Love Is a Revolution

by Renée Watson

  Everyone is finished with their dinner, so the servers come and take our plates. Dessert is buffet style because there are so many choices—all sweets that Aunt Ebony loves. Before we can dig in, the server makes an announcement so everyone knows what our options are. “For the birthday girl we’ve prepared an array of Jamaican sweet treats,” he says. “We have coconut drops, which are made from coconut meat, ginger, and brown sugar. We also have mango cheesecake and sweet potato pudding. And because we know this is the birthday girl’s favorite, we have banana spice cupcakes. Pick your pleasure and enjoy.”

  As we all stand and make our way to the dessert table, Mom whispers to me, “So who is he? Nobody told me Momma has a new boo.” She is pointing at JT.

  “Mom.”

  “Everybody finding love around here, huh? Even Momma? Hopefully me, you, and Liz will be next.”

  Mom doesn’t know that I actually have found love. I just haven’t told her because we never talk about these things. I tell her, “Well, I kind of found it, but let it go.”

  “Let it go?” Mom picks up a banana spice cupcake and a coconut drop.

  “It’s a long story, but basically, I just need to learn who I am and how to love myself.”

  “Well, I don’t know the whole story, but does it have to be one or the other?” Mom licks a dollop of cream cheese frosting and waits for me to pick my dessert. I get the mango cheesecake. “Sounds like you gotta get good at doing both. Loving yourself enough not to get lost in him and loving him enough to give him the best of who you are.”

  There are pockets of people spread out on the rooftop. Some went back to the table, some are sitting in the lawn chairs, or standing along the railing looking down at Harlem, watching people and cars move from one place to the next. Mom and I feast on our sugar, standing side by side, where we always stand when we’re up here. “That chef put his foot in these drops,” Mom says.

  “And this cheesecake too.”

  We are eating our last bites when Mom says, “You don’t strike me as a girl who doesn’t know who she is. You just need to be confident in who you know you are.”

  We haven’t even been home that long, and already we are reminiscing about the party like it happened years ago. “And did you see the way JT was so loving toward Mom?” Aunt Ebony asks.

  Uncle Randy nods. “He’s good for her.” He finishes unpacking the leftovers and puts everything in the fridge. Except the drops. Aunt Ebony has made tea, and we are all gathered in the kitchen eating the rest of the drops and drinking Earl Grey.

  “Mom, you have to open your gifts.” Imani brings our gifts over to her. “This is from me, this one is from Nala, and this is from Dad.”

  “I thought my gift was the party,” Aunt Ebony says. “This is too much.” She reaches for the gift from Imani first. It’s a metallic gold envelope with Mom written in cursive writing. She carefully opens the flap and slides out a thick card. A small square-shaped paper falls out of the card. She reads it to herself, then says, “Oh my—thanks, Imani. A gift card for a mani and pedi. You girls will have to come with me. We’ll have a back-to-school spa day.” She kisses Imani on the cheek. “Thanks, love.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Uncle Randy says, “Open mine next.” He picks up his box, acting like it is the heaviest thing.

  When he gives it to Aunt Ebony, she starts laughing. “Is anything in here?” She takes the lid off the box and pulls out an envelope. She opens it and reads the card out loud. “A weekend stay in Cape Cod,” Aunt Ebony says. “Yes, please. When are we going?”

  “Whenever you want to. Up to you.”

  “I might start packing tonight.” Aunt Ebony kisses Uncle Randy on the lips.

  When Aunt Ebony picks up my gift, I tell her, “This is kind of from everyone.”

  And Imani says, “But it was all her idea and she put it together.”

  As soon as she opens it, she gives me the tightest hug. “This is . . . ​oh my goodness.” She flips through the pages of the photo album and takes in each photo like she is seeing them for the first time. A few of them, she touches and traces with the tip of her finger. “I haven’t had actual printed photos in years,” she says. “And look at these handwritten notes throughout the album. The absolute best.” Aunt Ebony goes on and on about the photo album for the rest of the night, and I am so glad she doesn’t think it’s too corny.

