11: Lunch with Nona
Originally emailed on Feb. 27, 1998
Nona came over last Saturday morning to install a new deadbolt in my back door and to re-key the locks in my house so they all unlock with the same key. She didn't charge me for labor, just materials, and when I complained about it, said, "Consider it the housewarming gift I never gave you."
I said, "Will you at least let me serve you lunch then? You and I almost never get a chance to visit with each other without Harriet."
"That'd be nice," Nona said. "But I have two other jobs today. How about I come by after church tomorrow and you can feed me then?"
On Sunday, Nona dropped by, still in her church clothes. I love the contrast between Nona the locksmith, in overalls and work boots, hauling a big black toolbox around and looking tough, and Nona the church lady. On Sunday, she was wearing a lavender suit with matching pumps and handbag, and a purple pillbox hat with a veil. Her lipstick and eyeshadow were both plum-colored. Nona is dark-skinned, and for a second, looking at that plum lipstick against the richness of her skin, I forgot I like butches--and my boyfriend Ed--and thought about kissing her, sucking her lower lip between mine and biting it very gently with my front teeth. Then I blushed--I'm very fair and blush a spectacular fuscia--and got very busy setting the table.
I had been planning to set a casual table--I was just taken coffee mugs out of the cupboard when she arrived. But after I got a look at her, I put them back, climbed my step stool and took two of my good china cups and saucers down from the very top shelf. She laughed at me. "You don't have to do nothing special for me, hon," she said, and I laughed at her. "You never talk like that to me," I explained, "except when you've just been--."
"Hanging around after church talking to black folks," she interrupted. "I know. Dressing like this always makes me feel very black, too. Especially the hat. The hat was my mama's." She pulled out her hat pin and set the hat on the counter, safely away from where I'd been cooking. She'd used some kind of dressing on her hair that made it shine.
"I'm not sure I understand how you can feel more black or less black," I said as I pulled the roast turkey breast out of the oven.
"Sure you do," she answered, grinning. "How'd you feel at Christmastime when you came to church to see me sing my solo in the pageant?"
Harriet and I had been the only white people in the church that night. "I see your point," I said, and got the rolls from where they'd been keeping warm on top of the stove.
"You sure got fancy for me," Nona said. "I expected a sandwich or some canned soup."
"Well, if I roast a turkey breast on Sunday, I've got it for sandwiches all week," I said. "And I try to save the canned soup for the end of long days, when opening a can and popping it on the stove is about all I can handle." I took a bowl of salad out of the fridge. "If you'll tell me what kind of salad dressing you like, we can get started."
"Italian, if it's not too sweet," Nona said. We sat down. "How do you like the new locks?" she asked.
"I'm amazed by how much I like them," I said. "I don't have to jiggle the key for three minutes to get it into the lock. I try to turn it, and it turns--I don't have to slide it back and forth in the lock a millimeter at a time until I've got it positioned just right. And I only have to carry one key! Yesterday after you left I walked around the outside of my house with my one key, locking and unlocking my doors, and grinning like an idiot. I don't suppose I can get my car re-keyed so it fits that, too?"
Nona laughed. "That's what I like best about locksmithing," she said. "Bringing joy into my customers' humdrum little lives."
This was just the opening I'd been looking for. "What else do you like about your job?" I asked. "Do you really like locksmithing?"
"Oh, I suppose if I could have done anything in the world, I wouldn't have chosen it," she said. "But all in all I'm pretty well satisfied. You know I was sixteen when I had Mira, right? Well, my mama let us stay with her, but she was real clear about what she would and would not do, and one thing she would not do was support us all forever. I was to be either in school or contributing my share of the household costs. She worked days, so I switched to night school to finish my diploma and mama took care of Mira while I was in classes. After I graduated, I went to talk to an advisor at the junior college, and got lucky. He actually listened to what I wanted, which was to be able to support myself and Mira as soon as possible--maybe it helped that I had an 18-month-old baby on my lap during the interview. Anyway, he asked if I was good with my hands, and when I said I was, he told me locksmithing classes were real expensive but the work paid well. He said if I took some business classes, too, I could eventually set myself up and be independent, which I think was a pretty radical thing to tell an 18-year-old black girl twenty-five years ago. Most other people were interested in telling me how to find a man who'd take care of me, or in telling me how I'd already ruined my life by having a baby so young. My counselor at night school thought I only needed to know how to apply for food stamps.
