Queen Move

“Of course. Why not?”

Janetta smiles ruefully, walking Kimba over and settling her into the steamy water. “I guess I’m as bad as some of these busybodies around here. I assumed you’d be…I don’t know. Stuck-up. Act funny.”

“Me act funny?” I chuckle and frown. “Every time I leave my house people stare at me like I have two heads. At least once a week I’m asked if my son belongs to me. My husband is never home, and it feels like I’m in this whole state by myself. Of all things, I miss my mother, who rejected me for marrying a man who is not only not Jewish, but black. At this point, I’d kiss strangers to make friends.”

The words tumble out in a rush of anxious air, like someone popped a balloon, forcing it into a frantic zigzag. How long have I stuffed it all, waiting for the pin to pop? I blink at tears that snuck up on my eyes and press a hand to my chest where the loneliness collects. It’s quiet in the bathroom, with the sound of laughter and the boasting that comes with card games floating into the room in muted tones. I don’t look up, afraid that if I do I’ll cry and be unable to stop, but my fingers, buried in Ezra’s hair, shake and my bottom lip trembles.

Janetta extends her open palm and nods to the bottle of baby shampoo behind me on the rim of the tub. “Can I get a squirt?”

I appreciate her not dwelling on my outburst. It gives me time to collect myself, and in the quiet, we wash our babies. I swallow the tears scalding my throat and cling to the love that brought me here, so far from my community and my family and my traditions and my faith.

“You know I don’t have any Jewish friends,” Janetta says. “You’ll be the first.”

Shabbat Shalom

I meet Janetta’s eyes, dark, kind and curious.

“I’d like that.” I smile and rinse soap from Ezra’s little shoulders and back. “Though it’s been months since I stepped foot in a synagogue.”

“There’s one a couple blocks over.”

“Really? I was just thinking I want my son to grow up with the traditions I did. I don’t want to cheat him of that. Some rabbis won’t even acknowledge my marriage.”

“Because Alfred’s black?”

“Oh, no.” I grimace. “Well, maybe some. Mostly because he’s not Jewish. Some are more conservative than others. No one in my family ever married someone who wasn’t Jewish, so…”

“Joe’s family helped elect the first, the only, Jewish mayor of Atlanta,” Janetta says, a note of pride in her voice. “Sam Massell. His vice mayor was Maynard Jackson. Four years later, Joe’s people helped make him the first black mayor of Atlanta.”

“Joe’s family’s into politics?” I pounce on the chance to talk about something other than my problems and pull Ezra from the bath, toweling him off, kissing his damp hair.

“Joe’s family is into progress. Into change and making wrongs right. His father was a freedom rider. Marched. Sit-ins. Did it all. He’s a legend here in the city. Streets and schools named after him. All of it.”

“You’re close to his family?” I ask wistfully.

“Close as I am to my own. Especially since my parents are gone. I was an only child, and Joe’s family treats me like one of theirs.”

“That must be nice.” I choke out a humorless chuckle. “We got married at City Hall. My family wasn’t there. Neither was his.”

“You miss ’em? Your family, I mean?”

I nod. “I was just thinking about them, what they’re doing on a Friday night. It’s the Sabbath.”

“I’m guessing they probably aren’t playing cards and going through six-packs like there’s no tomorrow?”

“No.” I smile. “You can’t even turn on the lights or cook or do much of anything on the Sabbath. When I was growing up, I thought it was the most boring day of the week. Now I realize it was the most peaceful.”

“And your family turned their backs on you?”

“At first, yes. My mother actually started calling after Ezra was born.”

“So things are getting better between you?”

“I haven’t talked to her much. We both said some awful things when she first found out about Al. I’ve been so hurt and angry I just…” I blink at tears again, recalling the scent of challah bread and fish and chicken soup Mama would serve for the Friday evening meal.

“But you miss her?” Janetta asks.

I nod, swallow, and dry Ezra with a towel.