Chapter 1

 

 

CHAPTER 1

Ms. Nia's place is right off of Broad Street, on a small side street called Somerset. It's painted purple with blue trim and has a big sign right above the two front windows that says, "Ms. Nia's Soulword Hive." And Ms. Nia is the queen bee.

 

Early in the morning--like 6 or something--you could always--or almost always--catch her outside on the sidewalk in front of the spot sweeping, shoveling snow, watering her flowers, or cleaning the hive's windows. The Soulword Hive is a cafe full of books and paintings; and passing by, depending on the day and time, you may catch whiffs of frying fish, barbecue tofu, tomato soup, bean pies and hot chocolate; or hear the sounds of John Legend, the Diggable Planets, Lauryn Hill, Jill Scott, some house music, or maybe some old school jazz coming from the speakers on the walls inside.

 

Ms. Nia is this short little thing with a grand mind. What I mean by that is she has these big dreams. And whenever one of those big dreams popped insider her head, made her stop whatever she was doing to watch it take shape inside her mind, and got her real excited and lit up just thinking about it, then she knew that she was going to hold on tight to that dream and try hard for a long time to make it come true. That's what she told me one night when I was helping her clean dishes in the back of the cafe. She was telling me about how the hive was one of those dreams that she felt like she had to make come true before she died.

 

My name is Tammy. That's my government name--the name on my birth certificate. But my grandmother on my mother's side calls me Spider, cuz se says since I was one year old, it seemed that if I was left alone long enough, I would always manage to get myself wound up into something. Last summer, I got myself wound up with Ms. N and her hive. I was walking past with my head down like I am almost always doing when I'm walking home. Sometimes I just look down at the ground and at my feet; other times I'm reading a book--taking notice out of the corner of my eye that I don't bump into anything. Cuz I'm ugly. That's why I do it. I'm a duck. So boys say. Not all of them--I'm usually just ignored--but enough of them--three times in the last month so far--that I've come to believe it. I'd be walking past a group of boys. I'd just be in my own head, making plans, thinking about something cool that happened at school that week, imagining I was in some ABC Afterschool Special about my life as a detective or something; and then all of a sudden it was like I had fallen off the side of a cliff without knowing that it was about to happen, or someone had zapped me with a toxic energy gun and filled my insides with some heavy, gray-colored gunk that made my feet heavy and turned the whole world that was just a few seconds before alive and hopeful the same color gray as the toxic goop that had filled me up. What had happened was somebody had just called me ugly. The words of a group of boys I had just passed seeped inside of my head. "Ugly......Big nose....Duck." My world becomes suddenly gloomy, sad, pathetic. And I was a loser in it--a loser whose cause no one would champion because I was the worst kind of social victim there was. People don't fight for ugly people. There are no ugly people movements. I was alone because of it, and I hated being in my own skin.

 

Ms. N watched me walk by one day. I saw her out of the corner of my eye watching me as I passed in front of her cafe with my head in a book. I was reading a comic book about this white super heroine with long red hair. The heroine would set things on fire just by staring and concentrating on them long enough. She wore a red cape and zipped through the sky in the shape of a big flame ball.

 

"Hey, sweetheart," Ms. N. said standing in the doorway of her cafe.

 

"Hi," I said smiling shyly and checking her out.

 

She was short and stocky, had her hair in twists and pinned up in a messy kind of a bun on the top of her head, and had these brown eyes that made me think of a bull about to charge a matador. She had several silver bangles around her right wrist and some colorful necklaces hanging down on the top part of a long purple cotton dress that fit her loosely. She looked kind of like a gypsy.

 

"You like to read?" she asked me.

"Mm hmm," I replied.

 

"Well, I got a whole bunch of books up in here," she said, gesturing with her head to the cafe. "Lots of 'em. All different types. You'll probably find a lot in there that you'd like."

 

"Really?" I asked, "Like what?"

 

"A lot of stuff. You got a minute? Come in. I'll show you."

