Piecing Me Together(41)

“You know that’s what people are going to say about Natasha Ramsey. That it had nothing to do with her being black.”

“Who?” Sam asks.

There is silence between us.

I don’t respond, because this is not a conversation I want to have. Not with Sam. I tell her I have to go, that my mom needs the phone. I hang up. Call Lee Lee.





50


respirar

to breathe

The first thing Lee Lee says to me is, “I was just about to call you. Did you hear what happened?”

“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

“We had a town hall meeting for students who needed to talk about it. I went,” Lee Lee tells me.

“Did you say anything?” I ask.

“No, just listened. It was kind of pointless. I mean, you know, the usual, ‘If you need an adult to talk to, we’re here for you.’ You know, that kind of stuff.”

“Well, that’s more than my school,” I tell her.

“I want to do something,” Lee Lee says.

“Do something?”

“Yeah, I mean, well, I kind of am, I guess. Mrs. Baker gave us an assignment to write a poem in honor of Natasha Ramsey or any victim of police brutality. But writing a poem doesn’t seem like enough. I don’t know.” Lee Lee’s voice cracks, and she stops talking. I hear her sniffing and breathing hard.

I get up off my bed and walk around my room. “You okay?”

“I don’t know why this making me so, so . . . I don’t know. I mean, we hear about this stuff all the time—and she didn’t even die. It’s not even as bad as it could be. But for some reason I just . . . I don’t know. I feel, it just feels—”

“Too close?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“And like it could have been you or me?”

There are no words from Lee Lee, only the sound of her breathing.

We sit there, not talking, just listening to each other’s breath. Just thankful.





51


borrar

to erase

Morning will be here soon and I haven’t slept at all.

How does time go by without you seeing it, hearing it, feeling it? Have I yawned? Did my stomach moan? Did my eyes fade at least once?

I decide to make another piece about York.In Clark’s journals, he wrote that many Native Americans were fascinated with York’s dark skin, his hair, his big frame. I can just hear them asking, What are you?

Where are you from?

Why are you so dark?

What happened to you?

Clark wrote that some of the tribes thought York was magic, thought he was some kind of supernatural being. York would tell them he was a black man, nothing had happened to his skin, he was not a supernatural being. But some of them didn’t believe him. So he joked around with the children, telling them monstrous tales, making himself into an evil, scary being. The children loved to laugh and run away from him. I wonder how he felt at night. When the star-filled sky blanketed him, did he ever think about what his life was like before the expedition? Before he was a slave? How far back could he remember? Did he remember existing in a world where no one thought him strange, thought him a beast? Did he remember being human?





52


perseverar

to persevere

Maxine and I decide to go on a walk through Columbia Park. “All our outings can’t be centered around food,” she says. Spring is finally here, so walking outside isn’t so bad. I’ve been looking forward to it all week. We walk under the colossal trees, circling the whole park. As we walk, I tell her about Sam—about the incident at the mall and in the cafeteria line, and how Sam doesn’t even know about Natasha Ramsey. How she’s always making excuses for why something is the way it is, and her reasons are never about the fact that I am black and that sometimes it really is about race.

“You need to tell her how you feel,” Maxine says.

“I know, but I don’t know how to start the conversation with her,” I admit. “And I’ve never had to have any serious conversations about race with a friend. I mean, the point of friendship is to be able to be yourself, to just exist with someone who gets you while you get them. I never have to talk to Lee Lee and hash things out about stuff like this.”

“I don’t think it’s fair to compare the two of them. They are different, and just like Lee Lee offers you a certain kind of friendship, it sounds like Sam does too. Some friends are worth fighting for,” Maxine says. She sits on a park bench. I sit next to her. “And you know, you’re worth fighting for,” Maxine tells me. “Did you ever talk with Mrs. Parker about the study abroad program?”

Something else I need to speak up about.

“I will,” I tell her.

“By the way,” she says. “I’ve been thinking of our deal. I held up my part,” she tells me. “I’m done with Jon. For real this time. Thought you’d want to know that,” Maxine says. “So, I did my part. I quit. Now we have to keep working on your learning how not to quit on everything and everyone because they disappoint you or hurt you or make a mistake.”

I don’t even argue with her because I know she’s right. I can’t quit on Sam, can’t quit on my dream to do the study abroad program. Can’t quit on me.