Watch Us Rise(71)

I stand outside, breathe in the air, and wait for the store to become less crowded. While I am on my phone texting Chelsea about Ms. Lucas, a woman comes up to me and says, “Jasmine, right?” She steps close to me.

I step back. “Yes.”

“I work for the Washington Heights Reporter, and I’ve been following what you and your friend are doing. I’d love to have you write an op-ed piece for our newspaper. Would you be interested in that?”

I don’t let on that I kind of don’t know what an op-ed is. I mean, I know what it is but not how to write one. I think she can tell because then she says, “Here’s my card. Let’s talk more. I’d love to help get your story more exposure.”

OP-ED FOR WASHINGTON HEIGHTS REPORTER

When Silence Speaks

by Jasmine Gray

All I know is Harlem. The constant bustling of 125th Street, vendors calling out to you as you walk by, trying to sell you earrings, shea butter, incense. All I know is how sirens pierce the night sky, causing no real alarm because it is just background noise to a sleepless city too used to distraction, numb to sounds that are meant to alert, warn. In New York, someone is always talking, yelling, cursing, preaching, laughing, saying something. Birds chirp, horns honk, basketballs bounce, and if you listen closely you can hear the swish-swish of shoulders rubbing against shoulders when strangers bump into each other as they squeeze through crowded streets. You can hear the wind moving through leaves. These noises confirm that life is happening, that people are moving about their day—communicating and not, loving and not, but moving still.

This is the environment I’ve been raised in since I was born.

There is always noise. There is never silence.

Maybe since I am the product of a city that is always making noise, always a symphony of chaos, I expected my school to welcome my loud voice and the voices of my friends. I expected them to understand that we are not making noise just to be a nuisance. We are taking a stand for what we believe.

Is it too much to ask that my school be a place where I can share my story? A place where I feel safe and encouraged to be me? Is it too much to ask that the leadership of my school talk to me, not at me? Isn’t it reasonable for me, a black teenage girl, to want to be seen and heard?

So many girls—and women—are expected to be seen and not heard. In so many spaces we have been given a seat at the table, but we are expected to sit at the table, grateful to even be there, and shut up and eat whatever is served to us. Even if what is being served is stale, nasty. Even if it is not healthy for our well-being.

My friends and I decided that we would not just be grateful to be at a school like Amsterdam Heights. We decided that we would be grateful and say something. It is possible to critique the place you love. I love Amsterdam Heights, and this is why I am so determined to make it a better school.

The noise we are creating is not background noise. We do not want to be the siren blending in so much that no one pays attention. We are sounding the alarm. This is an emergency.

We are not only sounding the alarm to the leadership of our school, but to all adults and men, boys and girls, community members, and city officials who have known what’s going on and have not said anything. We do not want the whispers, winks, and side conversations when no one in power is looking. While I’m glad to know so many people support us behind closed doors, it would mean more to have this support out in the open.

Your silence is saying something. Loud and clear.

We hear you.

Now hear us.

girlhood

by Chelsea Spencer

[gurl-hood]

noun

1. the state or time of being a girl.

As in: When I was.

As in: Used to be, and not one anymore.

As in: Don’t tell me who I am, how to act, what to say, what’s ladylike, what’s proper, what’s prim, who I’ll be.

As in: An infusion of cherry bomb, red balm lemon-lime explosion sea of honey bun clip-on bubble-gum soda pop purple rainbow eye shadow lip gloss blush brush unicorn tie-dye diamond-crusted necklaces scarves that shimmer shine. The whole outrageous girlish coquettish. Sparkling dollhouse— As in: Girlhood, you make me race forward pop culture raining down streamers of tutus and gloves with emojis. Heart necklaces to best friends.

Lockets and lace and hold on tight.

You make me see myself tiara’d and sculpt molded, make me see myself in ribbon’d bows.

2. girls collectively: the nation’s girlhood.

As in: Girl Scouts, girls of a certain status.

The girls twirled, the sorority girls, class-act girls, girls on fire. The smart girls, the brainy girls, the bad girls, the good girls.

As in: Why does everything anchor toward glitter?

As in: You can’t mass market us, fit us in a bubble, feed us chewing gum and lies.

As in: We see the way you watch us.

As in: Let us tell you who we want to be.

As in: Back up.

As in: You won’t forget us.

As in: Watch us shut it down.

As in: Watch us break it loose.

As in: Watch us rise.



What Girls Do—-

by Chelsea Spencer

Watch the way we—wind wild, burst forth.

Froth & glow. A palette of gold wings or what it means to fly. A magnificent

trundle of up-rocking. Watch us flaunt, grind, break, do the work, get the jobs.