For Black Girls Like Me Read online

  I fall into a dream of Ma and Pa and Laura and Mary Ingalls traveling in a big covered wagon across the country. Dreams of my own ma and my own pa and my own sister. The four of us walk through a desert holding hands howling at the moon. Just like a pack of dogs. Together at last. I look up at my dream father and he smiles and then he kisses my dream mother in the silver light and my dream sister squeezes my hand tight. And I know that we will make it after all.

  And in the morning when I wake up. I strain my ears for the sound of Pa’s voice howling still. The sound of Pa’s boots. The sound of Pa Pa Pa. Oh Pa! Just ringing through all the sleepiness. I stay very still in my bed praying that this is the day he’ll be in the kitchen. Making breakfast. Kissing Mama. “Kid.” He’ll say. “Forget school. Today is a whole day to spend with just my girls.” And then he’ll produce a peppermint candy from his pocket that is just for me. And Mama. She will smile. So in love with him. With all of us again.

  6th Grade War Games

  That’s what being at El Rio feels like. One big game. I do my best to write in our notebook and tell Lena all about it.

  Wednesday March 16th

  Dear L

  I’ve only been going to El Rio for three days and already I can tell there is no one like you here. At lunch today I sat with a few girls but they spoke over me in Spanish and joked about my hummus and turkey sandwich. I don’t think they meant to make me feel left out. But I did. Note to self: Learn Spanish.

  Then there’s Katy. She’s white but every day she wears her hair in six messy cornrows. She’s always laughing and being followed around by a group of nervous girls. She asks a lot of questions and is always the first to raise her hand in class. Sometimes when I get called on instead I see her eyes narrow.

  Today at lunch Katy came up to me and said: “So. You’re like really smart huh? That’s cool.”

  What does that even mean? But then she invited me to sit with her and her friends Erica and Ashley. So it wasn’t so bad. We watched a few makeup tutorials on her phone and right before the bell rang she took a selfie of the two of us and posted it on Snapchat. I was happy until I saw the caption:

  “Hanging out with the whitest black girl I know. <3 < 3”

  I know she didn’t mean to be rude so I didn’t say anything. But I felt really tired after I saw that. My whole body clenched up tight like a fist and stayed like that for the rest of the day.

  More soon.

  XOXO

  K

  …

  Monday March 21st

  Dear L

  Today in gym we had to run ten laps around the basketball court and then play Dribble Mania. Dribble Mania is a stupid game where you have to dribble a ball with one hand and then try to knock someone else’s ball out with your free hand. If you lose control of your ball then you’re out. Mrs. Drew made us play four rounds and each round I was out in less than a minute.

  “Keda!” She yelled at me. “You need to be more focused. Stay low. Watch the ball.”

  No thanks. I do not need to know how to dribble a ball. I don’t even like sports. You know that! Plus. Every time I started to get the hang of it Katy would hunt me down and smack the ball out of my hand.

  “I thought you of all people would be good at basketball!” She yelled at me as she ran by.

  It was more fun to sit on the sidelines with Amelia. Amelia is shy and quiet but today I learned that she’s pretty new to El Rio as well. She moved here from Texas last summer. Amelia has bright green eyes curly brown hair and plump rosy cheeks. She’s not very fast on the court either and lives with her mom just down the street from me. We talked about books. It turns out she LOVES the Hunger Games series like we do. And she loves the movies too. I told her we should have movie night to watch them together sometime. She seemed excited about it. I wish you could come too.

  XOXO

  K

  …

  Tuesday March 22nd

  Dear L

  Katy is really starting to get on my nerves. Today I sat with Amelia at lunch. She was all by herself reading so I joined her. Katy came over like five minutes later and told me that “we needed to talk.” Then she told me that I needed to “watch who I hang around with before I get a bad reputation.” She said it really loud and I know Amelia heard her. I told her I didn’t care and sat back down. She got really mad and leaned in and whisper-oinked in my ear: “Have fun hanging out with the pig.”

  Can you believe it?! Amelia has curves but she’s not a pig. And everyone thinks Katy is so nice.

