Maizon at Blue Hill by Jacqueline Woodson

Author:Jacqueline Woodson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US

11

Dear Margaret,

I met a girl named Susan the other day. She’s a junior here. She’s never really known any black people. She thinks we’re too different from whites and maybe shouldn’t mingle so much. I guess some of the girls here feel that way. Sometimes it makes me angry thinking about it, but most of the time I just feel real, real sorry for them.

You’ve written me two letters already. I know you want to know what it’s like here, but there are some things you can’t even explain to a best friend. I know you wouldn’t understand this Blue Hill thing. I’m not saying you’re not smart or anything. But it’s just like how it is about Mama. Nobody, not even Grandma, understands that I knew her. Remember how Grandma would laugh when I said I knew Mama? Remember how she would say, “You couldn’t have known her, Maizon. You were a baby then. You had not been in this world an hour when your mama died.” But somewhere, way down deep inside of me, Margaret, I remember that hour. I remember bright lights and voices and dark faces over me. I remember lots of white and green. And nobody knows this, nobody would ever in a million years believe this, but I do remember my mama. I remember her looking just the way she looks in all the pictures Grandma has of her over the fireplace and in the bedroom. Mama had long, long hair and those high cheekbones like Grandma’s. And even when you look at the pictures, Margaret, you say I have my mama’s mouth—just like in the pictures. And I have Mama’s nose too. I used to didn’t like my nose. Remember way back when you and I were real little, how we used to sit under the tree and talk about what we’d change about ourselves if we won a million dollars? You said you’d give all the money to your mother and father if they promised to let you cut your hair. I said I’d change my nose. I’d ask the doctor to get rid of the wide nostrils and fix the tip so that it didn’t stick out like it does. But then, later on, I looked at a picture of Mama and realized we had the same nose. Now I know I wouldn’t let a doctor come near it, ever. I miss you a lot, Margaret. I know you understand that. Kiss Li‘l Jay and Ms. Dell for me. (Not Hattie!)

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