For Black Girls Like Me

by Mariama J. Lockington

  “It’s not really your fault.” Eve says starting to text someone. “It’s just messed up that we have to live like this.”

  We? I think.

  “Yeah.” I say. “It is.”

  The Georgia Belles

  Will not let me sleep

  Or maybe I am keeping myself up

  I can’t stop thinking about HER

  My birth mom

  I want her here

  And I don’t

  I want to crawl into her lap

  And I want to push her away

  Baby girl baby girl

  The Belles sing

  You are stuck deep in this mud

  Dig dig dig yourself out

  I am not a baby girl

  I am not your baby girl

  I am full of spores and seeds

  Bursting in the wind

  I want to be everywhere

  And nowhere all at once

  I want to be a blank map

  A map full of space

  Where do I go

  With this name of mine?

  This name

  I have been called?

  You go on you go on

  Dig dig dig the Belles answer

  All through the night

  Our Bodies Ourselves

  The day after Mama pulls us out of school she wakes us up early and takes us to the bookstore. “This is not going to be 24/7 vacation.” She says as we walk through the glass doors into the store. She’s wearing a plain but clean long sleeve shirt. Jeans. Her braids pinned around her head in a crown. She has a notepad full of lists: Books. Websites. Phone numbers. “I stayed up late last night thinking this through and convincing your father that this is the best way. We are going to make these last five weeks of the school year count!” She continues.

  “So what’s the plan?” Eve asks yawning. Her eyes already scanning the magazine aisle.

  “You each are to pick out two books. One nonfiction book about a period in history you’re interested in. One book of fiction. Classic or contemporary. And I’m going to pick up some AP English books for Eve and look at the curriculum aisle.”

  “What about math and science?” I ask.

  “Well. You know I’m not really strong in those areas. So I’m looking into some groups and online classes for you. Today let’s focus on history and literature.”

  “No offense.” Eve says. “But how are you going to teach us everything we need to know when you barely graduated high school?”

  “Eve.” Mama lets out a long sigh. “You know that school is just another oppressive capitalist institution right? And even more so these days with all that standardized testing and Common Core crap. I want you to be independent thinkers. And no. I didn’t go to college and I barely finished high school. But you know what? The world gave me an education! I traveled to six of the seven continents before I was seventeen because of my career. I’ve learned a lot from the people I played music with. Who hosted me in their homes and took me around their cities. And from books. And the internet. You can learn anything you want these days on the internet. So please. Just approach this as an adventure. Where you get to decide what questions to ask and what interests you! Don’t you want to take control of your own destiny?”

  “God. Don’t get all preachy on us. We get it.” Eve rolls her eyes. “I just think we could have at least finished this year at El Rio. You know. But whatever. Let’s have an adventure. Sounds super fun.” Eve splits off and heads to the drama section.

  “How are you doing today peach?” Mama looks at me now. “Still mad at me too?”

  “No. Just tired.” I say. And it’s not a lie. I’m exhausted by Mama’s sudden energy. How long is this going to last? The first couple weeks after we moved Mama was up every day getting boxes unpacked. Barking orders. Putting together the house. And then she just stopped. Stopped getting dressed. Stopped caring. Will this be the same?

  For my history book I pick out a book about the Civil Rights Movement. It has lots of pictures and time lines. Then I move to the fiction section. The classics. I pick out a book called The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison.

  When we’re ready to check out Mama stacks our books together. And then on top she places a huge book called Our Bodies, Ourselves.

  “Are you serious?” Eve says. “That book is huge.”

  “Right. And it has everything you girls will ever need to know about women’s health. It’s a feminist classic. You read this and you will know everything you need to know about your bodies. Better than any sex education or health class you’d get at school.”

  “Ha!” Eve says. “I doubt that.”

  “Well. I wish my mom had made me read this when I was your age. I will not have girls who don’t understand how their uteruses work.”

  “Shhhh! Why are you yelling?”

