Obama Mama

She made her way through the suddenly crowded streets of her neighborhood. It seemed everyone was out that day. Even that old Mr. Walters; she hadn’t seen him in years. He raised his hand in a sort of wave, acknowledging her with a grin. “Darn if he isn’t wearing his teeth!” she thought. “Betty! Betty?” she heard Mrs. Jackson call. She was mildly annoyed by the rough embrace Mrs. Jackson bestowed upon her. “Did you ever…? Lordy, it’s a good day!” She watched in amusement as Mrs. Jackson clapped her hands and danced off into the crowd. Even those boys that hung around down at the corner didn’t seem quite so menacing, almost polite, as they greeted her this morning. She climbed the front steps to her apartment building, pausing to gaze at her neighborhood, suddenly a happy place. Betty smiled to herself as she turned the key in the lock.

Inside, her hand felt around on the top shelf of the closet in the spare bedroom. She grunted in determination when her fingers barely brushed the large, round hat box. She heaved herself up wards and stretched as far as her arthritic joints would let her. She bit her lip in concentration and then smiled with triumph as she grasped the box. She slid it forward and caught it in her arms as the box fell from the high shelf. Happily she carried her treasure to the bed. Gingerly she lifted off the lid and pushed aside the brittle, brown tissue paper. “ahh.” She thought, clasping her hands to her chest, “A thing of beauty.” She lifted a yellow hat from the box. It was a special hat, festooned with orange lilies, white roses and a canary, perched delicately on the brim. She had bought it to wear to Martin Luther King’s rally, too many years ago. It had cost her almost a month’s wages, but it was worth it. She had never worn that hat. She had been waiting, waiting for a reason to wear that hat ever since that awful day. She set to work dusting off her treasure and humming to herself. She lifted the hat onto her head and did what she hoped resembled a sashay around her tiny little living room.

Dressed in her Sunday dress, she slid into her yellow wool jacket and placed the hat upon her head. She stood in front of the mirror feeling brand new. She straightened the hat and smoothed her jacket. She wore a pin on her lapel with pride, “OBAMA MAMA”. She made her way outside with as much spunk as her arthritis would allow and joined her neighbors.