A strum of a Guitar

I was woken by a harsh hand.  I found it rude since I was sleeping and it wasn’t light yet.  I didn’t understand why my mother had to wake me up early in the morning. My motto was: “If the sun wasn’t up, then I shouldn’t be up” My mother though, did not agree.

            “Get up!” She ordered strictly as she wiped her damp hands on her apron. She was already in her maid’s uniform, the one that was hanging on my dresser for myself to wear.  Starting today, I was working for a Ms. Scott. She was married, but we were to call her Ms. Scott. It was a rule apparently.

            I sat up with disgust and rubbed my eyes.  My room was very small and was shared by my younger siblings. I had been pulled from school because we were in debt and needed money.  There was a great chance that my other sister will be pulled eventually too. I swung my feet over the side of the bed, being very careful not to disturb my sister, grabbed my maid’s outfit and trudged to the bathroom to change.

            “Get ready so I can prepare you for your first day,” She explained as she stirred a small pot of oatmeal. My father had been shot since he was an activist. The white people made us watch too. White people were horrible people, full of greed and ambition. I’m not saying that blacks were not the same, but at least blacks aren’t harmful.

            My father was a great role model for me. He had a mile wide smile and was in love with music, more specifically, blues music.  He loved the slow, beats it created. The whine and plucking sounds of the guitar were his favorite. The rumbly voices of the singers made his adrenaline spike as he would sing with them. If he wasn’t an activist in Mississippi, then he would have been a blues singer. He could play a mean guitar and had a low, bass voice. It was beautiful. 

            My father got me hooked on the guitar. He had owned a stunning wood one, but my mother sold it after his death in order to take care of the family. I was devastated because I was going to learn how to play it, just like he did. He would have given it to me too. Now my musical heart was crushed as I yearned to earn enough money to buy a blues guitar.

            I shimmied into the dress hastily and zipped it up. I pulled the white stockings up and threw the apron over my head. Then I stepped into my low heeled shoes and stepped out. The dress hung on my thin body frame. I did not have my mother’s build. The dress was one of hers.

            She saw me and pursed her lips into a smile. “Now that looks beautiful on ya,” She eyed me down and played with the sides of the dress to make it cling to my body more. “If I pin it here an’ here, then it would look much better on your body.”

            “Thanks ma,” I mumbled. I pulled away from her slight grasp and sat down to eat. By now, the sun was rising and the rays were shimmering through the little window from the kitchen. I ate my oatmeal as my heart pounded with nervousness by the day ahead.  When I was done, I washed my bowl and retreated back to the bathroom where I pinned my thick, black hair in a tight bun. I slicked back the strands and stepped back out.

            “Now, you listen to Ms. Scott, you hear me?” She pointed a chubby finger at me. I rolled my eyes but she slapped my cheek lightly. “If you don’t, you’ll get be fired so quick you wouldn’t know what you did.” I bit the inside of my cheek and listened. “No sass mouth either. White women don’t like sassy black girls.” I bobbed my head. Ma yelled at the top of her lungs, “Get up kids!” Her voice rang through my eardrums. There were rustling from the bedrooms. Ma had left some oatmeal out for the kids to eat. When Ma was ready to go, we both headed out to the bus stop where it would take us to the white suburbs.

            Ma found a good friend of hers and began to chew the fat while I sat next to them. I tuned them out as my heart pounded harder the closer we got. The sun was fully up by the time I arrived at my stop where I would have to walk with Ma and her friend to the houses we worked at. Ma worked across the street and her friend, Debbie worked a couple houses down.