Yesterday, I Cried_ Celebrating the Lessons of Living and Loving - Iyanla Vanzant [53]
Nett came in right behind Grandma and tried to calm Rhonda down. Before Grandma could say something cruel and nasty, Nett sent Rhonda up to Ray’s room, where all the boy cousins and Ray’s friends from school were hanging out. Nett thought she was sparing Rhonda, but Ray sensed Rhonda’s vulnerability and took advantage of the opportunity to exercise some Grandma-like cruelty himself.
“Hey, Ronnie. Guess what?” Ray said loud enough for all the boys in the room to hear. Rhonda had laid her head down on the pillow on Ray’s bed and was trying to be as inconspicuous as possible when suddenly all eyes were on her.
“You know Junior, here?” Ray nodded his head toward Uncle Lowell and Aunt Dora’s twelve-year-old son who sat on the floor between two of Ray’s football buddies. “Hey, Cousin Junior,” Rhonda said weakly, not knowing where Ray was going with this. Junior knew exactly what Ray was about to do and averted his eyes without answering Rhonda’s greeting.
“It ain’t Cousin Junior, stupid. Junior is our younger brother.”
Why Ray felt the need in that moment to disclose this information, Rhonda did not understand, nor question. She had too many other things to think about. With Aunt Nadine dead, it could be that she and Ray would have to move again. Where would they go now? Who would not want to be bothered with them this time? And now her brother, who seldom had anything to say to her, was announcing in front of everyone that their cousin was actually their brother. It was information that Rhonda neither needed nor wanted, but that didn’t stop Ray. He went on to explain that when Junior was born he was so messed up that their mother, Sarah, gave him away because she couldn’t take care of him and their daddy wouldn’t take care of him. Junior had been only two months old when Sarah died. “Why,” Ray said angrily, “didn’t he just give all of us away? At least that way we could have all been together!”
Before Ray could say another word, Rhonda sat straight up in the bed and told him, “He did give all of us away!” Rhonda looked over at Junior and realized that they were spitting images of one another. She bolted from the room, stepping on the cutest boy in the bunch on her way out. She found a relatively quiet corner in the kitchen amidst the drunken relatives, and sat down near the door leading to the backyard, humming to herself. “What a friend we have in Jesus. All our sins and grief to bear …” Rhonda really needed a friend.
Something magical happened to Rhonda when she danced. She forgot to remember that she was overweight. She forgot to remember that rainy Saturday night. She didn’t think about her daddy and she didn’t think about Grandma. When Rhonda was dancing, she was free. She was beautiful. And she was at peace. Rhonda had started dancing after Aunt Nadine died. Sometimes she went to dance practice with Beanie; sometimes she went to the after-school center. When she couldn’t think or feel, dancing made it all better. Dancing had helped her body to develop, and, finally, she could fill a bra cup. Her bottom, which had been just round, was now shapely, and her stomach was flat as a board. The boys in school started calling her “foxy,” instead of “wiggy.” Dancing kept her alive.
Nett called more frequently now, and Rhonda’s dancing gave them something positive to talk about. One Saturday, as they sat at a table in Nett’s favorite diner, she asked Rhonda, “Am I your friend?” Rhonda felt pangs of guilt. Nett had always been good to her, but after the stories she’d heard at Aunt Nadine’s drunken parties, she wasn’t sure if she could still trust Nett. She didn’t have the nerve to tell