 

Okay, I have to say, before I tell you about the inside of Ms. N's place, her spot was in the heart of North Philly--with its many homes that were abandoned, boarded up, sagging and leaning over; with its prostitute row on Old York Street and the dark dives where sleazy looking old men go in and out--like the Whoop There It Is Bar, Jackie's Shrimp Pit, the Exodus Lounge, and the Devil's Den--all within walking distance from one another; where many drive-by shootings have happened, and in particular, where this one 13-year old kid on a bike in a playground was walked up on and shot in the face point blank in broad daylight. Where there are churches on every other corner it seemed like, but nothing really uplifting--at least out in the open--like they had down in Mount Airy or Chestnut Hill. No tree-lined streets, no parks by the river where you can just sit and think about how grand and full of possibilities the world is. There was none of that in North Philly. But there was lots of all that ugly stuff I just mentioned. Every now and then I got the urge to hop on my bike and find an old familiar cool place or look for a new one to hang out in for a while away from North Philly. I'd be rolling around the city on my ten-speed bike with my portable CD player hooked on the hanger I'd pulled out of shape and wrapped around my handlebars, listening to inspiring stuff like this house singer singing about how "Dreams do come true. You know you got to have them. You know you got to be strooonng." I'd roll through Philly looking for cool spots to escape into when I need to be reminded that the world is worth living in. Although, there are no bike trails in North Philly like there are in Mount Airy or the suburbs, you can take the regular streets out of it and get to a big park by the river in no time. And once you're there, you feel like you're in another world, even though it might be only 30 minutes away from all the ugliness of North Philly.

 

Ms. N's Hive was like that too--a whole other world. But I didn't have to travel thirty minutes on my bike to get to it. That was the cool thing. It was a few blocks from my house. It was amazing. I followed her into the cafe. There were beads hanging from doorways, colorful fabrics on the walls and vibrant rugs on the floors. The smell of peppermint and spiced apples was in the air. She had paintings hanging all around--one of Zora Neale Hurston with a funky hat on, one of James Baldwin with a piercing, tragic look in his eyes, and one of some Africans standing around in a circle looking like they're clapping as they watch this little girl in the middle with her arms lifted in the air, a leg raised above the ground, and her eyes closed, her face in a frown, and sweat pouring down it like she's in some trance.

 

"What kind of stuff do you like to read?" Ms.N asked.

 

"Um..." I had to think a minute about that. "Let's see. Um...."

 

I looked down at the floor and remembered the comic book in my hands.

 

"I like comic books," I said, "Not like Superman or Batman. For some reason I can't get into those. But I like ones like this one."

 

I showed her my She-Flame comic book.

 

"Ahhh.....," she said, nodding her head as she flipped through the pages.

 

"She's--She-Flame, the heroine--she's real tragic. Superman and Batman are too, but she's different. Superman and Batman have the beautiful girlfriends. She's a loner. She has no superhero boyfriend, she fights all her battles by herself, and she sleeps alone. I really don't read these comics a whole lot. But, it's the one I look for when I'm in a comic book store. But...um.. I also like science fiction stuff like Robert Heinlein and Octavia Butler. Oh, my favorite book by her is The Parable of the Sower."

 

"You're serious?"

 

I nodded my head.

 

"Really?....Cuz...." She starts walking backwards, "Come here. You gotta see this."

 

She gestures me to follow. In the back of the cafe, on the left of a large glass counter that was filled with little mini-pies and other types of pastries and lined with a whole bunch of different kinds of boxes of tea and different flavored hot chocolate--peppermint, raspberry, and white chocolate flavors--was a door with some more beads hanging in front of it. She went in there and I followed behind her, thinking that maybe I shouldn't. What if she's some nutcase and behind that door I will meet my death? But behind that door was another room full of books. All four walls were lined with shelves and shelves full of books. And there was a desk sitting under a wooden loft bed that had a spread of different color shades of blue hanging a little bit off the bunk. Attached to the underside of the bed's platform was a light blue--kind of turquiose--Japanese style boxy lampshade.

 

"Look," Ms. N said. She was standing next to a bookcase by the door and pointing to the bottom part of it. It was full of books that, when I crouched down to see I realized, were all by Octavia Butler.

 

"I love Octavia, too. I have all the books....Read them all."

 

There were about two and a half shelves full of Octavia Butler books. And that's when I realized she was cool and that I had found another cool spot in the world that would remind me of how magical life can be. Cuz sometimes I forget.

 

"Anyway, I just wanted to show you that. See, I read a lot too."

