by Candice Iloh
I was already late when I woke up
I’ve woken up every day since entering
this program hating myself on days
that began there
all I can do is stare
when Kendra walks into the studio
clearly surprised to find me here
before her stretching
she takes off her shoes
puts down her bag
walks over to sit down next to me
asks me what I’m doing here
what I want
finally
There are fifteen minutes left of class
when the instructor counts us off by six // this means we’ll go in groups // doing her choreography // I realize I didn’t think about this class // being hard // before I came // I just wanted to dance // I just wanted // to see her // just wanted // to go somewhere I knew someone would see me // show me new ways // to be myself // now we’re going in groups of six // suddenly my palms are sweaty // knowing everybody here // will see me // how ready am I for them to see me // for real // Kendra squeezes my hand // nudges the small of my back gently // with the palm of her hand // tells me
just go
It goes so fast
it’s over
before I even
have enough
time to be
scared
the instructor points
to Kendra and me
says again
says one more time
tells the class
a lot of the time
the magic happens
on the dance floor
when we least expect it
when we stop doing steps let go and dance
you’re never just
doing steps by yourself in here
all of you have something special
a certain kind of magic inside you
let’s celebrate some of that magic we saw today
everybody come
sit in front
give it up
for these
beautiful dancers
And Magic got her name
from the dancing women I saw at church
and from the ones I never saw anywhere else
a girl who looks like me
but is strong and does what she wants
is either invisible
or magic
Magic is getting it
all from me
The next morning
the line inside the administration building
is long
stretched outside the add/drop offices
I can’t see how many other students
wait to be helped before me with
several seats leading into the hallway
with windows where we
come to submit papers
to pay tuition
drop classes
change majors
abandon our
original plans
my hands tremble holding forms
filled out and signed
to leave what everyone
thought I’d be
behind
they told me
there was a big world
in here
they warned me
of changing my mind
and I knew nothing
but these
buildings
but these classes
but these rules
where I’d come
only as a girl
with instructions and big eyes
but now I know something
about myself
and where my heart
is leading me
so how hard can dreaming really be
My phone rings on the way out of the admin building
see the screen read DAD
and answer this time
think to make up
some elaborate lie
to explain why
I haven’t been
answering his calls
or some explanation
about why college
has been so tough
for me
instead I stand still
ask him to listen
tell him
something’s changed
tell myself
to breathe
Acknowledgments
It takes a whole village to write a book and I wouldn’t have written this one if it hadn’t been for the people who believed in me enough to tell me to try.
Jason Reynolds—when we met twelve years ago I didn’t even know that I wanted to do this writing thing for real. And you smiled all big and called yourself a writer with no “and.” When I didn’t know anybody else our age who looked like us could do it big you told me it was possible and that I could do it my way. Thank you for being the best mentor I could ever ask for and, even more so, for being one of my best friends. You been looking out this whole time. Thank you for telling me to give this thing a real shot. Thank you for seeing me before many others did. I love you, friend. I almost gave up several times and you told me how unfortunate that would be. I am beyond grateful. You still corny, though. I hope this makes you cry and WHEN you do there’s people that owe me money.
Shout-outs to my long-standing writing communities. The spaces that gave my work early wings and space to grow: SPIT DAT open mic, VONA, and Rhode Island Writer’s Colony. The Magic Six: Axie, Gaby, Stephanie, Devon, and Michelle. There’s seriously no match for the room to work out your ideas with supportive writers/listeners/community.
To Sasha Jackson, for encouraging me to write my very first poem that one night in our study group at Howard University.
Big love to my teachers throughout this process who taught me how to cut what wasn’t necessary while still finding ways to tell the whole story: Tracey Baptiste, Adrian Matejka, Ruth Forman, Tony Medina, Cathy Park Hong, and again, Jason Reynolds. There’s nothing like cutthroat feedback to send a little sensitive baby like me into tears but then back to the page. Thank y’all for telling me the truth.
Thank you to Hi-ARTS, Alexandria Johnson, Asante Amin, Najee Ritter, Kirya Traber, Chukwumaa, and Lacresha Berry for believing in this story when it still was a rough draft and a one-person stage play. Y’all made my first dreams come true by helping me bring its early skeleton to life.
Sasha Banks. Asha Santee. You both have been a big part of why I haven’t given up throughout this process. The random check-ins. The FaceTime dates. The visits and sharing of our work. Siblinghood is important and y’all have both held me so damn tight. My gratitude is endless.
Jacqueline Woodson. Brown Girl Dreaming was the first book to even make me believe I could ever create something like this. And all the work you’d done before I even considered becoming a writer inspired me more than I have words for. Thank you for reading my work and finding it worthy of your kind words. I hope I make you proud.
My Howard University Fam—I just want to say I love you for changing me in ways that I needed most. I needed to experience life as a black person away from home in a world that would affirm all of me and y’all really did that for me. My experience on our alma mater’s campus is what helped birth this story and helped it come full circle. We had our reasons for choosing an HBCU and I will never regret doing so. May we always support each other’s dreams and self-actualization.
To my students of Harlem Children’s Zone and Bronx Academy of Letters. My workshop participants at Crossroads, Horizon, and Rikers Island: I love you. Being young and passionate is hard. The world tries to make you small when what you feel and experience is so big. Many of you read my work without even knowing it (surprise!) and gave me the most
important feedback. I hope you felt seen somewhere here in this story and the stories to come. Y’all are my greatest muse. I am always thinking about you and carrying you with me.
To Patricia Nelson, my agent. And Andrew Karre, my editor. I am so grateful to you both for supporting my process and never standing in the way of what this story needed to be. You never once tried to silence or sanitize my voice. Thank you for seeing what I’ve been trying to do and doing all you can to make it possible.
For my Dad: Thank you for instilling determination, bravery, and perseverance in me a long time ago. Those three things have carried me far and kept me pushing no matter where we’ve disagreed or what resistance I’ve faced in my journey to becoming an artist. Even when you didn’t understand what I’d decided to do with my life, what you’d taught me at a young age helped me have the courage to do what I wanted to do anyway. Thank you for loving me and being there.
For my Mom: Your life taught me a lot about people and how to see people who weren’t like me. Even in your death I remember who you were and I see remnants of that fire in myself every time I look in the mirror. I hope wherever you are now, you are living your dreams in peace, too.
And thank you, Reader. Supporter. Community. Fellow Artist. Friend. Your being gives me every reason to keep creating toward the bold, brave healing I want to see in our childhood selves. Thank you for constantly reminding me of the kids in all of us who just want to be felt, heard, seen, loved, and supported.
I love you. Thank you.
About the Author
Candice Iloh is a first generation Nigerian-American writer, teaching artist, and youth educator. She has performed her work around the country, most notably at Nuyorican Poets Café in New York City, the Women in Poetry & Hip Hop celebration at the Reginald F. Lewis Museum in Baltimore (where she performed as Nikki Giovanni), and as part of the Africa In Motion performing arts series at the National Museum of African Art in Washington, DC. She is a graduate of Howard University and holds an MFA in writing from Lesley University. Her work has earned fellowships from Lambda Literary and VONA among many others. This is her first novel. www.becomher.com
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