"Impossibly Soulful, Full of Beauty, Heart, & Insight. Everyone should listen to Ruby Amanfu"- Malina Parker, author, Rolling Stone

“Impossibly soulful, full of beauty, heart, and insight. Everyone should listen to Ruby Amanfu”- Malina Parker, author, Rolling Stone.

Diddy woke up peaceful. He didn’t mind that the wrinkled worn sheets had left creases in the dampness of his arms and legs. Opening just one eye, he peeped at Lilly, her soft white fur hardly moving as she dreamed of chasing lightening bugs. She loved being out at dusk, watching them emerge in dance; just watching, not swiping, though she could have reduced the population in one night if she’d had a mind.

Pearl loved those same evenings. Not long before passing, she renamed their little corner of the world Lightening Bug Lane. She never liked the real name, Lee Lane; some friends said he wasn’t all that bad as the history books told it, but Pearl wasn’t sure.

Diddy missed Pearl every day, but especially on Sundays. Sometimes, they woke up at just about the same instant, each pretending to be asleep waiting for the other to make a move. If they were patient enough, and the aches and pains of their ages stayed at bay, they could draw out this game long enough to miss church. In their hearts, they knew that God wouldn’t mind as long as they stayed close to him out on the back porch or beyond, under his beautiful budding sunrise to tend his flowers, birds and gentle critters. Lightening Bug Lane was their own private garden of Eden.

After petting the cat for a moment, Diddy lifted his damp head off his old pillow, yellowed from neglect, glanced across to the empty twin bed where Pearl used to rest after she got sick, and reached for the old transistor radio. It was still there like always, sitting just where it belonged, in the center of the 3-legged bedside table, quietly leaning against the Kleenex box for support.

Both Diddy and Pearl loved that old Sears toy. Diddy had bought it for his wife’s birthday ‘round about 1944 he recalled. Old thing was as battered as he was, having been dropped a few too many times. Yet it still worked as long as you fed it double A batteries regular. He had to be careful how much he listened these days. Batteries don’t grow on trees. That’s why it stayed put by his bed.

Besides his beloved Pearl of course, he had his favorites, Bessie Smith for one, the Empress of the Blues; Diddy loved her salty tones and gritty lyrics. She made the W.C. Handley song: St. Louis Blues famous. He hated thinking about how she died, lying out there waiting for a black ambulance to arrive to take her to the black hospital in Clarksville. Diddy believed that if the south hadn’t been so dog gone segregated, she might still have lost her right arm, but not her life.

Pearl’s mama, who used to brag about her own soprano voice, had busked with Bessie and her brother on the low street corners of Chattanooga. Both families were dead poor; even the pennies they earned helped. Diddy used to tease Pearl about her fancy for the brother. She’d let loose a small laugh along with his teasing, maybe slap him on his arm for affect, but he knew she didn’t like it inside her heart. Sometimes it was the liquor talking and he’d feel bad the next day, apologizing in soft tones to win her back. Pearl might play hurt, but she knew how much Diddy loved her, right up until the end.

Lately though Diddy was really enjoying an artist named Ruby Amanfu. Too bad the ‘ol trusty transistor couldn’t access Maggie Rose’s Salute the Songbird podcasts. Lucky for him his granddaughter Maggie had bought him one of those swanky Google machines for his last birthday. He didn’t understand how, but all he had to say was: “OK Google, play Ruby Amanfu” and it knew. Pearl, being a patron of the arts would have loved the Google.

It was Maggie Rose that had first shared with Diddy the soulful sounds of Ruby. What a voice that girl had! ‘Course she had been a songwriter first, since she was 5 years old. Imagine that. Then once she realized her singing voice could speak her mind, she started up, singing Gospel at church first, then later in school glee clubs and such. Ruby’d even sing some Bessie Smith for ‘ol Diddy if he asked real nice.

Ruby could cook too. It started after Pearl died. Now every few weeks she shows up with a pot of something delicious for Diddy. Last week it was Jollof Rice, a dish her West African mama had taught her how to make: chicken breast, mushroom, curry powder, tomato paste and a bunch of fresh vegetables and spices. He hadn’t tasted anything so good since Pearl cooked his favorite: Memphis Hot Chicken! Ruby said that as long as she could cook or write songs, she’d be happy. She didn’t need both. Diddy was glad she had both gifts; he wasn’t sure which one he loved best.

Man could she sing; roots of gospel from childhood and soulful too like Mavis Staples. One afternoon, sitting alongside Diddy on the worn old couch, she told how as an introverted middle child, she would spend hours up in her bedroom alone, listening to her cassette tapes, sitting cross-legged on the carpeted floor. “Mixed Tapes” she called ‘em; made by Maggie Rose turns out. Artists like Elton John and Madonna; secular stuff so different than what her immigrant parents allowed. Ruby listened to these songs with the ear of a writer, re-winding the tapes to get the words in her head. She told Diddy It was like having a conversation face-to-face sometimes; those songs spoke to her so.

Smart as a whip that Ruby. She was changing the status quo for women in music too, least that’s what Maggie Rose told him. Ruby was Grammy-nominated and that gave her a lift within the good ‘ol boy network on Music Row. Here too, she used her voice to help pave a smoother path for all black female singers. Might as well add “activist” to her resume, Diddy thought.

He loved his granddaughter Maggie Rose with a big piece of his heart, but sometimes Diddy wondered if he didn’t just love Ruby a little bit more. Oh man, he didn’t want Pearl overhearing these thoughts, so quick as he could, he changed the subject in his head. Anyway, it was time to roll out of bed and greet the day. The sky looked a cool blue and the chirpy birds were making beautiful noise just outside his window and that helped. “Time to feed the cat” he warned.

Photo and video credit: Marilyn Lewis-Hampton