Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Poet offered a sad smile, and patted the woman’s shoulder.
“I understand. When nature calls, we have to answer. She was scared. This is a big place, and it’s easy to get lost or overwhelmed. I just wanted to make sure April was okay and reunited with her family is all.”
The aunt relaxed a bit.
“Yes, we’re fine. It’s hard raisin’ these kids. I’m still trying to figure it out.”
“Oh, they’re not yours?”
“Naw. My sister died six months ago. I’m raisin’ them now ’cause nobody else would take ’em, and I was an empty nester. I couldn’t let these babies go into foster care.” The aunt began to dump all of her woes, concerns and worries at Poet’s high-heeled feet. “All my kids grown! I went from havin’ a second childhood, finally got my divorce from a tyrant of a man finalized, and now, all I know about is homeschoolin’, computer shit, reading bedtime stories I ain’t never heard of, these silly ass cartoons, and learnin’ all this new math.” The woman waved her hand around. Poet chuckled.
“Yeah, it seems the schools have complicated things when it comes to math, but we just have to play along and do the best we can.”
“Oh, you got babies, too?”
Poet swallowed. “Well, no, but I work with a lot of the schools that come here, so I hear things through the grapevine.”
The woman eyed her curiously.
“Hmph. You speak so proper ’nd pretty. Like a White woman, but with a lil’ soul and edge. Got a radio voice. Maybe this is just yo’ work voice though, and you sound hood at home.”
“I sound pretty much the same way all the time, but I know what you mean.”
“Hmph. You don’t say?” The woman looked her up and down again, as if the first time didn’t answer all of her questions. Fill in the blanks. “All that nice, thick hair. Looks like it’s yours, too.” The lady leaned forward, eyeballing her curls. “I don’t see no lace. Yeah, it’s yours. You got that good hair, huh?”
“I figure all hair that grows is good hair. My hair can be a snarled, dry bird’s nest if I don’t detangle it regularly. Oh, and let me forget to tie it up at night. You talk about tumbleweed city.”
The woman snickered. “Nice to see a sista lookin’ and soundin’ like you, workin’ in a good place, with a good job. All those fancy job titles you rattled off are impressive. With benefits, too, right? I figured you ain’t the custodian. Not dressed like that.” Poet reckoned that was a compliment, so she forced a smile and thanked her.
“Well, April, Auntie, and Michael, I have to get back to that job you speak of, but I’m glad everyone is okay. If you go to the information booth, they can give you some additional paper towels if you need them.”
“I’m okay. It’s half dry now anyway.”
“Good. Enjoy the rest of your visit, okay?”
April nodded happily as she rested her head against her aunt’s body.
“We will. Thanks again here? I appreciate what you did,” the woman offered sincerely, then turned away, the two children in tow.
Poet stood there for a bit and watched the three head to the elevator that led to the geographical photography display. Turning away, she moved through clusters of crowds, visitors from all over the city, state and country. A heaviness fell over her as she thought about April. The sounds of chatter echoed in her head, growing louder, then hushed. She tumbled into her dark memories, visualizing all that worry and panic in the little girl’s eyes. How the poor child’s mother had recently died, and she was so young. So very young. She recognized that hurt, hating it so.
At last, she reached her small office, away from the big, sterile room she typically worked in with other colleagues, and closed and locked the door behind her. She sat at her desk, blankly stared at her computer, and burst into tears.
She couldn’t recall the last time she’d fallen apart like this. Two years? Three? Maybe four?
After a few moments, she pulled herself together and pulled out her cellphone from her purse that was locked away in the top desk drawer.
She dialed a number. Her heart line and hotline to healing.
“You comin’ for lunch?” Aunt Huni questioned.
Poet smiled, sniffed and shook her head. “No, not today, Auntie. Too busy.”
“What wrong with you? You sound funny… been crying? Sound like it.”
Poet hesitated, then turned to face her window that overlooked part of the outside parking lot. The staff offices were all on the fifth floor. She watched people coming and going. Cars moving about. Folks living their lives. Everyone looks so small from up here. Little people, places and things. Little voices. Little hopes and dreams. Small, but alive. Small but important. Small but worthy.