my big ole’ horse
    But my dern little cat
    keeps coming back.
    I can’t get no slack
    for my wack attack blues
!!
    I said, I can’t get no slack
    for m-y-y-y wack-attack
blluuues!”
    A tourist stops to listen, and puts another dollar in Fish ’N’ Chips’ banjo case! We all start howling at Dorinda.
    “Well now, that’s interesting how you got the rap mixing up with the blues,” Mr. Fred Fish says, tickled.
    We are laughing so hard that we don’t see Mrs. Fenilworth motioning for us to come in for rehearsal. Ma taps us on the shoulder and points to where Mrs. Fenilworth is standing quietly, waiting for us to finish.
    Mr. Fred Fish seems a little embarrassed by the money in his banjo case, and he shovels it quickly into a pouch he takes out of his pocket.
    Suddenly a light goes off in my head—this is probably how they make money to live—by singing on the streets!
    Two little girls with pigtails and freckles come inside behind us, and sit down at one of the tables. “Hi, we’re Miggy and Mo’!” the more freckly one says. I wonder if they’re fraternal twins. They must be sisters, and they look really young.
    “Hi, we’re the Cheetah Girls,” Chanel says, real friendly.
    “Mr. Paddlewheel, is everybody here?” Mrs. Fenilworth asks.
    “No—we’re missing the Moody Gardens.”
    All of a sudden, three boys wearing plaid shirts and jeans barge into the Crabcake Lounge. “Uh, sorry we’re late.”
    “Just take a seat,” Mr. Paddlewheel says nicely. “Tomorrow night,” he tells us all, “we are throwing a very special benefit