From the Notebooks of Melanin Sun Read Online Free PDF

didn’t know what I was going to say next but I didn’t want her to leave. She turned. Rays of light filtering through the blinds cast hazy bluish blades across her shoulders and chest.
    â€œHuh?”
    Ralphael’s mother doesn’t allow anyone to use “huh” in her house. Every time someone calls out to us, we have to say “Yes?” even if we don’t know why they’re calling us. Even if it’s something we want to say “no” to. Sometimes I make fun of Mama, saying, “The way you say ‘huh’ sounds like someone who’s never seen the inside of a schoolhouse, let alone a college.” But Mama went to college. Four years while I was growing up. Even now, she has her law school books spread out over the coffee table most of the time, working during the day, taking classes at night. She says she’s going to be a lawyer but I see her teaching law somewhere, standing in front of a classroom of college kids all waiting impatiently for her to speak—like parents leaning over their firstborn’s crib hoping the baby will goo or gaa or just smile up at them.
    â€œThere’s this girl . . . Angie.” I looked up quickly to see if Mama was smirking. She wasn’t. Her arms were folded across her chest and she was all ears. “She gave me her number . . .”
    â€œCall her,” Mama said before I could even finish.
    â€œI don’t know what to say. I never called a girl before . . . just because I liked her.” I looked down at my hands, feeling my face get hot.
    â€œSay, ‘Hi, Angie. What are you up to?’ ”
    Mama was making it sound so simple, I felt stupid even asking her about this.
    â€œThat’s corny.”
    â€œYou haven’t even tried it. You want me to listen on the other end?”
    I looked up quickly. She couldn’t be serious. But of course, standing there, looking concerned, she was.
    â€œOf course not, Ma. That would be so lame. How about, ‘Yo, Angie. It’s Mel. What’s up?’ ”
    Mama thought for a moment. “What if she says, ‘Nothing. What’s up with you?’ ”
    I hadn’t thought about that. I was going blank. What would I say? Frogs. Salamanders. Star tortoises. Ugh.
    Mama smiled. “Be yourself, Mel.”
    â€œYou sound like someone’s mother,” I said.
    She blew me a kiss, told me to hurry up and dress, then turned to leave.
    â€œMama . . .” I said again.
    When she turned, I shrugged. “I was just calling to hear myself call you.” I couldn’t help thinking about that part in Winnie-the-Pooh when Piglet calls Pooh, and when Pooh answers, Piglet says, “Nothing. I just wanted to be sure of you.” Sean would call these “faggot” thoughts. He thinks I could use a little toughening up around the edges. The hell with toughening up.
    â€œHurry up,” Mama said. “I want to get there before it gets too hot.”
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    Last year Mama bought a used Chevy off of a coworker and even though it ran well, something was always breaking in it. The air-conditioning had broken the month before, so we drove with the windows down, the warm air rushing against my hand when I stuck it out of the car. Other cars blasted past us, their windows closed tight to keep the cool air inside. We drove past a huge digital clock and thermometer on the side of a building. Eight-thirty. Eighty-eight degrees. Already, there were tons of people in the streets, trying to figure out how to stay cool. Old men sold shaved ice with flavored syrup and plastic bags of wilted cotton candy. At a red light, a man ran up to our car, offering us a set of kitchen knives, cheap. Brooklyn was steamy, gray-green, and loud. I lay back and dozed. When I woke up, a long time must have passed because the gray-green had turned to mostly green and all the people selling stuff had disappeared. Already, I could smell the ocean.
    By the time