For Black Girls Like Me Read online

  I Start to Question

  If it ever happened at all. But at lunch the next day I cannot eat a thing. My stomach seesaws at the smell of grease and burnt cheese wafting from the kitchen. My hummus and turkey sandwich gets stuck in my throat and I have to take a big swig from my water bottle to get it to go down. The cafeteria is business as usual. A room of harsh sound and blinding fluorescent light. I watch Katy saunter in and load her tray with pepperoni pizza. And Ashley and Erica follow suit. Amelia looks enviously at their trays as she fills hers with a single apple and some iceberg lettuce.

  It was not a joke. Not to me. My stomach flip-flops as I remember how easily she said it. How the whole locker room echoed with the word. How everyone must have heard it. My face boils as they walk up and sit down next to me not making eye contact. As if I don’t exist. No regard for what Katy has done or said. Oreo. The whitest black girl. All of these were names I could endure. But not this one. She cannot get away with this one.

  I throw my sandwich in the trash and storm outside. Mrs. Drew is setting up cones for the 7th graders on the field. Some stupid obstacle course they’ll no doubt have to navigate with a soccer ball.

  “What can I do for you Keda?” She starts. “You’re supposed to be at lunch.”

  “I need to report hate speech.”

  “Well that’s a little dramatic. Are some of the girls giving you a hard time? I assure you we take bullying very seriously here.”

  “No. It was hateful. Katy used the N-word when we were in the locker room yesterday after gym. To my face.”

  I watch Mrs. Drew’s back stiffen. She starts to fiddle with a cone. Moving it to the left and then the right even though the field is pretty much set up.

  “I see.” She says after a long minute. “Well are you sure you heard right? There was a lot of yelling and excitement at the end of that game that carried into the locker rooms. I’m sure none of our students would use that word. I would have heard if someone used that word.”

  This was a mistake. I can see it on her face. She doesn’t want to deal with this today. Or any day. Mrs. Drew can’t even remember the names of all the students in her classes. A really nice white lady who doesn’t want to be bothered with any mess.

  “Never mind. Forget it.” I say my shoulders full of knots.

  “Well now if I hear it again I’ll shut it down. But if nobody else heard it I can’t do anything.”

  “People heard.” I say walking away now. “People heard.”

  Saturday April 16th

  Dear L

  I have to tell you something. I’ve been keeping it in all week. I can’t sleep. I keep replaying what happened in my head over and over. I think you are maybe the only person who will understand.

  What’s the worst name you’ve ever been called?

  On Wednesday. After gym. Katy got in my face and warned me not to be a “dirty N-word.” I didn’t tell you on the phone because I wanted to forget it. But I can’t.

  Why does telling the truth never work? I tried to speak up for myself. I went to my gym teacher the next day and told. But Mrs. Drew just said that I must have “heard wrong” because she didn’t hear it.

  Can you believe it?! Adults never listen. I did NOT hear wrong. But nobody else will say anything. Not Amelia. Not Ashley or Erica. So it’s my word against Katy’s. And who is gonna listen to me? I am so angry I could punch someone. I am so tired I could sleep for the rest of the weekend.

  I’m gonna just stick to myself from now on. And I’m definitely not telling anyone in my family. Can you imagine? My mom would die. She’d probably cry about it for days. No. I just want to bury this. Deep.

  XOXO

  K

  PS I’m going to ask Dylan to the mixer next week. Why not. Before it’s too late. Thanks for the pep talk.

  The Friday Mixer

  Is three days away. It’s now or never. On Tuesday I wait for Dylan after school by the front entrance. He comes bursting out of the school doors with a group of friends.

  “Hey!” I manage to squeak out before he passes me. “Can I talk to you?”

  “Oh. Hey Keda.” He says. “What’s up?”

  “Um. I just. I just wanted to say thanks. Thanks for letting me use your pencil that one day.”

  “Oh. Ok. Yeah. No problem. Is that it?”