 

She looked suddenly uncomfortable, as if she had just realized that maybe she had revealed too much of herself and had become too vulnerable. She moved the beaded drapes back with her hand so that I could pass through, and we went back out into the main area of the cafe.

 

"I just wanted to say 'hey' to you. I see you a lot passing by here with a book in your hand. Just thought you might appreciate this place. Feel free to come by anytime you want if it's open and read cuz that's what it's for--for reading; for escaping--you know--if you need to."

 

"Okay, thanks," I said.

 

"Tell your friends...." she said as I was walking out of the door.

 

But I didn't cuz I didn't have any friends. I'm not sure why that is. I'm not good at all with making friends, or keeping them once I make them--I think I'm going a little looney because of it. I mean, I spend so much time alone. I'm not sure why I'm friendless. It can't just be because I'm ugly, because I know some real ugly people who have friends.

 

Anyway, I left Ms. N's that day, went straight home, fell on my bed, and finished reading my She-Flame comic book. At the end, She-Flame was trapped on the evil planet, Transer, in a block of ice. Her eyes were shut tight so she couldn't burn her way through the ice with her eyes. Boy, if I had that power to burn people up just by looking at them in a certain way, I'd be walking around like I thought I was all that.

 

Before starting on my homework, I turned over on my back and just laid for awhile, looking up at the ceiling and thinking about a bunch of stuff, like, how Ms. N's spot stood out like a sight for sore eyes--my sore eyes--in the middle of North Philly with its filth and depression and stuck-in-the-funkness; Ms. N's bun of twisted hair--how long was it when she took it down?; Octavia Butler--I heard she lived a loner kind of life with her mother before she died; how much was Octavia Butler like me?; what it would be like if there was an all-black planet somewhere in the universe and Black folks here on Earth were really outerspace aliens with an undetected genetically-based drive to take over the Earth? And Ms. N was the queen bee of the whole operation?

 

CHAPTER 2

At 7 AM the next morning, Ms. N was outside her hive watering what she told me later was her bed of sunflowers. She had her hair pulled back in a big afro-puff in the back of her head and had some medium-sized, dull, gold hoop earrings in her ears. She was wearing a long light blue short sleeve summer dress--a lot like the one she had on the day before, but this one was blue--and a pair of birkenstock-like sandals on that she told me she got from Payless Shoe Store for $10.99. She gave me a big smile when she saw me.

 

"Hey, what's happening, Spider?"

 

"Hi," I smiled back.

 

I was really happy to see her. I stopped and stood next to her in front of her flower beds. The door to the hive was open and I smelled what seemed to me like something spicy and sweet cooking inside. She had flower beds made from tires on the sidewalk in front of her store and some wooden ones propped on the wall below the hive's two front left windows.

 

"So, you're heading to school?" she asked me.

 

"Yeah. I try to get there by 7:30 every morning so I can get my breakfast, eat it, and get to the library before all the other kids show up."

 

"How come you try to get there before all the other kids show up?"

 

I just blurted it out: "Cuz, I don't want to get teased."

 

Tears started to well up in my eyes. I was desperate for someone to confide in. I had no one. Ms. N. put her watering can down on the ground beside her and looked me straight in the eyes with a frown on her face.

 

"Teased about what?" she asked.

 

"Cuz I'm ugly. People say I'm ugly," I felt ashamed and the words fell out of my mouth clumsy and heavy.

 

"Hmmm. Really?" She said in this matter-of-fact, indignant tone. "Ain't nothing wrong with your face. You hear me? I'm looking at you and I'm telling you what I see. Ain't nothing wrong with your dag-gone face. Nothing. And I'm sorry folks got you thinking that there is cuz they got nothing better to do than be ugly. You got too much beauty inside of you to be walking around in the world thinking you're too ugly to hold your head up. I'm looking at you and I can see it. I wish you could see what I see. You glow with it. Your beauty. I wish you could see it...

 

"But, let me ask you this. I'm curious: If you had the power to make yourself look anyway you'd like, what would you make yourself look like?"

 

I didn't have to think hard on it at all because I thought of that image so much. Especially, when I'm lying in bed waiting to fall asleep at night.

 

"Kinda like Jayne Kennedy back in the day," I said, "but lighter. And I'd have really long hair that would go all the way down the middle of my back and have big waves in it that would look like the waves of the ocean."

