September Jones pt.2

September Jones

I walk home from school with my best friend, Rosie Campbell who’s in the fifth grade too but in Mr. Donaldson’s class. “He talks through his nose and smells like Old Spice”, she told me. She knows what Old Spice smells like, ‘cause that’s what her dad wears everyday when he works at Dan’s Used Cars where “We sell the best cars to the best customers.” I don’t if the second part’s true, ‘cause Rosie and me went to work with her dad one Saturday, and some of the cars looked really old and rusty.

I told Rosie I wish I had a flowery name like hers, and she said her real name was Rose Ann which was her aunt’s name but she died of typhoid fever, whatever that is. So her mom wanted her sister’s memory to live on and named Rosie Rose Ann. Rosie said her dad called her Rosie Posie one day when she was a baby so people started calling her Rosie instead of Rose Ann. “Mama didn’t like it at first”, she told me, “but when everybody started calling me that, I guess she figured she would too.” I told her I like Rosie better anyway.

Rosie and me sometimes stop by Aunt Millie’s house on the way home, but only if we asked our Mamas that morning before school so they’ll know where we are. Otherwise they’ll think we got snatched away like poor Alfred Tull did a year ago. It was the talk of the town because not much happens around here.

The story goes Alfred was on his way to the hardware store to pick up something for his dad but he never got there. Mr. Tull, who people say is known for his bad temper, showed up sometime later at the hardware store yelling and cussing, wanting to know where Alfred was, saying he probably had gone off with that Benny Barnes and was up to no good. “Then he sped off on his motorcycle, leavin’ a cloud of dust and bad words hangin’ in the air”, the man at the hardware store told the news reporter.

Come to find out, Benny Barnes had no idea where Alfred was and neither did anybody else. No matter how hard they looked, the police and the people who helped with the search couldn’t find a thing. Not even a trace. There are plenty of rumors of what happened but nobody knows for sure. Nobody was ever caught, though a lot of people were questioned. The biggest mystery to me, though, is why someone would snatch a kid with a name like Alfred Tull.

Aunt Millie’s not my aunt. She’s not Rosie’s aunt either. In fact, she’s not anybody’s aunt in our town. She says she’s got family scattered all over the USA but none close by. I think she’s one of those people who was always called Aunt. I think maybe when she came out of her mama’s belly, the doc asked her Mama what she wanted to name her baby girl, and she said “Aunt Millie”, and that’s what she’s been called ever since.

Aunt Millie is like a Mamaw to me, more so than my real Mamaw is. She’s always waiting for Rosie and me with some cookies and lemonade or fresh made apple pie and ice cream. And a book. Her house is just like a library, with shelves and shelves of any kind of book you can think of. She says she’s been collecting books since before she can remember.

A few weeks back we started reading The Chronicles of Narnia series. We’re on the second book now. Aunt Millie and Rosie and me take turn reading the chapters. Aunt Millie says me and Rosie are good readers. I tell Aunt Millie she’s a good listener. I like to watch her listen while Rosie reads. She sets back into her old fashion fancy chair—the kind of chair that looke like somebody old and rich should own it. Aunt Millie is kind of old—her hair has gray streaks in it and she’s got wrinkles under her eyes and on her hands. But she’s not rich. She told us so.

Sometimes while she listens she’ll get this faraway look like she’s seeing something nobody else sees. Other times she’ll close her eyes and be ever so still. The first time she did this, I was reading and Rosie poked me and pointed at Aunt Millie. “She fell asleep.”, she whispered. But then Aunt Millie opened her eyes and we jumped which made us all laugh.

I like watching Rosie read, too. She’s real expressive when she reads. That’s a word I learned from Miss Ariana—expressive. One day when I was reading out loud at school, Miss Ariana said, “Great job, September; very expressive.” I didn’t know what “expressive” meant, but I could tell she was pleased so I just smiled. When I got home that afternoon I asked Mama what it meant and when she told me, I smile even bigger and wished I knew what it meant when Miss Ariana had said it.

I mostly like watching Rosie’s pink lips while she reads, how they move and change shapes while she says each word. I figure that Rosie’s lips are expressive even when she’s not reading or talking. Aunt Millie always claps each time Rosie or me finishes our chapter, no matter how many words she had to help us with.