VOLUME | ONC 2023

2. Grown Folks' Business

I stared, mesmerized, perplexed, and deeply disturbed.

My sitz bones had begun complaining as I sat on splintering, unswept hardwood floors.

Before me lay a spread of images, letters, and knickknacks that probably held meaning far beyond what I could conjure by my own imaginings.

"Nana, who even were you?"

I had only unpacked a fraction of the trunk, setting the valuables on a clean sheet I'd snatched from the linen closet.

I hadn't yet, rifled through the contents of any more letters or portraiture. I just wanted to look at them, to count the relics that amounted to this newfound identity of a woman I had known my whole life.

A woman I thought I'd known.

I had known her, though, right?

I contemplated this knowing, disappointed that she'd left earth before I could become acquainted with this version of her.

I sifted through my memory, scouring my brain for any mentions of her acquaintance with a US president.

Gingerly, I reached for a tri-folded paper. The parchment felt enduring in my hands as if the author hadn't wanted it to whither away so easily.

I held my breath, nervous anticipation clenching my heart in a vice grip.

I opened the folds, warmed by the elegant script.

My Sweet Lizzie,

My heart aches when I look at you. It pains me that I can't touch you. It is nothing short of nerve-wracking that I can't let my gaze linger on you when all I want to do is be near you. I promise I'm not getting "swallowed up in my misery", as you like to put it. But, no matter – tonight is all about celebration. We've done it. We've really done it.

You've done it, you incredible, genius woman.

Meet me after, and don't take too long. I know how you like to linger.

The Willard.

Washington Suite, 10th floor.

I clutched at nonexistent pearls, turning the paper around in search of its penner.

Nothing.

"Nana, I know you'd tell me to watch my mouth, but what in the actual hell?"

I reached for another note, this one a rectangle of cardstock stationery.

A gold etching was embossed along the perimeter, with a gap left at the bottom, where the letters "RM" stood pronounced.

Our spot. Dusk. Wear that little blue dress I like.

My mouth hung open.

Since when did Nana take orders from a mere man?

I couldn't picture it – Elizabeth Anne Smith letting some guy sway her. It was akin to blasphemy.

And RM?

It had to stand for Roosevelt Marshall. I could no longer categorize it as perchance; it had to be him. But how? When? And, why had it been a secret kept from me of all people?

I could understand a national secret. I could understand a classified no-no. But, a secret this big kept from me, of all people?

As if she were next to me, I could hear her voice, "You know you ain't supposed to be in grown folks' business."

I felt the oncoming of a little attitude setting in, my lips pursing in mild agitation. I'd always hated hearing that. A verbal arrest it was. You knew when you heard that line you were being barred from some important, weighty topic of conversation. You knew not a single bit of pertinent information would be entrusted to you.