 

"Wow, very specific," Ms N. said, nodding her head.

 

"And, I--. Well, it's an image I think about a lot. It just pops up every now and then when my mind's just kind of resting, you know. When it has some free time to day dream. She's the woman that I hope I'll be some day. She's tall and light-skinned and has long hair. She wears a long white furcoat; and she's an investigative journalist and very busy and has all these men who want to be her boyfriend and stuff."

 

"Hmmm. Sounds like a diva...

 

"Anyway...I know you got to go to school... I hate hearing stuff like that," she said shaking her head frowning, "Will you stop in on your way home? There's something that if I find it I want to give to you, okay?"

 

"Okay," I said, smiling softly and feeling kind of light and fluffy inside cuz it felt like I was making a friend.

 

"Bye."

 

It was really early, but the sun was shining brightly and was already beginning to heat up the air around me. As I walked to school, my mind wandered to the stuff I had learned the day before in class and the homework I had had to do last night. Physics: kinetic and potential energy; chemical reaction equations; James Joyce's Ullysses, which was so over my head; and differential equations in calculus. When I opened up those books to do my homework, it was like I was entering different worlds. Worlds that worked a lot differently than the world as I saw it on a daily. Worlds with different looking societies than the ones that I saw with my naked eye. Societies of atoms and energy fields and forces; of Ireland and Irish folks and Irish culture; of hills within x and y axes, straight lines on top of hills, spheres, those weird looking ds, the strange way of communicating, and the strange rules of movement on paper: dfn|0 to 5=d... They reminded me of how amazing the world was. How complex, but systematic. And exciting. There was so much going on in the world. I just wish that I could hurry up and get on out of the 'hood and dwelve into that world; start living a life full of adventure like the people in some of the books I read. But nobody in the books I've read have big noses like me..... I don't fit the type. Short, black ugly girl detective with a big nose from North Philadelphia.

 

Passing the library on my way to school that morning, I think about the lady--Ms. Jackson--who works Saturday's at the library on Van Ness Avenue. She knows me by name since, I guess, I go in there so much. I get 20 books out at a time pretty much everytime I go. I walk through the doors and the world opens up to me. I looked in the window of the closed wooded double doors. I saw a lit lamp on the front counter and a man standing next to it sorting through something. He's the morning librarian. I don't usually see him unless he's filling in for Ms. Jackson on weekends. I wish I didn't have to go to school. I wish I could just sit in the library all day and read in my favorite place in there: the desk that was behind the broken copy machine and under one of the library's only 3 windows, feeling the rays of the sun on my face and shoulders. There I could escape into worlds much more exciting than my own.

 

Inspite of it all--the early-morning arrival, hiding out in the school library until the bell rang, getting to class as early as I could and sitting in the front so that almost everybody in the class would see my back and not my face--I was singled out, targetted, and called ugly again. And my world sunk. I felt like nothing, and hated being in my skin.

 

It was Brian Jackson--a big time ninth grader. He was hanging outside the front of the school as I was walking out. "Damn she's ugly!" he said as I walked past. He was one of those popular guys that always had folks wanting to hang out with him. That day he was with Malik and Raymond just standing around the school steps idling. A group of idling boys--that was the worst. Malik was eating a bag a Cheetos. He was putting a cheeto in his mouth when his eyes caught mine. I quickly looked down, but seconds later, as I walked past, I heard Brian Jackson's words about me, and my feet got real heavy thinking about having to lug my disgusting, ugly body all the way home.

 

Ms. N. was outside her cafe sitting at one of her patio tables reading a book when I approached.

 

"Hey, Spidergirl," she said when she looked up from her book. "How you like that name? Since you're all into superheroes and stuff. But, you know, the problem is there's already a Spidergirl. So, we got to tweek that name a little bit. I was thinking a color thing. Like you're black, so it could be 'Black Spidergirl.' Or--what's your favorite color?"

 

"Blue."

 

"Hey, I like that! Blue Spidergirl. What do you think?" I smiled, I did like it.

 

"Yeah, that's cool."

 

Ms. N. was lifting something off of me. Just talking to her for those two minutes, lifted the funk a little bit. I just wish I could fold myself into her and her spot and the books on her bookcases and the smells of raspberry hot chocolate and fried fish and stay there forever. But knowing that couldn't, made that visit with her bittersweet.

