ALSOBYJACQUELINEWOODSON

LastSummerwithMaizon

TheDearOneMaizonatBlueHill

BetweenMadisonandPalmettoIHadn’tMeanttoTellYouThis

FromtheNotebooksofMelaninSunTheHouseYouPassontheWay

IfYouComeSoftly

LenaMiracle’sBoys

Hush

LocomotionBehindYouFeathers

AfterTupacandDFoster

Peace,LocomotionBeneathaMethMoon

NANCYPAULSENBOOKS

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everyreader.

“Dreams,”and“Poem[2]”fromTHECOLLECTEDPOEMSOFLANGSTONHUGHESbyLangstonHughes,editedbyArnoldRampersadwithDavidRoessel,AssociateEditor,copyright©1994bytheEstateofLangstonHughes.UsedbypermissionofAlfredA.Knopf,animprintoftheKnopfDoubledayPublishingGroup,adivisionofRandomHouseLLC.Allrightsreserved.UsedbypermissionofHaroldOberAssociates

Incorporated.

“Twistin’theNightAway”writtenbySamCooke.PublishedbyABKCOMusic,Inc.Usedbypermission.Allrightsreserved.

LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationDataisavailableuponrequest.

ISBN978-0-698-19570-7

Version_1

Thisbookisformyfamily—past,presentandfuture.Withlove.

CONTENTS

familytree

PARTI

iamborn

PARTII

thestoriesofsouthcarolinarunlikerivers

PARTIII

followedthesky’smirroredconstellationtofreedom

PARTIV

deepinmyheart,idobelieve

PARTV

readytochangetheworld

author’snote

thankfuls

familyphotos

HoldfasttodreamsForifdreamsdie

Lifeisabroken-wingedbirdThatcannotfly.

HoldfasttodreamsForwhendreamsgoLifeisabarrenfieldFrozenwithsnow.

—LangstonHughes

february12,1963

IambornonaTuesdayatUniversityHospitalColumbus,Ohio,USA—acountrycaught

betweenBlackandWhite.

Iambornnotlongfromthetimeorfarfromtheplacewheremygreat-great-grandparentsworkedthedeeprichlandunfreedawntillduskunpaiddrankcoolwaterfromscooped-outgourdslookedupandfollowedthesky’smirroredconstellationtofreedom.

IambornastheSouthexplodes,toomanypeopletoomanyyearsenslaved,thenemancipatedbutnotfree,thepeoplewholooklikemekeepfightingandmarchingandgettingkilledsothattoday—February12,1963

andeverydayfromthismomenton,brownchildrenlikemecangrowupfree.Cangrowuplearningandvotingandwalkingandridingwhereverwewant.

IamborninOhiobutthestoriesofSouthCarolinaalreadyrunlikeriversthroughmyveins.

seconddaughter’sseconddayonearth

Mybirthcertificatesays:FemaleNegroMother:MaryAnneIrby,22,NegroFather:JackAustinWoodson,25,Negro

InBirmingham,Alabama,MartinLutherKingJr.isplanningamarchonWashington,where

JohnF.Kennedyispresident.InHarlem,MalcolmXisstandingonasoapbox

talkingaboutarevolution.

OutsidethewindowofUniversityHospital,snowisslowlyfalling.Somuchalready

coversthisvastOhioground.

InMontgomery,onlysevenyearshavepassedsinceRosaParksrefused

togiveupherseatonacitybus.

Iambornbrown-skinned,black-hairedandwide-eyed.

IambornNegrohereandColoredthere

andsomewhereelse,theFreedomSingershavelinkedarms,theirprotestsrisingintosong:Deepinmyheart,Idobelievethatweshallovercomesomeday.

andsomewhereelse,JamesBaldwiniswritingaboutinjustice,eachnovel,eachessay,changingtheworld.

IdonotyetknowwhoI’llbewhatI’llsay

howI’llsayit...

NoteventhreeyearshavepassedsinceabrowngirlnamedRubyBridgeswalkedintoanall-whiteschool.Armedguardssurroundedherwhilehundredsofwhitepeoplespatandcalledhernames.

Shewassixyearsold.

IdonotknowifI’llbestronglikeRuby.Idonotknowwhattheworldwilllooklike

whenIamfinallyabletowalk,speak,write...AnotherBuckeye!

thenursesaystomymother.Already,Iambeingnamedforthisplace.

Ohio.TheBuckeyeState.Myfingerscurlintofists,automatically

Thisistheway,mymothersaid,ofeverybaby’shand.

IdonotknowifthesehandswillbecomeMalcolm’s—raisedandfistedorMartin’s—openandasking

orJames’s—curledaroundapen.Idonotknowifthesehandswillbe

Rosa’sorRuby’s

gentlyglovedandfiercelyfoldedcalmlyinalap,onadesk,

aroundabook,ready

tochangetheworld...

agirlnamedjack

Goodenoughnameforme,myfathersaidthedayIwasborn.Don’tseewhyshecan’thaveit,too.

Butthewomensaidno.Mymotherfirst.Theneachaunt,pullingmypinkblanketbackpattingthecropofthickcurlstuggingatmynewtoestouchingmycheeks.

