The Stars and the Blackness Between Them

by Junauda Petrus

  Audre, I remember the first day you come to church. I see you right away. Something about you stood out to me. It seem like you belonged to another place or time. This may sound silly but you feel like you was some lone and awkward angel from the eighties. You had them back-in-time glasses and a fluffy dress. And I wanted to know more about you. You seem nervous to be there, so I decide to welcome you to the church and introduce myself. The whole week I thought about you and when I saw you the next Sunday, I blurt out and ask if we could sit with each other. I tell myself so that I could help you be more comfortable and follow the service. The next week when you bring me the yellow flowers, my whole heart bouncing and thing and after that you had me wrap up in your realm.

  I know we young still, but what we had was the divine, I is convinced. After your mom find we, I praying to get a sign of what I should do. I had feel like I had destroy both our lives, because I love you and you loved me. I realize that it was we C.H.U.R.C.H. that helped me know what it feel like to know love. I hope you get this letter and I hope that you is safe and that I will hear from you. As always, I love you forever and hope that I will get to see you and hold you in my arms again. If you ever can figure out a way to Trinidad, you could live with us.

  Your rebel always,

  Neri

  I read the letter over and over and over again. I can’t believe that these papers in my hand was once in Neri’s hand in Trinidad. I feel the carving of her handwriting in the paper, the texture of her in the script. I don’t know how to handle all of this news, and all I can do is soak in the downpour of feelings drowning me all at once. I’m thinking of all that Neri went through and how I wish I could have been there for her. I give thanks to all of the ancestors, the universe, and Goddess for bringing she to safety and to people who care for she. I feel so far away from her after being in Minneapolis and my life here, yet I feel so close to her, like we was just in our C.H.U.R.C.H. yesterday. I grab one of the bags of tamarind ball and take one and place the sticky, tangy, and sugary ball rolled by my grandmother’s hands in my mouth and lie in my bed, on top of my laundry, and curl up on myself. I ain’t know what else to do. As I chew and dissolve the tamarind in my mouth, I search with tongue and teeth for the seeds within, that are smooth and hard and from a tree at home. I look out my window at the tree whose branches now hold small leaves, little promises of lushness. I lie there and play with the seeds in my mouth until I fall asleep.

  AUDRE

  SEEING MABEL WITH THE SKY AND SEA as her backdrop is one of the most sweetest things I ever get to see. I feel like I longed to bring she and the ocean together forever and it finally happen. We are arm in arm with a bunch of white carnations in our hands. We are sneaking little kisses and singing Whitney songs. We are saying prayers for the safe journey of Mr. Afua, who is on he way from a Pennsylvania prison to meet Mabel and all of his and her loved ones at Coney Island, he favorite place to be since he little and a place that Mabel has always wanted to go, because of a movie called The Warriors. He is set to reach here in the late afternoon or early evening.

  Me and she is barefoot, walking in the sand, walking in rhythm with each other. It is a warm June day and Mabel moves slowly, her attention lingering in every step she takes, our feet leaving traces of us behind us. I have a yellow dress, my skin trying to feel every piece of sun I can. Mabel is in a pair of colorful African pants we get for her yesterday in Brooklyn, her BLK LVRS T-shirt, and a green zip-up hoodie. It’s summer in New York, but she still feel a cold chill in her skin, even when it warm. The sand under our feet is turning darker and wetter the closer we get to the edge of the water. Every experience we share, I is praying for it to last forever. Every single thing of this journey with Mabel, I drink up and sip slow, coding it into my heart: The commotion of city and subways and cars and people and then an amusement park on the edge of the sea. Coney Island with my friend, my love, and my co-conjurer.

  “Audre, look at the waves. You finna put your toes in the water with me, right?” The joy in her smile catch my heart in a way that I needed and I smile back at she. I bend down to roll up she pants to she knees.

