Zami: A New Spelling of my Name by Audre Lorde

Author:Audre Lorde
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780307780812
Publisher: Potter/TenSpeed/Harmony
Published: 2011-03-16T07:00:00+00:00

Before long, I was totally dependent upon Ginger for human contact in Stamford, and her invitations to Sunday dinner represented the only real food I ever ate. She built up an incredible mythology about me and what my life had been in New York, and I did nothing to dissuade her. I told her that I had left home when I was seventeen and gotten my own apartment, and she thought that was very daring. She had gotten married when she was twenty, in order to get out of her mother’s house. Now she was back, divorced, but with a certain amount of autonomy, purchased by her weekly contributions to the family income. Her mother worked as a bench-press operator at American Cyanimid, and her father was diabetic and blind. Her mother’s lover lived with them, along with her four younger brothers.

For some time, I had known that Ginger was flirting with me, but had ignored it because I was at a loss as to how to handle the situation. As far as I knew, she was sweet and attractive and warm and lovable, and straight as a die.

Ginger, on the other hand, was convinced that I had everything taped. She saw me as a citified little baby butch—bright, knowledgeable, and secure enough to be a good listener and to make the first move. She was sure that I was an old and accomplished hand at the seduction of young divorcées. But her inviting glances and throaty chuckles were never enough to tempt me, nor were the delicious tidbits she would sneak out of Cora’s kitchen and wrap up in handkerchiefs, persuading Uncle Charlie to drive her over to Mill River Road in the truck on his way to his night job. I remained determinedly oblivious to all this for as long as possible.

Ginger, perfumed and delectable, perched on my desk chair in the tiny second-floor room, watching incredulously as I sat crosslegged on my bed, wolfing down her mother’s goodies.

“I don’t believe you’re only eighteen. Come on, how old are you, really?”

“I told you already.” The chicken was crisp and delicious and totally preoccupying.

“When were you born?”

“Nineteen-thirty-four.” Ginger calculated for a minute.

“I never met an eighteen-year-old like you before.” Ginger spoke with the lofty advantage of her twenty-five years.

One weekend, Ginger stole a lobster claw for me. It was a make-up present that Charlie had bought for Cora’s dinner, and when Cora found out she threatened to throw Ginger out of the house. Ginger decided then that this was all getting too costly. Long goodnight kisses on the back porch were definitely not enough; so she finally made her own move.

By the beginning of November, autumn was closing down. The trees were still incandescent colors, but the edge of winter was already in the air. The days were getting shorter and shorter, and this made me unhappy. There was very little time after work before sunset. If I went to the library, it was dark by the time I walked back to Mill River Road.

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