  “Yes. I mean no. Um. Are you going to the Friday mixer?”

  “Yeah. Katy asked me. We’re going together. I guess. Listen. I have to go. My parents are waiting. See you tomorrow ok?”

  “Ok.” I squeak as I watch him run and jump into a red car that seems to match the autumn red of his hair. “No problem.”

  But it is a problem. I am beginning to think I might actually be invisible. Of course Katy asked him. She knew I liked him. I am in a bad mood for the rest of the afternoon. I stomp home and run into the bathroom. I study my face. And yank apart the locs at the back of my head that have started to grow together. I yank so hard that I pull a few of them out entirely. I throw them into the toilet and flush. They swirl to the bottom and are gone. Then I just stand there. Staring at the empty toilet. Wishing I could disappear too.

  Questions I Have for Black Girls Like Me

  Who loves us?

  Who wants to dance with us?

  Who sees us?

  Who understands us?

  Who holds us?

  Who thinks we are beautiful?

  We love you baby girl

  The Georgia Belles sing back

  We dance with you

  We see you growing

  We understand you

  We can hold you

  You are more beautiful

  Than midnight

  Maps

  On Thursday I am in first period social studies taking a geography quiz on the countries of West Africa when I hear my name on the loudspeaker: “Makeda Kirkland please report to the main office.”

  Accra Ghana

  Monrovia Liberia

  Dakar Senegal

  I fill in the names of countries and their capitals as fast as I can onto a blank map. I know I am good at geography. Tracing boundaries of faraway places with my fingers. Learning small facts about each one. Holding those facts on my tongue. I trace my fingers over the African countries and wonder if I am part of this history. Where I came from. Where my people came from. In the beginning. Before I was even born.

  Where are you really from? People always ask me. And I say: Here. America. Because it’s true. But I know there is more to my story. My birth mother’s story. I am like this blank map. Trying to name itself.

  “Makeda Kirkland please report to the main office.”

  Freetown Sierra Leone

  I scribble my final answer and then pack up my things. When I hand in my quiz Mr. Newman gives me a small tight-lipped smile and says: “That was quick.”

  When I get to the main office Mama is there in her sweatpants and a stained sweatshirt. At least her braids are neat and she appears to be wearing a bra. Eve is also in the office. Sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. Her face full of edges. She glares at Mama and then me as I enter.

  “You ruin EVERYTHING.” Eve yells as she slumps further into the chair and starts madly texting on her phone. I can’t tell if she’s talking to me or Mama. Or both of us.

  I look back at Mama and realize that she is holding my notebook. OUR notebook. The one that belongs to Lena and me.

  “Makeda.” She starts. Shaking her head. “I’m sorry but what happened in gym last week is unacceptable. Why didn’t you tell me?! I’m taking action. I’m pulling you girls out of this school. You will not be attending El Rio anymore.”

  “That’s private.” I manage to say. Pointing at the notebook in her hands.

  But Mama has turned away from me and is yelling at the principal now. Something about their “incompetent teaching staff.” How no daughter of hers will be part of a school that “condones the use of oppressive language. A school that cannot see past color and difference and acce
pt all its students as human.”

  She is making a scene. And the room is so full of her. I get lost. I can’t breathe. I can’t even see straight through my tears. Why is she so angry? Is she crying too? Why is she crying? This happened to me. Not her. And those are my words. My words. Not hers.

  The Short Drive Home

  Is silent at first. Mama tries to catch my eye in the rearview but I look out the window instead. I stare directly at the sun for as long as I can until my eyes burn and small black dots dance through my blurry vision.

  “Girls.” Mama says from up front. “I know you hate me right now. But this is for the best. That school wasn’t teaching you anything anyway.”

  “How do you know!” Eve yells. “I had friends there!”

  “Well you can still see those friends. On weekends if you like.”