  “Oh come on! Uterus is not a bad word. Neither is vagina. VAGINA. VAGINA. Say it with me girls.” Mama yells.

  “That will be $111.50.” The guy ringing us up behind the counter interrupts.

  And Eve and I stand behind Mama. Mortified. As he takes Mama’s credit card. And Mama just stands there. Oblivious.

  Top Secret

  Later that afternoon I hop on the desktop computer in the sunroom that Eve and I use for homework sometimes. It’s pretty slow but Eve and I can at least get on the internet. Mama has a laptop but she says it’s off-limits to us. Even though she barely even uses it. I log into my email and the first thing I see is a message from Lena.

  April 22

  From: LenaBeans@gmail.com

  To: JazzyK@gmail.com

  SUBJECT: Top Secret

  Dear K

  I set up a Tumblr for us. If we set our posts to private only the two of us can see it. Let’s post each other letters on there ok? We just need a good name for the blog that no one will guess. I’ll let you pick that. You’re much better with words than I am.

  Remember. You are my BFF. I want to know EVERYTHING that happens to you. Even when it’s hard.

  To log in:

  Username: LenaBeans@gmail.com

  I’m not going to write the password here. But here is a clue I think you’ll get

  #ashyforlife

  I can’t wait for your first post.

  Your BFF

  L

  I am smiling so big the corners of my lips hurt. It’s genius. Our own Tumblr! I quickly listen for any movement in the house. But Mama is in her room sleeping and Eve walked over to El Rio about an hour ago to whine to her friends about the unfairness of life. Papa as usual is at work. I type in the login information and then I stare at the blinking cursor in the password box. #ashyforlife? I type in JERGENS. Denied. I try ASHYQUEENS. Denied. I type #10BOTTLESADAY and “I’m in!” I whisper.

  It takes me less than five minutes to set up our theme and upload a picture of the two of us. Then I add our title and tagline:

  QUESTIONS I HAVE FOR BLACK GIRLS LIKE ME

  “I’m not white. That’s just my parents.”

  Letters between #ashyforlife adopted besties.

  posted April 22nd

  Dear L

  This is the best thing that has happened to me ALL year. I hope you like the title I made up. And for my first post here are some QUESTIONS I HAVE FOR BLACK GIRLS WHO HAVE BEEN CALLED NAMES:

  What’s the worst name you’ve ever been called?

  How do you forget it?

  What makes you angry?

  What makes you feel powerful?

  Who sees you the most?

  What does love feel like?

  To me. Love feels like having a best friend.

  XOXO

  K

  Chicks

  The next morning Mama decides to start a farm on our half acre of land. “Taking care of animals will teach us all some important skills!” She says turning the lights in our rooms on at 6am. We drive along the dark pebbly streets until the land bleeds with sunrise. An hour later we arrive at a feed shop. Outside is a chalkboard that reads CH
ICKS FOR SALE. ONE DOZEN FOR $10. I still have sleep in my eyes but I wipe them quickly when I see Mama emerging from the shop carrying a medium-sized cardboard box. She puts the box between me and Eve on the middle back seat and we peer in. Twelve yellow chicks with sleep still in their eyes too are peeping and pooping and squatting in the corners.

  “Soon we’ll have fresh eggs.” Mama says starting the engine. “Soon.”

  I take one of the chicks up in my hands. Hold it just tight enough to feel its fragile ribs. I feel like god. Creator. I squeeze just enough until it stops squirming and then release it wiggling and breathing again. I kiss its iridescent beak and put it back in the box. Then I repeat again and again with each chick. Reach. Squeeze. Kiss. Reach. Squeeze. Kiss. Until we are home.