"But this guy at the college said I could learn a trade and be a businesswoman, and I believed him. I took the locksmithing course and a bunch of business classes, and then I convinced the city to give me a small-business grant and a low-interest loan to start my business, which was not easy. The men from the city would ask me, 'Do you run around with men? You gonna have any more babies?' But my business plan was sound--I wrote it for a class project and made an A--and eventually they gave me the money, but only because my teacher co-signed all the notes for me.
"I do hard work with my hands, but I own the business. I do all my own taxes, I hire and fire the kids who work in the shop setting up appointments and grinding keys while I'm out on jobs, I've taken on apprentices now and again and helped them get their start. Mama and I paid off our house ten years early, and I've got a retirement fund. The hours were always flexible so I could spend time with Mira--I'd work while she was in school, and late at night from when the last movies let out until after the bars closed, opening cars for people. If I worked a Saturday or picked up a job in an evening, Mira could ride along with me. I feel good about what I've accomplished with my business, and even better about what I've accomplished with my family. I go to church every Sunday and I say, 'Thank you, Lord, for this good life.' That turkey is nice and tasty. Not too dry."
"Thank you," I said. "I basted it with butter." She held up her plate and I put a slice on it. "So, no regrets?"
"Oh, who doesn't have a few? Nothing that keeps me awake nights."
"Does Harriet know how you feel?" I asked.
Nona sighed. "That girl! She thinks I'm dragging through life heartbroken because I work a blue-collar job and never went to a real college. The truth is, _she's_ the one heartbroken but she won't do anything about it! I did a job at the university a few months ago and brought home all their booklets, you know, when classes are offered and how to apply, and she says, 'I can't afford it.' I say, 'You could get a loan.' She says, 'I don't have time for classes.' I say, 'You could work part-time for awhile.' She says, 'Then I really couldn't afford it.' I say, 'You could go to school part-time.' She says, 'It would take me ten years to finish.' I say, 'I could help you out.' She says, 'I couldn't take your money.' I had this fantasy I called her boss and talked him into firing her because I think it's the only thing that will get her off her butt."
"I tried to talk to her about it a couple of weeks ago," I said. "She wants to go to college but she won't believe she can. I told her, if I can do it with two little kids, she can do it with only her two cats to support. But she always has some reason why it won't work."
"'But I have hamsters, too,'" Nona mimicked in a whiny voice.
I laughed. "Exactly! Do you want some lemon cake for dessert?"
"If I can have another cup of coffee with it," Nona said. I picked up our plates and carried them to the sink, and as I was starting another pot of coffee dripping, there was a rattling at the back door. The doorbell rang.
My ex-husband Sam stood on the stoop. "You really ought to get your locks fixed," he said. "My key won't go into the lock at all anymore. Here are the boys."
"You're early," I said. "I didn't expect you until this evening."
"Well," Sam said, and before he could go on, Mark said, "I have to go to the bathroom, Mom." Sammy piped in, "We have loose bowels!"
Nona came up behind me. "I'll take the boys upstairs."
I said, "Will you start a hot bath running for them? It will help. There's a bucket under the sink in case they both have to go at once. How long have they been sick?" I asked Sam.
"Since about two this morning."
"Have you given them anything?" I asked.
"I didn't know what to give them," he answered.
"You just can't deal with the messy side of fatherhood, can you?" I said.
"I only have one bathroom!" he protested.
"Buy a bucket," I said. "And tell me everything they ate yesterday."
I sent Nona home with some of the lemon cake wrapped in foil, and sat on the closed lid of the toilet to read the boys a story while they soaked in the tub. The second dose of Kaopectate seemed to do the trick for both of them, and by late afternoon we were settled on the couch watching Deep Space Nine, one pajama-clad boy on either side of me, sucking on fruit juice popsicles. Commander Worf was on trial for treason in a re-run of an episode that had set a new standard for bad Star Trek the first time around, so I let my mind wander. I thought about being in school, about majoring in Packaging, about raising the boys, about how unsure I am that I am doing the right things with my life, and theirs. I hope to be as content with my choices someday as Nona seems to be with hers.
© Copyright 1997-2001 Su Penn. Design by David Dierauer.
