Ever morning, until you dead in the ground, you gone have to make this decision. Constantine was so close, I could see the blackness of her gums. You gone have to ask yourself, Am I gone believe what them fools say about me today?
She kept her thumb pressed hard in my hand. I nodded that I understood. I was just smart enough to realize she meant white people. And even though I still felt miserable, and knew that I was, most likely, ugly, it was the first time she ever talked to me like I was something besides my mothers white child. All my life Id been told what to believe about politics, coloreds, being a girl. But with Constantines thumb pressed in my hand, I realized I actually had a choice in what I could believe.
Constantine came to work in our house at six in the morning, and at harvest time, she came at five. That way she could fix Daddy his biscuits and gravy before he headed to the field. I woke up nearly every day to her standing in the kitchen, Preacher Green playing on the radio that sat on the kitchen table. The minute she saw me, she smiled. Good morning, beautiful girl! Id sit at the kitchen table and tell her what Id dreamed. She claimed dreams told the future.
I was in the attic, looking down at the farm, Id tell her. I could see the tops of the trees.
You gone be a brain surgeon! Top a the house mean the head.
Mother ate her breakfast early in the dining room, then moved to the relaxing room to do needlepoint or write letters to missionaries in Africa. From her green wing chair, she could see everyone going almost anywhere in the house. It was shocking what she could process about my appearance in the split second it took for me to pass by that door. I used to dash by, feeling like a dartboard, a big red bulls-eye that Mother pinged darts at.
Eugenia, you know there is no chewing gum in this house.
Eugenia, go put alcohol on that blemish.
Eugenia, march upstairs and brush your hair down, what if we have an unexpected visitor?
I learned that socks are stealthier transportation than shoes. I learned to use the back door. I learned to wear hats, cover my face with my hands when I passed by. But mostly, I learned to just stay in the kitchen.
A summer month could stretch on for years, out on Longleaf. I didnt have friends coming over every day we lived too far out to have any white neighbors. In town, Hilly and Elizabeth spent all weekend going to and from each others houses, while I was only allowed to spend the night out or have company every other weekend. I grumbled over this plenty. I took Constantine for granted at times, but I think I knew, for the most part, how lucky I was to have her there.
When I was fourteen, I started smoking cigarettes. Id sneak them from Carltons packs of Marlboros he kept in his dresser drawer. He was almost eighteen and no one minded that hed been smoking for years anywhere he wanted to in the house or out in the fields with Daddy. Sometimes Daddy smoked a pipe, but he wasnt a cigarette man and Mother didnt smoke anything at all, even though most of her friends did. Mother told me I wasnt allowed to smoke until I was seventeen.
So Id slip into the backyard and sit in the tire swing, with the huge old oak tree concealing me. Or, late at night, Id hang out of my bedroom window and smoke. Mother had eagle-eyes, but she had almost zero sense of smell. Constantine knew immediately, though. She narrowed her eyes, with a little smile, but said nothing. If Mother headed to the back porch while I was behind the tree, Constantine would rush out and bang her broom handle on the iron stair rail.
Constantine, what are you doing? Mother would ask her, but by then I wouldve stubbed it out and dropped the butt in the hole in the tree.
Just cleaning this here old broom, Miss Charlotte.
Well, find a way to do it a little quieter, please. Oh, Eugenia, what, did you grow another inch overnight? What am I going to do? Go put on a dress that fits.
Yes maam, Constantine and I would say at the same time and then pass each other a little smile.
Oh, it was delicious to have someone to keep secrets with. If Id had a sister or a brother closer in age, I guessed thats what it would be like. But it wasnt just smoking or skirting around Mother. It was having someone look at you after your mother has nearly fretted herself to death because you are freakishly tall and frizzy and odd. Someone whose eyes simply said, without words, You are fine with me.
Still, it wasnt all sweet talk with her. When I was fifteen, a new girl had pointed at me and asked, Whos the stork? Even Hilly had tucked back a smile before steering me away, like we hadnt heard her.
How tall are you, Constantine? I asked, unable to hide my tears.
Constantine narrowed her eyes at me. How tall is you? Five-eleven, I cried. Im already taller than the boys basketball coach.
Well, Im five-thirteen, so quit feeling sorry for yourself.
Constantines the only woman Ive ever had to look up to, to look her straight in the eye.
What you noticed first about Constantine, besides her tallness, were her eyes. They were light-brown, strikingly honey-colored against her dark skin. Ive never seen light-brown eyes on a colored person. In fact, the shades of brown on Constantine were endless. Her elbows were absolutely black, with a dry white dust on them in the winter. The skin on her arms and neck and face was a dark ebony. The palms of her hands were orangey-tan and that made me wonder if the soles of her feet were too, but I never saw her barefooted.