  Imani and I head upstairs—Imani already on her phone texting Asher even though they just saw each other. On my way to my room I hear Aunt Ebony say, “Today was perfect. And that album. It’s literally holding memories in your hand. It’s the little things.”

  It’s the little things.

  I get to thinking that I know exactly what I want to do with all those frames that have just been sitting in my closet. I can’t even go to bed, I’m so motivated to start. I get my phone out, make a folder that says Legacy Project, and go through my phone checking photos from this summer that will be added to the folder. Some of the photos make me smile, like the before and after pictures Sadie and I took with my hair a dripping storm cloud. And then there are the ones from the street ball tournament, and JT and Grandma, and so many of me and Tye. I won’t get them all, but I do want to print some of them. I take out the frames and look at the different sizes I have. I decide which photo will go in each frame and upload the photos that I want to print into my online account. I lose track of time resizing the images and adjusting the colors before I finally place the order.

  It’s the little things.

  I think about this while falling asleep. I don’t need to do a big photo project at Grandma’s residence to make an impact. If I’m going to be true to myself, then being me is all about doing the little things, every day, just because.

  30

  BLUE PLAYLIST, TRACK 13

  All I Need

  Hook

  Today I am possible.

  I have survived and will survive.

  And all that is coming is already mine.

  Chorus

  Not waiting on someone to want me, need me.

  No fairy-tale dreams of what my life might be.

  I love me.

  Right now.

  Right now.

  I love me.

  Verse 1

  And even with all my flaws, I am enough.

  And I have failed, but I am not a failure.

  And love is patient and love is kind and love is not

  just for me to give away.

  Keep some for myself.

  Chorus

  Not waiting on someone to want me, need me.

  No fairy-tale dreams of what my life might be.

  I love me.

  Right now.

  Right now.

  I love me.

  Verse 2

  And I have peace in knowing

  that if something more never comes,

  I already have what I need.

  Because what I need is me.

  There is no way I can be better for anyone else

  if I’m not good to me. I gotta be good to me.

  Hook

  Today I am possible.

  I have survived and will survive.

  And all that is coming is already mine.

  I’ve been taking out my braids for the last two days, a section at a time, so I don’t have to sit for hours. When I finish unbraiding the last section of my hair, I comb through it and wash it. The shower water is warm, and the shampoo foams in my hands, thick like whipped cream. The added hair made my hair sturdy, made me look regal, strong. Now that my own hair is in my hands, nothing added, I feel its softness, feel the coils twisting and tangling around my fingers. I wash and condition and rinse my hair, listening to Blue, letting her words wash over me, cleanse me. And I start singing. I match her voice, hitting every run, every ad lib, and we sing together, like her words are my words. I get out of the shower, dry off, and when I bring the towel to my face, I exhale into the terry cloth and tears pour out of me.
<
br />   I let out every single one.

  And when the next track comes on, I just stand in the full-length mirror and look at myself. My tears all dried up, my heartbeat steady.

  And then the next song comes, and I dance. Just me with Blue, here in the bathroom, my hair and body all natural, all mine. Every coil, and roll, and scar. I move my body and sing loud and I don’t know if I sound good or not, but it doesn’t matter.

  Good thing it’s just me at home this morning.

  I get dressed, take out the blow-dryer, and dry my hair. This is always the worst part. My long, thick hair takes forever to dry, and my arms always ache afterward from all the uncomfortable positions I put them in. Finally, my hair is dry and ready to be straightened. The flat iron is warm, so I pick it up, get started.

  I think of the styles I have tried this summer, how at first these new styles—and even the head wrap—were just me trying to fit in, cover something up, prove something. But truth is, I like my hair all kinds of ways. I’ve made an appointment with Sadie, and she’ll hook me up with a new braided style before school starts. She’ll add color next time and make the braids thin and extra long. And it will be because I want it, because it looks good on me, and not for any other reason.

