Authors: Walter Dean Myers
Miss Ruby has probably always been
Bigger than she needed to be
Square shouldered, skin dark and dry
As the black field dirt she came from
Wide hipped, wide lipped
Dried hard in the bitter Georgia sun
Somewhere along the hardscrabble road
Somewhere between the Left Alone
Blues and the One Room
Bathroom down the hall
The almost saved daughter
Of Sunrise Baptist Tabernacle
Hardened. One day the music
Was loud enough and the
Rhythm strong enough to
Push her too far into the Night
To ever turn back.
She is my flesh and blood,
Big boned as I am big boned
Uncomfortable in
Her skin.
Now she lives in shadow and memory
Her mind a cluttered shelf
In a narrow hallway closet
Her life is a tattered volume of fading
Photos, brown edged and crumbling
Some hopelessly stuck together
In her quiet times, between the pain
Of her newfound wilderness and the
Rage of not knowing who she is
She sorts the pictures, putting faces
With times, times with places
Sometimes, away from the girls who
People her life, she cries in the darkness
Thin shoulders, no longer straining
Against the twisted bra straps
Hunch forward. Dark hands twist
Her half-empty cup
Nervously as she waits for the silence
To stop its threats
For the talking to start the day.
“Morning, Miss Ruby.”
“Go on, child.”
“How you feeling today?”
“You know, there ain’t no need complaining.”
“You want some eggs?”
“They were all right.”
“You didn’t have any eggs yet, Miss Ruby. I’ll make
you some.”
“You’re so sweet, Kitty.”
“Junice, Miss Ruby. I’m Junice.”
“Roxanne, where you headed?” Damien asks.
“To the Computer Lab to see
If any He-males are sending
E-mails my way. Where are you going?”
“To the office to check out the yearbook
Pictures.”
“Well, aren’t you the busy one,” Roxanne says,
“And by the way—Colson asked me to
The Charity Jam—something about
Homeless Asians, or Hurricanes—is there
A war in Angola? Or is that a prison?
Anyway, you’ve been so busy
Too busy for dances, I’m sure. Mother was
Surprised because she took it
For granted that you and I would be—
Well, you know how mothers are,
Taking things for granted and Cynthia
Said she saw you talking to that girl
Hummis, or Loomis, something like
That and don’t they have such
Interesting names and did I hear her
Mother was a drug dealer—Oh, I guess that’s
What you do when you get hot
Or is it ghe-tto. If you’re not too busy
You should take her to
The Charity Jam. I’m sure she’d fit
Right in. Don’t you think so?”
Hello, Junice?
No, Damien Battle, Kevin’s friend
We spoke just the other day, remember
In the principal’s office. Yeah. Yeah.
Wondering if you were busy Friday
There’s this dance at a club downtown, not hip
But good for a laugh, something new to do
Could you? Could we? I don’t know. Are you free?
It could be fun. Something to do. You and me.
Damien, it’s good to hear from you
Friday, no, I can’t.
I have to babysit. You called so late
Perhaps some other time. It sounds all right.
But I thought you and Roxanne were tight
She seems more your type. Nothing personal.
And I’m glad you called and everything
But right now I’m a bit unglued
I love to dance, but not right now
I’m not really in the mood
Roxanne and I are friends, there’s nothing more
Our folks go back, you know how that thing goes
But, hey, you want to stop at the coffee shop
I’m thinking of taking over the world, and I can
Use some advice.
Why am I holding my breath?
She’s said “yes,” why am I nervous?
How are things with you, He asked
You don’t know? She responded
I’ve heard, He said
What? She asked.
That you are bruised, that there are tender spots in
Your life
There are no tender spots, She said, No bruises,
She protested
(She put two teaspoons of sugar
Into her coffee, slowly stirring
Only the top)
The coffee used to be 50 cents here
Now it is a dollar, He said.
It’s cleaner now, She said
The coffee is better
There used to be flies, She said
The flies liked the old coffee
He said
Her face flashed with smiling
(She looked away and then back at him
Delighted with his joke
He wanted to delight her again.)
Things change, She said
Her face darkening with her mood
Bruises happen.
Sometimes, He said, it’s hard to know
How to handle things
(Melissa was quiet, but she was thinking
That sometimes words
Danced instead of talked
They bowed and touched
And moved away
Making spaces in the air
Between them
It was hard to know what
Damien and Junice were talking about
Unless you could read the shape
Of the air between
Them. Melissa looked, and guessed
That they liked each other.)
When will I see you again? He asked, reaching for
The bill.
When would you like? She replied
Looking toward the far counter
Friday? He asked.
Okay, She said, with a shrug of one
Shoulder.
I’ll give you my address, she said.
You can come by. I’m
Babysitting you-know-who.
Fine, He said.