 

"You tell any friends about the spot?" she asked.

 

"I don't have any friends," I said, feeling a heavy ball take shape in my insides.

 

"Oh, don't worry about that. A lot of people are not going to get you. The ones who do, though, are going to be really special. Cuz you're deep inside yourself and you're in touch with spaces inside there that a lot of people aren't, I think. I think people who read a lot usually are. I can kind of sense that about you."

 

"I just don't want to be ugly," I blurted out, and the tears came, "I want to be normal. Just blend into the world and not have people single me out for being ugly."

 

"Tch. Dag-gone-it. What happened? Something happen today?"

 

I told her about Brian, that it's happened so many times before so it must be true, and that I felt so alone in the world because my mom's pretty, and my sister is too, and my dad's good-looking, and I don't feel that anyone understands me and my pain. And that's when it began. The moment I started to become Blue Spidergirl--a fierce super being who could fly inside my head above the ugliness that lived around me and move through the world like I was floating on beautiful billowing clouds and touch folks hearts and change the world with the energy that I let loose when I dance and write and teach. It started with the book of poetry Ms. N. gave me that day.

 

"Here, I found it," she said pulling a small dusty brown book out of one of her pockets and sliding it to me across the patio table that we were both sitting at by then outside her cafe.

 

"I am so glad I was able to find this. It's a book of magic that will make you see the world a lot differently."

 

Before the book, my world was subject to turn gray and be contaminated at any moment by a mean word directed at me. After the book, I could care less. No one could change my world like that anymore.

 

"Listen. And I want you to remember this, okay? The cool thing about life is that you can go to sleep and wake up again into it and kind of start it all over again. And at the beginning of every new day there is always the hope of something grand happening. Like meeting the love of your life, or Michael Jackson--oh you probably don't know anything about Michael Jackson,do you? You're too young. Or, like, being spotted on the street while you're riding your bike or something and being asked to being in a movie cuz you look and unique and folks want to hang out with you. Or writing a cool poem or a book. Or meeting the person who will be your best friend for life. Life is full of so much potential. Don't settle into the mundane, the ugly. As long as you hope for something different and you got a new day, so much is possible."

 

I realized that my tears had almost died up on my face. And a smile cracked on my face. Just a little one, cuz the world still seemed kind of gloomy. One of my hands was resting on the dusty book she had just given me, and she reached over with one of hers and gave mine a little pat and cupped it.

 

"You got to read this book, Blue. Ahh, I'm so glad I found it!"

 

Behind me I heard someone walking up, and then a gruff voice coming around from behind me towards Ms. N.

 

"Hey, Lady. It smells good. What you got cooking in there?"

 

"You hungry? Whatchoo feel like?"

 

The man with the heavy gruff voice had a big body to go with it. He had on some big dirty worn down workman boots, a pair of baggy jeans with paint all over it, that, at the seat and at the knees, was white with wear, and a dusty-looking thick plaid jacket. He turned to look my way.

 

"Who you got here? Your second customer of the year next to me?"

 

"Oh, this is Tam--. Blue. Her name's Blue, as in Blue Spidergirl. She likes to read so I kind of made her acquaintance one day and pulled her in here. This big guy, here, is Johnny, Blue. He lives up the block and his been bothering me ever since I started messing around with this place."

 

"How you doing, little lady?" He asked, leaning over me with his hand extended.

 

I shook it, weakly. Feeling a tinge of jealously that this other guy was Ms. N's friend too.

"What'd you say? Blue--what? Bug? Blue Bug?"

 

"No, stupid!" Ms. N. said laughing. "Blue Spidergirl. I made that name up for her. Her mama named her Tammy. But around here she's Blue Spidergirl, okay? Cuz, around here, we're creating an alternative reality. Outside this space, if folks are alright driving around in Hummers and destroying the environment, shooting up folks for gold chains and bags of cocaine. Fine. But around here, inside that door," she points to the doorway of her cafe, "We live with hope for a different kind of world; and we work on trying to bring that world into existence."

 

"Yeah, with bean pies and tofu burgers!" Mr. Johnny lets out a big loud belly laugh and rocks Ms. N's shoulder with his big hand.

