[Section opener]
Meg
Chapter 6
It must have been a dead scientist or a old Roman who decided each day has the same number of
minutes. Whoever it was, let me tell you, it is not true. By ten in the morning, I would swear a
couple years have passed while I been sitting in this office. Lord, I might have turned fourteen
just waiting on lunch. By five o’clock, I would not be surprised to look down and see I had
grown bosoms.
I try to plan tasks to fill the day, but there are always a couple hundred hours left to burn.
First thing I do when I sit down is rearrange my desk supplies. Somebody comes in here
and messes with them, and I bet I know who it is too. Those other ladies will not hardly set foot
in this smelly room. Just stroll on by like they do not see the mildew or that boarded-up window.
First I center the Bible perfect on the desk and line up my three yellow pencils with the
pink eraser beside it. Next are the View Day cards which I stack up perfect. I measure it all with
the wooden ruler to get it just right. Last, I mark the desk leg for how many more days until I see
Ava. It looks like something a criminal would do in jail. I got six months and eight days left here
if Dorella doesn’t kill me first. She is next to go to the cannery, six weeks before me. Last night,
she held my head up under the wash pump again so long, if Miss Mildred had not come out there
and hollered, I might been drowned.
This morning, I also see little pink eraser turds on the desk which I know I did not leave.
I keep my area tidy. When Miss Garnett strolls in here, I am already in a mood.
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Good morning, Meg. As usual, she is dressed in a outfit exactly the color of nothing. I bet
that husband of hers would agree, she has no sense of style.
I come right out and tell her. I told you, Miss Garnett, if you are going to fool with my
desk items, you could at least tidy up after—
They’re not your things, Meg, they’re for the bookkeeper. Which I still can’t find. When
she asked some of the other ladies to help out in here in their free time, they all eyeballed each
other with the Who Farted look. That is a look they get when they don’t want to do something
but are too scared to say no to the Big Phony. I’ve got to find somebody to straighten out these
books, the inspector is coming in a few weeks.
I know what to expect when he does.
The inspector is about the only person Miss Garnett kisses up to, since he decides our
funding. That is a government word that means free money. Couple times a year he shows up
and peruses the books to see where she spent all the cash. He walks around and says she needs to
fix such-and-so. These are white girls, Mrs. Pittman. Then he looks us over and tells us to folla a
finger, stick out our tongue. When we pass the mustard, he asks Miss Garnett if any girl has
started to bleed yet. Only a couple girls have or else they showed up that way, but it always stops
after they are here awhile. The ladies say it is odd. Then he moves on to asking about what he
calls brain development.
You would think a man in a white coat would have the sense to ask us questions to decide
are we smart or slow, but when it comes to our brains, all he cares is what the Big Phony tells
him. She cannot wait to deliver the terrible news. As I suspected, quite a few are turning out well
below average. This last time I saw her nod at that meanie Dorella. Well I about laughed, but
then she looked at me. Said, And that one. Last month, we simply had no choice but to pull her
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out of school— She leaned in to whisper, probably, how I drew that dirty picture. Then she
walked him up to the lounge to feed him a damn gelatin ring.
I suspect it’ll go the same way next time.
This morning, Miss Garnett fishes through the mailbag she has brought in here. Miss
Garnett, let me handle that, I tell her. You go rock a baby or something. I figure it is worth a try.
Residents are not allowed to disport with mail, and you know that, Meg.
I bet she thinks if I got my hands on a girl’s letter, I would trade it for food. And I bet she
is right. But what I am really after is a letter from Ava.
She ruffles through the bag and sticks some bills in the file cabinet to deal with, later.
You can always tell when they are starting to build up in there because she tsks, probably
thinking she is too important to deal with that crap. Then she hands me the letters from
prospective parents who want to come look at us. There are three, which is a lot.
When she is gone across the hall to store the mailbag in the coat closet, I tear through the
letters she gave me. But there is not one hunting for a eleven-year-old with a gap in her teeth
who likes hard candy and bacon, which was the plan for Ava to sneak a letter in to me.
That is all right, Ava probably doesn’t have that kind of time. Getting settled in at the
cannery and all.
