No Answer
She turns to cry on my shoulder
For a moment, I exist again
My hand on her back patting softly in Morse code
I’m sorry I’m sorry It will be okay
“Maybe I can call him back?”
I ask
My mind racing trying to fix what I didn’t know was broken
But Lay Li stops crying
Wipes her face on her sleeve & looks me dead in my eyes
I don’t exist.
I don’t exist.
I don’t
I AIN’T NEVER BEEN GOOD AT LYING
To: Lay Li
I’m sorry
I didn’t mean to
But I ain’t never been a good liar
Mama told me so
She say
You got a way of repeating back a question until it sounds old & worn
Like shoes with bad soles
& no one can believe a story
with all them pauses
ANYWAYS, LIKE I WAS SAYING
I walk in the gym with Clifton
He two steps behind me—all lanky & lean
He make me feel pretty
He see me in a way I never thought
I wanted eyes to look at me before.
He looks at me
like the boys look at Lay Li
So I thought she’d understand when Clifton & I walked in together.
Cheerleaders strut by in their orange & green outfits
the tassels & orange pom-poms
are small & flurry globes & bounce like sparklers
to anyone with enough patience
to look closely.
This the part where Clifton look at me real close
I stop walking
My mouth wide open
He says “Your eyes are like diamonds”
& I want to smile.
BUT I KNOW BAD GAME WHEN I HEAR IT
Especially when the entire fourth grade in Ms. Meeks’s class
worked these same tired similes
The thing is
Clifton said it to ME
& he don’t know what I worked on
during fourth-grade English
Or how I walk the halls & everyone make fun of me.
The thing about bullies is
They only notice the people that don’t fight back
They take your kindness for weakness
But I’m not weak
I’m just tired of swinging
WHEN KIDS HAVE
a different daddy than their siblings
It’s hard to remember what comes first
The heart hurt or the stomach growl.
Essa got a different daddy
He’s okay
Not mean, like her
But my dad is a ghost.
Mama say
Some people can’t stay out of jail
Essa say
He ain’t never want you
her nails click in the air like they closing a casket
Cousin Inga say
Essa just jealous
But I know hate when I see it.
AFTER FOURTH GRADE
I learned “You think you so smart” is a threat
In high school, without no daddy to show me how to dribble
Or pivot
With a sister who act like she hate me
& a cousin who more sister than cousin
I figure, I’m safer if I stay away from light
Ain’t no daddy to say move right, right left
Mama work for everyone, so I don’t hold my breath
Just stay away from the spotlight
The light gets too hot for brown girls like me to feel safe.
This is when I learned to play not as smart
This is when I learned to keep my hands
in my lap during Mr. Wacobi’s class
This is when I learned to not run as fast
This is when I stop beating the boys
in running
& kickball
& tetherball
& T-ball
This is how I learn to play not as big
cause nobody got time for a girl outshining them.
MY BIG COUSIN INGA ASKS ME
“Who you playing small for?”
& I pretend I don’t know what she’s talking about
She’s five foot eleven & the tallest woman in our family
She’s a basketball coach for the lil’ kid league during summer
& after she saw I had handles in fourth grade
she ain’t let me drop the rock since
“Who you playing small for?”
Means:
I don’t get to slink into the corner.
I don’t get to find a home in the shadow.
Not when there is a court nearby.
Inga attends Downtown Community College
& talks to Essa almost every day
But sometimes it’s like they don’t even like each other.
When Essa & Inga’s arguments get too big
& Essa screams into the phone
Then it’s weeks before I see Inga again
I’ll come home from the pool & she’ll be
on the porch or sitting on the hood of her mama’s car
waiting for Essa to come home from her classes at State
She’ll shrug when I say where you been & then say
“I love her, but I don’t like her. Most times, I think if
We weren’t related, we wouldn’t be around each other at all.”
When she’s at the house, we go straight to the court
She makes me play her one-on-one