“DO YOU LOVE IT? I LOVE IT! I GOT IT AT ROSS!”
The next morning Mama jumps out of bed with a smile on her face and yells down the hall: “Let’s get the hell out of here girls! Your father was right. We do need to treat ourselves and have some fun.”
“See?” Eve yells across the hall as we get dressed. “Told you she’d snap out of it.”
We grab our purses and sunglasses and march out the door in a parade of excitement and I sit in the back seat of the minivan feeling just like Eliza Doolittle from My Fair Lady. Ready to make my public debut. We arrive at Ross and rush through the sliding doors into the air-conditioned building. Eve beelines for the juniors racks while Mama runs her fingers over shiny pots and colored glass jars in the housewares aisle.
I like to try on formal dresses. Ones I can wear during piano recitals or on the rare occasion I go to the symphony to see Papa play cello. I fill my arms with puffed sleeves and velvet bodices and skirts dotted with sequins and head to the dressing room. And then I twirl and twirl and twirl in the mirror until Mama comes in with another dress to try on and the attendant says:
“Oh no ma’am there’s just some black girl in there.” And then the fun is over.
“That’s my daughter!” Mama storms past the attendant into my dressing room. And I understand why it makes her so mad. It makes me mad too. But in the car on the way home Mama stares ahead with tears in the corners of her eyes and mutters to herself: “People just can’t see past color can they?”
And I feel like punching her. I am the one with the color after all. I am the one.
“Mama. Calm down. That lady is ignorant. Don’t get upset ok? We’re fine. Keda’s fine. Right?” Eve turns to look at me from the passenger seat. Her eyes plead to not make Mama any more upset. “We were having such a nice day.” Eve continues. “Don’t let some random ruin it.”
“Are you really ok Makeda?” Mama says then looking at me in the mirror. “You know I’m just so on edge these days. I can’t believe things like this still happen.”
I want to tell Mama I am not fine. And how does “not seeing color” even make sense? I see my color every day. In the mirror. At the store when eyes follow me around wondering if I’m stealing or who I belong to. I see my color in the eyes of my peers. When they spit names at me or compliments they think are nice. I see my color in my dreams. In the songs that the Georgia Belles sing to me. In my nightmares. I can’t be without color. It is me. For better or for worse. This is me.
“I’m fine.” I say through gritted teeth. And then it’s as if we can all breathe again. Some of us easier than others.
QUESTIONS I HAVE FOR BLACK GIRLS LIKE ME
posted July 17th
Dear L
Have fun at camp! But PLEASE write me as soon as you can. LOL. I mean. I know you’ll be working hard but I am your BFF. And yeah. I know what you mean about having “all eyes on you.” Sometimes I feel like I am under a microscope. And then other times like I am completely invisible. But just remember: You are strong. You can do anything. I know you can.
I wish I was going somewhere fun this summer. Instead I am here. In this stupid desert. Hanging out with my mom. Who apparently doesn’t “see color.” ***EYE ROLL*** Anyway. Long story. Just be happy that you get some time away from your parents. Sigh. I miss talking to you. Don’t forget about me ok?
xoxo
K
Flying
Two days later at 4am Mama wakes us up. “Little birds.” She chirps. “It’s time for an adventure. Time to fly.”
Her face leaning over me in bed looks like a glowing planet. She smiles with all her strong teeth and I can tell she’s washed her hair because her braids are tight and neat and smell of lavender.
“What time is it? I have to work early.” Eve grumbles from the darkness of her room.
“Just after 4am. And don’t worry about work. We’ll call them from the road.”
“Where are we going?” I finally find my words as I sit up and stretch.
“It’s a surprise. Your dad’s not the only one who gets to go on a trip this summer. Now hurry! I want to beat traffic. This is going to be the perfect getaway for all of us. Everything is going to be better.”
