“Nice. I can’t wait to see how it develops.”
Yeah, me too.
When we get to Grandma’s, Tye gives me a hug and I am so tempted to hold on to him, kiss him, but I know better than to do that in front of my grandma’s place. I let go of him quicker than usual and say goodbye.
As soon as I get to Grandma’s, I bring up the photo project again, hoping she will have some ideas on how we can really make it happen.
She’s all for it. “The first thing we need to do is get that wall painted, I suppose,” Grandma says. “A soft yellow would be nice, don’t you think?”
“Yes, and after we paint, I can make a flyer and ask people to bring a framed photo to hang on the wall,” I say. “Or maybe I can copy the photos so people can keep their originals. And if the program director has a budget, I’m sure we can find some inexpensive frames.”
“Oh, right, yes. That’s a better idea.” Grandma smiles. “You young people just know how to put events and projects together, don’t you? You, Imani . . . our future is in good hands.”
I don’t want her to have too much faith in me.
We leave Grandma’s apartment and head to the lounge so we can tell everyone our plan. JT is the only one in the room today. He is watching an old western and drinking his sweet tea. “Miss Nala,” he calls out. He gets up and walks over to me and gives me a hug, then Grandma. He holds on to her a little long and gives her a quick, soft kiss on the lips before they break away from each other. The only man I’ve ever seen kiss Grandma like that is Grandpa. I look away.
“Nala, tell JT about your project.” Grandma has a photo album in her hand. She sets it on the table and opens it. “I know you’re not ready for it yet, but I thought I’d go ahead and start looking for which photo I want on the wall.”
I tell JT that I am serious about doing something with the wall, and as I tell him all about my vision for the photo legacy project, we look through Grandma’s photo album. “I really like this one,” JT says. He points to the one of Grandma all dressed up in her Sunday best standing outside Riverside Church. The majestic building is just as regal as Grandma, just as stoic.
“Well, thank you, JT,” Grandma says. Then, real quiet, she slips in a whisper to him, “You still drinking that sugar water, huh? Doctor told you to lay off of sugar.”
They start fussing, and I pretend not to hear them. I look at the wall, imagine it full of photographs, and then I head out, leaving Grandma and JT bickering. I’ve got to get permission to paint the wall.
I go to the main office, right at the entrance of the building. A petite brown woman is sitting at the front desk playing solitaire on her computer. When she sees me, she minimizes the screen.
I’m not sure who to ask for, so I just say, “I’d like to speak with someone about remodeling the lounge.” Maybe I shouldn’t have said “remodeling,” because as soon as that word comes out, the woman at the desk looks at me like I have just cursed her out. “And who are you?” she asks.
We are not getting off to a good start at all.
I start over. “Sorry, my name is Nala. June Robertson is my grandmother. She lives here. We spend a lot of time in the lounge and were wondering if we could add some warmth in it by painting one of the walls and—”
“Painting and repairs is a maintenance issue. Would you like to fill out a work order form?” She opens a drawer and pulls out a sheet of paper.
“No, I, uh—I’d like to do a photo project where residents bring a—”
“We already have our activities planned for the summer. I’m sorry.”
I don’t understand why I can’t even get a full thought out without her interrupting me.
“If you’d like to propose an activity or a project, you need to fill out this form. We are currently taking applications for winter programs.”
“Winter?”
“Yes, fall is already planned. Activities must be organized, you know. We don’t do things last minute here.” The woman hands me an application. I can see she has a name tag pinned onto the top of her left chest. Sharon.
“Ms. Sharon, I just want—”
Sharon clears her throat, tells me, “I’ve got someone waiting behind you. Anything else?”
I turn around, leave.
I walk back to the lounge slow, dreading having to tell Grandma that we can’t do the project. I don’t know what’s wrong with that Sharon lady. Why she couldn’t just hear me out. Maybe she sees right through me, knows my secret. Maybe there’s a look a true volunteer has. Maybe Imani is right—I am not made for this.
JT is in the lounge, alone. His mason jar empty of its sweet tea. “Why the sad face?” he asks. He turns the television down, which means he is expecting me to give a real answer. I can’t just say nothing and leave the room.
I tell him about Sharon at the front desk. “I don’t think we’re going to be able to do the photo project,” I say.
“That woman is really something else. I’ve been living here longer than she’s been alive.” JT is all riled up now. He goes on, “Folks get a little power, a little title, and think they can just treat people any ole kind of way. Even if the answer is no, she didn’t have to be rude to you.” JT turns the television off and opens the album Grandma left on the table. “Makes you wonder why people take the kind of jobs they do. If she doesn’t like talking with people, she shouldn’t work at the front desk.” He flips through the album, not stopping at any of the pages until he gets to the page that only has one photo on it. It takes up the whole page. Grandma’s wedding photo. JT stares at the picture. “I’ve heard a lot of good things about your grandpa. June tells me you two were close.”
“Yeah. He was kind of like my dad since I never really had a relationship with my own.”
“Your grandma sure loved him.”
“Grandma talks about my grandpa to you?”
“Of course she does. Love doesn’t die just because a person dies.” JT turns the page. I almost grab his hand, ask him to stay there a little longer so I can see Grandpa’s eyes, his smile. With the turn of the page, we are looking at baby pictures of me and Imani. Our mothers are sitting on the sofa in Grandma’s old house, holding us on their laps. Even in this photo, I am trying to get away from my mother, slipping through her arms, half of me reaching for whoever is holding the camera.
“You love my grandma?” I ask. I am not usually the one to be so bold. I’ve been surprising myself a lot lately. Doing and saying things I’d never do.
“Why, yes. Yes, I do.” JT smiles like he has just shared a secret with me. Then he starts laughing, a soft chuckle at first and then full on. “I even love her nagging.” He winks.
“Sweet tea,” I say.
“The only arguments we ever have,” he says. “She’ll have a fit if I get me some ice cream.”
“You can’t have ice cream?”
“Not supposed to. I can have that sugar-free junk, but that’s not ice cream.” JT closes the album, turns the television back on. “Those doctors have restricted everything I love.”
“When’s the last time you had ice cream?” I ask.