Celeste's Harlem Renaissance Read Free Page B

thread, teeth cleaning powder, decorative pencils and writing tablets, mints, red and black licorice, peppermint sticks, and sodas. Part of my money came right back to the pharmacy because I loved to buy licorice, pencils, and paper. Being employed in the pharmacy was more fun than work.
    When I finished skimming the papers, I stepped over to the corner to get the broom. Mr. Hodges, the pharmacist, was talking to Poppa. “No, Taylor, you go see Dr. Pope right away. Your cough’s getting worse. That’s not mustard gas. That’s galloping consumption. I can’t have you spreading disease among my customers.”
    “But you don’t understand,” Poppa said. I had to strain to hear him. “I can’t afford to take off any more time.”
    “Better go while you can, before you get flat on your back sick and can’t. You can’t keep fooling me. Or Stack, either.”
    “Well, he hasn’t said anything to me,” Poppa said. I knew that “Stack” was Mr. Stackhouse.
    “Consumption lays quiet in you for years, until you get sick from something else,” Mr. Hodges went on. “Or run-down. You’re a pile of bones, man! If Dr. Pope says you have it, we can get you into Coopers Colored Sanitarium outside of Oxford. We’ll try to make do here till you get back. You should have Cece and Society looked at, too.”
    Poppa leave me? For how long? What would happen to him? What would happen to me? Was tuberculosis galloping around in me, too? Heart fluttering, I grabbed up the broom and began sweeping just any which way. My broom handle knocked a glass beaker to the floor, where it shattered.
    “Pay attention to what you’re doing,” Poppa said, looking up from where he was filling small white envelopes with powder.
    “Yes, sir. Sorry.” As I cleaned up the glass, I felt like I was brushing up pieces of my heart. How could I pay attention to anything with Poppa sick and maybe leaving me — like Momma did? I pulled the medical encyclopedia from the bookcase. Galloping consumption germs passed through cough droplets spread through the air, I read. It could affect not just the lungs but almost any other organ in the body. Sick people’s breath, handkerchiefs, hands, and homes were crawling with germs. Working at the drugstore, Poppa shook sick folks’ hands, talked with sick folks, and made deliveries to sick folks’ homes. And he sure hadn’t been eating right since Momma left us, not with Aunt Society cooking. After sliding the book back, I began dusting, but it was hard to keep my mind on what I was doing.
    As we walked home, I kept glancing at Poppa. “I’m sorry I broke that beaker. You can keep the money I made today. Will that be enough?”
    “Don’t worry about that. You heard us talking and that got you upset. Don’t pay Hodges any mind. He’s a worrywart.”
    “But he said you’d have to leave. Can’t you be treated at home? I’ll take care of you. What’ll happen to me if you have to go? I won’t have my family anymore!”
    “My sweet little girlio, just like your momma. I know how important family is to you. It is to me, too. You and me, we’re a team, huh.” When he coughed and wiped his mouth, red spots stained his handkerchief. I’d never seen him cough blood before. Suddenly the day felt colder. He leaned against me and we staggered home. I made him sit down on the porch so he could rest, and rushed into the kitchen. Aunt Society glanced up, frowning, from her sewing machine. “Girl, don’t I keep telling you not —”
    “Poppa’s sicker! Mr. Hodges thinks he’s got galloping consumption and needs to leave!”
    She jumped to her feet, her fingers pressed to her mouth. “Oh, precious Jesus, I knew he had it. Where is — Taylor! Oh, you’re gonna die!”
    Poppa had entered the kitchen behind me. “What’d you tell her, Cece?” he snapped.
    “Enough for me to know you need help now.” She dropped the sheets on the table and went past me to Poppa, and made him sit down at the table.