Maizon at Blue Hill by Jacqueline Woodson Read Free Book Online Page A

was tall with skin the color of autumn—all golden-brown and soft—and curly hair. The man that came to mind was Margaret’s father—Mr. Tory—even though he died last summer. Mr. Tory was blocking out the image of my father. I walked slowly, swallowing every few steps, my head thrown back against the breeze. An awful loneliness came over me, working its way up from the middle of my stomach to the center of my chest. I needed to picture my father and I couldn’t. I hated him so much for leaving me. Hated him like I’ve never ever hated anybody. Margaret was lucky. She had a word for what her father was. Death was something solid—something with a name and place to it. Something certain. But for where my father was, I didn’t have anything. I didn’t know if he would ever show up again. The only thing I was sure of was that he had come to Grandma’s house on a cold day in April with me bundled up in blankets. He had me in one arm and a suitcase in the other.
    â€œI can’t take care of her,” he had whispered to Grandma, handing me over.
    And then he was gone, taking with him one big suitcase and the face my mother had fallen in love with. The thought of him drifts back and forth and I’m always wondering if he’ll return. Sometimes I pray that he doesn’t. And sometimes I hope he will. I wish on falling stars and eyelashes. Absence isn’t solid the way death is. It’s fluid, like language. And it hurts so much ... so, so much.
    A mosquito buzzed closed to the side of my head and I shooed it away. “Eeny Meeny Miney Mo ...” I sang softly to myself. Somewhere far off, bells were ringing. I walked through the grass, feeling the earth go soft beneath my loafers. “Let’s catch Maizon by her toes. If she hollers, don’t let her go.... Eeny Meeny Miney Mo....”
    Something was missing. I wondered if Blue Hill was the beginning of something always being missing.

10
    M aizon, can I borrow your soap?“ I wrapped my towel tighter around me. Claudette stood in front of me, stark naked. I’d met her at orientation last night.
    The bathroom was big, with three showers and four toilet stalls. But I had never had to share a bathroom with anyone, and standing on the cold tile with other girls brushing their teeth at the sink and one in front of me stark naked was something I’d never imagined myself doing.
    I handed Claudette the plastic soap container.
    â€œThanks,” she said, darting toward the shower. “I left mine back in my room.” I walked over to a sink that was freed up by a girl I didn’t know who had been blow-drying her hair in front of it, and started combing my hair. Around me, other girls went about their morning duties in various stages of undress. Most of them just had on bras and panties. Even if I wore a bra, I wouldn’t walk around in it with nothing else on. I looked at my skinny shoulders in the mirror. Sharing or no sharing, I wasn’t about to let the girls see how undeveloped I was.
    â€œYou can give it to me later,” I called to Claudette, gathering my stuff together.
    â€œThanks,” she yelled back over the running water.
    Back in my room, I dressed slowly, then tried to get some more unpacking done. Sandy had already left, so I had the room all to myself for a few minutes. My tour person would be coming at nine. But at eight forty-five, there was a knock on the door.
    â€œI’m Susan,” a brown-haired girl with glasses said. “I’ve been assigned to show you around. I’m a junior here.”
    â€œI’m Maizon,” I said, moving aside to let her in. “Make yourself comfortable. I was doing a little unpacking.”
    â€œI’m kind of in a rush,” Susan said, brushing past me and sitting on Sandy’s bed.
    I hung a pair of sweatpants in the closet, then folded a T-shirt and put it in the dresser drawer at the head of my bed.