Baby Sister and Rose

By AlVerita Storrs Paul

The story of Baby Sister and Rose takes place in segregated Montgomery, Alabama, during the 1950s. Baby Sister, the narrator, observes and reacts to incidents in her home, the neighborhood, and the larger community. The incidents related here are seen through the eyes of a ten year old African American girl. The story, however, will be of interest to mature adults, no matter what race, who may or may not have lived through this period. The book contains material that will appeal to a variety of readers because of its ethnic, historical, regional, and humorous insights.
Baby Sister and Rose is an enticing story of survival - survival of a ten year old girl, her family, and her entire community. The experiences emphasize the relationships among nuclear and extended family members. Although all is not always well, warm support is always available. The support extends to the neighborhood and beyond. Baby Sister and Rose was more than a story worth writing, it is a story worth reading.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 7, 2003
• ISBN: 9781462823314

AlVerita Storrs Paul

AlVerita Storrs Paul was born in Montgomery, Alabama, and grew up in Tuskegee, Alabama, a small rural town 38 miles east of Montgomery. She attended Tuskegee Institute High School and graduated from Berkeley High School in Berkeley, California. She received the Bachelor of Arts degree in Social Science from the University of California at Berkeley. She has been a free lance writer in Tuskegee for the past six years where she now resides. Baby Sister and Rose is her first novel.

Book preview

BABY SISTER

AND ROSE

AlVerita Storrs Paul

Copyright © 2003 by AlVerita Storrs Paul.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-7-XLIBRIS

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

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Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

This book is first and most importantly

dedicated to my mother,

Rosa Tolbert Storrs,

the most incredible woman I know.

This book is also dedicated to my sister,

Dr. Gwendolyn Storrs Jones,

who offered her encouragement,

her expertise, and her gentle way of

always guiding me in the right direction.

I would also like to thank my sister,

Rose Storrs May

for allowing me to use her real name

as well as recount many of the

experiences we shared while growing up.

Finally, I dedicate this book to my children,

Kairren and Naimah,

who have always been interested in my writing,

but never wanted to read my book.

Maybe now they will.

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Chapter 1

Now I lay me down to sleep. Sometimes I fall asleep before I finish saying my prayers. Mama always makes us say our prayers before we go to bed. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. What does that mean, I wonder as I kneel beside my bed with Mama listening to my every word. If I should die before I wake. This part always scares me. I’m too young to die. Ten year old girls don’t die—they can’t die. I pray the Lord my soul to take. Why would the Lord want my soul? Where is it anyway?

My sister Rose and I always fight before we go to sleep. It’s tradition. She blames me for everything that happened in her twelve year old life that day, and I just try to defend myself. Everything Mama punishes her for she says is my fault. If she didn’t have to watch me all the time, she wouldn’t get in trouble. When school’s out for the summer, Rose has to play with me every day. She hates it, but I don’t. It makes me feel as old as she is, although I haven’t started my period yet like she has. She must really feel old. Having a body that does what a woman’s body does is exciting. I can’t wait ‘til it’s my turn.

Before you know it, Mama’s calling us for breakfast.

Baby Sister, you and Rose get up and wash up for breakfast.

Even in the summer, she still makes us get up at 7 o’clock. I hate getting up early even for school, but Rose loves it. Its OK on Saturdays ‘cause cartoons and Sky King come on TV. But, during the week, I like to sleep late. Mama believes that if you get up early and do your chores, you can do whatever you want to the rest of the day. That’s fine for big people, but ten year olds never get to do what they want to all day anyway.

Baby Sister, I said get up, and I mean get up now.

She’s still in the kitchen so I can lay here a while longer. When I hear her walking down the hall coming to my room, it’s time to start thinking seriously about getting up. When Mama calls you, she means business. I made the mistake of staying in bed one morning after she had called us to get up. I forgot that Mama still had the switch in the house I got for her the day before. She promised to whip me with it if I stayed in bed longer than I’m suppose to. This morning when I hear her new house shoes she had just bought from A.L. Green’s Five & Dime Store hitting the hardwood floor on her way to my room, I jump up, sit on the edge of my bed and look around my room as if I’ve been up for hours.

Baby Sister, Mama has that exasperated look on her face as if to say, ‘Girl, I’m tired of calling you.’

But, Mama, I began. I’m up. I was just sitting here thinking about what I want to wear today—my blue sun dress Aunt Daisy made for me, or my new red shorts and white top.

Go wash up, is her only reply. She knows that since she has not actually seen me in bed, she can’t whip me without proof.

Now Rose, in her never-ending attempts to please Mama and make me look bad, is already dressed and at the kitchen table. When she sees me, she knows Mama and I have had another round of rise and shine like we do most mornings.

Sit down and eat your breakfast before it gets cold, Mama tells me as she fills my plate with eggs, bacon, and toast.

Can I have cereal, Mama, please. I had eggs yesterday.

