Imani and I head upstairs—Imani already on her phone texting Asher even though they just saw each other. On my way to my room I hear Aunt Ebony say, “Today was perfect. And that album. It’s literally holding memories in your hand. It’s the little things.”
It’s the little things.
I get to thinking that I know exactly what I want to do with all those frames that have just been sitting in my closet. I can’t even go to bed, I’m so motivated to start. I get my phone out, make a folder that says Legacy Project, and go through my phone checking photos from this summer that will be added to the folder. Some of the photos make me smile, like the before and after pictures Sadie and I took with my hair a dripping storm cloud. And then there are the ones from the street ball tournament, and JT and Grandma, and so many of me and Tye. I won’t get them all, but I do want to print some of them. I take out the frames and look at the different sizes I have. I decide which photo will go in each frame and upload the photos that I want to print into my online account. I lose track of time resizing the images and adjusting the colors before I finally place the order.
It’s the little things.
I think about this while falling asleep. I don’t need to do a big photo project at Grandma’s residence to make an impact. If I’m going to be true to myself, then being me is all about doing the little things, every day, just because.
30
BLUE PLAYLIST, TRACK 13
All I Need
Hook
Today I am possible.
I have survived and will survive.
And all that is coming is already mine.
Chorus
Not waiting on someone to want me, need me.
No fairy-tale dreams of what my life might be.
I love me.
Right now.
Right now.
I love me.
Verse 1
And even with all my flaws, I am enough.
And I have failed, but I am not a failure.
And love is patient and love is kind and love is not
just for me to give away.
Keep some for myself.
Chorus
Not waiting on someone to want me, need me.
No fairy-tale dreams of what my life might be.
I love me.
Right now.
Right now.
I love me.
Verse 2
And I have peace in knowing
that if something more never comes,
I already have what I need.
Because what I need is me.
There is no way I can be better for anyone else
if I’m not good to me. I gotta be good to me.
Hook
Today I am possible.
I have survived and will survive.
And all that is coming is already mine.
I’ve been taking out my braids for the last two days, a section at a time, so I don’t have to sit for hours. When I finish unbraiding the last section of my hair, I comb through it and wash it. The shower water is warm, and the shampoo foams in my hands, thick like whipped cream. The added hair made my hair sturdy, made me look regal, strong. Now that my own hair is in my hands, nothing added, I feel its softness, feel the coils twisting and tangling around my fingers. I wash and condition and rinse my hair, listening to Blue, letting her words wash over me, cleanse me. And I start singing. I match her voice, hitting every run, every ad lib, and we sing together, like her words are my words. I get out of the shower, dry off, and when I bring the towel to my face, I exhale into the terry cloth and tears pour out of me.
I let out every single one.
And when the next track comes on, I just stand in the full-length mirror and look at myself. My tears all dried up, my heartbeat steady.
And then the next song comes, and I dance. Just me with Blue, here in the bathroom, my hair and body all natural, all mine. Every coil, and roll, and scar. I move my body and sing loud and I don’t know if I sound good or not, but it doesn’t matter.
Good thing it’s just me at home this morning.
I get dressed, take out the blow-dryer, and dry my hair. This is always the worst part. My long, thick hair takes forever to dry, and my arms always ache afterward from all the uncomfortable positions I put them in. Finally, my hair is dry and ready to be straightened. The flat iron is warm, so I pick it up, get started.
I think of the styles I have tried this summer, how at first these new styles—and even the head wrap—were just me trying to fit in, cover something up, prove something. But truth is, I like my hair all kinds of ways. I’ve made an appointment with Sadie, and she’ll hook me up with a new braided style before school starts. She’ll add color next time and make the braids thin and extra long. And it will be because I want it, because it looks good on me, and not for any other reason.
It is already two o’clock in the afternoon, and all I’ve done today is my hair. My cell phone rings, and when I pick it up, I see the photo of me and Mom on the screen. I am five years old in the picture, and we are dressed in the same color—purple. I answer the phone, and Mom starts going on and on about all the back-to-school sales happening and how she wants to take me shopping for school clothes. I tell her I already ordered most of the clothes I need. “There are more stylish plus-size options online,” I say.
“Well, you need pencils and paper and whatnot, don’t you? At least let me get you some school supplies.” This is Mom’s way of saying she wants to spend time with me, so I say yes, because I want to see her too.
We meet at Staples, and after filling the handheld basket with notebooks, folders, and gel pens, we wait in a too-long line. I look over everything in the basket and think maybe I should put the decorative folders back. I was going to get the ones that were on sale, but Mom said those were too plain and to go for the ones I really wanted. They cost more because they have an assortment of prints and look nicer than the plain ones. As we wait in line, Mom turns to me and says, “I can’t believe you are going to be a senior.” She looks me over, taking all of me in. “You are not my baby girl anymore . . . wow.”
“They grow up fast, don’t they?” a woman behind us says. “Those are mine over there. Thirteen already. Where does the time go?” She points to twin boys who are in the electronic section.
It’s our turn to step up to the cashier. I put everything on the counter, and the woman rings them up. When she says the total, Mom digs through her wallet. “Um. But I thought these were on sale.” She picks up the packs of pens.
“No, those aren’t on sale, ma’am.”
“Oh, um . . . and the paper? Isn’t the paper on sale?”
“Yes, but you have to buy two in order to get the third pack free.”
“Mom, it’s okay. I can pay for it. Aunt Ebony gave me—”
“It’s fine,” Mom says. “I—I got it. Just. Give me a minute.” Mom goes into another section of her purse and pulls out a twenty-dollar bill, then she goes back to her wallet and pulls out a credit card. “Can I split the bill and pay for these with this and the rest on the card?”
“Sure. I’ll just have to ring it up separately.”
“Mom, I have—”
“Nala, it’s fine.”
Mom pays, twice, and hands the tote bags to me.
When we are out of the store and outside again, I thank her, but I am not sure if she heard me because of all the noise, so I repeat myself, “Thank you, Mom.”