Home > Rock Chick Reawakening (Rock Chick 0.5)(3)

Rock Chick Reawakening (Rock Chick 0.5)(3)
Author: Kristen Ashley

I was going to keep my house like a good Southern woman would. My yard would be perfect. My house would be tidy. And there’d always be sweet tea and food in the fridge.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said to Miss Annamae.

I felt her fingers curl on my shoulder and I was looking at her but I still felt sure as certain that her gaze grew sharper on me.

“A good Southern girl pays attention in school.” She lifted her other hand to her temple then reached out and touched the middle of my forehead before she dropped it. “Ain’t no call for a Southern woman to rub your nose in the fact she’s smarter than you. But make no mistake, she’s gonna be smarter than you.”

I nodded.

She shifted closer and it felt like her eyes were burning into me.

“You find that time when you get yourself a boy, child, he holds the door for you. You enter a room before him. He closes you safe in his car. If you’re at a restaurant, he gives you the seat with the best view. He stands when you stand. He offers you his hand when it’s needed. And if you’ve got a touch with a drill and a hankerin’ to use it, then you use it, girl. But if you don’t and you got hooks you need put up in your bathroom, he best be gettin’ on that for you and doin’ it without any backtalk or delay.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I whispered, the wonders of such a boy as I’d never known making my insides feel funny.

“As for you, Miss Daisy, you take care of yourself,” she continued. “Don’t you leave the house without your hair set, your face done, and your earrings in.” She patted my shoulder but then gripped again tight. “You get older, you’ll find your style. And don’t you let anyone tell you what that is. You’re a good girl in a way I know you’ll always be a good girl. Be proud of that. Good posture. Chin up. Show your pride, sugar. Be who you are however that evolves and don’t let anyone cut you down.”

Gosh, but it felt nice her saying I was a good girl.

It was harder to think of not letting anyone cut me down. That was always happening. I’d decided just to get used to it.

She let my shoulder go to put her hand in the pocket of the pretty, flowered dress.

She pulled out a small, dark-blue box with a white bow.

I took in a hard, quick breath.

“And last, Miss Daisy, a good Southern woman always has her pearls,” she said softly.

I looked from the box to Miss Annamae, but she was blurry seeing as I had tears in my eyes.

“Miss Annamae.” My voice was croaky.

She lifted the box to me.

“Daisy, a gift is offered, you take it, you express your gratitude and later, you write a thank you note,” she instructed.

I nodded, taking the box.

I pulled the bow but held it in my fist as I flipped open the top.

Inside, on a delicate gold chain, the prettiest, daintiest thing I’d ever seen, hung add-a-pearls. Their creamy gleam made me feel dazzled. The one in the middle was the biggest, getting a little bit smaller as they went down each side.

“One for every year of your life, child,” Miss Annamae told me and I counted them.

She was right.

There were thirteen.

And I was thirteen.

That day.

It was my birthday.

“Now, to keep that set the way it should be, you come to me when you’re fifteen and I’ll add the next two pearls, balance it out,” she shared.

My gaze drifted up to hers. “Miss Annamae,” I repeated, my voice still sounding all choked.

And suddenly, with a swiftness I’d never seen her move, she was leaned into my face.

“You hide that from your momma. You hear Miss Annamae?”

I nodded, doing it fast.

I heard her.

Oh yes, I did.

“You wear those when the time’s right. They’re yours, Daisy. So you wear them when the time is right.” She drew in a breath so big, I saw her draw it, before her voice got softer but no less strong. “They’re yours, child. However you need them when the time comes, they’re yours.”

I didn’t understand what she meant by that but she was being so serious I felt it best to nod, and again do it fast.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

The fierce went out of her face and she cocked her head to the side. Her soft, white hair swept back in the bun filtering with the sunlight coming in her window like she was an angel, she smiled as she lifted a hand and brushed my bangs sideways on my forehead.

“Every girl needs pretty things, every girl needs a little bit of sparkle however she can get it, but every Southern girl needs her pearls,” she whispered back.

“Daisy!” Momma yelled from somewhere in the house.

I jumped.

Miss Annamae closed her eyes. Her wrinkles shifted again with her frown before she opened them, looked at me and said, talking quietly, “I’m sure your momma’s got good in her, girl, but just to say, a Southern woman does not yell.”

I nodded again.

She nodded back. “Go find your momma, child.”

I stepped away, took another step, and started to turn.

But I stopped and turned back.

“Miss Annamae?”

“I’m right here, Daisy.”

What did I say?

No.

How did I say all I wanted to say?

The words got caught, twisting, filling my throat.

“Daisy! Where are you?” Momma shouted.

“I know,” Miss Annamae said, and from the look on her face I saw by some miracle she did know exactly what I needed to say without me having to say it. “Now go to your momma, child.”

   
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