Hello August, Please Be Good To Me

Chapter 46: The Calling

I'm out of clean shirts, and it's been a little bit since I've made the effort to wash clothes, even sneaking some items into Danté's wash just so I'd have certain things. I've pulled on my UCF, the one that my dad so graciously bought, and slide on my tattered bedroom slippers to go into the kitchen towards the smell of coffee. I drop my pencil and pen into my sketch book and follow the smell. Where I'm expecting my brother at this time in the morning, I see my dad instead, firing up the coffee maker. "Morning Lyric," my dad says when he glances up towards the sound of shuffling. He looks up again and at my shirt, a big smile plastered across his face. It makes me sad to admit to him that the only reason why it's now out of the packaging is not due to a certain warm feeling and a surge of school spirit. So I don't.

"I see you're wearing the new shirt."

"I am," I reply, taking out the milk and adding more than needed to my drink. All we have is black coffee, and it's an acquired taste for me. I watch as he whistles to his recliner in the living room and flips on the news, and I head back to my room to restart a sketch I had in mind. For some reason it's not coming out the way I want it, and it's variations aren't making me happy either. I settle back into my spot of the floor, worn through time because I've sat there often, either with my butt or my rolling chair. I flip to a new page and start making huge, light square shapes with my pen when I sneeze and through off my entire hand. "...forget now!" I turn my head up towards the direction of the shouting.

"What dad?"

"You're volunteering day, don't forget it"

"Ahhh shoot!"

I look at the time on the microwave. It's seven seventeen. I rush into the room and grope around for a clean pair of pants, but something I don't mind getting messed up. I have to be at the church by eight, and Sis. Braxton already doesn't like me, and the last thing I need is to give her an actual reason to not like me. Once a month, every summer for the past three years, I volunteer a Wednesday or Saturday and the work ranges from food shopping, to organizing the robe and supply closets, to doing homeless shelter rounds, or even helping to cook meals for whatever other event is happening the same day. I never know what I'm up for until I get there, and though members have a choice, whenever Sis. Braxton is there I can guarantee it ain't gonna happen. Thinking I might have some time at the end to keep working on my sketch, I throw my book into my purse, tie my hair into a bun, and run out the door. I feel like I'm always running somewhere.

I thank God when I walk into the sanctuary five minutes until eight, and Sis. Braxton is nowhere to be found. I walk down the stairs and find my aunt Ja'Nice in the fellowship hall with a few others, taking inventory. I reply to their chorus of good mornings, and sit down at the table right next to my aunt. "Oh baby, can you help down in the nursery? Sis. Braxton is sick, so she won't be here today." That woman manages to get under my skin even on her sick bed. "Okay," I say, pulling away from the table and waving goodbye to everyone. The nursery door is cracked open, and I know from experience my aunt has been back in forth between the fellowship hall and in here checking on the kids. I hadn't planned on babysitting this morning, and my only real experience is with the newborns to half a year, but the four kids I see all appear to be no older than seven or eight, eyes all on the television. None of them turn around when I come in, and I find a sit at the small little table in the back of the room. I take out my sketch book and stare the blank page, willing my idea to come forth and flow through the ink of my pen. When nothing happens, I can't help but sigh. A few heads turn around and look at me before looking back at the show on again.

Suddenly inspired by the chalk board across the room, I walk over and pick up a yellow stub, and look around for the eraser. I see it flipped over on the floor underneath a bookshelf and I go over to retrieve it. Then I set to work, not sure what I'm drawing until I've got half of the chalk board covered, and enough chalk dust to insure I never stop coughing. It's my take on a movie theater, a tribute to one of the many art museums my dad has taken me and my brother to when we were little. I copy the designs from images off the Internet on my phone, and before long I realize someone is watching me. Someones.

"What are you making?" A girl with a dozen or so colorful barrettes in her hair stands with her small hands behind her back staring up at the black board. I stand back so she can see better, almost walking into a trio of two boys and another girl. I explain it's just some building, not expecting them to show any enthusiasm and go back to their previous activity. "Wow, you're really good," the shortest boy with a car shirt on and a Mohawk haircut. "You drew that?" the little girl behind him with short ponytails. "Yeah," its weird having a bunch of kids awe over my work, which surly isn't my best considering bigger spaces to doodle on make it easier for me to get sloppy if I'm not paying attention. But their praise is genuine, and they start asking me can I draw this, and can I draw that, and after insisting I can, a shout of "Do it!" from now eight different voices all together causes me to shake the dust from my hands and pull out my sketch book again.

They all crowd around me, and instead of feeling annoyed I laugh. They're pretty cute. "I can draw too!" one of the little boys yells and runs to the blackboard to show me his skills. "Wait! Wait!" I whip out my phone to snap a photo of what I drew before it gets erased. Soon the TV seems small and lonely in the corner, while I'm me and the rest of the kids are up at the board, drawing all types of shapes. I demonstrate how to draw cubes,and other geometric shapes, and I have a captivated audience. When I look up by the door, I notice my aunt and a couple other mothers watching us all quietly,making me wonder just how long they've all been there.