  So I said: “I will.” And glared at Katy’s back as she walked away. But when I turned around Amelia was gone. She’d left her plate of food and her book open on the table. I found her in the bathroom crying. I tried to comfort her but she just wanted to be left alone. I feel really bad.

  I think I’ve ruined everything.

  XOXO

  K

  …

  Thursday March 24th

  Dear L

  Today all the girls in 6th grade gave me the silent treatment. I’m pretty sure Katy had something to do with it. When we had to work in groups for social studies nobody would write down my ideas. Amelia was absent so I sat by myself at lunch and wrote this song:

  I am not an Oreo

  I don’t care about basketball

  I am smart because I think

  I am a girl who likes to read

  My hair is strong and all mine

  My legs are skinny and defined

  I will not be a girl who follows

  Or fade away into sorrow

  Be free

  Be free

  What does it mean to be free Lena? I think about this. I do. All the time.

  I miss you so much.

  XO

  K

  …

  Sunday March 27th

  Dear L

  My mom kicked me and Eve out of the house today to “get some air” and “explore.” So we walked over to school where some of Eve’s new friends were skateboarding. We watched this skinny-looking 10th grader named Trevor tumble down a set of stairs and miss a rail. Eve laughed at him but then she blushed when he came over to say hi. So gross. I think she likes him.

  I was about to yell at her to go when I saw Amelia by the courts. She was with Katy Ashley and Erica of all people! Katy was braiding Amelia’s hair into a fishtail and Amelia was smiling.

  “Hi Amelia.” I said walking up to them. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

  Katy smiled sweetly at me. Amelia wouldn’t look me in the eyes. Erica and Ashley chewed on their gum and stared past me with empty faces.

  “Do you guys hear something?” Katy said.

  “Nope.” Amelia said too quickly and then giggled.

  “Me either. Let’s go back to my house. All of a sudden it got really smelly over here.”

  And so they all got up and ran away from me. Super mature right?

  “Ugh she’s so awkward.” I heard Amelia yell as they left. But then she turned around and mouthed: “I’M SORRY” to me so I know she still likes me.

  What’s the point of being friends with girls like that? At least I have you and this notebook. And it’s already spring break next week so I don’t have to deal with any of them for a while.

  I can’t wait to talk to you on the phone.

  XOXO

  K

  Improvising

  On Monday I wake up early but stay in bed reading. Around 10am I hear Papa start to practice his cello in the sunroom. I love waking up to the sound of him playing. Especially when he is playing songs he makes up in his head. Papa sings through his cello. He says it’s not really any different than singing with your voice. “You have to breathe with the notes. Inhale at the right moments. Lean into the chords. You have to use your whole body to express the mood and tone of the song.” He says.

  When I’m making up or improvising songs I try to remember this. I like to stand up in the privacy of my room or outside when I’m alone in nature. I li
ke to scat sing. Like Billie and Ella do with their jazzy voices. I try to imitate different instruments with the sound of my voice. I don’t sing any real words. I just open myself to the sounds and sing what I feel. I close my eyes and sway back and forth. I like to think about notes as colors and shapes. I like to swish the notes around in my mouth. Taste them on my tongue. Then I try to fill the whole world with my breath. With my sound.

  I get out of bed now and tiptoe into the sunroom. Papa is facing the big glass windows and dust-filled light floats all around his body. I know he is playing a song he made up because his eyes are closed and the music stand in front of him is empty. I climb onto the futon quietly to listen. He plays for five more minutes and then notices me.

  “Good morning my little scoop!” He smiles. “What do you think?”

  “I like it. Did you just make it up?”

  “I did. Not sure where it’s going yet. Do you want to sing along?”

  I shake my head.

  “I know you can. I hear you in your room sometimes. I see you scribbling lyrics in your songbook.”

  I shake my head again. “Can you play my song?” I ask instead.

