Life extracts a high toll, sometimes all at once, and sometimes bit by bit

mopped floor

Even her laughter seemed sad.

I used to tease LaVerne about how much more of our childhood she remembered than I did. The South. Harlem. Of course, I remember some things perfectly, like one particular woman, a retired teacher, who used to visit our mother. Even her laughter seemed sad. My mother rented rooms in our spacious apartment up on Sugar Hill, mostly to domestics. They lived with us a long time and only came home on Thursdays, every other Sunday, and on their one week vacation during the year.

Life extracts a high toll, sometimes all at once, and sometimes bit by bit.

first section of the book, My One Good Nerve
by Ruby Dee (born October 27, 1924)
image – quinn.anya

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