Piecing Me Together(17)

“Yes, all language is. That’s what you used to tell me.”

Dad puts his fork down. Leans back in his chair. “Me? I told you that?”

“Yes, when I was little. When it was story time and I didn’t want to stop playing to go read and you would tell me I ought to take every chance I get to open a book because it was once illegal to teach a black person how to read,” I remind him.

“I told you that?” Dad asks, smiling.

“Dad, I’m serious. You told me that knowing how to read words and knowing when to speak them is the most valuable commodity a person can have. You don’t remember saying that?”

“Yeah, sounds like something I’d say.” Dad laughs. “Didn’t realize you were really listening.”

“Of course I was. And ever since then I’ve wanted to be a black girl who could read and write in many languages, because I know there was a time when that seemed impossible.”

“So you’re saying your passion is my fault.”

“Yep.”

“I wish I could take all the credit for you. But you know you get that big dreaming from your momma,” he says. “Back when we were in school, she talked that same way. You just like her.”





18


fotografiar

photograph

On the way home from Dad’s I take as many photos as I can: Naked branches and tree trunks.

Fallen leaves.

A little girl falling asleep in her mother’s arms on the bus.

The hands of a man holding on to the pole.

The blur of buildings and houses as we drive by.

Frank’s Corner Store.

Lee Lee’s house.

The street sign at the corner of my block.

The door to my house.

And before I go inside, I turn the camera on me.





19


libros

books

“This place feels magical,” I say to Maxine. When she first told me she was bringing me to a bookstore, I wasn’t that excited to go. But Powell’s isn’t just any bookstore. It’s a massive haven that sells any book you can think of. There are so many rooms and floors, they give you a map. I’ve never ever heard of a bookstore giving you a map so you can get through it. We go to the art section, which is not a section but a whole room.

A short tan woman with a kinky Afro walks over to us. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Hi,” Maxine says. “This is Jade. She’s an artist—a collagist—and we’re looking for some books for inspiration that show the work of black collagists.”

Afro Woman says, “Oh, so you’re an artist?” She starts walking fast through the aisles. “What do you make art about?” She turns down an aisle, starts slowing down, and then stops when we get to the middle.

I tell her all the things I love making art about.

“Well, I have the perfect books for you,” she says. She pulls a book off the shelf. “Have you heard of Romare Bearden? He’s one of the greats. You’ll love his collages.” We walk to another aisle, in search of more books. Afro Woman scans the shelves. “Ah, here we go.” She pulls out another book. “This is a small collection of work from the artist Mickalene Thomas,” she says. “She does mixed-media collages.”

“This is gorgeous,” Maxine says. She hands me the book.

I look through the pages. I have never seen art like this before—not in a book.

Afro Woman walks us to another aisle. “Yeah, Mickalene used to live in Portland,” she tells us. I don’t hear all of what she is saying because I am looking through the book, staring at these brown women and their faces that are pieced together with different shades of brown, different-size features, all mismatched yet perfectly puzzled together to make them whole beings. “I want to do this,” I say out loud. They don’t hear me because they are too busy talking about Mickalene and where she went to school and where she lived in Portland.

The whole way to the cashier, I am trying to choose which book to get now and which one to come back for. When we get in line, Maxine takes both books and says, “Anything else you want?”

Is that a trick question? I say no.

She pays for the books.

I can’t stop thanking Maxine. She says, “You are more than welcome. Just thank me by making some great art.”

Once we’re in the car, I feel bad because we’re not talking much. Seems like we should be getting to know each other. But the whole way home all I can do is stare at these masterpieces, study the making of me.





20


doce

twelve

There are twelve girls who’ve been selected for the Woman to Woman mentorship program.

Twelve seeds.

Twelve prayers.

Twelve daughters.

Twelve roots.

Twelve histories.

Twelve reasons.

Twelve rivers.

Twelve questions.

Twelve songs.

Twelve smiles.

Twelve yesterdays.

Twelve tomorrows.





21


mujer a mujer

woman to woman

Being part of Woman to Woman is like having twelve new aunts. The way they all ask, “And how’s school?” then “Any boys trying to get with you?” The way one is good for advice about choosing the right college and another is good for advice about choosing the right shade of makeup to complement your complexion.