Maybe it’s the joyful tone in Mama’s voice that makes us not ask questions. Maybe it’s because this is the first time she’s said “it’s going to be better” since we moved or the fact that she’s already packed the car and made us each a snack bag. Or maybe we are just too tired to register what is happening. But faster than we can say “Mama no” we’re on the highway driving away. The city wrapped in slumber. Mama’s hands steady on the wheel. Her flip-flops tossed on the passenger seat as her bare foot presses on the gas pedal. All the windows open. A gritty wind ripping at her pale always sunburnt skin. And it feels good. To be on the road again. Mama driving so fast and straight and free. Driving until edges of the landscape begin to bleed sunrise. Until a sky so clear and sharp greets us with a new day.
Boulder
Seven hours later (with one quick bathroom stop and a drive through lunch) we arrive in Boulder Colorado. Just outside of the city Mama turns down a dirt path and winds the van up a steep road. We are at the foot of the Rocky Mountains. The aspen trees stand tall at the edges of the road and the circles of black on their white trunks blink at us like eyes. Mama is glowing. She hasn’t slept all night but she is full of chatter as we wind up and up and up. Higher and higher into the mountains.
“We’re almost there. Do you girls recognize it here?” Mama asks.
“I do.” says Eve. “We came here when I was little right?”
“Kinda.” I say. Sticking my hand out the window to feel the strength of the mountain air against my palm.
“Yes. Eve I think you were five and Makeda was still a toddler. And I used to come here too. As a little girl. With Aunt Sarah and your grandma Esther. We’ve been renting this cabin for years. We’re lucky I got a reservation so last minute. Thankfully someone just canceled.”
“Are there bunk beds?” I ask. “I remember bunk beds.”
Mama laughs. “Yes! There’s a loft above the main room with bunks. That’s where you’ll be sleeping. Last time you were too young to climb the ladder to the loft. You slept in the bedroom with me and Papa.”
Mama pulls off the main road onto an even narrower dirt road until we arrive at the cabin. It is made of golden logs and sits on the edge of a slope so that the back of the cabin looks down and out over a sea of trees and rocks.
“How long are we staying?” Eve says checking the service bars on her phone. “I was supposed to work all week. And who’s taking care of the chickens?”
“Oh come on. You’re no fun Eve.” Mama says stopping the car and jumping out. “Work will still be there when we get back. I asked Mr. John to take care of the chickens while we’re away. Let’s just live in the moment and soak up this scenery ok?” And with that Mama skips into the cabin.
“How would you know? You’ve never even been able to keep a real job.” Eve mutters after Mama.
I turn in my seat and look back at Eve. The expression on her face is somewhere between amused and annoyed. “Are you ok?” I ask.
“Yeah. I just don’t get it. She seems so happy. But I didn’t realize we were driving all the way to another state. It’s a little weird right?”
“A little.”
“Well. At least my phone seems to still be working even though we’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“WHAT ARE YOU STILL DOING IN THE VAN?!” Mama is waving from the front door. “GET IN HERE. LET’S GO FOR A HIKE. THE VIEWS ARE GLORIOUS.”
“Come on.” Eve says then climbing out. “Maybe this is what we all need.”
“Yeah.” I say. “It could be fun.” And we grab our bags and meet Mama inside.
After
We take a mini hike. After that we drive down the mountain for groceries and ice cream. After that we eat loaded baked potatoes and watch the sun set on the back deck. Mama
jumps up and says: “I think it’s time for a show. Let’s put some music on.”
Eve and I grab our dinner plates and head inside where we drop them into the sink and then run up to the loft to change into our sweatpants. Below us. In the main room. Mama moves aside a leather armchair and then pushes a small love seat into a corner. Then she rolls up the rug to make a dance space. She lights a few candles and then plugs her phone into the speakers.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” She announces. “I present to you ‘The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies’!” It is one of our favorite songs from Tchaikovsky’s The Nutcracker. Even Eve can’t deny it. We look down and see Mama has already started twirling around the room. So Eve and I make our way down the stairs and Mama hands us each one of her silk scarves. The ones she uses to pad her violin in its case. Then Mama takes her place conducting us from the armchair with one hand as she pours herself a big glass of wine. Eve and I curtsy in the center of the room. Then. As the celesta begins its bell-like tune we spring into an intricate dance of tiptoeing and spinning and leaping around the room.
