Piecing Me Together(51)

67


renacimiento

rebirth

I’ve been combining moments from different photos, blending decades, people, and worlds that don’t belong together. Knitting history into the beautiful, bloody tapestry it is.

Emmett Till meets Trayvon Martin and Michael Brown.

Rosa Parks and Sandra Bland talk with each other under southern trees.

Coretta Scott King is holding Aiyana Mo’Nay Stanley-Jones in her arms.

The faces lie on top of newspaper articles and headlines, only I take the words from the headlines and spell out new titles, rewrite history. Make it so all these people are living and loving and being.





68


legado

legacy





1805.


Lewis and Clark and the rest of the explorers reached the Pacific Ocean in November. They established Fort Clatsop, near Astoria, Oregon, and stayed there for the winter. On March 23, 1806, they headed to St. Louis. The eight-thousand-mile journey had ended.

After all those days searching for the Missouri River, after being trusted to carry a gun, after being listened to, after having some kind of say, York returned to St. Louis with the others.

The others were welcomed back as national heroes.

They were given 320 acres of land and double pay.

But York? He didn’t get anything.

And maybe he was okay with that. Maybe he knew getting land and money was out of the question. But could he keep his freedom? Could he continue to walk the earth, going where he pleased, having a say, being part of a community? When he asked for his freedom, Clark said no. Clark said, “Who does this slave think he is?”

All York wanted was to be close to his wife, who lived in Kentucky. All York wanted was to hold on to that feeling, that feeling when you stand at the ocean, letting the water rush up to your feet and run away again. That feeling of looking out and not being able to see an end or beginning. That feeling that reminds you how massive this world is, how tiny but powerful humans are.





1816.


Clark eventually gave York his freedom.

I wonder what it would have been like if York had received that land and that money, and his freedom. What would he have built? Would he have left it to his children? Would they have done something with it and passed it on, and then their children’s children would have passed it on? And isn’t this what the man in the Money Matters workshop was telling us when he was explaining how it is that some are rich and some are poor?

Isn’t that how it works? You pass on what you were given.

But York, what could he give?





69


trabajar

to work Mia was so excited about our idea that she decided to call up a few of her friends, and now we have three professional artists who’ve donated their work for the event. We also put a call out to local high schools for students who want to submit work. Mia is in charge of all that, thank goodness. All I have to focus on is making my piece. I thought since Lee Lee has a poem written for the occasion, I should take inspiration from her poem. We’ve been in the kitchen all day, working. Lee Lee is revising her poem one last time, and I am working on the images.

The only noise in the kitchen is her pen on the page crossing out and adding in, writing and rewriting stanzas, mixed with the slicing of scissors, the tearing of paper. On and on we go until the sun meets moon.





70


arreglar

to fix

Mr. Flores tells the class we will be working in pairs today. He puts me and Sam together. “These are your conversations for the activity,” he says. The words on the cards are written in English. It’s up to us to say them in Spanish. The answer key is on the back of the card. He gives each pair three cards with different conversations on them. “It doesn’t matter if these are or are not your real answers,” Mr. Flores says. “The point is to practice having conversations.”

Sam bites her lip and picks up the card that’s on top.

Sam: “Jade, ?qué vas a hacer esta noche?”

Me: “Voy a ir a bailar. ?Quieres venir?”

Sam: “?Me encantaría!”

Me: “A las diez.”

Sam: “?Buenísimo!”

And then we switch roles. But instead of saying what’s on the card, I talk to her in my own words.

Me: “Lo siento.”

Sam: “Yo también.”

Me: “Maxine has been on me about quitting things. She says I can’t just give up so easily. Especially on people.”

Sam: “My grandpa says I have a lot to learn. He says I need to listen more.”

Sam puts the cards down on the table. “He’s been giving me a ride to school. That’s why I haven’t been on the bus.”

Me: “I figured.”

Sam’s shoulders settle into her body, and she sits back in the chair. I am fine to leave it at that. This is a good start. Maybe we can talk more after school, but then Sam says, real low, “Sometimes, I don’t know—I’m just uncomfortable talking about this stuff. And I don’t know what to say to you when something’s happened to you that’s not fair. Like that day at the mall. I felt horrible, but what was I supposed to do?”

“Sometimes, it isn’t about you doing anything. When you brush it off like I’m making it up or blowing things out of proportion, it makes me feel like my feelings don’t matter to you.”