Wewon’thaveagirlnamedJack,mymothersaid.

Andmyfather ’ssisterswhispered,AboynamedJackwasbadenough.Butonlysomymothercouldhear.NameagirlJack,myfathersaid,andshecan’thelpbutgrowupstrong.Raiseherright,myfathersaid,andshe’llmakethatnameherown.

NameagirlJackandpeoplewilllookathertwice,myfathersaid.

Fornogoodreasonbuttoaskifherparentswerecrazy,mymothersaid.

AndbackandforthitwentuntilIwasJackieandmyfatherleftthehospitalmad.

Mymothersaidtomyaunts,Handmethatpen,wroteJacquelinewhereitaskedforaname.Jacqueline,justincasesomeonethoughttodroptheie.

Jacqueline,justincaseIgrewupandwantedsomethingalittlebitlongerandfurtherawayfromJack.

thewoodsonsofohio

Myfather ’sfamilycantracetheirhistorybacktoThomasWoodsonofChillicothe,saidtobethefirstsonofThomasJeffersonandSallyHemingssomesaythisisn’tsobut...

theWoodsonsofOhioknowwhattheWoodsonscomingbeforethemleftbehind,inBibles,instories,inhistorycomingdownthroughtime

so

askanyWoodsonwhyyoucan’tgodowntheWoodsonlinewithoutfindingdoctorsandlawyersandteachersathletesandscholarsandpeopleingovernmentthey’llsay,Wehadaheadstart.They’llsay,ThomasWoodsonexpectedthebestofus.They’llleanback,lacetheirfingersacrosstheirchests,smileasmilethat’solderthantime,say,

WellitallstartedbackbeforeThomasJefferson

WoodsonofChillicothe...

andthey’llbegintotellourlong,longstory.

theghostsofthenelsonvillehouse

TheWoodsonsareoneofthefewBlackfamiliesinthistown,theirhouseisbigandwhiteandsitsonahill.

LookuptoseethemthroughthehighwindowsinsideakitchenfilledwiththelightofawateryNelsonvillesun.IntheparlorafireplaceburnswarmthintothelongOhiowinter.

Keeplookingandit’sspringagain,thelight’sgoldnow,anddancingacrossthepinefloors.

Once,thereweresomanychildrenhererunningthroughthishouseupanddownthestairs,hidingunderbedsandintrunks,sneakingintothekitchenfortinypiecesoficeboxcake,coldfriedchicken,thickslicesoftheirmother ’shoneyham...

Once,myfatherwasababyhereandthenhewasaboy...

Butthatwasalongtimeago.

Inthephotosmygrandfatheristallerthaneverybodyandmygrandmotherjustaninchsmaller.

Onthewallstheirchildrenrunthroughfields,playinpools,

danceinteen-filledrooms,allofthem

grownupandgonenow—butwait!

Lookclosely:

There’sAuntAlicia,thebabygirl,curlsspiralingoverhershoulders,herhandscuppedaroundabouquetofflowers.Onlyfouryearsoldinthatpicture,andalready,areader.

BesideAliciaanotherpicture,myfather,Jack,theoldestboy.Eightyearsoldandmadaboutsomethingorisitsomeonewecannotsee?

Inanotherpicture,myuncleWoody,babyboylaughingandpointingtheNelsonvillehousebehindhimandmaybehisbrotherattheendofhispointedfinger.

MyauntAnneinhernurse’suniform,myauntAdainheruniversitysweaterBuckeyetothebone...

ThechildrenofHopeandGrace.

Lookclosely.ThereIaminthefurrowofJack’sbrow,intheslynessofAlicia’ssmile,inthebendofGrace’shand...

ThereIam...

Beginning.

it’llbescarysometimes

Mygreat-great-grandfatheronmyfather ’ssidewasbornfreeinOhio,

1832.

Builthishomeandfarmedhisland,thendugforcoalwhenthefarmingwasn’tenough.Foughthardinthewar.HisnameinstonenowontheCivilWarMemorial:

WilliamJ.WoodsonUnitedStatesColoredTroops,Union,CompanyB5thRegt.

AlongtimedeadbutlivingstillamongtheothersoldiersonthatmonumentinWashington,D.C.

HissonwassenttoNelsonvillelivedwithanaunt

WilliamWoodsontheonlybrownboyinanall-whiteschool.

You’llfacethisinyourlifesomeday,mymotherwilltellusoverandoveragain.Amomentwhenyouwalkintoaroomand

noonethereislikeyou.

It’llbescarysometimes.ButthinkofWilliamWoodsonandyou’llbeallright.

footballdreams

Noonewasfasterthanmyfatheronthefootballfield.Noonecouldkeephimfromcrossingtheline.Thentouchingdownagain.Coacheswerewatchingthewayhemoved,hiseasystride,hislongarmsreachingup,snatchingtheballfromitssoftpocketofair.

Myfatherdreamedfootballdreams,andwoketoascholarshipatOhioStateUniversity.Grownnowlivingthebig-citylifeinColumbusjustsixtymilesfromNelsonvilleandfromthereInterstate70couldgetyouonyourwaywesttoChicagoInterstate77couldtakeyousouthbutmyfathersaidnocoloredBuckeyeinhisrightmindwouldeverwanttogothere.

