The House of Eve

by Sadeqa Johnson

Each story has a monster in it who made them tough instead of brave, so they open their legs rather than their hearts where the folded child is tucked. —Toni Morrison

My grandma Nene always said that early was on time, on time was late, and late was unacceptable.

Knowing about racism and being abused by its wrath were two different things. Mechanically, I followed my aunt to the bus stop that would take us back to our cage in North Philadelphia. Where it had been decided for us that it was where we belonged. Crammed together like pigs in a stall so tight, it was impossible to dream or breathe. Every single day we had to fight for food, for carfare. And this trip downtown had shown me that we even had to fight for what should have been free: our dignity.

Sometimes there are no words to help one’s courage. Sometimes you just have to jump. —Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés

In her head she had started referring to the home as the House of Eve. Eve as in Adam and Eve, the first mother of all living things. She tried to picture what her Eve looked like. Was she tall or short, have long hair or bobbed? Was she carrying the baby high or low? And the question that plagued her the most: Was Eve happy to turn her baby over to the loving care of William and Eleanor for her second chance, as Mother Margaret had put it, or was that all hogwash?