I pulled the chain of the stopper letting the water drain from the tub as I lay stretched on my belly, head to the spigot, watching the water swirl round and round and down. I was watching, watching and waiting. THERE IT WAS!

MATTIE! I bellowed as I scrambled up trying to get over the tall slick sides of the old claw footed tub in my grandmother’s bathroom.

Good Lord, child, Mattie exclaimed as she hurriedly rounded the door into the steamy room. What has got into you? You scared the life out of me.

I spit and sputtered trying to explain, all the while thrashing about, trying none too gracefully to make my exit of that bath.

Mattie hurriedly grabbed a towel off the shelf, swinging it widely open engulfing my flailing body in it’s softness, just as I plunged over the side toward the hard, cold, white tile saving me from a head cracking landing.

I wrapped my grateful dripping arms around her White Shoulder scented neck squeezing and panting for all I was worth. I had escaped again.

Ok, lighten up little missy you’re choking me, Mattie said as she vigorously rubbed me dry and carried me into what used to be my mother’s lilac colored childhood bedroom.

Tell Mattie what’s going on.

There’s a giant fish in the drain, I exclaimed earnestly looking her in the face.

Mattie carefully maintained a straight face as she looked at her wild-eyed grandchild with my hair sticking out in all directions.

You don’t say? Now how do you figure that?

It comes up when the water is draining out the tub. You can see the fish eye blinking. It happens every time.

Well, Mattie hesitatingly said, let’s go see what we can do about that.

I was not too happy about going back into the bathroom so soon but my grandmother was there to protect me.

Mattie took my little water logged hand in hers and we walked down the hall into the still warm and steamy bathroom. We both, side by side, looked over the side of the tub into the drain and saw nothing. It’s not there NOW, I declared.

Here’s what we’ll do, offered Mattie, as she grabbed the plunger from behind the toilet. We’ll just take care of that old fish for good. You grab a hold of the handle, too and help me.

I giggled and grabbed the plunger handle and we plunged that tub until I was wore out. I knew the old fish was done for, for good, this time.

Shall I tell you a bedtime story now Mattie said as she lifted me into her loving arms.

Uh Huh, I said with droopy eyes as I snuggled down into the soft, hand-made quilt covered bed.

Jilly ran up the steps two or three at a time. I couldn’t get a grasp on her excitement, myself. Feeling a bit rough around the edges after pulling a late rowdy night, I took the long flight of steps one slow one at a time.

Slow down, Missy, I snarled. We’re not at the races.

Jilly just grinned down at me as I practically crawled up the steps after her.

It took a minute for our eyes to adjust to the dim interior of the huge gymnasium sized room. Soon we saw there was some serious activity going on. There were so many people milling around it was like a Saturday night rave.

I looked over where Jilly was frozen in place with a big open-mouthed, wide-eyed look on her face. In that moment I felt like we were twelve years old again watching bronco-busting at the Gladewater Round-up Rodeo in East Texas. There was the hum of anticipation at the back of my head.

Sh-it, she said as she turned to me, we have hit the mother-load.

I had to grin back at her. I could tell she was well ahead of me in the having fun mode.

My eyes roamed the room left to right and back again. There was stuff every where. There must have been a dozen bicycles and tricycles up against one wall.

Jilly headed over to a beat-up yellow double kayak leaning on it’s end in one corner. As I followed her she laid it on the floor and got into the front seat.

Oh, yeah, I said, where you gonna go with that to that puddle off Roosevelt?

Come on, she said, get in.

Hell no, I don’t do athletic, I sniped.

There were racks everywhere full of coats and all sorts of clothing items and several racks and tables of nothing but jeans. That got my attention and I wondered over to the closest one rummaging through looking for my size.

I scanned the room looking for Jilly to show her a pair of jeans in her size.

I saw Mattie standing two tables away. What, I thought, rubbing my eyes and looking again. Looking back at me was a short stump of a bald guy glaring at me strangely.

Jilly rammed me in the shoulder. Look at this vest, she exclaimed. It’s straight out of the sixties. Check out the fringe, it must be a foot long. Oh, yes, I am so buying this. Cheap! Two bucks, cheap. I told you we would love this bazaar thing.

We’re doing the bazaar thing at the bizarre church, she sang as she did a little dance jiggle.

What’s the problem with you, now, she growled. You sick? Aren’t you a little tired of your “Queen of the Damned” routine, yet? This is fun. Get with it, will ya? Man, you can be such a turd.

