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LEMONADE

When I was about seven years old, I met an old black woman. She lived in the back woods near the river where my Grandfather and I fished occasionally.
Her home looked as if it may have been a fishing cabin at one time; it was wood frame and had a small porch that was warped in the middle. The wood planks were rotted and splitting. I had come across her place when I wandered off in search of an adventure or something more interesting than waiting for the big on that got away, as my Grandfather would say it. As I walked closer to the wooden shack, I saw her stooped over petting an old mangy looking cat. She must have heard the crackling of my steps because she looked up and saw me. "Lordy mercy, child is you lost"? "What you doin out here"? "No"! I mean, no Mam, I stammered, "Me and my Papa are fishing down by the river," I said, pointing in the direction from which I came. "Well now," she said, "Come on over here child, I'll fix you a glass of squeezed Lemmon juice." As I came closer, I could see more detail of her face, it resembled a road map, lines going all across, but in different directions. Her skin color was ashy and dry. Her hair was matted, like my dolls hair after a few times in the bathtub. Here eyes looked tired, but I felt kindness in them when she looked at me. I walked up the wooden steps that lead to the porch, a creak sounded with every step. "Careful child", she said. "Them steps aint right for walking on no more, and the porch aint much better." She poured me a glass of her freshly squeezed lemonade; it had stringy pulp and seeds in it. "Ahh yuck," My Grandmas lemonade didn't look like that, I thought to myself. I took my first sip slowly. It was tart and made my face squint, but to my surprise it was good. We sat in silence as I sipped my juice. "Child, you got a name"? She asked, I looked up "Yes mam." I said quietly. A few moments go by. "Well"? "What"? I answered. "Your name child, what's your name"? "Carolynn" I answered. She just looked at me for moment. She finally said, "You shore don't talk much do ya girl"? "My Papa says children should be seen and not heard. " "I tell ya what Carolynn, I don't get many visitors out this way, so for now you can talk as much as want" "Ok, "I said, feeling delightfully happy. It wasn't often anyone was interested in anything I had to say. She asked me about my folks and I told I told her I lived at my Nanny and Papa's house. "Where's your Mammy at child"? She asked. I shrugged and told she

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