  Papa has a song for each of us. Me Mama and Eve. He plays them on our birthdays but sometimes he’ll play them on request. He calls my song “the dancing song” because when I was a baby he’d play it and I would giggle and squirm and move around on the sheepskin rug. When I got a little bit older and could walk he’d play it at my birthday parties. Mama would give me scarves and we’d wave them over our heads while skipping and jumping around the room.

  “Sure thing kiddo.” He says. He lifts his bow dramatically and winks at me before he starts. The whole room fills with an upbeat tune the color of rushing water and sunflowers. I tap my heel in rhythm on the cold tile floors. Then I lift my shoulders up and down a little bit. I bite my lip and shake my head back and forth.

  “Come on Makeda!” Papa laughs. “You know you want to dance!”

  And I do. It’s my song. I get up in my pjs and prance around the room on my tiptoes. I dip and twirl and pretend to wave scarves over my head. Papa laughs and cheers me on and before I know it I start improvising my own song along with the notes.

  “Dew-eee-do-do-dat-dat-dat! Weee-weee-da-dat-dat-dat-dat-diddlee-dee-dee!”

  I see Mama in the doorway clapping along. I motion for her to join me. And to my surprise she does.

  Then we twirl and step and jump and kick in the sunlight just like we used to until we are out of breath. Until Eve walks in and tells us to “KEEP IT DOWN!”

  We take one look at her. Her hair bird-nest messy. Drool caked in the corner of her mouth. And we bust out laughing. We keep dancing.

  “IT’S NOT FUNNY. SOME OF US ARE TRYING TO SLEEP. IT’S THE FIRST DAY OF SPRING BREAK!” Eve continues.

  So Mama and I grab hands and make a circle around Eve. We skip around her until she finally smiles.

  “You guys are the worst!” But she flops down on the futon anyway and then Mama and I pile on top of her as Papa finishes my song with a “WHOOP!”

  “BRAVO!” We all yell from the futon. Still laughing. All of us awake and alive.

  Imagining Mama as a Girl

  After our dance party Papa makes buckwheat pancakes and we all sit down together at the table for once. Mama’s cheeks are rosy and her eyes glitter with energy. Eve is still grumpy and takes big sips of her orange juice. I grab syrup and butter from the fridge and set it on the table. Mama stands next to Papa at the stove so they are shoulder to shoulder. Almost touching. Mama leans over and kisses Papa on the cheek: “Thank you.” She says as he scoops the last pancake onto the waiting plate in her hands.

  I drizzle my pancakes with too much syrup and an enormous slab of butter and Mama doesn’t even notice. She and Papa sip their tea and share sections of the paper. The table is quiet. But a good quiet. I listen to all of us chewing. The clinking of silverware. The rustling of pages. Even Eve’s loud slurping is a comfort. I stuff the three pieces of pancake into my mouth and lean back. And Mama is still reading but I catch Papa sneaking long looks at her from over his glasses. I imagine this is the way he looked at her the first time they met. The first time he saw her in the spotlight. He’s told us the story so many times I know it by heart:

  Mama walks into the spotlight. She is nineteen. Carnegie Hall is a bowl of tossed sound before her. Her floor-length white gown moves around her legs in rapids.

  Onstage she folds then unfolds and refolds the silk scarf she uses instead of a chinrest. She places her violin sharply against her bruised neck. She plucks. Tightens the pegs. Tunes to the oboe’s whiny A.

  Then closed eyes. A breath. Inhale of rosin. Her body repelling sound like opposite magnets.

  And from somewhere. A beginning. First the string section behind her growing louder in her ears. Her fingers stinging as she presses down on the fingerboard waiting for the cue. Then her bow. Flying into the air. Her right arm runaway.

  The first note. Hers. Then crescendo. Her whole body singing.

  Imagine it. Papa in the cello section. Mama the soloist. All week long for rehearsal she had no idea he was on stage with her. And all week long he had tried to work up the courage to talk to her. And Mama. Nineteen. Playing in front of all those people. She was just a girl. Not much older than me. After the concert Papa (who was just twenty-one himself) found her backstage and asked her out. And here we are now. Eating pancakes. A family full of everyday sounds.

