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Jelly
I turn up Elizabeth Street. On the sidewalk there's a penny. Lincoln, great emancipator. I decide to kick him rather than pick him up. There's enough Honest Abes in my pocket. I drain my Pepsi, letting the caffeine hit, while the sugar seeps into my teeth and zigzags up my nose. I shiver. Someone's tossed a soda can into the lilac bushes where the scentless buds are hard as BBs. It must be 90 degrees today, but I'm in an ice pocket. The air's getting colder, and I can feel the chill of these rich houses. I'm on my way to a new job as a live-in housekeeper. What could be easier than helping some senior citizens swallow pills? I can make people like me. Any flavor. Old folks. Tough kids. Everyone in Harris County Jail was always saying, "Jelly, your eyes remind us of a Thai girl's, your skin's a hot gingerbread, you're the kind of girl the basketball players like to date. Jelly, what do you play? Your arms and thighs are tight." I kept to myself, lifting barbells. "Jelly, why are you trying to be so big?" I have to laugh when I think of the question the quivery male voice kept asking me on the phone when I called about the job: "Are you strong?"
That's it. A Spanish-style house with low-pitched clay tile roof and white stucco walls. I breathe in the salt cedars, the bushes pearled with skin petals that seem to sweat. I knock at the back door like the man told me to. "Come in, come in. It's not locked." A young guy in jeans and t-shirt opens the door and waves me into the kitchen. He's blond and well-built.
Ciz
I soap myself with the last of the yellow bar. Today is soap-making day, and I'm known in a few shacktowns for my recipes. Honeysuckle and cinnamon, dogwood and toffee. Humming, I run the cloth over my underarms. Sometimes I wish I could adorn myself in leaves, the dirt and stains of wood, not reach for my mended calico. I don't bother with drawers or stockings. The ninety degrees are crowding me as !push my head through the dress neck, and pull the comb through...