God Still Don't Like Ugly. Mary Monroe

Easter basket. One thing I could say about Rhoda, she was sincere when it came to giving me compliments. At least I believed she was. Since she had always been the stronger one, she had nothing to gain by buttering me up with unnecessary lies. She was the only person I truly felt beautiful around.

      I had no idea that this would be one of the most memorable nights of my life. After all I had been through with Rhoda, this was the night that I would make the heart-wrenching decision to sever our relationship.

      What happened was this: Before Rhoda’s arrival, Scary Mary, the old madam who had lured Muh’Dear and me to Ohio from Florida, had revealed some startling information to me regarding the death of the pregnant white girl who had threatened to destroy Rhoda’s family. Standing in front of me, wearing a red wig that looked like it was about to fly right off her head, Scary Mary told me how the girl had died in Rhoda’s house, in Rhoda’s bathroom, in Rhoda’s presence. Wiping a tear from her eye, Scary Mary said, “Poor Rhoda. Seein’ a po’lice shoot and kill her own brother was bad enough, but havin’ that girl die right before her eyes must have been downright tryin’.” I thought about how Rhoda had snuffed out Mr. Boatwright’s life when he became too much of a nuisance. Right away, I knew that Rhoda had to be involved in that girl’s death.

      As soon as all of our other company left and Muh’Dear turned in for the night, I confronted Rhoda with the information that Scary Mary had shared with me, hoping she would deny any involvement.

      Rhoda disappointed, but didn’t surprise, me. Without hesitation, she admitted with a sigh and a strange sparkle in her eyes, “I had to do it. What else could I do?”

      My mouth dropped open. I was stunned beyond belief. But the horror was just beginning. It was like a floodgate suddenly opened up and all kinds of shit spilled out.

      Once Rhoda started confessing, she could not stop. Not just about Mr. Boatwright and the white girl, but two others! The year of our graduation, Rhoda’s bothersome grandmother had mysteriously tumbled down the stairs in their house, in the middle of the night, breaking her neck in the fall. Then, the policeman who had shot and killed her older brother David died in a hit-and-run accident. I saw spots in front of my eyes because I thought I was losing what was left of my mind. I could not believe my ears. Not only had Rhoda killed Mr. Boatwright and that young white girl, but her own grandmother and that policeman.

      It was the most difficult decision I ever had to make in my life. I knew in my heart that it was time for Rhoda Nelson O’Toole and me to part company. The burden of carrying around the knowledge of Mr. Boatwright’s murder had been too much. I knew that I could not continue being friends with a woman who had admitted killing four people.

      Rhoda was stunned and disappointed to say the least, but I had made my decision and I intended to stick by it. She didn’t even have to warn me, because I had no intention of sharing this startling information with anyone else.

      “Good-bye, Rhoda,” I said, my voice cracking. She didn’t respond.

      When she calmly walked out of my house that night, she didn’t look back, but I watched from my window until she was out of my sight.