Ludell. Brenda Wilkinson

like yall,” she said. “I aine never came to your house on a Sunday and seen yall have anything different.”

      “And we aine never had nothing different either,” laughed Ludell. “Mama said when she was a girl, the preacher would come eat with them every Sunday after church and they’d have to wait for him and all the grown people to eat first. She said there wouldn’t never be nothing but necks and backs left when she and her sisters and brothers got to the table, so she vowed that when she got grown, she was gon have all the chicken she pleased every Sunday!”

      “Oh, that’s funny,” went Ruthie Mae. “I guess by now you done vowed that you aine never having it on Sunday when you get grown, huh?”

      “No-ooo chile, I ’on never get tide o’ having it! See this here mark on my thigh?” she said, pulling up her dress. “What that look like to you?”

      “I ’on know,” replied Ruthie Mae. “Just look like a plain ole mark to me.”

      “Well it ain’t no plain ole mark,” she informed her. “Can’t you see how much that look like a drumstick? It’s a chicken birthmark stupid!”

      “Oooh, that’s what it is?” said Ruthie Mae.

      “Yeah, that’s what mama say,” said Ludell.

      “Well you see this big ole blotch on my arm here?”

      “Yeah,” Ludell said examining it.

      “Well what that look like to you?” Ruthie Mae asked.