My scarred hands tremble as I tuck my blouse into my skirt. My sister will be here any minute. The sister who always held life in the palm of one hand. The sister who never heard the word “no” from anyone. The sister who hated me. Maybe she doesn't hate me anymore, now that she doesn't have to look at me every day. Mom finally raised enough money, with the help of the church, to send him to school in Augusta. After that, Dee became rarer but even less tolerable. Once she learned to read, she read to us all the time. However, I'm still not sure that everything she read to us is true. It would be just like Dee. Never admitting to being wrong so she would make something up. Well, I can read now too! I sometimes read to mom. I'm still stumbling a little, but at least I'm honest. I know I'm not exactly bright, but I'm a little brighter than most people give me credit for. It doesn't bother me. I don't have to be really smart, pretty or rich. Unlike Dee. Dee always wanted nice things. She has a way of convincing mom to buy her things even if we can't afford them. Like this yellow organdy dress she wore to her high school graduation and these black pumps matched with a green suit she made herself. She has had her own style since she was sixteen. That's what I think about when I look in the mirror. I wish the sleeves of this blouse were long enough to hide my arms better. But it's hot today, so I'll have to show some charred skin. I take a deep breath and glance out the door. “What do I look like, Mom?” “Go out into the yard,” she said. I trail my eyes across the hard clay floor that Mom and I spent all day cleaning. A car stops in front of our house and I know I...... middle of paper ...... o call me if you don't want to," Wangero said. "Why not me? " asks Mom. “If that’s what you want to be called, we’ll call you.” “I know it might seem awkward at first,” says Wangero. “I’ll get used to it.” , she says. "Listen to it again." Once Mom gets used to saying Dee's new name, she tries "Asalamalakim." simply Hakim-a-barber. I think he hasn't been to a barber for a long time. "You must belong to those beef cattle people on the road," says Mom" ​​when they meet you too. , but they don't shake hands. Too busy, I guess. Hakim-a-barber says: "I accept some of their doctrines, but agriculture and cattle breeding are not my style." CitéWalker, Alice and Barbara Christian Everyday Use New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers UP, 1994. Print..