LITTLE BIG GIRL

Something new came into our lives thanks to Daddy and his bill-paying patients, our shore--or really half of the Taylor's shore- and not the better half. One house was beautiful, white stucco with a porch and lovely garden. The other, ours, was dark brown, shingled, had a rusty pump in the kitchen sink and an outhouse. It stunk and we all suffered. I think I must have gone there no more than once a week and then, Mama's daily question about my bowels was met by a deliberate lie.

 

Daddy was clever, working all summer, visiting only on week-ends. Whenever he came, a large cake of ice was on the car floor and Mama was always glad to see them both. However, neither she nor I, nor most of all Daddy, were happy when the sun went down and the mosquitos woke up, buzzing and biting and making welts on all of us.

Thank heavens Daddy was kind and brought along jugs of city water too, as there was no way to drink the brown stuff from the pump. It tasted like iron. I didn't care how healthy Mama said it was, it ruined the taste of everything. Mama endured all the uncomfortable things the shore offered.
After all, none of her friends were as fortunate as she was to have a summer home, but I knew she would rather be where Viola could wash and iron for her and we could all flush the toilet.
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School time was a great challenge; rising early a must; living only two blocks away, a great advantage. Mama seldom had to wake me, in fact, the opposite was true. The race was on as soon as I could get out of the house. Most days I was first to wait at the curb for the teachers to arrive. Miss Chowning seemed to have books to carry in almost daily and charts and flowers loaded Miss Barlett's car.

 

They could use a strong girl like me to help carry things up the wide stone steps, through the heavy fire door and to their rooms. If I got lucky, I could help two or three in one morning. Even one wasn't bad as it got me inside the building before the bell rang and then I had it made. There were errands to run, chores to do. Pouring black ink from the big, heavy bottle into the little wells in the desk corners -very tricky. First I pushed the cover way back so the hole was as big as possible and then, slowly, carefully, my two small hands holding tight, I filled the wells almost to the top without getting one spot on my apron. Miss Griffin, I'm sure, would let me do it again.

Before I left her room, I raised all the shades, made them straight, and even used the long hooked pole to open the windows from the top just enough to let the night's stale odor out.

The first bell rang and I hurried to the end room, my own, in time to do one more favor. I washed the front blackboard, as high as I could reach, using a soft yellow sponge.

My friends were my enemies. Their envy showed. As soon as the second bell sounded, we stopped talking, placed our feet together, flat on the floor, folded our hands on the desks. Charlotte read the 23rd Psalm and asked us to rise and face Billy holding the American flag. We pledged our allegiance and sang America, but only after Miss Chowning tweaked her silver tuning fork to give us the key.

 

Then my lessons began-how to read, how to write, arithmetic, geography--but I never learned to help Mama first.