  It is already two o’clock in the afternoon, and all I’ve done today is my hair. My cell phone rings, and when I pick it up, I see the photo of me and Mom on the screen. I am five years old in the picture, and we are dressed in the same color—purple. I answer the phone, and Mom starts going on and on about all the back-to-school sales happening and how she wants to take me shopping for school clothes. I tell her I already ordered most of the clothes I need. “There are more stylish plus-size options online,” I say.

  “Well, you need pencils and paper and whatnot, don’t you? At least let me get you some school supplies.” This is Mom’s way of saying she wants to spend time with me, so I say yes, because I want to see her too.

  We meet at Staples, and after filling the handheld basket with notebooks, folders, and gel pens, we wait in a too-long line. I look over everything in the basket and think maybe I should put the decorative folders back. I was going to get the ones that were on sale, but Mom said those were too plain and to go for the ones I really wanted. They cost more because they have an assortment of prints and look nicer than the plain ones. As we wait in line, Mom turns to me and says, “I can’t believe you are going to be a senior.” She looks me over, taking all of me in. “You are not my baby girl anymore . . . wow.”

  “They grow up fast, don’t they?” a woman behind us says. “Those are mine over there. Thirteen already. Where does the time go?” She points to twin boys who are in the electronic section.

  It’s our turn to step up to the cashier. I put everything on the counter, and the woman rings them up. When she says the total, Mom digs through her wallet. “Um. But I thought these were on sale.” She picks up the packs of pens.

  “No, those aren’t on sale, ma’am.”

  “Oh, um . . . and the paper? Isn’t the paper on sale?”

  “Yes, but you have to buy two in order to get the third pack free.”

  “Mom, it’s okay. I can pay for it. Aunt Ebony gave me—”­

  “It’s fine,” Mom says. “I—I got it. Just. Give me a minute.” Mom goes into another section of her purse and pulls out a twenty-dollar bill, then she goes back to her wallet and pulls out a credit card. “Can I split the bill and pay for these with this and the rest on the card?”

  “Sure. I’ll just have to ring it up separately.”

  “Mom, I have—”

  “Nala, it’s fine.”

  Mom pays, twice, and hands the tote bags to me.

  When we are out of the store and outside again, I thank her, but I am not sure if she heard me because of all the noise, so I repeat myself, “Thank you, Mom.”

  “Of course,” she says. “You’re welcome.”

  We walk on Lenox Avenue, heading to Aunt Ebony’s. Mom is still reminiscing and talking about how she can’t believe I am graduating soon. We swap our remember whens back and forth, reminding each other of how things used to be. Then Mom says, “And remember how much you loved roller skating?”

  “I still do,” I tell her. And then I get an idea. “We should go—me, you, Imani, and Aunt Ebony, like old times.”

  “Oh, that would be so fun,” Mom says. “Or should I say, that would be so funny—I haven’t skated in years. I’m too old to move like I used to. But I’ll go. See what I’m working with.”

  “Thursday night is family night. Free admission, half off skate rentals.” I say this so she knows it’s affordable, so she doesn’t worry about having the money to go.

  Mom doesn’t hesitate to ask Aunt Ebony. She sends her a text, and my phone vibrates because she included me on the thread too, and I see Imani’s name. My phone buzzes again. Imani is the first to reply, saying, Yes, I’m in. And then Aunt Ebony says, Can’t wait. This will be so fun.

  “Well, looks like it’s a date,” Mom says. “This Thursday.” Mom puts her phone back in her purse, and she is smiling so hard, so real. I haven’t seen her like this in a long, long while.

  31

  The next morning, I leave the house early so I can make sure I am at the photo shop right when it opens. Harlem is quiet today and it’s bright, but it’s not hot yet. Grandma always says it’s best to run errands before noon to avoid the afternoon heat. Grandma is never wrong.

