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Big Dave I held the ten-dollar bill in my hands. It was straight, as if Big
Momma had ironed it before she handed it to me. I smelled it, for I
liked the smell of money. I was only slightly upset when she handed
her other grandchildren — my older sister Carol, my older brother
Simon and my younger brother Joel — similar currency. With a quick
glance, I verified that we all got exactly ten dollars. Big Momma told us that Santa did come this year but, instead of coming
to our home, he tried something new and gave our presents to our father
at his place of employment, the city garage on Pattison Avenue. Unfortunately,
robbers came and stuck up the whole garage, including our father, who
happened to be standing there with our gifts in his hands. Joel, kind
heart he was, asked about our father's condition. Big Momma, speaking
to Joel only, cause she knew the rest of us didn't care, said that father
dear was all right. "When's he coming home?" Joel asked, pathetically highlighting
our father's absence. Big Momma, letting the question hang in the air, looked out onto the
sun-brightened street for an answer, then returned her eyes to all of
us. Those eyes were tired, like she had been looking out onto that street
all night for her son. We heard her saying a prayer under her breath.
I always wondered if God could hear a prayer spoken in a whisper. "Soon, child," she said. Even Joel knew what that meant.
Then, her face brightened, welling up with good humor, tapping a source
of strength that I thought was never ending. "Well sah, you each
got ten dollars to spend anyway you see fit," she bubbled. I heard Carol suck her teeth. Big Momma gave her a look, and Carol
briefly locked eyes with her. Carol, ashamed as she should have been,
looked down at the ten dollars she held in one of her bony hands, then
back up to Big Momma. Almost as if forced by Big Momma's will, Carol's
lips slowly peeled back, revealing her small sharp teeth. I looked hard
at my sister until I finally concluded that she was smiling. Big Momma left us on the porch and returned to the kitchen to make
her Christmas bread. Each of us looked out the front windows. It was
an unusually warm day. There were children all over Sixtieth Street.
The Freeman boy flashed by on his new five-speed. His sister rode behind
him on her ten-speed, pink and white streamers blowing in the air. The
twins, from up on Cobbs Creek, nosily rolled down the sidewalk on new
skates. As they went by, each of us looked down at our ten-dollar bill.
We all wondered the same thing: what were we going to buy with this
money and what were we going to do in the house all day, cause we were
too ashamed to go outside without any toys. The older ones wondered
what Big Momma was gonna feed us, now that she gave her food money away
as Christmas gifts. Over the next couple days, one by one, all of us tried to give the
ten dollars back to Big Momma. She got so mad at Simon, she told him
to go out and make a switch. That was in the morning and, fortunately
for Simon, by nighttime, upon his return from a hard day's switch hunting,
she had forgotten all about whipping him. After that, none of us asked again. Simon, for whom money was like a hot coal burning a hole in his pocket,
the last two days being like torture, ran out to Kearney's, the closest
corner store, and loaded up on sodas and chips and cheese curls and
everything else he could carry. He sat in his room from late morning
to bedtime, reading Spiderman and Superman and all the other assorted
Men comics he purchased, while eating and drinking to excess. From Carol's room came the sounds of Stevie Wonder's latest album,
followed by Marvin Gaye's newest. I heard her trying to sound cool,
singing in that squeaky voice of hers. That left Joel and me. Big Momma told me that it was my responsibility
to look after my little brother and to make sure he spent his money
right. She said this twice — the second time, I was sure, to let
me know that spending it right meant spending it on something Joel wanted,
not on something I wanted Joel to want. I went into the bedroom I shared with Joel and looked under my bed.
It was still there, in the same place since the mailman handed it to
me on that glorious, hot August morning. I looked around the room, checking
for a creeping Joel or a nosy Carol. Satisfied that I was alone, I pulled
out the book and sat on my thinking place, the covered radiator in front
of the room's rear window. I got comfortable and paged through the slick pages of the Sears Catalog.
I knew that the toys were in the back, but I liked looking at the household
goods, some of which I didn't recognize, and the freshly scrubbed, red-cheeked
white people modeling the clothes. Finally, after traveling to places
that I knew I would never go and meeting people I knew I would never
meet, I was at the toy section. I studied each page carefully. Before I sat down, I didn't realize
that there were so many things I could get with ten dollars. After an
hour, I had slobbered over all the splendiferous pages of toys. I was
still undecided when I took my eyes off the book and looked around our
room. On the floor sat my Hot Wheels set, two years old, a casualty
of hard playing by Joel and me. I had four cars, two with wheels missing.
The end of the track was propped up on some books in order to make an
Evel Knievel type jump. It didn't work; the cars usually flew off the
incline, rolled over in the air, and then skidded on their back on the
floor without touching the track again. I had always wished for a loopty-loop
like I saw on the commercials on Saturday mornings. Man, those white
kids seemed to be having a ball with that loopty-loop. I looked back in the book. On page five hundred and nine I saw it.
Those same grinning white kids and that same loopty-loop. It was called
the Hot Wheels Circus Set, and it cost nine dollars and ninety-nine
cents. Besides the loopty-loop, it came with lots of track and five
shiny new cars. I closed the book and slid it back under my bed. I flew down the steps, taking them three at a time. Big Momma was on
the porch with her Reader's Digest. I told her that I was gonna
walk up to Sears and get myself one of those Hot Wheel Circus Sets.
I described it to her, expecting her to rise out of that old recliner
and dance a jig, unable to contain her joy. For some reason, beyond
the comprehension of this thirteen-year-old, she just remained seated.
But she did lower her magazine and set it on her lap, no small achievement. "That's fine, baby," she said with a smile. I smiled back,
thinking all was wonderful in this here world after all. "But, you gotta take your little brother with you," she said
as her eyes dropped back onto her magazine. I lost my smile immediately. I knew Big Momma, engrossed in the latest
tale of strength and courage from the Digest, would not like
to hear that I didn't want to walk with my little brother in daylight,
much less walk him up to Sears, holding his hand while his seven-year-old
mind contemplated what toys he would purchase. I decided to save my
breath, accept the good with the bad, and find baby brother Joel. Sears was a good walk away, up on Cobbs Creek Parkway, across Market Street, the border between Philly and Upper Darby, and a half block up Sixty-ninth Street to the store. It was enemy territory all the way, real dangerous. That's why, when Joel left our house waving his ten dollars like a flag, I threatened never to play with him again until he put the bill away. With a tear in his little eye, he shoved the ten deep into his winter coat.
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