Gather Together in My Name - Maya Angelou [33]
I bounded into the kitchen and nearly collided with Mother and her tray of gold and purple drinks. I had developed some grace, quite a lot when I kept my mind on being graceful, but in unguarded moments my body tended to respond giraffe-like to stimuli.
“Mother!” She had righted the threatened glasses and pushed past me for the dining room. “I'm going in the Army!”
She set down the Dubonnet. “You as a sergeant and the baby as a private?”
Her tongue was sharper than the creases in zoot pants and I knew better than to try to best her. I said nothing.
“What would be the value of becoming a WAC?” she asked.
“The Army has all those side benefits and I could learn a trade. There's the G.I. Bill, and when you get out you can go back to school and buy a home at the same time.”
“Side benefits” had caused a glint in Mother's eyes.
“Now”—she pushed the wine toward me—“now you have to consider if you're serious. Because if you are, it would be like volunteering for jail. People tell you when to sleep, eat, wake up, work. Personally, I couldn't do it in a million years.” Her face frowned revulsion. “But in a way the country would be helping you get a start in life.”
Behind her smooth beige forehead, deep thoughts were being turned over, examined and replaced or discarded.
“If you are serious and get in, we'll talk to Mrs. Peabody about taking care of the baby. You could sign up for a two-year tour, save your money, and study languages and advanced typing.”
She was talking my future into shape.
“Try out for Officer Candidate School or Officers' Training Corps. Nothing they could say to you but yes or no. And when you go down there, remember they need you as much as you need them.” She saw my disbelief and explained “The U.S. Army needs nice colored girls, well raised from good families. That's what I meant.” She reached for her lipstick tube (never far away). “Government is going to give you an education and a start in life and you're going to give class to that uniform.”
“Mother, they would examine me, physically, and find out about the baby.”
“You don't have stretch marks and because you breastfed, your breasts never got out of shape.” Her words nudged past indifference. “That's not what you ought to be thinking of. No. Decide if you want the Army for two years. Away from your baby and family. Taking orders, and keeping your temper under wraps. That's a decision no one can make for you nor help you make.”
She got up from the table and visited one of her flashiest smiles on me.
“I have a date now. We can talk more when you're ready. Remember if you decide for the Army, I'll support you. If you decide to be a whore, all I can say is, be the best. Don't be a funky chippie. Go with class.”
She pasted a waxy kiss on my forehead and draped her Kolinsky over her shoulders.
“How do I look?”
“Beautiful.”
She tugged the furs into a more casual drape and laughed. “You only say it 'cause it's true.”
Her high heels tapped toward the door in drumming rhythm.
CHAPTER 19
The U.S. Recruitment Center hadn't tried hard. The offices were at the foot of San Francisco's Market Street, near the glamorous Ferry Building, but none of the latter's exotica strayed to the prefab whitewash walls of the Center.
A uniformed woman offered me a Dagwood sandwich of brochures and applications and I sat down to read.
Indeed, it sounded like what I needed. Food, shelter, training and comradeship. Two years and I could buy a house for myself and my son. Might find a man, too. After all, there was a conglomeration of men in the Army. All I had to do now was