Be forewarned, there's some strong language in this one.
I sit in the glider and eye her back. “I know you’ve had a rough afternoon, but it wasn’t the bookcase’s fault.”
“Fuck you. Stupid motherfucker.”
“That isn’t helping, Truth.”
“You don’t know nothing, you stupid shit.”
I cross my arms. “Are you done? Because we can sit here all afternoon. We can just stay here in this little room.”
“My mama can kick your ass.”
“You let me know when you’re ready.”
She sits for a long time, sputtering like an overfilled teapot, but I can see it start to close down. Nobody has the energy to keep up a tantrum all day.
“You don’t know nothing,” she says again, the shout gone out of her.
“I know it’s nearly bus time.”
“I ain’t staying in this stupid place.”
And now we get down to it.
“There are no other good choices, Truth.”
“My mama come, she can fix it. She tell you all don’t even know my name, you so stupid.”
I rack my brain to figure this one out. Truth Crowley. What’s the deal with the name? Blueberry Truth Crowley. “Your Mama calls you Blueberry?” This may inspire another tantrum. Or not. She looks at me with a hint of newfound respect. So I take another chance. “I’ll bet it’s because she likes blueberries. My real name is Verbena. My mom likes flowers. I have four sisters, and they all have flower names, too. Rose, Lily, Daisy, and Violet.” I glance over at Blueberry Truth. Maybe I’ll get another "fuck you." But she’s looking at me with shiny eyes.
“My ma call me Blue,” she says so softly I barely hear it.
“That’s a good name.”
“My ma in Florida.”
“How much a bus ticket cost to down there?”
There’s a question I can’t answer. I don’t even try.