  “Look, nuh, you think we come all the way here and we ain’t going to dip we self in some kind of way, gyal? This will always be my real church,” I say, grabbing her by the waist and snuggling up in her arms. We are acting so silly and foolish and it feel good. Despite the sickness, she skin is sparkling and shining with coconut oil. I think of Neri in Trinidad and in my heart I invite her to be with us and the water.

  Come Here U Rebel, Come Here.

  The meaning I give to the letters of C.H.U.R.C.H. when I is in Trinidad with Neri feel real in this moment with Mabel. Somehow, I, the rebel, ended back at the ocean, my eternal mother of eternal love, with my special Mabel. I thank the ancestors and Creation for this moment.

  “I love you, Audre. You are my favorite. My favorite feeling, my favorite smell, my favorite sound,” she say.

  “Mabel, you are everything. Absolutely everything. I love you so much.” I pull her to me and kiss her, long and soft.

  “Audre, I will always love you.”

  We continue our walk.

  As we come closer to the water, I anticipate the wet lick of the first wave on our feet; in fact, I is yearning for it. Mabel stops me when we almost to the edge and just stands and looks at the beyond in front of us. Then she closes her eyes and lifts her head to the sun, and I see the rays is kissing she up. I lift my head and close my eyes so I can bask in it too. That is when our feet is submerged in a flash of coolness and we still holding each other tight. We open our eyes and laughing from the feeling, and we throw the flowers we brought as offering to the grasp of the waves that licked at our ankles and calves. We kiss a long kiss. We get splash good again and laugh away from each other’s lips. Mabel ease back a little from the water, but I walk in a little deeper and bring my dress up higher around my thighs. I let the salt water encircle my legs in a soak that feel like I been needing since another lifetime. It is weird to be at the ocean and not be in Trinidad. But I here with Mabel and I feel my Blue Tantie Goddess welcome us.

  * * *

  • • •

  “Mommy, what is the Middle Passage?” Sahir asks as he snuggles into Ms. Coco.

  “The Middle Passage is when our African ancestors were packed into ships and brought to the Caribbean, South America, and the States. It was horrible and scary for them,” she said, leaning on Mr. Sequan, with Sahir laying his head in her lap looking at the water.

  We are all laid out in a haven of blankets, pillows, and love with Mabel. Mabel’s family, my dad, and me. We started off the day looking at the sea, taking in the palette of love and ancestors’ bones. There was a ceremony at Coney Island happening for the ancestors of the Middle Passage. Ms. Coco had learned that every year in June, Black people from all over New York and beyond come to honor and pray for our ancestors from Africa who were at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, and it happened to be the day we are meeting Afua. Our parents thought it would be nice to experience the pilgrimage and enjoy lunch on the water. Further down the beach from us are so many sojourners—women, men, children, elders in all kind of different cinnamon, mahogany, obsidian, cocoa, and tan—walking to the edge of the water, dressed in all white, beholding and in ceremony with the oceanic burial ground. All of them here, like that remind me of Trinidad in a kind of way.

  “Mom, why were they taken away?” Sahir asked, while his mama stroked his head.

  “Hmmm . . . We still trying to figure that out every day, honey.” She kissed him on the forehead. “It was the scariest nightmare and it was real life. When they got here, it was still a nightmare. But somehow there was always magic within us somewhere, and we was talking to God and living and being limitless.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Port of Spain is a big city, but New York City could swallow it whole and belch it out. It se
em to go on forever. I try to imagine Queenie and my mom living here for so many years away from our sweet island home. I look at Mabel, who is asleep after our walk to the water. She has been very weak and needing to take more rests. Mr. Sequan had made a little beach bed with blankets and pillows for Mabel to snuggle up in. Sahir and I snuggle up in it with she too. On the drive to the ocean, we had picked up some doubles, roti, and pholourie for the beach at a shop near the house we staying in Brooklyn. Mabel took a little nibble off mine, since she has heard me talk about how much I love it. When she was done with her little tastes, she drank veggie broth and green juice that her mom brought her in her thermos.

