She didn’t have an answer for that.
And now she’s on this I-only-take-five-minute-showers movement, and I’m all for her setting that as her own personal goal, but I like my warm, long showers and I don’t need her shaking her head in disapproval every time I come out of the bathroom.
“All right, I’m going to get ready,” I say. I walk through the passageway that connects our rooms. The alcove has drawers and cabinets on both sides—extra storage and closet space for all our stuff that Aunt Ebony keeps saying we need to go through so we can give away clothes we don’t wear anymore.
As soon as I get in my room, I turn on music. I’ve found a new favorite artist, Blue, a Jamaican singer who mixes reggae and R&B. She’s twenty-one and she’s big, like me—or as Imani would proudly say, fat. I’ve been listening to her music nonstop. I have just finished putting my jeans on when Imani barges into my room. “I knocked, but you can’t hear me with that music so loud,” she says. She turns it down just a little. “I mean, I’m a fan too, but really? You’ve had the song on repeat all day.”
“This from the queen of rewatching movies and saying the lines with the characters.”
“Fair,” Imani says. “Absolutely fair.” We laugh, and then she closes my door so she can look at herself in the full-length mirror that hangs on the back. “I need your help. Which shirt should I wear?” Imani asks. Right now she only has on jeans and her bra. In her left hand she is holding a shirt that says, I Am My Ancestors’ Wildest Dreams, and in her right hand, a shirt with a drawing of a closed fist raised and the word Resist under it. Both are black with white lettering.
“That one.” I point to her left hand.
“Thanks.” Imani puts the shirt on and comes over to my dresser to skim through my jewelry. We are always in and out of each other’s rooms borrowing and swapping.
Now I am second-guessing my outfit. My green sun-dress seems too dressy and doesn’t make any kind of statement. I look through my closet. I only own one graphic tee, and it says I Woke Up Like This. I’m pretty sure this isn’t the shirt to wear around this activist crowd. I change into a black V-neck and jeans. I’ll make it more stylish by adding some necklaces and bracelets. Aunt Liz taught me that accessories are the key to every outfit.
Imani has picked through all my bracelets and chooses the chunky silver one. She looks in the mirror. “You ready?”
“Do I look ready?” I point to my face that has no makeup, to my hair that is still wrapped in a scarf. “I need at least fifteen minutes.” I plug in my flat iron, turn the dial up to the highest heat.
“We don’t have fifteen minutes. Be ready in five.”
“Ten,” I call out. “Beauty takes time.”
“Makeup doesn’t make you beautiful.”
“No, but it enhances it,” I say. I pick up a tube of lipstick and hold it out toward Imani. “This color would look so good on you. You should let me do your makeup one day.”
“Five minutes, Nala. I’ll be downstairs.”
“I can’t do nine steps in five minutes.”
“Nine steps? Are you serious?” Imani’s footsteps echo in the hallway as she runs down the stairs. “You better hurry up.”
“And now it’ll be twelve minutes since you kept talking to me.” I laugh and begin my makeup routine. For me, the key to wearing makeup is making it look like I don’t have any on.
9 STEPS FOR APPLYING MAKEUP
1.Primer. Because I have to make sure the foundation powder goes on smoothly.
2.Eyebrows. I use an eyebrow pencil to define my arch and make my brows full. They’re already kind of thick, so I don’t need to do too much.
3.Foundation. It took me a while to find the perfect match for my dark skin, but about a month ago Aunt Liz took me makeup shopping and we did a color-matching test, so now I know the perfect shade to use.
4.Blush. Yes, I wear blush. A warm brown blush so my face doesn’t look so flat.
5.Eye shadow. Less is more. I do use color, but on a day like today, I’m keeping it simple.
6.Eyeliner. I use a felt tip. It goes on easier and doesn’t smudge like pencil. I’m going for that evening smoky eye—it’ll elevate this outfit I’m wearing.
7.Mascara. I’m not a fan of wearing so much mascara that it looks like spiders are crawling out of my eyes, but I do lay it on thick so I can have full, fluttering lashes.
8.Lipstick/Lip gloss. Sometimes I wear both, depending on the color and texture. Tonight, I’m doing lipstick. Even though it’s gray outside, I’m going with a bright berry color for summer.
9.Look at myself in the mirror. I just sit and stare for one whole minute. Take in this beauty that everyone else will be seeing, make sure everything is just right.
And that’s it. My face is complete.
Next, I touch up my hair with my flat iron, making sure my edges are straight. Since it’s raining so hard, I pull it up in a sloppy-on-purpose ponytail, and as promised, twelve minutes have passed and I’m ready to go.
Just as I am pulling the plug out of the socket, Imani calls out to me. “Nala, we’re going to be late! Come on.”
“Coming.” I grab my umbrella.
When I get downstairs, Imani is in the kitchen at the sink filling her metal water bottle. Uncle Randy and Aunt Ebony are here cooking together, and the way they have this kitchen smelling with sweet plantains and curry chicken makes me want to stay and eat dinner.
“Save some for me,” I say. I kiss Aunt Ebony on her cheek.
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll be eating this chicken for the next few days. I’m making enough to last. Too hot to keep turning this stove on. Plus, I’m on summer vacation too, so that should mean I get a break from cooking.” Aunt Ebony says this even though we all know she’ll be back in the kitchen tomorrow cooking up something delicious and taking a plate over to Grandma. She is the oldest of Grandma’s daughters. Her and Uncle Randy married in their last year of college. So even though they have been married for a long time, they are younger than the parents of a lot of my friends. Aunt Ebony teaches at an elementary school just a few blocks down the street, so it’s summer break for her too.
Aunt Liz is two years younger and lives in a condo on 116th. She’s a personal stylist and has a lot of famous clients. Aunt Liz is always, always dressed like she’s going to be in a photo shoot. Even her pajamas are photo worthy.
And then there’s my mom. She’s the youngest, the only one who has a job and not a career. She’s worked at clothing stores, restaurants, offices. They were all born in Spanish Town, the parish of St. Catherine, and moved to New York in their teens when Grandpa decided that the States would give his children a better life. Grandma says he was a man whose dreams wouldn’t let him sleep. She’d wake up in the middle of the night, and he’d be at the kitchen table working on a job application or writing out goals for the family.
Grandpa loved living in New York, but his heart was in Spanish Town. He went back to Jamaica at least twice a year. Grandma has tried to keep the tradition. We all go once a year, usually for Christmas since that’s when Aunt Ebony is off from work. When we go, we stay in Kingston because that’s where most of the family lives now.