the hot room.
Mamie came for her in the evening, just past eight, when the streets outside began teeming with people. There was a jazz club two blocks down, a bar across the street, and a chicken and rib shop next door. A Friday night in July on Pearl Street could seem like Saturday midday anyplace else in the country.
“C’mon, girl,” Mamie Ray called out, and walked away.
Millie stirred from her sleep. “Okay, coming!” she yelled back as she reached for skirt and blouse.
“You ain’t gonna take no bath, you know,” Rita said, suddenly mad. Mad at Clyde, Millie’s mother, and Mamie Ray.
“What?”
“You answering like Mamie just ran your bath water.”
Millie looked confused.
“It’s serious what’s Mamie’s about to do to you,” Rita whispered.
Millie cocked her head. “Mama said it wouldn’t hurt a bit.” Her bottom lip began to tremble.
Rita was already sorry. “I—I . . . Don’t mind me,” she said, waving her hands at Millie. “The heat makes me mean.” She offered her a grin.
Millie leaned forward and looked real hard at Rita’s face.
“Go on, a little ol’ watermelon seed ain’t gonna hurt none.” Rita’s grin wavered behind her lie. There was an awkward moment, and then she stepped forward and embraced Millie.
“C’mon, girl!” Mamie Ray screamed from down the hall.
When Millie came back to the room, escorted by Mamie Ray, she was ashen, almost bleached-looking, and seemed smaller, thinner. Her mouth hung open on one side, and her eyes, glassy and moist, rolled about in their sockets.
Rita shifted her gaze to the floor and then the window. As nice as Mamie Ray had been to her, she hated her at the moment.
Always hated her after the abortions. Hated the smell of ether and the screams that followed. Hated her even more the next day after the sheets (soiled yellow in places where the blood had been scrubbed away) were hung out to dry.
Mamie Ray laid Millie down onto the bed, and without a word turned and left the room.
Rita had heard Millie’s screams, heard the child howl out in pain, the pleas for God and Mama and then the pitiful, confused, Why, why, why!
Millie had lost the very last bit of her childhood, the small piece that her mama’s boyfriend hadn’t been able to kill, the part of her that still looked forward to ice cream, doll babies, and Christmas.
Now Millie lay there, whimpering, clutching her stomach, and whispering for her mother.
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