gravel and little chunks flick up behind Rontu. We make it onto paved road and I’m steering us further down the road. We’re leaving Mexia. I’m leaving. I’m leaving my mama and everything I’ve ever known. I’m driving past trees and fields and things I’ve never seen before because I’ve never left the city limits before. There was never a reason to, especially not after the Target was built, but now I’m past the county line. The further I travel, a bit more of the sadness lifts off my skin. I wish my mama would have given me a proper goodbye but maybe that’s just not the way to handle things. Maybe the way she did it is how it’s supposed to be. Maybe she’s right. But if I were in her place I think I would break those rules and give my daughter a real hug goodbye. A little tear slips from my eye. Nope, don’t do it, Sahara. You’re about to be a professional. Showing up at Ms. Myra’s house has got to be a hundred percent professional. No tears. No silly emotions. Be a straight shooter, a yes mam, and get things done.
Yes, this is the new Sahara. The one that takes care of things. The one that reaches for the stars and builds the space ship to make it happen. I did it. I found out about Eagle Online. Listened to the fancy commercial and filled out all the forms online. I did that. No one else. And now look at me, en route to my new career. My new life. My new everything.
I check my instructions once more to make sure this is the right spot. The house is bigger than our trailer. It looks like one of those storybook kinds of houses with some pretty green bushes out front and a tree plonked right dead gum center in the yard. There are little colorful flowers peeking out from every nook and cranny. This sure does look like a nice place to live. I hope Ms. Myra is okay about my being here. Given it was last minute and all.
I knock on the door and it swings wide open. The lady in the doorway has a grin bigger than the one my daddy used to wear on payday. Her hair is parted to the side and it reminds me of a sunset at the end of summer when I was wanting to stay out later and wait for the fireflies to pop up. But I wouldn’t even need to wait for the fireflies to pop up here. Ms. Myra’s eyes are sparkling like firecrackers.
“Hi, Ms. Myra?” I reach out my hand to shake and she pulls me in and hugs me into a deep embrace. And my heart flips over inside of my body. Wow. Little butterflies of happiness sail around in my arms. This woman sure does know how to hug and we haven’t even met before.
She pats down my hair. “Well, Sahara. You have grown into such a beautiful young woman.” Her smile softens for a second. “I mean, well, your mama would send me a school photo from time to time.” Ms. Myra focuses on the ends of my hair. “It’s just been a while since I’ve gotten one.”
“Oh, wow. That’s nice to hear.” I feel sillier than the day I showed up to school with my pajama bottoms on instead of pants like everyone else. I made it all the way to school without realizing I had my gingerbread cookie pj’s on. It only took another silly Sahara move a few months later to replace the name of Sahara Cookie to Sahara Sundae.
“Yes, well, come on in now. Let’s get you settled.” Ms. Myra reaches for my bag but I don’t release it. I know manners are manners but I’m younger. I should be carrying my own bags.
“Thank you, Ms. Myra. I can carry it.”
“I suppose my hands aren’t what they used to be.” She waves me into her house and takes a deep breath. “So this is the living room area. Your room is right this way.”
I follow behind her down a small hallway and take a right into a bedroom comparable to the one I had back at home. A single bed is laid out with a purple bedspread and some sort of crochet or yarn blanket over the end of it. Along with fluffy pink pillows held together by a big lacey bow. It’s so pretty.
“This is really nice. Thank you for taking me in. With the short notice and all.” I lay my suitcase down on the bed and take in Ms. Myra. She appears a bit older than my mama but much thinner. Not in a work-out-too-much way. But in a frailness way, like she might blow away if even a hint of a strong Texas wind came through.
“You bet. Now, we must go over some rules. Weekday curfew is eleven p.m. And Friday and Saturday nights you can stay out till midnight but not later. I talked to your mama about a chore list. So I made one up for you. It’s there on your dresser.” Ms. Myra points to a piece of white, lined paper.
“Yes, ma’am, and I’m happy to help with the cooking, too. I can’t make anything fancy. But it’s edible. At least that’s what my mama always says.” I let out a slight laugh. A bit of nervousness really, and I’m hopeful that she doesn’t think that was disrespectful to say.
“We can take turns. Now, I’ll let you get settled.” She squeezes my hand. “I’m so happy you’re here.”
“Me, too,” falls from my lips and, as the words make it to my ears, I begin to appreciate this is actually true. Being in this house is nice and different. Ms. Myra leaves me alone in the room. My room. Temporarily. But yet it seems like something more than a temporary situation. The hug from Ms. Myra is still doing me in over all the emotions of leaving my house and my mama. And forcing myself not to cry. It’s best I take a shower and clean everything from me. Maybe washing away some of these emotions will help.
Ms. Myra is up before me and has a nice breakfast laid out. I do my best to eat as quickly as I can as I don’t want to be late on my first day. Then I hustle myself to the creamery and try dialing my mama a few times. It is possible that she hasn’t left for work yet herself. The phone rings and rings on an endless loop of “I’m not going to pick up for you, Sahara.”
I put my phone back into my purse and scurry my way into the building. My shoulders slump and I raise them up. She probably thinks there is nothing to talk about. Definitely, there’s nothing my mama could say that would change my mind. I’m here. And I’ve had a warm welcome and everything. I don’t know why I’ve never heard of Ms. Myra but it seems to me she knows a lot more about me than I do about her. Which is really about as much as a mosquito knows after they taste their first bit of blood and then die.
Course, my mama wouldn’t want me pondering about mosquitoes, or as she would say, Sahara, you just got to smack them skeeters and keep going. Ain’t nothing the matter with leaving the screen up on the windows. You just have to go to sleep. And then I’d wake up itching and scratching. There is a different kind of itch inside me now. The one to succeed. I want to be better than the little girl waking up in the middle of the night itching the bites. I want to take a bite out of this world and be somebody. I’m ready for this. I love my mama with all my heart. But I can’t scoop ice cream for another day in my life, at least not for a job. No, my path is being paved with flavors and samples, no more scooping for the masses.
Or so I thought. I stare up at Mr. Flints. He’s an average height guy, missing most of his hair, and he’s got a pair of glasses on with a mustache underneath his nose that makes it all look like a costume for Halloween or something. Even though I’m sure it’s not. I don’t think Blue Ribbon Creamery would allow their managers to wear costumes every day.
I’m ready to take down notes on whatever wisdom about Blue Ribbon Creamery he is going to tell us. I heard from a few other girls in the ladies’ room that he has worked here for longer than he can probably remember. I giggle for a moment. Shoot, I don’t want him to think I’m not taking this training seriously. I most definitely am. This is the most important class of my life. Even more important than my high-school education, as this one is going to land me with a job as an associate product developer. I imagine the flavor-developing spot is filled with baskets of fruits, nuts, cakes and candies.
“Now,