  New Routines

  It turns out it takes six months for baby chicks to grow into hens that lay eggs. For the next couple of weeks Eve and I get used to our new routine at home. At first Mama wakes us up at 8am but soon we’re rolling out of bed at 10am. We eat oatmeal or granola and then take turns raising up our new pets. I don’t mind the baby chicks. They are cute and fluffy and fragile. The chicks are not big enough to be in the coop yet. So we keep them in a corner of the garage penned in with a wire gate with heat lamps clamped to it to make sure they don’t get cold or sick. We have to change their water often. And leave chick feed scattered around so they can eat and grow big and strong. Most of the chicks are yellow with a little bit of brown. Like bananas ripening in the sun. Mama says that when they get older they will start to change color and we’ll be able to tell them apart better. For now I call them all “Angel” because when they huddle close together they look like a glowing ring of light. Like a halo.

  I feel important being in charge of the chicks. I think Eve does too. Because even though she complains about the smell or how we have to keep changing the newspaper in their pen when it gets too full of poop. She always reminds me when it’s my turn to check on them. Even though she knows I never forget. And sometimes she comes into the garage with me just so she can play with them some more.

  Other than checking on the chicks every few hours the days pass slowly. Besides trips to the library and weekly piano lessons with our new teacher Mrs. Umanski. Mama lets us make our own schedules.

  “I want you both to finish the books I bought you by the end of the month. Then we’ll have a discussion about what you learned. If you encounter a word you don’t know underline it and then look it up! That way you have an ongoing vocabulary list.”

  Usually after breakfast I sit in the sunroom with a roll of highlighters and my book. I’d rather watch TV but the only one we have is in Mama and Papa’s room and we’re not allowed to watch it unless she invites us. I find other ways to pass the time. I try to read two chapters a day. One from each of my books. Then I spend time on the desktop computer. I write Lena on our blog when no one is around. Eve is more of a night owl. She naps during the days. Or walks over to El Rio after school to hang out with some of the girls there. And then late at night I see her flipping through her AP English book. Mumbling to herself and making notes.

  And Mama reads too. The newspaper. Articles on her laptop computer. Sometimes she stays in bed past noon lost in a TV show or book. And I wonder if this is what she did when she was a girl. If after being in the spotlight. On the radio. And practicing for five hours a day. She retreated to her room to be alone. I wonder what lessons she learned while traveling. What her parents made her do to keep up with her studies. What it must have been like to be so talented and so young.

  QUESTIONS I HAVE FOR BLACK GIRLS LIKE ME

  posted April 25th

  Dear K

  I love the title. LOL. You know I always have questions. And that tagline is perfect. I am so glad you figured out the password. I knew you would.

  I’ve been thinking about that word Katy called you. A lot. I never got to tell you about my trip to the Museum of African American History and Culture. It was super awkward to walk through some of the exhibits with my mom. When we arrived. We took a big elevator to the very bottom floor of the museum. When we got out we were in a dark cramped gallery with pictures and artifacts from the slave trade. It felt like we were IN a slave ship. The rooms were narrow and triangular. It was hot and crowded and dark. My mom kept gasping at all the images of black people in chains. And she was holding my hand really tight. I dunno. I felt like. She was making a big scene. And that everyone was looking at me. Like maybe she never really thought about how bad it must have been. But I have.

  When I was standing in that crowded space with her. I felt alone. And then later in the cafeteria for lunch my mom said: “I’m so glad we’ve come so far as a country.” But have we? Not if people are still using the N-word. I guess what I am trying to say is that the museum made me feel both small and proud. Like. Look at all the great things black people have done even though we went through—and still go through—so much.

  I do know that I feel most powerful when I’m on the balance beam. When I land all my jumps and stick my landing. That’s when I feel the strongest. Like I can do anything.

  Your BFF

  L

  PS Here is a picture I took of a Billie Holiday “master disc.” You’re welcome.

  Homeschool Group

  Almost two weeks after pulling us out of school Mama announces that we’ll be joining a homeschool group.

  “It took me forever to find a group that’s not überreligious but the founder of the group is a political science professor at the University of New Mexico named Mr. John. So the group is pretty liberal.” She tells us.

