Leslie C. Youngblood - Forever This Summer

When Mama told me that we were going to Bogalusa, Louisiana, for the summer, I should have said, Even if dollar bills grew on oak trees there, Im not leaving Atlanta. Of course, I hadnt had the nerve to say that, but it didnt cost a thing to imagine. Now Im stuck here. And to be honest, it stinks. Not the people but the factory that runs twenty-four hours a daythe paper mill. The funk smells like that time my best friend, Nikki, left her egg salad sandwich in her locker over a three-day weekendpew-ew.

Georgie, did you run that vacuum like I asked you to? Mama yelled from the top of the stairs. Im expecting company a little later.

Bout to do it now, Mama, I called.

My summer had come to this: daily vacuuming instead of creating dance routines with Nikkibut with no homework to worry about. Freedom.

Mama was upstairs taking salmon croquettes to my great-aunt Vie, who taught Mama to make them while other kids were making mud pies, Mama told me.

Aunt Vie was seventy-six and the main reason why I didnt pack a bag and start walking all four hundred and thirty-five miles back to Atlanta. She founded our family diner, Sweetings, and ran it for nearly fifty years. I even heard that Aunt Vie knew every customer by name, but now she doesnt even recognize her sistersmy great-aunt Essie, Grandma SugarMama, or me these days. Mama said Id been in this house before, but I dont remember. Even when I squeeze my eyes real tight and concentrate, I can barely recall the time I met Aunt Vie at the family reunion. Aunt Vie didnt want to forget stuff. It was because of the Alzheimers, which is like a big bully that takes stuff that doesnt belong to them and wont give it back.

I went to the hall closet and pulled out the vacuum cleaner. The top shelf was stacked with three versions of Scrabble, other board games, and tons of books. I yanked the vacuum out of the closet, and its cord was a tangled mess like a garden hose.

While I worked to straighten it, Mama eased downstairs and eyed me like shed found me lounging by the pool drinking a slushie, another thing I missed about Atlanta. Well, Snellville, Georgia, actually. Snellville is where Mama, my baby sister, Peaches, and I live with my stepdaddy and fifteen-year-old stepsister, Tangie. Frank couldnt get the time off work, and Tangie stayed with him. I tried to get out of coming when I realized she wasnt. No go. Daddy lives in College Park, which is close to downtown Atlanta, with his new wife. Snellville after Splitsville is how Nikki summed it up. Even when I say it now, it sorta makes me smile. Splitsville sounds better than divorce.

While I was thinking about what I was missing in Atlanta, Mama surveyed the living room. It had a green velvet couch with wooden feet. Two cream-colored high-back chairs. And all the lamps had shades as fancy as Aunt Vies hats.

I thought Id asked you to vacuum earlier.

You told me to wait, remember? You didnt want to wake Aunt Vie.

She walked over to the curtains and parted them. The sun flooded in. Mama poked her finger in the pot of one of the plants. Water this one. The rest should be okay.

Yes, maam. I took a breath to get my nerve up to ask the question that shed said no to two times before. Once I finish, you think I can work at the diner today? Grandma Sugar said theres a girl who works there named Markie Jean and

She wants you to meet her?

Grandma said that were about the same age. Grandma Sugar lived in Atlanta. She arrived in Bogalusa days before we did. For a week or two during each summer, she comes and works at the diner. In the past Ive heard Mama and Grandma arguing about Mama not letting Peaches and me tag along.

Your grandma mentioned Markie. I met her briefly. Shes a bit older than you.

What does that matter? Tangies older, too, I said.

Neither of them nor Aunt Essie have time to train you. Theres lots to do there and, right now, youd be in the way.

But you said

Not the time, G-baby.

Georgie, Mama. You said youd call me Georgie from now on.

This time her sigh was so deep her hair rippled like one of those inflatable Air Dancers Daddy had advertising a car sale at one of his dealerships. But she managed, Sorry. Just a lot on my mind. Everyone is getting used to Aunt Vie never running the diner again. Her health declined quicker than we expected. Mama looked up to the ceiling like it was the sky, then shook her head. The diner is out today. Theres too much I need help with.

I dont even get to help with Aunt Vie. You do everything.

Mama rarely let me sit with Aunt Vie when she wasnt around. Even when Grandma Sugar said shed stay at the house and let Mama go to the diner, Mama chose to stay.

Everything you do around here is helping. Maybe you can go up to the diner tomorrow.

Thats what you said yesterday. Today is tomorrow, I said.

For you, tomorrow is whenever I say it is, Mama snapped. She was going into Mama mode, and Id never win. Mama wasnt listening to Grandma Sugar or my great-aunt Essie. She sure as heck wouldnt listen to me. I squeezed the handle of the vacuum like it was one of those stress balls the school counselor gave me when I was adjusting to our parents divorce. I squeezed the handle so tight my knuckles burned. Truth was that I only needed to make the strokes with the vacuum cleaner. The carpet wasnt dirty. The entire house was spotless.