Washington Jones: A Short Story

It was half past 11 as Ms. Luella Bates Washington Jones was walking down the abandoned streets of St. Louis. As she was humming her favorite song, she heard a cracking noise from behind a dumpster. She froze mid-step, shrugged and continued on walking. This time she heard someone behind the dumpster moving and turned around. “Who be there,” Ms. Jones asked. She placed her hands on her hips and sass penetrated off of her words. Out of the shadows a frail man crept. His pants were torn and baggy, sagging in the back. His black face was wrinkled and dirty, and his white hair shone in the moonlight. “The name’s Lemon Brown.” He examined Ms. Jones, her black hair was pulled into a tight bun, and a floral dress hugged her large figure.
She was the opposite of Lemon Brown, while he was delicate and small, she was strong and big. “Sir, you ought to clean yo’self up,” she frowned and tapped her foot on the cracked sidewalk. Lemon Brown looked down in shame. “ I used to sing the blues, but I lost everything the day my boy, Jesse died.” Tears formed in his eyes but he didn't dare to let them out.
In the distance, police sirens wailed and Ms. Jones motioned Lemon Brown to walk with her. Lemon Brown picked up a bag, it was just like him, wrinkled and torn. He pulled out a dented harmonica and old newspaper clippings, a confused look formed on Luella’s face. “This is all I got to remember my boy,” he nodded his head in sorrow before continuing, “they gave me these back when he died in the war.” Ms. Jones squeezed Lemon’s hand. In his other hand, he held the harmonica like it was gold. Empathy flooded Luella's heart. “ I must be on my way, got to reach the karaoke club before 1 ma’am.” Lemon Brown started to turn around, but Luella just couldn’t let him leave just yet.
“ Now you ain’t goin’ nowhere! Especially looking like that,” Ms. Jones was surprised by her tone. She pursed her lips and nodded her head in disapproval. “ Now, I got the right mind to clean you up and feed you, sir.”
Lemon Brown couldn’t argue and follow Luella back to her home. As they walked back Ms. Jones looked down at Lemon’s feet and grunted. His sandals were torn at the sole and strings flew out.
“ Hey, take these $10 and buy yo’self some shoes.” She remembered a boy she helped a while ago and a little smile crept on her face, “ like, some blue suede shoes.”
It had been a long time since Lemon Brown held money of such value and he stuck it in his bag, all he could say was, “ Thank you, ma’am.”