 

"Speaking of that, I'm feeling like one of your burgers!" he said.

 

"Alright, come on then. Let me get you something in that big gut of yours," she gets up, "You coming, Spider. Wanna keep my company, " she asks, pausing by my chair and rubbing my back then squeezing my shoulder.

 

I get up, follow her inside, and sit next to Mr. Johnny at the counter. It's late afternoon, and the sun is coming through the windows real strong, in its last attempt to make an impression before it's time for it to turn in for the night.

 

The counter stool squeeks as Mr. Johnny swivvles it around to get a good look at me.

 

"So, you like to read, huh, Blue?" He asks in his big gruff voice.

 

"Yep," I reply. Not really feeling like talking to him, thinking he was thinking about how ugly I am. I look down at my hands as I talk.

 

Ms. N. was behind the counter banging things around, bending down, turning on and off water.

 

"So, what will it be, big guy?" she asked, finally turning around to us and wiping her hands on a white towel. She has an apron on now on top of the light blue dress she was wearing that day.

 

"You know," his stool squeeks as he swivvles around again, this time to look at Ms. N.

 

"Hmm. Let me see. I'm feeling like one of your fried flounder sandwiches with a side of those potatoe wedges, some coleslaw and a tall glass of lemonade."

 

"Got it."

 

"That lady is one of a kind," Mr. Johnny said, swivvling his stool back around to me. "I mean, of course everyone's different, but she's beautiful different. You know?"

 

"Yeah, I like her a lot," I said meekly, feeling my jealously even stronger now.

 

"Now, listen. What kinds of stuff do you like to read? History, science, geography, politics, or that teen romance stuff, what?"

 

I really didn't feel like talking to him. I kept looking down at my hands or over at Ms. N fiddling around in the kitchen.

 

"No. I don't like that teen romance stuff. But lots of different stuff. I like science fiction, comics..."

 

"Oh, fiction. Well, let me say something about that. Ms. N. is doing a nice service for the community with this spot and all. I mean a spot full of books, good eats for cheap, in the heart of North Philly. Don't get me wrong. But I also feel like this community needs a real political education. They need to be getting down with some Franz Fanon and some Malcolm X. Folks need to be picking up black history books and reading about the fearlessness and strength of character of folks like Nat Turner and Toussaint L'Ouverture. These black kids should have them names in their mouths and in their heads when they spew out these raps about OGs. Them were the originial gangsters. They were leaders of some righteous gangs. Sacrificing their lives for their people. Yeah, you need to be reading some non-fiction too along with your comics and intergalactic space battles. You need to fiind out what's really going on in the world, so you can get angry enough to change things."

Ms. N comes over and places a tall red glass of lemonade in front of Mr. Johnny. Big drops of lemonade sweat beads are hanging off the sides of the glass, and some are moving slowly down the sides.

 

"Listen, Johnny. I agree with you. My thing is, though, that there has to be a balance. You have to feed folks' soul with images of a more beautiful world that their minds can soar to. Let them experience another world other than the one they are in--world that they wished they lived in. Then when they turn off the song, or finish the poem, or close the book, or turn away from the painting, they will look at their real world, dissatisfied and then perhaps ask the question, 'Why can't my world be that way?' And they're feeling good after having experienced an imaginative world that somebody created, their soul has been caressed, massaged, soothed and they now have the internal wherewithal, the umph, the highness of spirit to do some of the work that needs to be done to make the world a better place."

"Yeah, I'm feeling you. You know I do. I'm just telling the young lady here not to forget about the fact that this world needs all the warriors they can get. And the type that we need are the ones that really understand how messed up this world is. And the only way to really understand how messed up this world is to absorb as much information about it as possible. And reading is one of the ways to get that info."

 

Ms. N. nods her head and turns back to the kitchen. She flips four pieces of flounder on the grille.

 

"Listen," Mr. Johnny said, swivvling back to me, "I don't want to talk your head off. It's just that I'm 44 years old and seen a lot of stuff in this town. Philadelphia is one crazy city--politically speaking. It's definitely got a crazy history as far as that goes. But unless you had a good history teacher in school or your parents told you something about it, you probably don't know nothing about that, do you?'

 

"No, not really," I answer softly.

 

"Hey, did you know Ms. N. used to be a history teacher?"