  After Breakfast

  Papa has a meeting.

  “Where’s that package you wanted me to drop off at the post office?” He asks me as he packs up his things.

  “Oh!” I say. Running to my room. I grab the manila envelope that I’ve stuffed the purple notebook into with all my letters so far. Lena’s address is written on the front in big black letters. “Here.” I hand it to Papa back in the kitchen. “It needs to get to Lena ASAP.”

  Papa adds it to his stack of scores and then stuffs it into his messy bag.

  “Don’t forget!” I tell him.

  “Never.” He says earnestly. “I’ll make sure to get a tracking number. So you can know exactly where it is and when it will arrive.”

  “Thanks.” I say. Wishing I could go with him to drop it off.

  On his way out the door Papa says: “Everyone’s going to practice today right?”

  Eve and I groan but nod our heads. One hour on the piano. Every day. We know the drill.

  “You too love?” Papa looks at Mama. Who is loading up the dishwasher.

  “Daniel. Don’t start with me.” She says. “I don’t have any concerts coming up. I’ll practice when I have something to practice for.”

  “I just thought it might feel good. To play. To keep in shape. I know you are still upset about losing that gig in London this winter but…”

  “I did not ‘lose’ that gig Daniel! I quit. They were all unprofessional idiots. Amateurs. They didn’t know who they were dealing with. My god. I know I don’t play as many concerts as I used to but I shouldn’t have to promote my own concert. They were doing NOTHING. NOTHING to show they cared.”

  “Well. I’m not sure that’s all true—” Papa tries but Mama cuts him off.

  “You’re going to be late.” Mama slams the dishwasher door. All the color gone out of her face.

  Papa gives me and Eve a pained look and slips out into the garage. I hear his Volvo purr awake as he backs out into the driveway and pulls away.

  “I’m going to nap.” Eve says.

  “But you just got up!” I say.

  “Yeah. I know. But did I want to get up? No. You guys woke me up with your stomping and your weird gibberish singing.”

  “It’s called jazz. Why don’t you ask Siri about it!” I yell after her but she is already halfway down the hallway to her room.

  I turn back to Mama. She’s staring out of the kitchen window onto the back porch and yard.

  “Mama?”

  “Yeah?” She says.

/>   “Are you ok?”

  “You know. I think I’m going to take a nap too.” She says giving me a small smile.

  After she leaves I stay in the kitchen and sit at the half-cleared table. Mama has left the book review section open. Her used tea bag wrinkled up on a napkin next to it. Eve’s fork is stuck to the table in a pool of syrup. A ring of liquid stares back at me from where Papa’s mug sat. It’s funny how a house can feel so full one moment. And then completely empty the next. I clear the rest of the table and then head to my room to get dressed. When I walk by Mama and Papa’s room. I press my ear to the door and wait until I hear Mama’s soft uneven breathing.

  Dictionary

  There are no more dance parties for the rest of the week. No pancakes. Most mornings Papa is up and out early to record with his chamber music group. Mama gets up to make tea and oatmeal and leaves bowls for me and Eve. By the time we get up she is in her room watching TV. Or sleeping. She gets like this sometimes. Sad. Eve and I know to steer clear of her. “Just give her some space.” Papa tells us. “She’ll snap out of it eventually. She always does.” But what if she doesn’t? A little voice in my head sings each time she retreats to her room.

  On Friday Papa drops us off at the local library so Eve can do research for an English paper she’s been avoiding. Of all the sections in the library I love the reference section most. The encyclopedias. The almanacs. The dictionaries are my favorite. I know a lot of words but there are so many I do not know. When I’m here I like to copy at least five new words into my songbook from the Merriam-Webster. At first I had a system to it. Starting with the A’s. But after a while I started to play a game instead. I hoist the dictionary off the shelf and find an empty table. Then I sit under the table and put the dictionary out in front of me. I close my eyes and open it to a page. Then I swirl my finger over the open page for seven seconds before letting it fall on a random spot. Whatever word I land on I write down. I do this five times. So many words and each one like a friend.