  “Not the same. And what. Are you just going to put us in another school?” Eve continues. “It’s almost summer. There’s only a month and a half left! You can’t keep doing this. Just because you quit every job you ever get doesn’t mean we have to do the same. You never think ANY school is good enough for us.”

  “No. No more school. I’m going to teach you at home. Like I always should have.” Mama says. Her teeth clenched.

  “Oh great.” Eve rolls her eyes. “That’s going to be so fun. I just don’t understand why WE are being punished for some racist thing another girl said. It’s not fair.”

  Mama and Eve continue to argue while I remain quiet in the back. This isn’t the first time she’s taken us out of a school. Back in Baltimore we were on our third school in four years. I loved the public Montessori we went to but all of a sudden when I was in 4th grade and Eve in 7th Mama claimed they were “too unstructured.” For my 5th grade year and Eve’s 8th grade year we were at a Catholic school with uniforms. But when Mama found out I had sat through a sex education course that preached “abstinence only” she cussed out our principal at the end-of-year picnic. So. We didn’t go back. So that’s when Mama sent us to our local public school. But we only made it halfway through the year before we moved. And now. Here we are. Again.

  Something happens to me and somehow the two of them become the loudest.

  I look up front. Mama and Eve both have flushed cheeks. Small strands of their thick brown hair break free and crown their faces. I notice they have the same light freckles on their moonstone arms. I look at my own reflection in the rearview mirror. My round face. My dark brown eyes. My skin the color of ditch water. Muddy river. One of these things just doesn’t belong. I think. And I pick at the dry skin on my elbow. Pick and pick and pick until it stings.

  “Makeda?” Mama is speaking to me now. “I’m sorry I read your notebook to Lena. I was worried about you. You’re so quiet these days. So private. And that word you were called. My god. I can’t believe people are still using that word. It’s shocking! Your gym teacher should have gotten that girl expelled. Are you ok?”

  I nod quickly and turn back to the window. There’s no trying to argue with Mama. When she’s like this it’s better just to let it go. And maybe she’s right. What was I learning at that school anyway?

  The sun is turning into a blood-orange ball in the sky. I wonder what it feels like to be the sun. To be that hot and full of fire. I wish Mama had just asked me how I was feeling. Or at least come to me first instead of making a huge scene like she always does. I wish she hadn’t ruined the one place it felt safe to be me.

  Questions for HER

  Where were our ancestors from?

  Do you dream about the ocean?

  Do you have nightmares about the ocean?

  Did anyone ever call you the N-word?

  What do you keep for yourself?

  Where do you go to be free?

  Why did you give me up?

  Where are you now?

  Where are you?

  Betrayed

  “Something happened.”

  “Keda. Tell me now. What’s going on?” Lena says.

  I am in my room inside my closet with my papa’s cell phone. Mama and Papa are still yelling in the living room. How could you make a decision like that without me! Pulling them BOTH out of school. Again! There are other ways we could have dealt with this. You’ve got to stop making irrational decisions like this. It’s getting out of hand Anna. I don’t like what happened to Makeda either. But we’ve got to take the time to talk about these things. Before you act. Papa had exploded a few hours earlier at dinner. And Mama had exploded right back at him.

  They’ve been arguing for hours. But besides Mama asking me if I was ok in the car nobody has come to talk to me.

  “Keda. You’re scaring me. Are you there?”

  “Yeah.” I say. “I’m here. I just needed to hear your voice.”

  “Is it your mom again?”

  “Kinda.”

  “Is it that witch Katy? I’ll kill her.”

  “You’re not going to kill anybody.” I laugh then. Letting a few tears loose down my face.

  “Then what is it?!”

  “My mom read our notebook. ALL OF IT.” The words come tumbling out. “And there was a letter to you. About something Katy said to me in the locker room last week. So my mom pulled us out of school and now everybody in my house is angry. And it’s my fault.”

  “Wait. Slow down. So no school just for a little while or like forever?”