Besides counting coins, it is my job to write out cards to parents looking to adopt. Their
letters come from all over the state or sometimes Tennessee or Louisiana. They are only allowed
to look us over on what you call View Day, which is held four times a year. Miss Garnett does
not care for people just showing up here on their own time. If the folks pick a girl they like, Miss
Garnett takes them to the Ladies’ Lounge to have the Special Talk with the girl to make sure they
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are a good match. I have not got that far so I cannot account what is said. All I know is, then the
girl is gone. Poof. Right before your very eyes.
Lately it is rare for a big girl to get adopted. Even if someone does look our way, Miss
Garnett steers them clear, saying the younger ones are more adaptable. Most are looking for a
baby or toddler anyway they can start from scratch on. If they write that they want a big girl, it is
usually to just do work, things like, Pickin sperience would be rite gud, or a helthy girl to help in
the kichen. If I had won me that red pencil in Bible, I would mark up their spelling.
When I know there is not one from Ava, I go back and read them slow again. Lord knows
I am desperate to see words strung together. The first two are dull and both want a baby, period.
The third one is wrote in pencil on a card cut from a Victory Bobbed Hair Pins box. My mama
used to use those. It says: We need us a older girl on acownt of I was choping cotton and it was
hot out and the blade swung out my hand and sliced my wifes arm clean off so we had a proper
funral for it but she can not lift a pot now so we need us a girl to cook.
A funeral for a arm, see now that is a letter. You got your people and your action and
your weather to set the mood, plus some gore for added interest. I do them out a card.
INFANTS 1 TODDLERS 6 AGE SIX TO TWELVE 9.
THE NEXT VIEW DAY WILL BE ON August 7th, 1933, which is three weeks away. At
the bottom is printed beforehand: Please bring proof of residence and show you have at least $25
in your name.
I address the cards and stick a stamp on and by nine o’clock I am clean out of tasks. For a
while I just stare at that boarded-up window. There are five boards going left to right with thin
lines of sunlight sneaking in under the second and fourth boards. I stare so long at those boards,
even when I am not looking at those boards, I am looking at those boards. Finally I review my
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list of things to do when desperate: Find mean name that rhymes with Dorella. I cannot come up
with one. I am tempted to check it off my list just for the thrill.
All I’m asking for is some hard candy, a better view, and something to damn read. Is that
too much to ask for in life?
Across the hall, that toddler named Ella Jane starts to scream. She has gotten what you
call attached to Miss Frances, one of the lady volunteers. If Ella Jane makes it to age six here,
Miss Frances will drop her like a hot potato and find a younger one. Somebody ought to warn
Ella to go on and expect it.
I could work on my special portraits of these ladies. I draw them in a criminal-type style
with a sign around their neck and a name I come up with that suits their personality. So far I have
drawed one for the Big Phony who is Miss Garnett, the Asskisser who is Miss Frances, and Miss
Pripp who I call the Fatass because she got me jerked out of school for my art project. I keep the
portraits hid way back in the desk drawer. When I leave this place, I plan to take them with me to
keep my memory fresh for the day I run into one of them, oh I got your numbers, ladies.
Garnett, come quick, one of the babies has a fever, a volunteer calls up the hall. I look
over and several are rushing to the baby room. I also see somebody left the coat closet door ajar.
They always keep the closet door shut and locked. From here, I can see something in
there sitting on a shelf.
I get up and peer out my doorway. Look left and right. I can hear the ladies gathered
concerned in the nursery. Miss Frances is in the toddler room changing a diaper. The big girls are
all up in the school. In seven steps, I am in the closet.
And lookathere. A Life magazine flies off the shelf like a bird in my hand. I slip it up my
long dress and down in my underpants. At the top of the mail bag, I also see a letter, addressed to
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Resident: Dorella Pratt. I could trade this for cornbread for a damn week! I smooth my dress
down quick and slip out of there. But all a sudden Little Ella Jane runs out into the hall
screaming with another toddler behind her.
Young lady, you know you’re not supposed to be in there! It is Miss Frances, the
Asskisser.
And then here comes the Fatass next, hands on her hips. You get out of there, missy! What
do you think you’re doing—
What? What did she do? Miss Garnett says, walking up and oh she looks excited. Now it
is the Big Phony, the Fatass, and the Asskisser out here now with two toddlers running around
loose in the hall.
