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By Root 809 0

and Mr. Johnny had been carted off to jail. She needed to pay some money so that they could come home. It was a mess. So embarrassing. For the time being, she said, she was taking the children home. It was a disaster. Broken wood and metal everywhere. Food all over the kitchen floor. Furniture piled up against the wall. Daddy would probably be in jail for a day or two, and they had no front door. The neighbors who had seen or heard about he episode were standing outside the apartment doorway. One by one, they began to come in and help Nett and the children clean up the mess. The superintendent, Mr. Ralph, found another door somewhere and was down on the floor, trying to screw on the hinges. Somebody they hardly knew stepped over him, carrying a plateful of sandwiches. It seemed that no matter how horrible a situation may be, people show you how much they love you with food! In a relatively short time, the house was back to normal.

When all of the neighbors were gone, Nett sat down, lit a cigarette, and counted the money they had shoved into her hand or stuck in her pocket.

“What’s going to happen to Daddy?” Ray asked.

“He’ll be okay,” Nett told us, “and so will we.” That’s when they heard another knock at the door. The memory was too fresh; the association was traumatic. All three of them nearly jumped out of their skins. “Shhhh!” Nett cautioned. They were all frozen to their seats. Slowly, Nett got up and whispered to Rhonda and Ray to go hide in the bathroom. Ray immediately got up and turned to run. Rhonda refused to leave Nett’s side. The knocking had become a persistent tapping. Nett pushed both children down the hallway and into the bathroom and slammed the door. Rhonda heard the apartment door open and close, muffled voices, then nothing. Her legs were trembling. When they heard footsteps coming down the hall, both children jumped into the bathtub. Before the bathroom door opened all the way, they heard Nett’s voice reassuring them that it was okay to come out now. It was only Mr. Rootman, one of Daddy’s “business partners.” He had bags of potato chips and candy for the children and a huge wad of money for Nett. Mr. Rootman owned a candy store on the other side of town. The word, Mr. Rootman told Nett, was out on the street. Grandma had told on Daddy. It made no sense, and it made all the sense in the world.

Nett was cursing, calling Grandma all sorts of names. Nett hardly ever cursed. She said it gave you wrinkles. Nett was battered and shaken and didn’t want to leave the children alone, so it was decided that Mr. Rootman should be the one to bail Daddy and Mr. Johnny out of jail. Rhonda and Ray were so engrossed in their goodies, they barely said good-bye when Mr. Rootman left. After a soothing hot bath, they all went to bed. The next morning, Rhonda peeked into Nett’s bedroom. She was excited and relieved to see that Daddy had come home from jail.

Bad times were when the rent is late and there is very little food. Rhonda, her brother, and Nett knew how to deal with bad times. But over time, bad times grew into progressively worse times. It was then that something had to be done. Daddy was more like a visitor than a resident in the house. He was writing and collecting his numbers at Mr. Rootman’s store, which meant he only passed through home when he needed something to wear. Nett worked a lot of overtime, which meant she got home late almost every night. By the time she did get home, both children were too tired to care when she asked them about their day, too tired to care that they were hungry.

Rhonda and her brother had become latchkey kids. Worst of all, they were hungry latchkey kids, with far too much time on their hands. They started talking to people out the window, watching too much television, and ignoring their schoolwork. When Ray brought a letter home from school about his bad behavior, Nett knew that someone needed to be there to make sure they ate properly and did their homework. Grandma was available and delighted that she had found a way and an excuse to run Nett’s household.

Grandma’s meanness