Thank You, M'am

She was a large woman, walking alone, carrying a large purse about eleven o'clock at night. A boy ran up behind her and tried to take her purse. The strap broke, and the boy lost his balance under the unexpected weight. He fell on his back. The woman turned around and kicked him, reached down, picked the boy up by his shirt, and shook him until his teeth rattled. Then she said, "Pick up my pocketbook, boy, and give it here."

She still held him tightly. But she bent down far enough so that he could pick up her purse. Then she said, "Now aren't you ashamed of yourself?"

"Yes, m'am," the boy said weakly.

"If I turn you loose, will you run?" asked the woman.

"Yes, m'am."

"Then I won't. Your face is dirty. Don't you have anyone at home to tell you to wash your face?" She asked.

"No, m'am."

"It will get washed tonight," she said, starting up the street, dragging the frightened boy behind her.

The woman said, "You ought to be my son. I'd teach you right from wrong. Right now I will at least see that you wash your face. Hungry?"

"No, m'am. Just turn me loose."

"Was I bothering you when I turned that corner?" asked the woman.

"No, m'am."

"But you put yourself in contact with me. That contact is not going to end fast. Sir, you'll remember Mrs. Luella Bates Washington Jones."

The boy's face became sweaty, and he began to struggle. Mrs. Jones stopped, jerked him around in front of her, put a half-nelson about his neck and continued to drag him up street. At her door she dragged the boy inside, down a hall and into a large kitchenette-furnished room at the rear of the house. She turned on the light and left the door open.

She said, "What's your name?"

"Roger."

"Then, Roger, you go to that sink and wash your face," said the woman as she turned him loose at last. Roger looked at the door—at the woman—at the door—and went to the sink.

"Are you going to take me to jail?" asked the boy, bending over the sink.

"Not with that face. I wouldn't take you anywhere," said the woman. "Here I am trying to get home to eat, and you try to take my pocketbook. Maybe you haven't had your supper either. Have you?"

"There's nobody home at my house," said the boy.

"Then we'll eat," said the woman. "I believe you're hungry—or you've been hungry—to try to steal my pocketbook."

"I want a pair of blue suede shoes," said the boy.

"Well, you didn't have to steal," said Mrs. Jones. "You could have asked me."

"M'am?" The boy looked at her. There was a long silence. The door was open. He would dash down the hall.

The woman was sitting on the bed. After a while she said, "I was young once and I wanted things I couldn't get." There was another long pause. The boy's mouth opened and he frowned. "You thought I was going to say, but I didn't steal people's pocketbooks. Well, I wasn't going to say that." Pause. Silence. "I've done things too, which I would not tell you, son. Everybody's got something in common. Sit down while I fix us something to eat. You might run that comb through your hair so you look nice."

In another corner of the room behind a screen was a gas ring and refrigerator. Mrs. Jones got up and went behind the screen. She didn't watch the boy, nor did she watch her purse, which she had left behind her on the bed. But the boy took care to sit where she could easily see him out of the corner of her eye if she wanted to.

Later, when they had finished eating, she said, "Take this ten dollars and buy yourself some blue suede shoes. I need to rest now, but from now on I hope you behave yourself."

She led the way to the front door and opened it. "Good night. Behave yourself, boy," she said.

The boy wanted to say something other than "Thank you, m'am" but he couldn't even say that, although his lips moved as he looked up at the large woman in the doorway. Then she shut the door.