My heart tries to whack its way out my chest. I will get damn twenty belt licks for this. I
got the urge to touch my middle where the things are tucked, but I think about my mama’s lying
lesson. So I say, I was just trying to collect those toddlers you got running around loose! and I
give Miss Frances a stern look. Running around like a bunch of wild Indians.
So as not to get in trouble, Miss Frances goes to catch the little girls, but Miss Garnett
stands there and gives me a hard, long look before she goes to help. I walk myself to the office,
praying the goods don’t fall out my underpants.
After I ease down in my chair, I hold my breath and wait, my heart beating hard in my
ears. I stare ahead, but nobody comes in after me. When they are gone from the hall, I stick the
letter and magazine in the desk drawer and cover them up.
Soon as I am very sure the coast is clear, I ease out the Life.
Finally, finally, I got something to damn read, Lord, I am starving for it. On the front is a
drawing of a woman in a short tawdry white getup examining a doll wearing a long dress and
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bonnet. On the side is wrote A Century of Progress. Which I do not find very interesting but
when I open it, it is like a gold mine inside: there is Tarzan the ape man, the World’s Fair in
Chicago, Sinbad the cartoon boy, something long and boring about the Democratic Party, though
they do not seem to be having much fun at that party. And advertisements: Electrolux! Dial
radio! A personal deodorant called Shun. Whoever named that ought to get fired. A man in a
hospital bed smoking a Camel cigarette. His dark-headed nurse looks a little like my mama. I
turn pages, gulping up the big words, bending to see the little ones.
If there is so much as a rat scratch in the wall, I stare straight ahead at the boarded-up
window like one of those retard children. Just ole Nutmeg staring again, nothing to see in here.
You should see how the day flies. The world is right here in my lap. I lose myself a good
two hours reading about a fat baseball player named Babe Ruth, the Waldorf-Astoria in New
York City, something awful a lady has to watch out for called halitosis. I wish I could show that
to Miss Garnett. By lunch, I have not even had time to talk to a pretend person or fall asleep
drooling. I feel like I am living a actual life like a actual person again. They even got a thing you
plug in the wall and it cools off the house. Someone must have invented that damn machine
while I was in here sweating.
Six dollars gets you a airplane ticket to Memphis, twelve dollars gets you a mink stole.
Toward the end I turn to a picture piece on CAL-I-FOR-NIA. How did they know about that?
Cal-i-for-nia is where my mama wanted to go! Get out of this wrecked state, start fresh, we can
do better than cotton and horseshit.
I study the woman in a bathing costume standing next to a swimming pool. There is a
little girl holding her hand. I wonder if my mama went to Cal-i-for-nia without me. It has been a
while since I have thought about that—
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Meg. I go still in my skin. Look over and Miss Garnett is staring me down from the
doorway. My throat gets a lump. She puts her hand out and I get up and give her the Life.
Come with me to the belt closet, she says.
The room has not changed since I was in here last. Chair, belt, holes to make it fly faster.
I have dreams of this room along with another, though that one was colder and quieter. Behind
the door I can hear Dorella and some other girls snickering. My palms on the wall, I stand there
and take it like a man. But after seven or eight licks I got to cry, not just because it stings and
cuts the back of my legs but like she is trying to get to something deeper. It is like she is trying to
whip the hope out of me. I think about the pictures in the Life. Cal-i-for-nia. The blue of the pool,
the lady holding the little girl’s hand. All the while she is whispering,
Dirty, filthy girl
After fifteen licks Miss Garnett sits down in the chair, sweating, panting. She quits
because her arm gets tired.
***
That night, I lay on my stomach to stay off the backs of my stinging knees. I will not sleep much
tonight. When I hear the lock click, I get up off my cot and go to Dorella’s bed down on the end.
You got a letter, Dorella, I say. The other girls sit up in their beds fast. There is just
enough moon to see.
Dorella eyes it like it is water and she is dying of thirst. I know this letter is good as cash
and cornbread, but I believe I have lost my appetite today.
You can have it for free if you’ll read it out loud, I tell her. She could wrestle me for it
easy anyway, but she nods and takes it. I go lay back in my bed while she opens it slow and
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