Read Wouldn’t Change a Thing for Free Online

different. She’s been with me since 1980. Paul and I double-dated with Mavis and her husband, Raymond. Mavis, a nurse and my sister-in-law, and Raymond, a stern military man, always entertained at their house. Plantation is more like it. All that acreage and a big, old white antebellum house that sits off from the road, begging for a horse and buggy to pull around the circular drive.
    We had gone to a concert at Georgia College to see Rufus and Chaka Khan. I was shocked Mavis came out with us, since that wasn’t usually her kind of entertainment, but she sipped a Bud light and swayed her bottle to Chaka Khan like the rest of us. She didn’t want to go to the Blue Note afterward, so we went back to their house. She convinced us to watch movies, and before we could protest, she played Imitation of Life. Paul put his arms around me and stroked my hair as we watched the movie.
    Before Mahalia sang, “Trouble of the World,” she winked at me. Honey, she belted out that tune, stepped out the pulpit in that angelic black-and-white robe, ran her big hands over Annie’s sparkling white spray and coffin, and came right out of the TV and sat on my left side. She told me not to tell Paul she was sitting there, said we had a few things to talk about regarding relationships. I got stiller than Lot’s wife, because I didn’t want to hear Mavis’s mouth about medication or my hallucinations. Mahalia looked to her left and right like she was about to expose the world’s biggest secret and told me to call her ’Halia. She said we had more in common than I knew. I winked back at her as assurance her secret was safe with me. I wasn’t telling a soul she was with me. She still guides me through so many struggles. Turns out her marriages weren’t perfect either.
    Clark is a mystery. He’ll come in my room, but he never talks to me. He’ll stand back in the corner, coal black hair and mustache shining, and smile. That’s it. I wonder who sent him and what they told him to tell me, but I can’t get him to talk.
    Back to my children. My girls are different as day and night. My baby girl, Antoinette, is my delicate flower. She’s short with a little gumdrop nose and pretty brown skin. She puts me in the mind of those energetic waitresses who run back and forth from the kitchen getting lemon wedges and extra bread for customers. She’s a peacemaker, always wanting everybody to be happy. Smart as a whip too. She cheered me up when I had my moods. I taught her how to braid hair, and when I’d fight with Paul, she’d grab my red-and-green jar of Royal Crown grease and find us a spot in front of the den TV. She’d part my hair, scratch and grease my scalp, and faster than a cat could lick his ass, my hair would be in these chunky French braids. Mavis tried to help me teach her to cook, but she was always up under me, like she was scared something would happen to me if she closed her eyes. The best she mastered was the Easy-Bake Oven. She never could get the hang of slinging cast-iron skillets and Dutch ovens.
    We had Fish Fry Night every Thursday. Paul, a cabinetmaker, stopped by Macklin’s Seafood on Milledgeville Highway to pick up catfish, perch, and hushpuppy mix. I kept potatoes on hand for French fries. I cleaned the fish outside at a table Paul made for me and brought it back in the kitchen to marinate for a while. While I washed and dipped that fish in my secret seasoning blend and special meal, I’d walk back and forth to the den and watch Paul, Willa, and Antoinette dancing. Paul fired up the record player and always played Antoinette and Willa’s favorite song, “Sunny.” If you ask me, Bobby Hebb’s version was better than Marvin Gaye’s, but they wouldn’t listen to me. Beats me what was so special about Marvin’s rendition, but they danced like they were at a family reunion.
    I don’t have much to say about Willa. I