Imani All Mine by Connie Rose Porter Page B

I’m a-come to you like you a what? A friend? My mama?
    But Mrs. Poole must be some kind of mind reader ready for the psychic telephone. She say, I know I’m not the first person you’d think to turn to, Tasha. But sometimes the one you think you’d come to last is the one you can turn to first. Then she got up. You have a nice vacation now, Tasha.
    And I am. I ain’t been going to no parties. When I got home from talking with Mrs. Poole that day I pulled out the decorations for Christmas like I’m a good mama. I taped our black Santa up in the window with his reindeer. Plugged in our electric candles and sat them in the front windows. Put some ribbon candy out in bowls. Got our fake tree out the basement and put ornaments on it. Imani watched me the whole time like she could tell something good was coming her first Christmas out in the world. And it was, because Aunt Mavis nem came.
    I don’t know, maybe Imani remember when she was inside me last year at Christmas. When Aunt Mavis nem didn’t come and Christmas was nothing but silent nights and silent days. We ain’t even put up the tree. Mama got a little plant that come already decorated for Christmas from Woolworth. We ain’t have up nam light when every house on our block was lit up. Had been that way since Thanksgiving. Even June Bug strung some lights on Miss Odetta porch. But at our house it looked like a bunch of Jehovah Witnesses or Nation of Islam people was living up in here. Like you could come to our house and buy a
Watch Tower
or a bean pie. I wasn’t stutting no Christmas, because Imani was still inside me. A secret I couldn’t tell.
    This year Aunt Mavis nem come on Christmas Eve. Late. Imani was already sleeping. They car was loaded down with food and presents.
    Mama say, Look like ya’ll moving in!
    Don’t it! Uncle Willis say. Believe me, sister, there ain’t no food left in Virginia. Mavis bought it all.
    It took him and Willis Junior and little Frankie ten trips to the car to bring everything in. The last thing Uncle Willis brung in was his big box of albums and them funny little forty-fives. Him and Aunt Mavis always bring music with them.
    Seem like Aunt Mavis started cooking soon as she hit the door. She pulled out every pot and pan we had. There was water in my mouth from all the things Aunt Mavis say she was going to cook. Chitlins, black-eye peas, candied yams with marshmallows on top, sweet potato pies, greens, macaroni and cheese. She was going to make a turkey and cornbread dressing and a Smithfield ham from Virginia. Aunt Mavis let us all help make the potato pies. Mama measured the lard and flour for the crusts. But she wouldn’t let Mama mix it.
    Mama say, I know how to do it.
    Aunt Mavis say, All you know about making pie crusts is taking some Pet Ritz shells out a plastic bag. I don’t want you overmixing the dough, making it tough. You can’t do nothing but sole a shoe with it then.
    Mama sucked her teeth. But Aunt Mavis mixed the crusts and rolled them out. The boys peeled the potatoes, and Aunt Mavis stood over them cutting out the potato eyes. Uncle Willis ate the peels like he crazy. He put butter and sugar on them. I put the potatoes through the ricer. Aunt Mavis ain’t even stand over me. She let me do it like I know what I was doing.
    I wanted to season the potatoes, but Aunt Mavis laughed and say, Girl, there ain’t no way I’d let a child season some potato pies. We all sat around watching her add the eggs, Pet milk, cinnamon, brown sugar, white sugar. She wasn’t measuring nothing. Little Frankie moved next to Aunt Mavis. She say, If you stick your finger in this bowl, I’ll break it. We all laughed because I think we was all wanting a taste. But Aunt Mavis was the one to taste it first. Then she went to adding stuff again. It wasn’t until after she poured all the filling in the pie crusts that we had a chance to taste. Uncle Willis