“I gonna go to college and become a writer.” Hands on hips, Sicily cocked her chin and struck a pose. “My pitcher will look spectacular on the back of all my books.”
“College.” Jamar snorted through his nose and cuffed his sister’s arm. “Not me, no way. I gonna be a mechanic and fix rich folks cars. That’s what I gonna do. Be richer ‘en Methuselah, sure enough.”
“Both of youse is dumb as dirt. Ain’t gonna’ happen,” Felicia said. “Ya’ll should do like me. Be a hairdresser to movie stars. All them actors, black or white, wants pretty cornrows and beads braided in their hairs. I’ll be the rich one in this family.”
Inside, listening to her children and watching the hearse move slowly down the street, Celia put a hand to heart. “No sir,” she whispered. “Don’t care what my babies do long as they gots plans.”
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Up From the Ashes 