I knew there was a brand new box of Raisin Bran in the cabinet that had not been opened, and if I open it first I can have the plastic d-coder ring inside. If Rose opens it first, she’ll get the ring, not because she wants it, but just so she can keep me from having it. I’m too old for such childish things, she’ll say, but she still won’t give me that ring.

Eat your eggs, child. We don’t have food to throw away. You can have cereal tomorrow. If I don’t get up on time tomorrow, that ring is as good as on Rose’s finger.

Daddy’s already left for work. He has to start his route for the

Post Office at six o’clock in the morning, so he misses my morning battles with Mama except on Thursdays—his day off.

Why don’t you let the child sleep, Rosa. School’s out. Let her enjoy her summer. Mama didn’t like for Daddy to take my side. As far as she’s concerned, her word is law.

Too much sleep makes a child lazy, is one of her favorite sayings. But, she’s only 10. There’ll be plenty of time for getting up early when she’s older. I like him. But, Mama won’t back down.

No need to start now developing bad habits. She’d win that round. I guess Daddy just got tired and quit. But one thing’s for sure, he tried. Some days, Mama’s just too much for him.

After breakfast, Rose and I help Mama clear the table and wash and dry the dishes. Next, we have to make up our beds, clean up the bathroom, and do whatever else Mama decides needs to be done that day. I always try to finish before Rose. That means I can decide what we’ll do. It works sometime. But most times, I have to do my work over. I learned early that being fast doesn’t always mean being accurate. So most days we have to do what Rose wants to do. Show off! She thinks she’s so smart. I’ll be glad when I’m twelve.

Today, like most days, Rose decides we’ll play house. And as usual, she gets to be the mother. She says now that she’s 12, she’s too old to play with dolls. So when we’re in our doll house, she’s in charge. She’s so bossy.

This morning like every other morning, I gather up all my dolls (I let them sleep in my bed at night), all their clothes, and we head outside to our playhouse in the back yard that Daddy built for us year before last. I think it was Mama’s idea so she can keep us out of the house when she wants to. The house is just the right size for little people, and it’s made just like a real house.

The outside of the dollhouse is painted white, and it has a little door that leads to the inside. Mama had Daddy put two rocking chairs inside so we can rock our dolls to sleep after they eat, and a little table with four chairs in case we have company. There’re two doll beds with doll sheets and blankets for nap time and four plates at the table. Mama made us a pair of yellow and white curtains for our window and bought us a piece of yellow carpet for the floor. I think Mama has other plans for us and this doll house that she’s not telling.

When we’re in our doll house, we’re in our own little world. Grown-ups and boys are strictly forbidden, except Mama. She has the run of the place just like she does her own house. But to make it seem like ours, most times she’ll knock before she comes in unless she’s mad. Then all degrees of manners and good intentions go out the door.

Pam and Joann Loveless live across the street and most days they occupy the other two seats at our table. Pam is my age and Joann is Rose’s age. Since Rose has outgrown dolls, she feels it’s her job to supervise us and take charge of running the house.

One of my doll’s name is Lilly and the others’ names are Ruth and Odessa. Lilly is my favorite. Unlike Ruth and Odessa, she’s soft and cuddly and I can comb and style her hair. She has smooth brown skin and fingers and toes that look just like a real baby’s. After I feed her, she wets her diaper and sometimes her food runs down her chin and onto her clothes. Ruth and Odessa are big, brown and hard and their hair is like straw. I only put up with them so Lilly will have some playmates. If I hold their hands, I can make them walk. But this takes too much effort, and I’m not ready to have a walking baby.

Hi, Pam. Hi, Joann. I’m glad for someone my own age to talk to for a change.

Hi, Baby Sister. Hi, Rose. I live for these moments.

How are the children today, Baby Sister. Pam asks in her usual sing-song voice. I swear I don’t think that girl will ever outgrow that whiny, baby voice of hers. But today, it’s music to my ears.

Oh, the girls are fine. We were just about to sit down for a snack. Won’t you join us? Rose hates it when we talk like this. She and Joann usually busy themselves in another part of the room or ignore us altogether.

Mama brought us some lemonade and graham crackers, and Pam, the children and I sit at the table and continue our conversation.

So tell me, Baby Sister, Pam tries to sound grown-up. But as usual, that whine comes through loud and clear. What have you and the girls been doing today?

I took them for a walk this morning. Lilly likes to ride in the buggy, especially when I put the top back and let her sit up front. We walked down to the corner and turned around and came back. I didn’t want to say that too loud. Mama doesn’t allow me to walk that far by myself, and Rose says she will not be seen with me and that buggy full of dolls again. So, in my on-going attempts to stay on Mama’s good side, we made that trip in record time.

What did you do today, my dear? I ask Pam. By this time, Rose looks like she’s about to throw up.

Joann and I took the girls to the store for a soda. Pam and Joann’s mother and father own a grocery store and soda shop, and it’s right behind their house. Talk about friends for life. I don’t think I could ever stay mad at these