  “Are there any high schoolers?” Eve asks.

  “There are a couple of 8th graders who are doing high school level work. So. You’ll be in good company. And Makeda. There are plenty of kids your age in the group as well.”

  “Great!” Eve yells. “Eighth graders. So basically I’ll be babysitting. This is going to be so fun.”

  Mama ignores her and turns to me. “Any questions from you Makeda? You’re very quiet these days.”

  So are you. I want to say. But instead I ask: “Are there any black kids in the group?”

  “Well I don’t see why color has to matter so much. But I think there is a set of twin girls who are Chinese American. Mr. John assured me it was a very diverse group in other ways. And Mr. John’s son Huck is mixed. His mother is from Peru originally. I think you’ll like the other kids. If you give them a chance.”

  I bite my tongue. I think about Lena. I miss her. But I do need some friends here too. Maybe Mama is right. It will be nice to have company since Eve doesn’t really like to play anymore and except for Lena and our blog there’s hardly anyone to talk to these days.

  “Alright then.” Mama continues. “You’re going to have to give it a chance because I’ve volunteered us to host the group at our place this week. So. We need to get the house ready. Now.”

  We Spend the Next Two Days Cleaning

  Our rooms. The kitchen. The bathrooms. Mama even makes us comb the yard for trash. On Thursday morning we grab pillows from all over the house and arrange them in a circle on the floor of the sunroom. At 9am the group starts to arrive. I watch from the front window as cars pull slowly into our long driveway and let kids out. Mama and Eve greet everyone at the door and then I usher people to the sunroom. Mr. John is the last to arrive with his son. And when we all sit down the sunroom is filled with about ten of us. I look around. No one speaks. It is so quiet. As if they hardly know each other. What kind of group is this?

  “Good morning everyone!” Mr. John starts. “Let’s go around and introduce ourselves. Everyone say your name and one thing that you think makes you unique.”

  Carl and his little sister Emma are up first. They are dedicated Christians but “We accept all of god’s people. No matter your faith or beliefs.” Carl says for the both of them.

  Melody is next. She is frail. With vampire pale skin. Short brown hair and round glasses. She looks at her h
ands and tells us she’s obsessed with Pokémon Go and loves drawing.

  Vienna and her two younger twin sisters Amy and Alyse follow. “I’m a dancer.” Vienna starts. She’s sitting a little outside of the circle stretching her long legs. “I dance ballet and modern with the New Mexico Youth Company. I’m planning to go to Juilliard by the time I’m sixteen. (I’m thirteen now.)” The twins sit next to her. They wear coordinated teal and purple floral rompers but Alyse has a short bob haircut and Amy wears a long ponytail.

  “I’m in 3rd grade.” Amy starts. “And I think eating meat is murder. I’m going to be a veterinarian.”

  “And I’m Alyse. I think bacon is delicious. I’m going to be a five-star chef.”

  Then there is Huck. Mr. John’s son. Huck is in 7th grade but looks like he could be in high school. He has brown eyes and shaggy black hair that falls over his eyes. “My parents named me after the book The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. I love maps. I got fifth place in the National Geography Bee last year. This year I’m hoping to place in the top three.” He tells the group. His voice is calming. Soft. Like snow hitting the mountains.

  After Huck a small boy named Jesse introduces himself. But I don’t hear anything he says. I’m still thinking about Huck’s voice. I want to know where he’s traveled. What his favorite word is. His favorite country. Does he look at maps the way I do? I wonder.

  Eve’s voice snaps me out of my daydream. She’s sitting next to me in the circle. “I’m Eve. but I guess you guys know that already since I met most of you on your way in. I’m in 9th grade. I like to act.”

  And then it is my turn. All eyes focus on me. Even Huck’s. And I feel my face get warm. “Makeda. But my friends call me Keda. I’m in 6th grade. I love jazz music. I wish I could sing like Billie Holiday.”