Miz Jones

Miz Jones Lived at the top of the hill, at 122 Soque Street, across from Mr. Dock 'nem and sideways from Shady Grove Baptist Church. She had a tiny one room wooden store in the yard next to her house, Miz Jones did. So old, she was seethrough light beige. So skinny, could see blue veins and tiny bones through her skin. She was blind, but she had real good hearing. She'd holler, "Who is that?" and we had to answer. Then, she would ask "What's your name? Whose child is you?" After that, your parents, grandparents, whoever and we had to answer, and we could be held an hour or more. We'd try to sneak by, but she could smell us, seemed like. In black ankle length skirts and thick black sweaters, no matter the weather; she smelled old and sweet like the vanilla creme cookies she sold; she sat on her porch and 80 listened to how you walked down the hill so she could ask "Who you?" but she knew that already, she just wanted you to know she knew. So, sometimes, on Sundays, when we walked the hill, we went out the way so she couldn't smell us. We'd walk around a whole extra block to keep from being stopped. Other times, Miz Jones would sit there; you could go by and she wouldn't hear you, no matter how loud you spoke and waited for an answer, she would just sit. Still like death. And when you spoke (because you had to) she just wouldn't. —doris davenport 81 ...