Hey! I’m not sick. It’s not that. I just saw… I thought I saw…

Who? You saw who? Jilly grilled me while her eyes were bouncing all over the place looking for more stuff to check out.

Mattie, I saw Mattie. I mean… That must have been some bad beer last night.

You’re tripping, girl. Your granny’s been dead ten years.

I know that. But, I swear I saw her. She was standing over there at that table and I’m telling you, she winked at me. Yeah, I’m tripping.

In line to pay, an hour and a half later, our arms loaded with booty we noticed a sign above boxes loaded with large paper bags stapled shut. The sign read, “Grab Bags $3.00”.

Cool, Jilly said. Let’s get one of these. It’ll be fun, a surprise.

Oh, what the heck, I said as I handed her a buck fifty.

No, you get one and I’ll get my own, she said, and then let’s wait till we get back to your house to look at them. Delayed gratification, right?

So we rooted around in the boxes feeling and weighing bags until we each were satisfied we had chosen the best one. I chose a heavy’ish bag that I could feel several items in and Jilly chose a light weight puffy bag.

Could be freaky looking cloths in there, I said, as I pointed to hers.

Could be rocks in yours, she snapped back.

I do not cook. Not my nature. When I’m hungry I order out, something off the drawer full of menus from various local culinary offerings. I drop by on my way home for take-out or meet with a friend to share a meal. My microwave is for popcorn and my stove is for boiling water for tea.

It all began three months ago when Jilly, my oldest childhood friend roused me out of a perfectly good sleep-in morning with a shout about getting an early start. As much as I do not cook I also do not rise for early starts. Not without a fight.

Get up! Jilly shouted as she ripped back my covers and tossed me a pair of jeans and the tee shirt I had already worn for two days.

What the crap is wrong with you? What time is it? I didn’t make any plans to do anything with you at any early frigging time of the morning. Get the shit out of my house, I screamed as I kicked out at her and lunged for the sheet.

Not happening. Get up. You were whining in your beer last night about how you’re in such a rut and how you need to make some changes in your life. That’s what we’re gonna do. So get your boney ass out of bed.

I was drunk. I really didn’t mean I literally wanted to make changes. Stop it. I mean it. Stop it.

Jilly grabbed the sheet and pulled. I pulled back as I stretched and rolled over across the bed wrapping the sheet tightly around by body. She tugged. I tugged. Jilly gave a sharp yank heaving my clinging body off the bed and onto the floor. I landed with a thud and as I did Jilly took off pulling my sheet snared naked body down the hall.

She had my attention. For one thing I was not at all happy about having my house keeping skills literally shoved up my nose in the form of mondo dust bunnies. I was just about to let go and give way to kicking some Jilly ass when she stopped, leaned against the wall and slid laughing to the floor, practically on top of me. I rolled over and opened my mouth to give her what for. She was laughing so hard she was red in the face. Which set me off and soon we were both howling like a couple of hyenas.

Damn it, Jilly, I just woke up. My bladder is so full you’re gonna make me pee myself. Help me get out of this sheet. I’ve gotta go.

What is so important that it could not wait till later, I asked between giggles on my lurching trip to the bathroom?

OK, here’s the thing. Last night on the bus home I heard these old ladies talking about going to this church. Some kind of bazaar?

What? I know you slipped a cog, I called from the bathroom. I am not going to any bizarre church. I had enough church as a kid to last a life time, I grumbled. Ain’t gonna happen. I’m going back to bed.

Not a bizarre church, pin head, a church bazaar. They sell stuff.

What kinda stuff, I asked leaning down to bite the top of her ear?

Ouch! Damn, woman, go take a shower and brush you teeth while you’re at it. I don’t know. Stuff like, you know, like clothes and stuff that people donate to get rid of. It sounded like fun. They were talking about all the stuff they got last year. Cheap, too. Get your butt in gear. We can make a stop at Nickel Lena's for coffee.

Alright, already. You buying?

Why am I always buying?

You need to buy my love. You have more money.

You’re a cheap ass.

Hey, for calling me names you have to buy me a honey bun, too.

Mattie Rae Black scanned the massive refuse mounds of the Big Sandy city dump with a finely tuned and critical eye for treasure. Treasure could come big or small. Treasure could make a difference, a difference between a have and a have not month.

A coat of paint and some well placed candle wax rubbed onto the runners of an old disheveled chest of drawers could maybe make her a good fifteen or twenty dollars. An old ruffled kitchen curtain could transform a handled peck basket into a baby doll’s bassinet.