“Yes girls! That’s it! Toes pointed. Tummies in. Legs graceful and sharp. Bravo. Bellissima. Wonderful!” Mama cheers. “And now twirl! Twirl! Don’t stop.” And Eve and I spin and slide around the floor in our socks as fast and as gracefully as we can. Bumping into one another. Our tongues sticking out of the corners of our mouths in concentration. Until we are so dizzy and out of breath we fall to the ground giggling and panting as Mama gives us a standing ovation.
“Girls.” She gasps. Downing the rest of her glass. “What fun we’re going to have here. Who needs your father?”
And I almost believe her.
When she tucks us into bed hours later (even though we are both too old for this). Her two long braids fall onto my face and I inhale the tingly smell of her lavender shampoo now mixed with the scent of spruce tree sap. I want to wrap her braids around my neck like a scarf. I want to climb up them like she is Rapunzel until I am in her arms. Don’t leave me. But I don’t say this. I let her kiss my forehead and then I burrow under the covers.
“Good night my little birds.” She turns off the light and heads down the steep ladder. Eve is already snoring on the top bunk. I pull out my flashlight and a flat speckled rock I found on our hike from under my pillow. I rub it in my palms and then drag it lightly across my arms. My stomach. My neck. I put it in my mouth and hold it like an egg on my tongue. I suck on the silk of it and then take it out. Only to watch it shine and then turn to chalk again. Downstairs Mama’s phone is ringing and then it stops. Mama must have silenced it. I hear her uncorking more wine. I fall asleep to the thought of her taking out her braids. Her hair so long and thick it joins the moonlight outside and floats on the top of the darkness like a path of glittering lily pads.
The River
I dream a new dream at the cabin that night. I am in a house and it is hot. Sticky hot. I am slicing peaches on a countertop and in another room a woman is singing along with the radio. There are no words to her song. Or if there are words they are words that I can’t understand. As I finish the last peach the house begins to shake. The house breaks in half and a deep river gushes through the middle. I grab the knife and run out into an orchard. I see the shadow of a woman waving her arms from the river. She waves and waves and waves and then she smiles. Sinks. And is gone.
When I wake up I am drenched in sweat. The cabin is dark and seems to quiver with the noise of Mama’s and Eve’s snoring. I sneak down the ladder and get myself a glass of water. I tiptoe past Mama who has fallen asleep on the love seat still dressed. Her legs flung over the sides like a rag. At the kitchen window I stare hard into the dark and watch the moon dressing herself against the curtain of trees. What I can’t seem to shake about the dream is the back of her hand. Waving calmly. As if she knew all along the river was coming. I lick my own hand and taste dirt. I gulp down the water and then sneak back upstairs. And after I’m back in bed. The water settling in my stomach. All I can think of is peaches. How if only I could fill my mouth with their flesh I might not be hungry anymore. How the disappearing woman looked both like Mama and someone I’ve never met.
Needles & Yarn
Even though we are exhausted from our first day at the cabin we set out early again the next morning.
“We need to busy our hands!” Mama tells us as she winds down the mountain into the city at 8am.
“I thought this was supposed to be relaxing?” Eve says.
“It is! What’s more relaxing than knitting?”
“Um I dunno. Reading a book in the sun. Swimming in the river. Watching movies and napping. Literally anything else.”
“Makeda.” Mama continues. Ignoring Eve. “I’ll teach you how to knit. It’s really easy when you get the hang of it. And it feels so satisfying to make something from scratch.”
I don’t remind Mama that she’s already taught me how to knit. I’m not very good but two years ago I made a lumpy scarf the color of sea glass. I just nod my head. She’s been so happy. Why spoil it? I could use a refresher anyway.