  I am the second customer in the store. I get in line at the counter and pull out my phone so I can give my order number. The man remembers me and smiles. “You came back to see us.” He says “us” even though every time I’ve been here, he is the only one working. He gives me two envelopes because there are different sizes, and I can’t wait to see them. I open the first envelope, pulling the glued-down flap. I open it and step aside to look through the photographs. They are perfect, and I feel like I am holding all the people I love and care about in the palm of my hand.

  Once I am home, I take over the dining room table and lay out all the photos and start framing them. Seeing summer laid out before me I write a simple note to each person I want to give a photo to. I don’t know when I’ll give them all out, but it’s nice to have these gifts ready, these moments of summer forever frozen in time. Without even intending to, I take the photo of me and Tye, put it in one of the gift bags left over from Aunt Ebony’s party, and head out the door.

  I walk to Tye’s place, and once I get there, I am stuck outside like the cement is quicksand. People keep passing me going in and out of the gate. A man sees me and says, “Left your key card? Need me to buzz you in?” I stutter out no thank you and keep standing there. I give myself a pep talk. The last time I saw Tye, he said I didn’t have to miss him; he basically invited me to make the first move. Come on, Nala. Just push the buzzer and see if he’s home. I think maybe I should text first. Let him know I am standing out front. I take a few steps to my right and get out of the way. I grab my phone, and just as I am about to text Tye, I hear his voice behind me. “Nala?” I turn around. He has his key card in his hand, holds it up to the sensor, and holds the gate open for me. “What are you doing here?” he asks.

  “I—I came to see you.”

  We walk over to the courtyard instead of going inside his building. At least there’s shade to sit in. I sit on one of the benches. Tye doesn’t wait for me to begin. “What’s up?” he says.

  “I’m really sorry, Tye.”

  He sits down next to me.

  “I know I’ve said this already, but really, I’m sorry. And I do miss you. I just needed a moment. I needed to figure things out. I didn’t know myself anymore, and, well, I’m still figuring things out, but I know that doesn’t mean that we still can’t be in each other’s lives . . . ​I mean, if you still want me in your life.”

  He doesn’t say anything right away, and I start wondering if maybe I’ve said too much. Or maybe I haven’t said enough.

  “I still don’t know
why you did all of this. I mean, why did you think you needed to make up all that stuff?”

  “You seemed so perfect. The vibrant, volunteering vegetarian who knows exactly what he wants to do in college, after college. I just didn’t think you’d like a girl like me. I mean, do you know how much I love bacon?”

  Tye laughs a gut-wrenching laugh, and it feels so good to be with him and his smile. “I love bacon too,” he says. “It’s what I miss the most.” Then, Tye gets serious and says, “Actually, I need to apologize to you.”

  “For what?”

  “For not putting as much attention into you as I did into what you were doing. You’re a person, and who you are is just as important. I care about you, not just what you do,” Tye says. “Nala, spending time with you is what made this summer so special. Talking with you and getting to know you as a person was way more interesting than talking about the photo project.”

  When he brings up the photo project, I go into my bag and pull out the framed picture. “So, about that,” I say. “This is actually why I came over. I wanted to give something to you.” I hand the photo to Tye. “I figured out what to do with all those frames.”

  He smiles that gorgeous smile and says, “Thank you.” He just keeps staring at it, and then looks back at me. “I gotta step my gift-giving up. I’m sorry for giving you things I thought you needed to have, instead of things you wanted.”

  “Apology accepted. I will put both to use, though. I promise,” I say.

  Tye puts the photo back in the gift bag. “So, what’s the occasion?”

  “The occasion?”

  “For the gift.”

  “Because this summer something special happened. Even if it was a bit muddled. And I don’t want us to forget it.”

  Tye looks at the photo again, then says, “This has been the best summer ever. I can’t believe it’s over next week.”

  “Me too,” I say. I don’t know how being back in school will change my relationship with Tye. I know we will both be occupied with senior-everything. We don’t even go to the same high school, so it’s not like we’ll conveniently see each other every day. If we’re going to stay in each other’s lives, it will have to be on purpose, intentional.