Mattie lived on a miserly four hundred thirty-six dollar and seventy-two cent social security check. Receiving that monthly check was a far cry from something to celebrate. Well, we make do she said, every dang month, without exception. We make do. Mattie’s life was about making do.

I lived with my grandmother Mattie from the time I was seven, at which time my mother waved her final good-by from the passenger seat of a titty pink Cadillac convertible and until at seventeen I roared off on the back of my boyfriend’s Harley Davidson headed for parts unknown. My mother and I must have shared an affinity for wind in our hair. Also like my mother, returning to Podunk east Texas was not on my agenda.

Mattie and I spent almost every weekend that I can remember waking at the crack of dawn so that we would be the first arrivals at a garage sale or setting up for one at Mattie’s house on Sunrise Lane. To this day, depending on my state of mind, the words garage sale can make me break out in hives or kick into overdrive.

You can only get in a couple of sales in a morning before you know that all the good stuff has been gotten. We never spent much time at a sale. We’d get out, get in, get around and get out. Making a sweep took practice. Mattie was not one to buy one dang thing unless she figured she could turn it around and sell it for a profit. She was not a shopper. Mattie was a professional, always looking for treasures.

There’s an art to producing a garage sell. You’ve got to be perceived as full of energy and excited about what you’re selling and people will respond to that excitement. People will get jazzed on your adrenaline and spend more freely. And God love the people that know how to bargain. It still gives me the shivers hearing someone say, “I’ll give you two dollars”, when the price sticker says five. That’s when the fun begins. It’s a dance. “Well, no I just couldn’t take less than four dollars for that. It’s the best quality polyester lace.” As you settle on three dollars every body is a winner. Mattie made two dollars profit and the buyer felt like she had found a bargain.

On the other hand the person that arrived with their head down so you can’t make eye contact is generally not inclined to respond to excitement. They’re all business and looking for deals. The conversation with them is more likely to be. “I’ll give you two dollars.” “Well, no I just couldn’t take less than four dollars for that. It’s the best quality polyester lace”. “Well, take it or leave it, might be their grim retort. I can guarantee Mattie was usually inclined to leave it. She might, if she was in a sweet mood respond with, “Come back Sunday around four o’clock and if it’s still here then I’ll take it.” Generally, they don’t show up Sunday afternoon. I’ve noticed it’s difficult to dance with pissy people.

Mattie had a kind side to her that taught me an appreciation for flexibility and generosity. Sometimes she just might surprise me by accepting that two dollar offer, without hesitation, if she knew the person offering was having a difficult time of it and just didn’t have any more to offer, even though that would cut into her profit. Mattie didn’t have a clue about karma but she innately lived by karma’s rules.

Flea markets were a favorite of Mattie’s and that’s when the four o’clock on Sundays would come in handy. Mattie would make a quick pass to see if there were any items that sellers would just not want to pack up and take home with them. Sometimes people would just tell us to take it for free or Mattie would make an offer for everything. We would load up the boxes not knowing what they contained until we went through them after we got home. Sometimes there were treasures to be found.

One day I was breaking down a box and out fell a tiny baby ring with an amethyst stone. Mattie said that since that was my birthstone I could keep it. I wore that ring on my little finger between the first and second knuckle for years, until one day I looked down and noticed that the groove in my skin where it had nestled for so long wasn’t even there anymore. I had no idea how long it had been missing.

During the week we drove around picking up bottles on the streets and highways for the two penny deposits. Mattie was the driver and I was the jumper, grabber. “Jump out and grab that bottle, little missy,” she’d say. Sometimes while we were out picking up bottles we would find cattle troughs close to the road. Mattie always kept a couple of small strainers and a bucket in the truck just in case. For some reason these troughs always had goldfish in them and it was our mission to dip out a half dozen or so. People would not be interested in buying a cracked teacup but put a goldfish in it and we could always get a nickel or dime. To Mattie’s distress, I can’t even guess how many strainers I dropped into those troughs. She would tell me that I sure was cutting into her profits losing strainers. She took to tying a string to my wrist and the other end to the strainer to minimize her losses. I loved dipping for goldfish.

Other days Mattie was busy repairing, painting and otherwise creating something from nothing. There were many days we scrounged through the city dump. Mattie had free access to the dump anytime she wanted because my granddad, Ike had been the city garbage collector for almost 30 years. Even though my granddad had died years before the guard still gave Mattie full rein out of respect for Ike. When Granddad was still alive he would make a pile of anything that he collected of any use for Mattie’s garage sales and they would go pick up the pile after he got off work. Things were sure easier for Mattie before granddad died.