Tallulah

We went to the local Macy's that Saturday.

Despite the fact that she hadn't really had a real job since the divorce, Momma still had money. But that was only because of her alimony checks—I never understood why you would give money to someone you didn't love anymore, but no one ever asked me. Early that morning, we went down to the bank and cashed five years' worth of weekly checks of $150, which added up to roughly $3900. Momma put most of it in the bank and went to Macy's with $100 in her pocketbook, more than enough to buy clothes, lunch, and a ride home on the bus.

I remember people giving us weird looks when Momma stopped by the perfume counter and started trying samples. I felt uncomfortable. Did we look bad or something? I looked down at my coat and stockings and oxford shoes—I looked fine. I glanced at Momma. She was wearing a black coat over a black dress and heels. She looked pretty.

"Ignore them," Momma chided quietly, tugging me forward gently by my hand.

She was graceful and held her head up high while she searched for a new outfit. She bought a black dress—Momma wore a lot of black in those days—with a three-quarters sleeve that was a little shorter than her other dresses, but she still looked nice. She bought a new coat and new shoes and earrings and she bought me some blouses for school, a new skirt, and a hat. I thought it was a little much but was still kind of excited, seeing as I'd never really had anything new because most of my things belonged to my sisters or cousins. We walked up to an empty register, setting our things down as we looked around.

"Do you need help?" one of the store clerks asked. Her name tag said that her name was Jenny. She was blond and blue-eyed and seemed to be around Katie's age, maybe a little older. Momma looked at the girl as she fixed the hat on her head, frowning a little.

"We're fine, thank you. I just want to check these out."

"Are you sure? Because we have a section that might be within your budget just over there."

"Excuse me?" Momma asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm just saying that maybe these things might be a little too expensive for someone like you."

"And I'm just saying you better ring these up before I call and ask to speak to your manager." Momma smiled sweetly at the girl, who just huffed and started hitting some buttons on her register angrily.

"$40.98," the girl said sullenly, huffing. Momma pulled her wallet out of her bag and paid her in crisp bills, looking at her evenly. Jenny seemed flustered for some reason. She snatched the money off the counter, shoving it into her register. She gave Momma three bags and two pennies back. "Thank you for choosing Macy's. Have a beautiful day," she said flatly.

"Likewise," Momma said, taking her bags from the counter. "C'mon," she said softly, taking my hand. We walked out of the store and more people looked at us stonily. Her heels clicked against the floor as she walked to the perfume counter, tucking some of her hair back into her bun. The woman behind the counter looked at Momma the way I looked at green beans—angry, sullen, and wondering why she was there in the first place.

"Can I help you?"

"I was wondering if you had any Chanel?" The woman looked at Momma blankly.

"We might." She drummed her fingers against the glass counter, meeting Momma's innocent eyes coldly.

"Could you check, please?"

"Why, certainly," she said flatly, rolling her eyes as she bent down and started going through the bottles and boxes. She whipped out a black and cream box—Coco Chanel No. 5—and pushed it towards Momma. "$12.45. Would you like it gift wrapped?"

"No, thank you. It's for me," Momma said, paying the woman. She put it in a small bag and gave it to Momma disdainfully.

"Is there anything else we can do for you today?"

"No, thanks."

Momma gave me the bag to hold and smiled at the woman again as we walked away. She kept her head up and face cheerful as we walked out of the store. We bought a soft pretzel and shared it on the bus on the way home. It dropped us off a block or so away from our house.

"Tallulah," she said quietly, bending over a little, "don't you ever let someone treat you different because of how you look. You understand me? Don't ever let someone talk down to you or be mean or rude because you're not like them."

"Okay," I replied simply, suddenly worried about what she meant. Up to that point, I had never really been aware of any racism—things were like that before I was born and I assumed they'd continue to be that way. I didn't think that it was right or fair, but I didn't think it would ever change and it wasn't like I noticed when people went out of their way to be rude to me anyway. Whenever I went out, I was usually with Peter or Simone or Isabel anyway, and if anything happened, they never said anything.