  “Forever. Like Eve and I are not going back to El Rio. Or any school. At all. All because Katy called me a…”

  “A what?!”

  My throat feels like it’s being strangled by a thick rope. “I didn’t want to talk about it. I wrote you about it. But I just wanted to forget it.” I manage to get out.

  Lena is quiet on the other line. We breathe together for a minute and it calms me down. Then after a beat she says. “Did she call you the N-word?”

  “Yeah.” I squeak. Why am I trembling?

  I wait for Lena to yell. But she is silent. “Are you still there?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you mad?”

  “Yes.”

  “I am sorry.” I say. “It’s all my fault. I should have hidden the notebook better.” Tears are streaming down my face but I’m trying not to snot all over the phone.

  “I’m not mad at you.” Lena finally says. “I just … Well I’ve never been called that word to my face. But hearing that you have kind of feels like I have too. You know? Like someone punched us both in the gut.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Listen.” Lena says then. “Don’t worry about the notebook. You’re still my BFF. Ok? And I still want to hear everything that’s happening in your life.”

  “Me too.” I squeak again. “But I don’t think writing each other is safe anymore. Maybe we can email instead?”

  “This is so unfair!” Lena yells. Finding the strength in her voice again. “Your mom and Katy can’t ruin the notebook for us! Listen. I have to go. I have a meet. But I have an idea. Check your email tomorrow ok? When nobody is around.”

  “Ok.”

  “And Keda?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry. I am sorry she said that to you.”

  And hearing Lena apologize for something neither of us did sets all my tears free.

  Sisters

  Are forever. That’s what the picture frame Eve gave me last Christmas says around the edges. Inside the frame is a picture of me and Eve from the day I arrived. I am just a baby. Six weeks old with a head of fluffy rain-cloud hair. Kola nut brown eyes. Blackberry puckered lips. I am wearing a tiny yellow onesie and Eve is holding me softly in her lap. Eve is three and a half. She’s all dressed up in a pink and black polka dot dress. Her hair shoved into two thick pigtails with a shiny silver bow on each one. I love this picture because normally when there’s a camera present Eve cannot help herself. She poses. Flirts. Flips her hair and smiles directly into it. “Puts the cheese all the way on.” Papa likes to say. “Like a true diva.” But in this picture she ha
s forgotten all about the camera. She is looking down at me in her lap. She is not smiling but her face is full of light. She’s looking down at me and her lips are slightly parted as if she’s whispering a secret to me. And only me. I keep the photo on my dresser. Next to my collection of angel figurines and a small wire tree full of necklaces and earrings.

  Sisters are forever. But is Eve still mad at me? After I get off the phone with Lena I knock softly on her door and enter. Eve is on her bed. Lying on top of a collection of magazines. Clothes and tissues. I can tell she’s been crying.

  “Hey.” I offer. “This sucks huh?”

  “Yeah. It does. I was really starting to enjoy school you know?”

  I don’t know exactly. Everything about El Rio was exhausting to me. But I do know what it’s like to feel like you’re missing out. That your friends are far away.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Eve continues. “I could have handled those girls on my own. The ones that were messing with you.”

  “Dunno. Guess I thought it was just best to let it go.”

  “But that’s really messed up. Keda. What she said to you. How can you just let that go? You should have said something. It affects me too you know.”

  “I did—”

  “You can’t just let people walk all over you like that.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Anyway. Whatever. This year has been a waste. Soon as June hits I’m getting a job. No way I’m homeschooling all through May and staying in this house all summer with Mama.”

  I shuffle my feet awkwardly inside the doorway. I wish she would invite me onto her bed like she used to. I feel like there’s a big canyon between us. I yell something into the canyon and it echoes across to her but only half the message gets there. She yells back and it’s the same.

  What’s the worst name you’ve ever been called? I want to ask her. But I decide against it. Instead I say: “I’m sorry.” Even though I haven’t done anything wrong.