The real ones, with the real words Shakespeare wrote. I don't believe in Santa Claus anymore, but if I did, I'd ask him to bring me a whole set of Shakespeareīooks. We don't have Shakespeare plays, just these little booklets that tell us about I learned about Romeo and Juliet in school. I like the idea of my parents holding hands, being brave, "Maybe they were secretly married like Romeo and Juliet," I say. "I think your momma fell in love with a Ninth Ward boy. One of them beautiful, light-skinned Fontaine girls. I squeezed lemons for lemonade while Mama Ya-Ya frosted the cake. We chopped ham and onions for the jambalaya then we played cards while Gardening, we cut sunflowers for the kitchen table. Mama Ya-Ya shuffles towards the living room. Me and Mama Ya-Ya wrap the leftover cake in foil. Just like my Uptown relatives forgot today was my birthday. Upstairs, I sometimes see my mother's ghost on Mama Ya-Ya's bed, her belly big, like she's forgotten she already gave birth She said it then just like Mama Ya-Ya does now. Lanesha-that's the name my mother gave me. I love saying "Mama Ya-Ya." Her name sounds so bright and happy, just like Mama Ya-Ya is.Īnd I love how Mama Ya-Ya says my name-" Lanesha." Soft, with the ah sound going on forever. I love her more than anything in this whole wide world. Don't care nothin' about folks who dishonor traditions as old as Africa. Better crazy Mama Ya-Ya raises you," she says, sucking air through her false "Better you be an orphan, your family thinks. It's grace to see both worlds," she says as we wash our birthday dishes, sticky with bits of jambalaya. Ghosts you can't see, not unless they want you to. "Everybody in Louisiana knows there be spirits walking this earth. Mama Ya-Ya says my family is scared of me. Richer than where I live, the Ninth Ward, New Orleans. I have a whole family full of uncles,Īunts, cousins, nieces, grandmothers, and whatnot. Half blind now, she's still raising me 'cause my relatives won't. With them eyes, and that caul, I knew you'd have the sight." Mama Ya-Ya smacks her lips and laughs. "Lanesha, your eyes were the lightest green. I let out a wail when she parted the caul, letting in firstĮvery year on my birthday, Mama Ya-Ya tells me the same story. Too, if Mama Ya-Ya hadn't sliced the bloody membrane from my face. They say I was born with a caul, a skin netting covering my face like a glove. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact Thank you for your support of the author's rights. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author's intellectual property. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture. Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright.
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