Everyday Use

My scarred hands are trembling as I tuck my blouse into my skirt. My sister will be here any minute. The sister that has always held life in the palm of one hand. The sister that has never heard the word "no" from anyone. The sister who hated me.
Maybe she doesn’t anymore, now that she doesn’t have to look at me every day. Mama finally raised enough money, with the help of the church, to send her to Augusta school. After that, Dee became more scarce but even less tolerable. Once she learned to read, she would read to us all the time. I’m still not sure that all of what she read to us was true, though. That would be just like Dee. Never admitting to being wrong so she’d make something up.
Well, I can read now too! I read to Mama sometimes. I still stumble a little, but at least I’m honest. I know I’m not really bright but I’m a little brighter than most people give me credit for. I don’t mind. I don’t need to be really smart, pretty, or rich.
Unlike Dee. Dee has always wanted nice things. She has a way of convincing Mama to buy her things even if we can’t afford it. Like that yellow organdy dress she wore to her high school graduation and those black pumps to match a green suit she'd made herself. She’s had a style of her own since age sixteen.
This is what I’m thinking as I look at myself in the mirror. I wish the sleeves on this blouse were long enough to hide my arms a little better. It’s hot today, though, so I’ll have to show a little charred skin.
I take a deep breath and peek out the door. "How do I look, Mama?" "Come out into the yard," she says. I shuffle out with my eyes on the hard clay ground that Mama and I spent all yesterday cleaning.
A car stops in front of our house and I know i...

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...o call me by it if you don't want to," says Wangero.
"Why shouldn't I?" asks Mama. "If that's what you want us to call you, we'll call you."
"I know it might sound awkward at first," says Wangero.
"I'll get used to it," she says. "Ream it out again."
Once Mama gets the hang of pronouncing Dee's new name, she attempts "Asalamalakim." After tripping over it a few times he tells her to just call him Hakim-a-barber. I think that he hasn’t been to a barber in a long time.
"You must belong to those beef cattle peoples down the road," Mama says. They say "Asalamalakim" when they meet you, too, but they don't shake hands. Too busy, I guess.
Hakim-a-barber says, "I accept some of their doctrines, but farming and raising cattle is not my style."

Works Cited

Walker, Alice, and Barbara Christian. Everyday Use. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers UP, 1994. Print.