"No, listen to me. You can't let certain people act like they're better than you or like they're worth more than you. Fight it. Fight for your rights, okay? Can you do that for me?" I nodded and she straightened herself out, brushing the skirt of her dress. "Good. How do you feel about some macaroni and cheese for lunch?" She wriggled her eyebrows at me and I giggled, nodding.

Before I knew it, Open House was upon us. Momma was taking an awful long time to get ready, and Peter was taking us to the school since it was dark outside and pouring like crazy. I huffed, sitting on the stairs. Uncle Peter sat down next me, propping his head up with his hand.

"What in the world is taking your mother so long? Savannah!" he exclaimed, turning around. "We're gonna be late!"

"Don't rush me, Peter!" was her hurried reply. He sighed.

"Why don't you go see what your mother is doing?"

I went up apprehensively, only because I hadn't been in Momma's room for a few months and I wasn't sure what she would do. I knocked timidly on her door, gnawing on my bottom lip harshly.

"Peter—"

"It's me," I said quietly, nervous.

"Oh. Come in," she laughed. I pushed open her door nervously. It wasn't much different from the last time, except this time the curtains weren't drawn and there weren't empty wine bottles everywhere. She was listening to Carmen and fixing her stockings, frowning a little at them. It was the first time I'd ever seen Momma like that—like a normal girl, like Simone or Katie—instead of just Momma. I don't know.

The black dress she had bought at Macy's was draped over her bed haphazardly, along with her shoes and coat. She put on some perfume, dabbing it behind her ears and on her wrists. She looked at me and dabbed some behind my ears too, grinning.

"Savannah!" Peter exclaimed again, growing more and more agitated.

"Calm down!" Momma rolled her eyes, turning the volume on the hi-fi up a little more. She grabbed her dress and pulled it on over her head, tugging it a little. It hugged her body, and as she sat on her bed, she sighed, closing her eyes. She got back up again and put her shoes on and grabbed her purse. "Hat or no hat?" I inspected her curiously and shook my head. We were going to be inside, anyway. "Let's get going before your uncle has a heart attack."

We walked down the stairs together and Peter sighed, standing up and turning around. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing, and instead followed us out of the house. We piled into the Caddy, and it wasn't until we were about half way to the school that Peter said something.

"We're going to her school, Savannah, not out dancing."

She narrowed her eyes at him, before turning around to look at me.

"I know that. It's just a little snug, that's all." She shrugged. "I can always let it out later."

"It's more than snug, Savannah."

"Is there something wrong with how I'm dressed?" she asked me, tilting her head to the side. I shook my head and she smiled condescendingly at him, batting her eyelashes. "Thank you."

"I'm just saying."

When we got to the school, we had trouble finding a parking spot, even though we left early. Peter ended up parking on the street and walked us in. He wanted to see Ms. Johnson, who had just transferred to my school about two weeks or so before. (He was crazy about her.) While he hunted her down, I walked with Momma up the stairs to the second floor, where my classroom was. Suzanne and her parents were in the line in front of us, as well as Katya and her mother. Momma pulled her compact mirror out of her purse and fixed her lipstick, wiping at the corners of her lips with delicate finger tips.

"How do I look?"

"Beautiful. You always do, Momma." She smiled and put her mirror away, taking her coat off. The hallway was decorated with the crafts of the 5th grade classes—including mine—leaves and suns and apples and trees everywhere.

Mr. Franz opened the door for Tatyana and her father, smiling gently at them as they walked out of his room. He ushered in Suzanne and her family, but not before giving Momma one of those looks that made her all red and that I didn't understand.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," Momma said quietly, looking away.

It seemed as though he didn't have much to say about Suzanne, so they left after two or three minutes. Katya's mother smiled at Mr. Franz the way Momma did—he was pretty handsome after all—but he just gave her the same smile he gave everyone else before asking her to step inside. Momma fidgeted with her purse, clasping it and unclasping it over and over again. What was taking so long? And why was she so nervous? I wasn't a particularly terrible student and he wasn't going to say anything bad about me, right? I glanced at her curiously.

He spent almost ten minutes with Katya and her mother before bidding them goodnight.