  Mabel looks so happy. Content, amongst all of us, who love her. We watch the water and realize that this journey is a big journey for us all. A homecoming for Afua and Mabel.

  * * *

  • • •

  The van Afua was driven in from Pennsylvania is parked at a service entrance of the Coney Island amusement park. Police cars and yellow tape block off the entrance to the carnival. Several police accompany him from where he lives in the prison in Pennsylvania. They all get out and look around and then one of them helps Afua out of the van. When Mabel first see Afua, she start to cry. Afua is tall and strong, and real soft and big. When he stood there before us, it was like seeing a long-lost great-great-grandfather in flesh in front your face. With handcuffs on his wrists and a buffer of uniformed men and guns.

  His eyes are deep and pure. They search everything around him, the faces, the amusement rides, the sky. He looks young, but also grown and wise and timeless. And overwhelmed. He is smiling with tears dripping down his face at the sight of us. His mother, whose name is Ms. Rose, walks up to him, gray dreads wrapped in a bun, her arms circle ’round he neck and he leans his head on she shoulder. A couple of guards organize his other family members into a receiving line. We hang back while his family connects with him. After a little bit, he is introduced to Ms. Coco and Mr. Sequan, and they hug him. And then they bring Mabel forward and she hugs him too.

  They all talk to Afua, smiling and crying. I hang back to give them space, but I want also to see Mabel as she meet she friend for the first time. I hear Afua ask Mabel, “Is that Audre?” and Mabel nods and he smiles in my direction. “Nice to meet you, my Aquarian family,” he says, and I bring my hands into his large one.

  “It is very wonderful to meet you, Mr. Afua.” Now my dad and I are shoulder to shoulder amid the families.

  “Mabel, thank you for giving me a chance to see my bright and beautiful sun outside of those walls before either of us leave this earth.” Ms. Rose is holding Mabel hand and looking at her with glistening eyes. “I call Afua my ‘sun’ because he always shine bright, no matter what, even in prison all of these years. You have no idea what this is doing to my heart to see him breathing free air. I will never forget this, ever, ever, EVER!” She hugs and kisses all who came with Mabel. Then Afua’s family, his aunts, uncles, brothers, nieces, nephews, and cousins follow her lead, with more hugging and kissing. All of the families is crying and holding one another, like one big family reunion. The moment is so sweet, I feel like I am levitating off joy I ain’t know I would ever feel.

  * * *

  • • •

  Afua has six hours to spend before he has to get back in the van. We all give them some space so they could talk and thing, through the amusement park. They is walking side by side, Mabel in she hoodie, moving slow, Afua in he handcuffs, navy work pants and a light-blue shirt that say D.O.C. in big letters in the back. Mabel and her long-lost friend is talking and leaning slightly toward each other, amidst a carnival, with several armed guards never more than ten feet away. All of us family and friends trail behind. The crowds of regular people part for us, not sure what to make of it all.

  “Audre, don’t be disgusted by your old man, but Imma ’bout to get me a foot-long with all of the fixins. It’s a Coney Island thing that I just gotta do,” my father tell me, looking like he sheepish young self and acting as if I the parent he need to get approval from.

  “Live ya life, Dad. But if that hot dog start a fight with all the roti in yuh belly, yuh look for dat, eh,” I say, and he nods and smiles at my warning.

  Coney Island have a feeling like it been here since the beginning of time. I look at the stars start to twinkle above us slowly in a sky that is the strangest blue. Like a blue I ain’t ever see before if I is real. It look like it mix with lavender and periwinkle and amethyst. I staring at it for a second, and I feeling something in me yearn to fly into it. The sparkling lights of the rides and food stands are dazzling against the plum alchemy of the sky becoming. With rickety boardwalks, dried and smoothed by salt and sand and people. The air feel hot like a kiss, and the ocean breeze find its way to my scalp and cheeks and it remind me to slow down and take all of this in. The sky and the way my body feels. The way my heels feel in my sandals and the sensation of the African fabric I have wrapped around my shoulders and the blue above me ripening into blackness.