(Melissa smiled)
But my crib is just a crib, Junice said No
Home & Garden
stuff, just “do get by”
But if you still want to come,
Then ring the bell
(What am I doing? He’ll take one quick look
And wish he was anywhere else but here
I’m already ashamed of what I think
He will think of me, of the life I lead)
I’ll see you Friday
What sweet surprise have I found in her
That makes me high with gladness?
That makes me want to babble to my lost saints
And count the ways to celebrate her wonder?
I see Melissa softly touch her arm
And I long to speak the language of that touch
The hum and thrum of crosstown traffic sings to her
And I long to scat and jazz that ode of joy
Her smile lifts and lightens me, and I want to fly
My newfound wings slanting to a sky
Ablaze with shimmering brilliance
As I am ablaze and silly and rapt
Why does her look startle me?
I have seen eyes sparkling in a sideways glance
Why do her lips, pouting in a gentle curve
Make my brain reel and my heart dance?
With Junice I am not merely Damien
But something new, a me invented
Each atom of my being alive with feelings
And oh what sweet sensations
The crowded station rattles and shakes
But I am alone on the mountaintop
Naming the creatures of the earth
And this sweet creature, this Junice, I will call Love
He might not show at all, but if he does
I will take his jacket, and ask him to sit
Where will he sit? On the sofa, of course
He’ll look right at me, too polite to stare
At the peeling walls or the faded rug
He’ll ask how I’ve been and I’ll say “Quite well,
Thank you.” Then I will have to sit, but where?
Next to him on the sofa seems too bold
But the window seat is too far away
As if I’m afraid to be close to him
Or being too respectful. That’s not good, either.
Miss Ruby hardly touched her food
And she doesn’t eat at all if I
Put out the good plates. It’s as
If her mind is back to some party
From a hundred years ago.
If Damien brings food I’ll have to sit near him
Melissa will be watching television
And Miss Ruby will be asleep.
I hope she doesn’t snore
I’ll make small talk, something about school
Look at me, telling myself I don’t care
What he thinks yet planning every move
He’ll sit there and I’ll sit here with nothing
Between us except our good intentions.
And he had best bring his good intentions
If this boy thinks I’m easy, some chump chick—
I’ll start my good-byes at the end of hello
Maybe I’ll just meet him at the door
And tell him I’ve changed my mind
And asking him here was just
A mistake, a stumble of the mind
Like when the wrong word comes
From the lips, or a face looks
For a moment familiar but then,
Up close it’s clearly strange.
In a way I resent him,
Sweeping across the desert of my life
With his cooling waters
Letting the blazing whiteness of his
Sails fill the horizon as my arms grow
Weary of the tide. Damien looks at
Me as if he is thirsty
And I want to be a river
He looks at me as if he is hungry
And I want to leap upon his tongue.
He makes me want to write
His name across the lines
On my yellow pad. I write
“Damien loves…” and leave
A space for another name.
Hey girl
You were in bed
And we did have a talk
Or don’t you remember little
Sweetheart?
I know
We talked and all
But can’t I take a peek
He ain’t made of gold or nothing Is he?
No, but
He is special
He does the kind of things
That I wish that he were doing
With me
Junice
That boy has got
All up inside your head
You’re going to be in luv tonight
Big-time
Away!
Back to your bed
You’re talking like a child
It’s Junice I have to handle
Not him
Junice moves uneasily through the room
Her stops punctuated by a soft smile
That sends shivers of delight up my spine
My smile doesn’t fit my face anymore
Clumsily I try to hold the space
She gives me between the yellowed curtains
And the darkly stained table where my legs
Cross and uncross searching out casual
The smell of food cooking in some other
Kitchen reminds me that we share the world
Junice moves uneasily through the room
I speak, and her quick mind catches the thought
And tosses it playfully at my feet
I am eager to laugh and she knows it
I talk nonsense and she nods, I babble
And she babbles back. I am excited
Yes, and afraid to be in her presence
In the faraway next room there are sounds
“Melissa’s watching some kiddie program,”
Junice says. “I bribed her to waste her mind.”
We are dancers, she with bare feet
And dangling bracelets, the native child
Burned by the copper sun
I am the explorer
Discovering that there are two
Sides to the ocean
“Damien, what are you thinking?” she asked.
“I am thinking that I am not thinking.
What are you thinking?”
“I am thinking that I am thinking too much,”
she said.
“Is that good or bad?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, freezing the thought
I stood and put my arms around her
She put her head against my chest
In the long moment that followed
It was impossible to breathe
Too difficult to speak
We were rapt in each other
For a handful of heartbeats
Until, embarrassed, she pushed me away
We had shared more
Than we knew possible
Then I was standing, jacket in hand, at the door
Awkwardly we faced and wondered if Could
Would turn to Yes, her fingertips kissed
My face. My lips barely parted and quickly
Closed.
Down the stairs, and into the cool night
A half-moon floated
High above the jutting chimneys
Perhaps there were two moons
Perhaps a dozen