"Savannah. It's so good to see you again." He smiled warmly at Momma as she pushed some of her hair behind her ear, walking inside without so much as a, "How do you do?" She sat down on one of the chairs in front of his desk. I sat next to her. Why was she being so rude? Here it was—an opportunity for Momma to finally find a friend and she was ruining it. I frowned.

"Well Mrs. Roosevelt, Tallulah is a very talented child and you should be very proud of her. She's actually one of my best students." He smiled at me. "I think that she really has a lot of potential to do some really great things, you know? She's very engaging and friendly. She shares everything with everyone. She reads at a higher level than usual for her age and actually likes math, which is interesting since most children her age tend to not be so good at it. She adjusts well to changes and she doesn't seem as... flighty as the rest of her classmates. I don't think she's been much of a problem. I think I have her folder around here," he said, reaching over into his desk, pulling out a box. He started going through folders, then pulled mine out quickly before shutting the box and putting it back in his desk. "Here you go."

Momma went through my tests with a small smile, and I felt a passing sense of pride. She set the folder back on his desk and smiled at him. His cheeks tinted pink and I smiled secretly. Maybe Mr. Franz is lonely too.

"This week, we spent a lot of time on crafts, because they're at a really delicate age now and I just wanted to see what was on their mind, so I let their minds wander. Tallulah made lots of butterflies, and birds, and bees." He laughed, pointing at the ceiling. She looked up, glancing at where they hung, laughing as the pink birds and black and yellow bees and blue butterflies swayed with the light wind coming in through the window. "She's quite the little artist, isn't she?" I smiled shyly, nodding. There was a quick knock and before I knew it, Peter was striding into the room. Mr. Franz's face fell a little when they made eye contact. He looked at Momma, who was still looking at the ceiling. "You must be Mr. Roosevelt," he said politely. "How do you do?"

"I'm not, actually. I'm Peter Fischer, nice to meet you." He smiled the same way he smiled at Daddy and I shot him a look. He held out his hand. What was he trying to do? "I'm Tallulah's uncle." Mr. Franz looked relieved as he shook Peter's hand.

"Do you have any questions for me?" Mr. Franz asked Momma, turning back to her. Peter kept glaring at him and I tugged at his sweater, trying to get him to stop.

"Um—yes, actually." Momma turned to me and smiled. "How about you go downstairs with your uncle to bring the car around?"

"But—"

"Go. I'll be right down." She winked at me and I glanced at Mr. Franz before nodding, taking Peter's hand. He shot Momma a look, which she ignored.

"Why did Momma wanna talk to Mr. Franz alone?"

"'Cause your mother's lost her goddamn mind is why," he mumbled sullenly as we walked out of the building. The walk to the car wasn't so bad since it had finally stopped raining. Momma came out right after we pulled up to the school doors with one of those smiles, the kind she had after a good bout of drinking. She was only with him for two minutes and I doubted he had liquor in the room. Suspicious.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Peter asked. I looked at him wide-eyed. He never cussed at Momma. Sometimes at his older sisters—Momma was the youngest out of all her sisters—but never at her. What did she do wrong?

"What? What did I do now?"

"Ooh la la, Monsieur Franz," he mocked, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, my goodness, Peter. I didn't do anything. I just met her teacher, just like you asked me to."

"But I didn't ask you to throw yourself at him!"

"I threw myself? How?"

"Look at what you're wearing." He shot her a look.

"Last time I checked, I was a grown woman and older than you, so you better watch how you talk to me. I can do whatever I want. Don't tell me what to do. I spent 14 years of my life with some man who tried to tell me what to do all the damn time and I didn't take it from him and I damn sure won't take it from you so don't tell me what to do Peter!"

They sat in a tense silence for a few minutes. Momma played with the radio and huffed, crossing her arms sullenly.

"I'm tellin' Momma," he grumbled angrily.

"Tell her. I dare you. What's she gonna do? I'm a grown woman, Peter."

"I'm still tellin'."

"I don't care. Do it."

"I will."

"Fine."

"Fine."

They sat in a sullen silence for the rest of the car ride home.