  GEMINI SEASON

  we was sister teaching brother

  how to read by oil lamp and moonlight

  ancestors deprived of power

  over our own minds and bodies

  multitasking in plain sight

  singing blueprints to freedom

  while cutting cane and harvesting fields

  we dream her in the library in the future

  mercury mind silver tongue

  with books under her arm from each section

  her mind can’t drink enough

  it fly low on every possibility

  wants to know all of the knowledges

  stolen from her ancestors she ain’t forgot

  she lay on her stomach and read till her back hurt.

  she runs the distance of her yard seven times

  the distance from past to future she lay down

  and read some more and remembers the ways

  that spirit flies

  through the night of mind

  shape-shifting seamless through duality

  and she one with her thoughts

  she whole and two parts

  MABEL

  “YO, THIS IS WILD. SURREAL.” Afua speaks slowly and softly. His voice has a gravel to it, and traces of a New York accent. We are walking among armed guards and our families. The amusement park was unblinking in its lights and spectacle.

  “Mabel, I’m kind of shook right now that I’m in Brooklyn. On Coney Island. I keep on feeling like Imma wake up . . .” I look at his eyes whizzing around and looking at everything around us, he closes his eyes for a second. Coney Island which is even overwhelming to me, so I can’t imagine how he feels. “Thank you with all my heart. I still can’t believe it at all.”

  “I feel the same way, Mr. Afua,” I say awkwardly, because I feel like I know him, but I really don’t. “This place is lit. I’ve never been to New York or Brooklyn ever. We was on the beach today too.” I notice how his body seems comfortable walking with handcuffs and guards around him. I’m distracted and a bit disturbed by the guns, radios, and handcuffs sparkling from each of the hips of the men escorting us. I do my best to not let their presence take away from this unbelievable moment of the two of us being alive and outside under the sky.

  “You liked the beach?”

  “I loved it.”

  “There is still something about this place, even after all of these years. It’s changed so much, yet looks exactly the same as when I was a kid. Like the Cyclone? Looks like it did in 1987 and how it probably looked from forever.”

  I look up at Afua, and I wonder how all of this moment feels. I wish that he didn’t have to have those handcuffs on and that he was free. But this is all we got, and I’m grateful even for this.

  We spend most of our day talking while armed guards follow us. My parents spent time
with us too, getting to know Afua, but mainly our families and friends are nearby also enjoying the park and giving us space.

  We were given unlimited vouchers for concessions, but there wasn’t much I could eat, so I sipped on a fruit-and-protein smoothie, while Afua ate a foot-long with everything, waffle fries, a strawberry milkshake, and cotton candy. I don’t know why I was surprised at his food choices. He savored them with appreciation.

  “There was this elder who lived in my building growing up who said he could never eat cotton candy,” he said, taking a bite of the pink sugar puff floating in front of his face, “because he grew up picking cotton and he hated it that much.”

  “I’m grateful that we get to be here with our families, but I wish that I could have got you free,” I say.

  “Mabel. Don’t worry about me. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m feeling . . . peace. I feel like life is mine, in some kind of way,” I say. I notice Audre with Uncle Sunny, a little bit of ways behind us. Audre and me catch glances and smile. He chuckles and his shoulders shake and he nods.

  “I know, I feel that too. Just for this moment, I feel a bit of freedom. How am I on death row and in Coney Island at the same time?” He laughs some more, looks up at the sky, and shakes his head.

  “Sometimes, I wonder if I weren’t dying, who I would be. As small as it is, this little life is mine, and I love it,” I say.

  “We are what life makes us; even if it’s a tragedy, sometimes you can still blossom something fruitful from it.”

  I look over at Afua and he is staring slowly at everything around him and walking slow. Then he pauses and takes a deep breath.

  “This is a perfect moment.”