Chapter 12 Miss Thelma (1)

Mom said that the house she was going to next was in the bungalow area of ​​the town.Most of the people living there are poor people, and the houses are connected to each other.I was pretty sure we had to drive to get there, but before I could ask, the doorbell rang. "Go and see who it is, Charlie, will you?" Mom said, putting the dish in the sink. I hesitate.I don't want to answer the door or answer the phone.But my mother urged again: "Charlie? Can you open the door for me?" I had to stand up and walk slowly towards the door. I told myself that nothing would happen.Go and open the door.But the moment my hand reached the doorknob, I felt a momentary explosion behind me, a light, and a man's voice, the same voice I'd heard on the phone at Rose's house.The voice was shouting.

"Charles Bennett! I'm a policeman!" The sound felt like a storm, so close to me that I could almost touch it. "Can you hear me, Charles? I'm the police!" I staggered back a few steps, covering my face with my hands.The light was gone.The wind died down.All I could hear was my own rough panting.I turned to look at my mother.She's still standing by the sink; what I've just been through may just be a fantasy in my head. I froze for a few seconds, took three long breaths, and then turned the doorknob carefully.I looked down, expecting a policeman yelling at me standing in the doorway.For some reason, in my imagination, it would be a young policeman who came to arrest me.

But when I looked up, it was an old black lady with glasses.Her glasses were on a chain, her hair was a mess, and she had an unfinished cigarette in her hand. "Is that you, Chickie," she said. "Wow, look at you, how big you have grown." Back then, we all called her Miss Thelma.She is helping us clean the house.She was thin, narrow-shouldered, with a big smile and a straightforward personality.Her hair was dyed a reddish brown.She is always smoking.She carried Lucky cigarettes in her breast pocket, like a man.Though born and raised in Albama, she somehow ended up in Pepper Valley.It was the late fifties, and people on this side of town employed people like her.People either call them "housekeepers" or, more directly, "maids".My dad always picked her up from the bus stop next to Hardett's Cafe on Saturday mornings.After sending her home, he will give her the wages first.The money was always folded up and slipped to her quietly from the buttocks with the hands hanging down, as if neither of them should mention the banknotes.Then Dad would take us to a baseball game while she would stay home and do chores all day.My room was always spotless by the time we got back, even though I didn't like that.

My mom insisted that we call her "Miss Thelma." I remember that well, and the fact that we little ones were not allowed in the room she had just vacuumed.I also remember her playing a game of bocce in the backyard with me, and she threw it as hard as I did. She also inadvertently coined my nickname.Dad tried to call me Chaco (but Mom didn't like it because she thought it sounded too feminine).Because when I ran back to the house from the backyard, I always shouted: "Mama, Mama", or "Lube ... Beta".One day, Miss Thelma looked at me rather annoyed and said, "Little guy, you look like a little rooster when you yell, cluck, cluck, cluck, don't stop." My sister didn't go to school at that time, She followed Miss Thelma's lead and yelled "clack da, cluck da" to me.That's how people started calling me "Chicken".I think papa was a little bit angry with Miss Thelma for this reason.

"Baby," she said to her mother now, "I've been thinking about you." The smile on her face widened. "Yes, thank you," Mom said. "Really, I've been thinking about you." She turns to me. "Chicken, I can't play ball throwing with you anymore," she said with a smile, "I'm too old." We got into her car and I figured she'd drive us to her house.I think it's a bit odd that Mom goes to do Miss Thelma's hair and grooming.However, I also realized that I knew absolutely nothing about the last ten years of my mother's life, so it was no surprise.During those ten years, I was completely engulfed in the ups and downs of my own life.

We were driving, and for the first time that day I saw someone out the window.I saw a wrinkled old man with a gray beard, dragging a rake toward the garage.Mom waved to him, and he waved to us.I also saw an old woman with hair the color of French vanilla ice cream.She was wearing her everyday clothes and sitting on the porch of her house.Mom waved to her.She also waved to us. After driving for a while, the streets became narrower and more rugged.We turned onto a gravel path and stopped in front of a two-story bungalow with a sloping porch and doors leading to the cellar on both sides. The paint on the door was mottled and it looked like it was in urgent need of repair.Several cars were parked in the driveway.There was a bicycle lying on the lawn in front of the door.Miss Thelma parked the car, turned the key and turned off the ignition.

In this way, we entered the house at once.The walls of the bedroom were paneled and the floor was carpeted in olive green.The beds are the old fashioned four-poster kind.Suddenly Miss Thelma was sitting up on the bed with two pillows behind her. "What happened?" I asked my mother. She shook her head as if to say, "Don't ask now." She began to take out the contents of the makeup bag one by one.I heard the yelling of children from the next room, the muffled sound of the TV and the moving of plates on the dining table. "They all thought I was sleeping," said Miss Thelma softly.

She looked into her mother's eyes. "Boa, thank you so much for doing this for me." "Of course," Mom replied. "I don't know, Beau," said Miss Thelma, "unless a miracle happens." She looked at the mirror in her hand.Mom took out a few small boxes and jars from the bag. "It will, here's my miracle bag," Mom said. "Oh? Do you have any cancer elixir in your bag?" Mom held up a bottle. "I have moisturizer." Miss Thelma smiled. "Don't you think it's a little silly, Boa?" "What did you say, dear?"

"Want to tidy up and look good—at a time like this?" "If that's what you mean, I think it's perfectly normal." "Hey, you know, my kids are out there. And their little ones. I wish I could look healthy, you know? I don't want them to be upset by what I look like, seeing me Like a broken rag."