Devonne Brown

Summer was Mom’s friend Ora Mae. Pronounced, Or Mae.

Or Mae taught mythology to seventh graders down at the middle school across the swinging bridge and it was summer. It took a lot to get her off of her tanning blanket in her yard, especially during the peak sunning hours between noon and three when she was slathered with baby oil and iodine, the best tanning lotion money could buy and anybody could concoct. She was thirty-five and looked every bit of thirty-three with her pixie platinum blond hair and leathery brown skin in her summer uniform, a leopard bikini with matching mules.

She was walking, talking, living breathing glamor in person. She had real class and in the summer, she was absolutely captivating. 

My sister and I learned how to get our tans from her. That sweet smelling baby oil bubbling with iodine went on our skin smooth. We glistened in the sun and turned as brown as toast. We aspired to be just like Or Mae.

Or Mae thought everything was funny and brayed like a donkey when she laughed. “Forever more, AhAAHAW! AhAAHAW! AhAAHAW!”

Some days her hair was covered in purple when she’d visit. Before she left her house, she paused just inside the doorway to look at the clock above her hot water heater, and into the mirror beside it. Since she wasn’t the platinum blonde she wanted to be yet, her short white roots had to be slathered with purple bleach. 

Or Mae and Mom were best friends and they visited while she processed. Mom would rinse, shampoo, and set her short but shiny white locks then she would leave. Right now, she was covered in baby oil and iodine from head to foot in addition to purple hair stuff. She wouldn’t have to moisturize later, but she would anyway. She had a date that evening.  

She grabbed a sheer white shirt, threw it over her bikini. It was her running around town garb. She modestly buttoned one button in the middle. Or Mae wanted to go see my mom.

Her yellow Bonneville convertible came to a crunching stop in our gravel driveway. She had arrived, and stepped from the huge car like a beauty queen complete with purple head dress. Her leopard, high heeled mules sure footed in the gravel. 

 “Forever more, AhAAHAW! AhAAHAW! AhAAHAW! How are my girls? Look how brown you are? You smell so good.” She gave us greasy hugs. We were in love with Ora Mae.

Summer was Or Mae.