Piecing Me Together(44)

Sam’s face contorts into confusion. “What do you mean?”

I can’t control my breath. My chest heaves and words escape between shallow gasps. “I just want to be normal. I just want a teacher to look at me and think I’m worth a trip to Costa Rica. Not just that I need help but that I can help someone else. You keep saying we’re not that different, but have you ever wondered why you don’t get the same opportunities I get?”

She wipes her tears.

I swallow mine.

She keeps packing.

I stand. “I should go. I want to get on the bus before it’s dark.”

Sam doesn’t turn around, doesn’t speak. She keeps packing.

I know Maxine says there are some friends who are worth fighting for, but sometimes it’s just easier to walk away.

“Have fun in Costa Rica,” I tell her. I don’t say, See you when you get back.





55


miedo

fear

With a whole week off from school, there’s plenty of time to hang with Lee Lee and Andrea. We are tired of going to Jantzen Beach shopping center. For one, we don’t have money to buy anything, and two, Lee Lee’s ex works at Target and she doesn’t want to run into him.

Andrea says, “Let’s walk to Columbia Park.”

“You just want to see if Tyrell is there,” Lee Lee says. She puts on her shoes.

“Ain’t nobody thinking about Tyrell,” Andrea says. “He’s at work, anyway. He gets off at six o’clock.”

Lee Lee nudges me, laughing. “For someone who’s not thinking about him, she sure does know his schedule by heart.”

Andrea gets even more irritated once I start laughing. And that just makes us laugh harder. I tell her, “You know you like him.”

Lee Lee says, “And he been wanting to date you, Andrea. So what’s the problem? Just go on and get it over with.”

Andrea ignores us, acting like she can’t hear a thing we’re saying. She walks outside and waits on the porch until me and Lee Lee are ready.

Once we’re outside, I take my camera out.

Andrea is still in her funky mood. “Jade, don’t take no pictures of me without letting me know,” she says.

I tell her, “Candid shots are the best kind.” I snap the button before she can disagree.

“Jade!”

I check the screen to see the photo. “You look fine. Just act normal.”

We keep walking. The whole way, I’m documenting the city, taking photos of strangers I’ve never seen, strangers I see every day. Like the woman who is always sitting on her porch, knitting something.

“Let’s stop at Frank’s,” Lee Lee says. The three of us put our money together. Frank ends up giving us extra wings, and he stuffs the white paper bag with JoJos. I grab one of the free newspapers from the stand and put it into my bag. Inspiration for later.

We walk out of the store, eating and talking. First about Lee Lee’s ex, because even though she can’t bear to see him, she can’t stop talking about him. When we turn the corner, just ahead of us, about a block away, we see a police car, its lights flashing.

We stop.

White cops have pulled over a black woman. We walk closer. Stop at enough distance not to be noticed but close enough to be witnesses.

I can hear Lee Lee clutch the paper bag. Andrea’s chest rises and rises. I grab the string of my camera. Remind myself to use it if necessary.

Everyone seems calm. There’s no commotion, but still, I start taking photos. I don’t know why. I just need to. The officer writes something on a notepad and then gives the slip of paper to the woman. He goes back to his car. She drives away.

The three of us stand still.

I hear rattling, something like crumpling paper. I look to my left and see Lee Lee’s hand is shaking. Her whole arm is having a fit. Her fist is clenching the bag like an anchor to keep her from falling to the ground. I tell her, “It’s okay.” I take her hand, but she pulls away. “It’s okay, Lee Lee. Come on. Let’s go.”

Lee Lee looks at me like she heard me but didn’t understand me.

“We’re okay. It’s okay,” I repeat. “She’s fine, she’s fine.”

Lee Lee walks.

Andrea walks on the other side of her, putting her in the middle of us. I pry the bag out of Lee Lee’s hand. Put her hand in mine and let her squeeze it as hard as she needs to. We walk down the street. The three of us, hand in hand. “It’s okay,” I say. “We’re fine, we’re fine. Everything’s okay.”





56


liberar

to release

I print the photos I took today. Leave all of them intact, except the ones of the officers, their cars, those merry-go-round lights.

Every tear I’ve been holding in goes onto the page.

Tears for Mom’s swollen ankles after a long day of work, for her jar of pennies. Tears for every “almost,” for every “Things will be different next time.” Tears for what happened with Mrs. Weber, the lady at the mall, the boys at Dairy Queen.

I didn’t realize how much I was holding in. How many cries I’ve buried.

I have no more room.

So I let it all out.

Tears for every name of unarmed black men and women I know of who’ve been assaulted or murdered by the police are inked on the page. Their names whole and vibrant against the backdrop of black sadness.