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My specialty was the one we all called Gravel Gertie, the old window-raising conjure-woman! Joyce was so filled with superstitions, she believed Gertie had hexing powers. Whenever the old woman would stop by to visit our mother, Joyce would toss a big pan of dish-water over the path the woman had taken, to neutralize the hexing spirit.
So, when she heard my Gravel Gertie impersonation, she left the kitchen and hurried to investigate, her eye wide with fear. And there I was, two forked-fingers cocked and curse-ready, to scare the doo-doo out of her...turn her into a pillar of salt, like Lot’s wife!
But, when I saw her, with sweat formed on her brow, a flood of memories came back, all strung-together like a movie-reel: of Joyce Marie, at the ironing board, ironing my school- pinafores, which she had rinsed in Faultless Starch, to make the ruffles stand up, like no other girl’s pinafore; of Joyce Marie, helping me with my homework, because daddy couldn’t even read, and mama was at work; of Joyce Marie, her gentle hands combing and braiding my hair, being careful not to pull my scalp too tightly; of Joyce Marie, standing on tiptoes and stretching her head high above others in the crowded schoolyard, to see me wrap the Maypole, when no one else in the family came. Overcome with shame and ingratitude, I lowered my offending arm.
“Addie, what you call yourself in here doing?”
I stammered guiltily, “Uhh...uhh...see, I was just saying to myself, one day, I’m gonna buy daddy some new shoes, and, then, I’m gonna buy you a new pair, too, Joyce Marie.”
She propped her hands high upon her hips, the way mama would do, and gave me a knowing look.
“So, you in here just farting around, while I’m in that hot kitchen!”
“I’m fixing to come help you, Joyce Marie. As soon as I change out-a my Sunday clothes, I’m coming in the kitchen to help you.”
“You don’t look to me like you doing no changing!”
“O. K., Joyce Marie...I’m gonna do it!”
“Well, make me know it, Addie. Just... make me know it!”
On her way back into the kitchen, she lifted a corner of her apron and wiped her face.
I can’t be certain if she was wiping sweat from her brow, or tears from her eyes.
The End
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