I look again at the Inspire Harlem postcard I pinned on my corkboard. I think about how Grandma said loving yourself is the real revolution. I take out my notebook and make another list.
1.Remember Yourself.
2.Honor Yourself.
3.Critique Yourself.
4.Love Yourself.
This is how I plan to grow.
22
Three days have gone by, and I still have not spoken to Imani. Mostly because we haven’t been in the same room at the same time. Somehow, we keep missing each other. Okay, not somehow—we keep missing each other because she stays out late with Asher and by the time she comes home I am sleeping. In the mornings, I stay in my room listening to Blue and holding my pee until she leaves (I almost didn’t make it to the bathroom in time this morning, so maybe I need to stop this). I haven’t been back to see Grandma either. I am still thinking about everything she said, thinking about who I want to be.
The house is quiet, so after I get dressed, I make my way downstairs only to realize Uncle Randy is in the kitchen. He is drinking coffee and reading the paper. “’Morning,” he says.
“Good morning.” I was going to make breakfast, maybe boil an egg and make toast, but I’m too embarrassed to be in here with him. I go to the fridge, grab a strawberry yogurt, and head back to my room.
“Before you go, I wanted to talk with you.” Uncle Randy closes his paper. I have no choice but to sit with him at the table in the kitchen nook. One side is a bench, the other side, two chairs. I slide in and sit on the bench. I brace myself for what Uncle Randy is going to say. He comes over to the table and sits with me.
“So Liz said we can have the birthday party on the rooftop. She’s already reserved it. Imani is going to help pick out food for the evening, and she’s helping me pull together a guest list,” he says. “Can you work on putting together some kind of special gift?”
I am relieved. “That’s what you want to talk about?”
Uncle Randy laughs. “What did you think I wanted to talk about?” he asks. And then before I can answer he says, “Oh—that? Not much I can tell you. You already know what you need to do. Imani does too.” Uncle Randy takes a long sip of his coffee.
I love Uncle Randy for not making a big deal about any of this. I love him for trusting me to figure it out and fix it on my own.
I eat my yogurt and leave the house, not really having a destination in mind. Just want to get out of the house. If I’m distracted and walking around, I’m less likely to check my phone to see if Tye has called, or sent a text, or posted on Instagram.
I walk downtown on Frederick Douglass and keep going until I get to 110th. The statue of Frederick Douglass stands tall, and the fountain that sprays out water is on in full force, so little ones are jumping in and out, running around the concrete steps. I cross the street and enter Central Park. I keep walking and walking, trying not to think about Tye or check my phone.
I sit in the park for an hour, just people watching and thinking about the times my mom would bring me here to go to the zoo. Once I’m ready to go home, I walk to the bus stop because I realize I walked a lot farther than I intended to and now I don’t want to walk all the way back.
I am sitting at the back of the bus, listening to music through my headphones and minding my own business when out of the corner of my eye, I see someone waving at me. “Excuse me, can I—can I talk to you for a sec?” the boy asks as he steps closer to me. He is talking low and has a gentleness about him. “I like your style,” he says.
“Thank you.”
I like his too, actually.
“You, uh, you got a boyfriend?”
“I—yes, I do. Well, no. I mean, I don’t know.”
Nala, really? That’s your answer?
“So, if you don’t know, I think that means no,” the boy says.
And hearing him say that makes my eyes water. “I, um, this is my stop.” I stand up and push the tape strip.
“Wait. Hold on. Can I get your number?”
The tears don’t wait to fall. “No, I—no.” I get off the bus. I decide to go ahead and walk the rest of the way. I am getting used to crying in public. I put my sunglasses on and walk, hiding my red eyes.
I am a block away from home when my phone starts buzzing in my pocket. The first person I think about is the guy on the bus even though I know I didn’t give him my number. I don’t take it out to see who it is. It’s probably Aunt Ebony checking in to ask if I’ve worked on my essay. I know as soon as I pick up and say hello, she’ll detect my tears and want to talk about it, so I just let it go to voice mail.
The afternoon sun is beaming down, and now that I am not in the park anymore under all those trees, I feel the heat even more.
I keep walking and crying and sweating and finally, I am home.
When I get inside, all I want to do is drink a gallon of water and cry.
I don’t have a boyfriend anymore.
I am not anyone’s girlfriend.
The more I realize it, the harder I cry.
I get a glass of water. My phone buzzes again. A reminder that I didn’t answer it before. I don’t take it out. I just sit and cry until I have no more tears. I go upstairs, and first, I just sit on my bed and do nothing, but then, I take out my notebook, make more lists.
TIPS FOR SHOWING YOURSELF LOVE
1.Show yourself love by making a playlist that affirms, motivates, and encourages. Music affects my mood, and even though I didn’t intend to, starting my day with Blue has been healing and giving me the strength to hold my head up—even though I’ve messed up. I’m making a playlist with some of my favorite songs, songs that uplift me, songs that remind me I am worthy of love just as I am. First artist on the list will be Blue.
2.Show yourself love by doing what makes you happy. I know I’ll have to do some things in life that I don’t really love. But there has to be room to squeeze in some fun, some smile-making moments. For me, it’s walking through New York City, people watching and window shopping. For me, it’s sharing music and having listening parties with friends, it’s spending time with Grandma building puzzles and talking about life. I can do more of this, I need to.
3.Show yourself love by keeping a gratitude journal. I’ll need to read it on days when it feels like I have nothing to be grateful for.
I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket again, and then I remember that I never checked to see who was trying to get ahold of me before. I take my phone out, but not in enough time. I missed Sadie’s call. I check the rest of my notifications and see that I have a text message. It’s from Tye: Had my phone off for the past few days. Needed to think. Can we talk?
I don’t respond right away. I can’t move, can’t get my fingers to type anything. I toss the phone back on my bed, pick up the glass of water on my nightstand. I drink the water. Slow. When I swallow the last drop, I pick up my phone, send my reply.
Yes.
23
We agreed to meet at my place.
As soon as I said okay, I regretted it because if this conversation goes bad, I don’t want to have to remember it every time I walk up the stoop, every time I open the door. Breakups are better in public spaces, places you don’t have to go back to if you don’t want to.