The Return of Buddy Bush by Shelia P. Moses Read Free Book Online

folks right now, because I might get to hollering right here in this tub. Instead, I stay in the tub until the water gets cold.
    BarJean fitted me a nice bed. Those sheets ain’t white like Ma’s and Grandma’s. They pink and they smell so, so good.
    I peek out the window and just like Miss Nora said, it’s beauty here in Harlem. Black folks walking down the streets all dressed up. I don’t know how I’m going to sleep tonight. It seems like morning ain’t never going to come. I just want the sun to shine. I want the rooster to crow. Lord, what am I saying? Ain’t no rooster going to crow in the morning. I’m in Harlem now. Ain’t no rooster here in the city at all.
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    I don’t need nobody to tell me it’s morning now because I can hear BarJean moving around in the kitchen. She got to be back at work today because she done missed a whole week’s work when she was down South with us for the funeral. She singing away just like Ma. I can hear her real good, because my little room is right next to the kitchen just like it is at our house down home. She don’t sound as good as Ma. Ma can sing, “May the Work I’ve Done” all she want to. And I tell you another thing, Ma can praise God and sing at the same time. Yep, she sing stuff like “May the work I’ve done speak for me.” Right in the middle of a note, she will scream “Yes, Lord, yessssssssssss!” BarJean don’t know how to do that yet. I don’t even have to get out of bed to talk to my big sister. I can just yell across the room.
    â€œGood morning,” I say, trying to sound like a city girl.
    â€œGood morning, sleeping beauty. How did you sleep last night?”
    â€œI didn’t sleep much. Just excited, I guess.”
    â€œYou can get some sleep today. I have to work until five and it takes me about thirty minutes to walk home. You know the rules. No going outside, and call downstairs to Miss Sylvine place if there is any trouble. Her telephone number is right here on the icebox. Most of all, do not open that door for nobody but Miss Sylvine, Coy and me.”
    I don’t know what she talking about Coy for; he ain’t even back from down South yet. I know them women folks are about to drive him crazy. Crazy as a bedbug. When he get back to Harlem, he will have to sleep for a week.
    â€œBut I don’t know what Miss Sylvine looks like,” I say, hoping for a brief telling of the woman.
    â€œYou don’t need to know what she looks like. She is from down home just like us. Her voice tells who she is.”
    BarJean right about folks on Rehobeth Road. They all talk just alike: Country! Country! Country!
    â€œBesides she has never seen you, missy. So there! You don’t know each other. I will take youdownstairs when I get home so you two can meet.”
    I know not to ask another question. As a matter of a fact, I will just shut up, period. BarJean just like Ma. She done made up her mind what I’m suppose to say and do. That’s that.
    I got to get up, walk in this kitchen, and watch BarJean finish cooking breakfast. She can’t fry an egg, so this is going to be some meal.
    She really looks like Ma. She fuss just like her too. She can fuss all she wants to. The minute she walks out that front door I’m leaving this apartment so I can find my uncle. You know, I bet he done found himself a new city woman and forgot all about Miss Nora. If that’s what he has done, he ought to be shame of himself. I’m not going to mention that to BarJean, because if I do she is just going to tell me that’s grown folks business, and she will force me to use the mason jar here, too.
    When BarJean turns the water on to make her a cup of coffee, I almost jump out of my skin. The only time I have ever heard the sound of running water before in my whole life is at theschoolhouse and when I took my bubble bath last