On the Come Up(38)

Trey cracks the egg into a sizzling skillet. “Scramble an egg like I’m doing.”

“I hate eggs though.” He knows this. They’re too . . . eggy.

“Make a PB and J then,” Trey says.

“For breakfast?”

“It’s better than nothing.”

Jay comes in, pulling her hair into a ponytail. “What y’all going on about?”

“There’s hardly anything to eat,” I say.

“I know. I’m heading over to the community center. Gina said there’s a food giveaway. We can get some stuff to hold us over until the first.”

Trey slides his egg onto a slice of bread. “Ma, maybe you should go downtown soon.”

Downtown is code for “the welfare office.” That’s what folks around the Garden call it. Saying “downtown” keeps people out of your business. But everybody knows what it really means. I’m not sure what the point is.

“I will absolutely not go down there,” Jay says. “I refuse to let those folks in that office demean me because I have the audacity to ask for help.”

“But if it’ll help—”

“No, Brianna. Trust me, baby, Uncle Sam ain’t giving anything for free. He’s gonna strip you of your dignity to give you pennies. Besides, I couldn’t get anything anyway. They don’t allow college students to get food stamps if they don’t have a job, and I’m not dropping out.”

What the hell? I swear, this shit is like quicksand—the harder we try to get out, the harder it is to get out.

“I’m just saying it would help, Ma,” says Trey. “We need all the help we can get.”

“I’m gonna make sure we have food,” she says. “Stop worrying about that, okay?”

Trey sighs out of his nose. “Okay.”

“Thank you.” Jay kisses his cheek, then wipes away the lipstick mark. “Bri, I want you to come with me to the giveaway.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

Dear black parents everywhere,

That’s not a good enough answer.

Signed, Brianna Jackson on behalf of the black kids of the world.

P.S. We aren’t brave enough to say that to your face, so we head to our rooms to get dressed while mumbling everything we want to say.

“What was that?” Jay calls.

“Nothing!”

Goddamn. She even picks up on mumbling.

The community center is a couple of streets over on Ash. It’s not eight o’clock yet, but there’s a parking lot full of cars, an eighteen-wheeler full of boxes, and a line stretched out the door.

There’s also a news van.

Aw, hell. “I’m not trying to be on the news!” I say as Jay parks.

“Girl, you not gonna be on the news.”

“The camera may pan to me or something.”

“And?”

She doesn’t get it. “What if people at school see me?”

“Why you so worried about what they think?”

I chew on my lip. Anybody notices me, I’ll suddenly be the piss-poor girl in the Not-Timbs who not only got pinned to the ground but also has to get food from a giveaway.

“Look, you can’t be worried about what folks think, baby,” Jay says. “There will always be someone with something to say, but it doesn’t mean you gotta listen.”

I stare at the news van. She acts like it’s easy not to listen. “Can’t we—”

“No. We’re gonna go in here, get this food, and be thankful for it. Otherwise, it won’t be that there’s hardly food to eat. There won’t be any food to eat. Okay?”

I sigh. “Okay.”

“Good. C’mon.”

The line moves pretty quickly, but it also doesn’t seem like it’s gonna shorten anytime soon. We get in line, and not a minute later four more people are behind us. There are all kinds of folks in line, too, like moms with their kids and elderly people on walkers. Some of them are wrapped up in coats, others have on clothes and shoes that look like they belong in the trash. Christmas music plays loudly in the building, and volunteers in Santa hats unload the truck.

A man in the parking lot pans a news camera along the line. I guess somebody somewhere loves to see poor folks in the hood begging for food.

I look at my shoes. Jay nudges my chin and mouths, Head. Up.

For what? This isn’t shit to be proud of.

“That’s your baby?” the woman behind us asks. She’s in a zipped-up coat, house shoes, and hair rollers, like she got straight out of bed to come here.

Jay runs her fingers through my hair. “Yep. My baby girl. Only girl.”

“That’s sweet of her to come help you. I couldn’t get mine away from the TV.”

“Oh, trust. I had to make her come.”

“These kids don’t know a blessing when they see it. But they wanna eat everything we bring back.”

“Ain’t that the truth?” Jay says. “How many you got?”

I swear, we can’t go anywhere without her striking up a conversation with a complete stranger. Jay’s a people person. I’m more of a “yes, people exist, but that doesn’t mean I need to talk to them” person.