The store we pull up to is called Needles & Yarn. Mama bounds inside and instantly starts pulling hand-dyed yarns and wooden needles off the shelves.
“Oooh. What’s this?” She asks the clerk. Rubbing her cheeks against a fluffy ball of cotton candy pink yarn.
“Well that’s one of our luxury yarns. It’s made of one hundred percent super merino wool. It’s spun chunky and light to resemble clouds.”
“My word it’s divine!” Mama’s eyes light up. “Girls. Come feel this.”
We hustle over and take turns rubbing the ball of yarn on our cheeks.
“It really is like a cloud.” Eve says. “Cool.”
“It’s so soft. I just want to eat it.” I giggle.
“We’ll take it.” Mama almost yells with excitement.
“Just the one?” The clerk confirms.
“Oh no. We’ll take all of it. How many balls do you have?”
“Mama! All of them?” I look at the price tag. One ball costs $30. “What are we going to do with all of it?”
“Makeda. Please don’t bring that anxious energy in here. We’re treating ourselves. Just like your father said. Money is not an issue.”
I look at Eve. But she’s texting her friends. Her face is buried in her screen.
“I’ll just hold all these up at the register for you.” The clerk says gathering up the thirty balls of cotton candy cloud yarn. “So you can keep shopping.”
And Mama keeps going. She tornadoes around the store yelling to no one in particular and laughing at odd times and when I try to ask her a question she only half answers.
“Mama! You’re making us dizzy.” Eve hisses. “Slow down.”
“Eve! Just relax. We’re paying customers. We can do what we want.”
“Whatever. I’ll be outside.” Eve says to Mama. And then to me: “Make sure she doesn’t buy the whole store.”
I am trying to relax but Eve’s warning makes my hands sweat. I try to enjoy the store with Mama but she is hard to keep up with. By the time Mama is finished she’s filled two additional baskets full of yarn and supplies and has picked us all an artisan crochet pouch to keep our needles in. I stand behind Mama as the clerk rings up our items. Each time she scans something I feel a tingle in the pit of my stomach. It’s too much. We don’t need all this. Voices sing in my head.
“Your total is one thousand three hundred seventy-four dollars and fifty-seven cents. Will that be cash or card?”
“Swipe away!” Mama laughs handing over her Visa. “It’s so worth it. We’re going to make so many beautiful things. Aren’t we peach?” She says looking down at me but not really looking at me.
“Yeah. Sure.” I say. “I can’t wait.”
And Mama kisses me on the head. “Grab the bags!” She calls. “Next stop is the mall. You both need some new clothes.”
No More Sweatpants and Frumpy Shirts
At the mall Mama insi
sts that we get all new outfits for the fall. We run around J. C. Penney and Mama throws item after item into our cart. By the time we get to the dressing room the cart is overflowing with dresses and jeans and tops and more. I am so excited about my new outfits that I twirl and twirl in the dressing room. I’m finally getting a couple formal dresses to wear to concerts. Since we left our last shopping trip at Ross without getting anything.
But just as I am practicing a curtsy in a red dress Eve sticks her head into my stall and frowns at me. “Keda!” She hisses. “This is not a game. We need to tell Mama we don’t need all of this. I mean. You know I love shopping. But this. This is cray cray.”
“Mama says we’re treating ourselves.” I try. But I know something is not right.
“Makeda don’t be a baby. You know that’s not what’s happening here. Take off that dress and put it back. I’ll try to sneak some of the other things in the cart back onto the racks.”
“I’m not a baby!” I hiss at Eve. But she’s already left my stall.
I tear off the dress I am wearing and shove it under the bench in the dressing room. It’s not fair! It’s not fair! My head screams. Why can’t we just have a fun shopping day! But then I help Eve put some of the things in our cart back while Mama is trying on dresses of her own.
Mama still spends $500 on clothes for us. Then she buys herself two new concert gowns that cost about $300 each.
For Black Girls Like Me Page 11