 

"Really?" I perked up. Wow, I thought, I wished I could have had her for a teacher. "What grades? Where?"

 

"Ms.N!" Mr. Johnny yells to Ms.N. who's at the other end of the kitchen now. "Where'd you used to teach?'

 

Rustling through something, she yells back, "Just a minute. Be right there."

 

Mr. Johnny takes a swig of his lemonade. "Yeah, I forget exactly, but she--"

 

"Huh?" Ms. N asked, standing in front of us with two kaiser rolls in her hand.

 

"I was asking what school you taught at."

 

"Oh, Overbrook," she says shaking her hand. "Talk about a tragedy." She smiles sardonically and shrugs her shoulders, "A shame."

 

She turnns back towards the kitchen and sticks the two kaiser rolls inside the oven that's above her head to the right of the grille.

 

"Yeah she understands the value of history," Mr. Johnny said, "I'm reading this book right now by Bob Woodward. He was this journalist back in the day who broke this huge story called Watergate. Was responsible for a president having to step down. Whoa, that was a big deal back then. So he writes this other book that basically is making the point that governments lie. They don't always tell the truth. And like with this War in Iraq that we're in now, our president and other heads of government didn't tell the truth going into it, like they didn't tell the truth about Vietnam, and other things."

 

Mr. Johnny takes another swig of his lemonade.

 

Ms. N. turns around to us again and rests her elbow on the counter.

 

She has a playful smile on her face as she says, "Yes. Ole Johnny here will talk you head off. He's the last of a dying breed. He's a black man who hasn't fallen for the hokie doke. He's a hardworking working class black man. Paints buildings. Walks down the street with his head up. And is on a mission to get to the bottom of things."

 

"For my people, Nia. For my people."

 

Ms. N smiles and turns back to the kitchen. After a few minutes, she places a plate in front of Mr. Johnny piled high with fried potatoe wedges, cole slaw, and a fried fish sandwich. And in front of me--a smaller version of Mr. Johnny's meal.

 

"What will you have to drink, missy? It's on me. Anything."

 

"Anything? Really?'

 

"Yep."

 

I was curious about the flavored hot chocolate. I slid off of my stool, and looked at the selection of flavored hot chocolate powders under the glass at the other end of the counter. There was blueberry, raspberry, peppermint, green tea, coconut, butterscotch, hazelnut, dark and white, milky, orange, and cherry. I chose the butterscotch hot chocolate. It was the best cup of hot chocoloate I have ever had.

 

When I finished, it was evening outside, and Ms. N had turned on the table and floor lamps she had spaced throughout the cafe. The lamps gave off a soft yellow glow. She closed the front door, went to the back, and seconds later I heard National Public Radio's Evening News on the speakers she had propped up on the wall.

 

Mr. Johnny swivvled out of his chair. "Alright, Ms. Nia. Thanks for the meal. Delicious as always."

 

"Anytime, Johnny. Alright?"

 

"Alright, Ms. Blue. It was a pleasure meeting you," he said, extending his hand to me again, "Hope I didn't talk your head off. Remember what I said," he taps his big index finger to his head, "Get to the bottom of things. Understand what's going on out here so you can make things better."

 

After he left, I sat down on the big orange couch under Ms. N's two front windows. It was full of pillows and a throw blanket. I gazed sadly out of the window.

 

Ms. N. called from the sink in the kitchen, "Listen, young lady. As much as I like your company, your folks don't know where you are. Don't you think you should call them and at least let them know? But then, again, it's already dark. How far do you live form here?"

 

"A couple of blocks," I said, feeling the heavy ball forming in my throat again and my body getting heavy.

 

"Yeah, that's not good. Do you mind if I walk you home? It's really not a good idea for you to be walking by yourself when it's dark out. I know your parents are very worried about you."

 

"Okay."

 

I waited around for Ms. N to finish putting some things away in the cafe. I helped her take the patio chairs and table in and turned the lights off for her. It was on the way home that I read for the first time a poem out of the book she had given me. She had brought a flashlight with her; she said she brought it just for that. She told me she wanted to be there with me when I read the book for the first time. The poem I chose was the very first in there. It was about new days, and the power of hope to create new beginnings. I read it again in the morning when I woke up, and hoped one day to become the Blue Spidergirl....