FromColumbus,myfathersaid,youcouldgojustaboutanywhere.

otherpeople’smemory

Youwereborninthemorning,GrandmaGeorgianasaid.Irememberthesoundofthebirds.Meanoldbluejayssquawking.Theyliketofight,youknow.Don’tmesswithbluejays!Iheartheycankillacatiftheygetmadenough.

Andthenthephonewasringing.Throughallthatstaticandsquawking,Iheardyourmamatellingmeyou’dcome.Anothergirl,Istoodtherethinking,soclosetothefirstone.JustlikeyourmamaandCaroline.Notevenayearbetweenthemandsoclose,youcouldhardlytellwhereoneendedandtheotherstarted.Andthat’showIknowyoucameinthemorning.That’showIremember.

Youcameinthelateafternoon,mymothersaid.TwodaysafterIturnedtwenty-two.Yourfatherwasatwork.Tookarushhourbustryingtogettoyou.Butbythetimehearrived,youwerealreadyhere.Hemissedthemoment,mymothersaid,butwhatelseisnew.

You’retheonethatwasbornnearnight,myfathersays.

WhenIsawyou,Isaid,She’stheunluckyonecomeoutlookingjustlikeherdaddy.Helaughs.Rightoffthebat,Itoldyourmama,We’regonnacallthisoneafterme.

Mytimeofbirthwasn’tlistedonthecertificate,thengotlostagainamidotherpeople’sbadmemory.

noreturns

Whenmymothercomeshomefromthehospitalwithme,myolderbrothertakesonelookinsidethepinkblanket,says,Takeherback.Wealreadyhaveoneofthose.

Alreadythreeyearsoldandstilldoesn’tunderstandhowsomethingsotinyandnewcan’tbereturned.

howtolisten#1

Somewhereinmybraineachlaugh,tearandlullabybecomesmemory.

uncleodell

Sixmonthsbeforemybigsisterisborn,myuncleOdellishitbyacarwhilehomeinSouthCarolinaonleavefromtheNavy.

WhenthephonerangintheNelsonvillehouse,maybemymotherwasouthanginglaundryonthelineordowninthekitchenspeakingsoftlywithhermother-in-law,Grace,missingherownmamabackhome.MaybethecarwaspackedandreadyforthedrivebacktoColumbus—theplacemyfathercalledtheBigCity—nowtheirhome.ButeverySaturdaymorning,theydrovethehourtoNelsonvilleandstayedtillSundaynight.

Mayberightbeforethephonerang,tomorrow

wasjustanotherday.

Butwhenthenewsofmyuncle’sdyingtraveledfromtheplacehefellinSouthCarolina,tothecoldMarchmorninginOhio,mymotherlookedoutintoagraydaythatwouldchangeherforever.

Yourbrother

mymotherheardherownmothersayandthentherewasonlyaroaringintheairaroundheranewpainwhereoncetherewasn’tpainahollownesswhereonlyminutesbeforeshehadbeenwhole.

goodnews

Monthsbeforethebone-coldBuckeyewintersettlesoverOhio,thelastSeptemberlightbrings

myoldersister,

namedOdellaCarolineaftermyuncleOdellandmyauntCaroline.

InSouthCarolina,thephonerings.

Asmymother ’smothermovestowardit,shecloseshereyes,thenopensthemtolookoutoverheryard.Asshereachesforit,shewatchesthewaythelightslipsthroughtheheavypineneedles,dappleseverythingwithsweetSeptemberlight...

Herhandonthephonenow,sheliftsitprayingsilentlyforthegoodnewsthesweetchillofautumnisfinallybringingherway.

mymotherandgrace

ItistheSouththatbringsmymotherandmyfather ’smother,Grace,together.Grace’sfamilyisfromGreenville,too.Somymotherishometoher,inawayherownkidscan’tunderstand.YouknowhowthoseWoodsonsare,Gracesays.TheWoodsonsthisandtheNorththatmakingMamasmile,rememberthatGrace,too,wassomeoneelsebefore.RememberthatGrace,likemymother,wasn’talwaysaWoodson.

Theyarehometoeachother,GracetomymotherisasfamiliarastheGreenvilleair.

Bothknowthatsouthernwayoftalkingwithoutwords,rememberwhentheheatofsummercouldmeltthemouth,sosouthernersstayedquietlookedoutovertheland,noddedatwhatseemedlikenothingbutthatsilentnodsaideverythinganyoneneededtohear.

HereinOhio,mymotherandGracearen’tafraidoftoomuchairbetweenwords,arehappy

justforanotherfamiliarbodyintheroom.

Butthefewwordsinmymother ’smouthbecomethemissingafterOdelldies—adifferentsilencethaneitherofthemhaseverknown.

I’msorryaboutyourbrother,Gracesays.GuessGodneededhimbackandsentyouababygirl.Butbothofthemknowtheholethatisthemissingisn’tfillednow.Uhmm,mymothersays.Blessthedeadandtheliving,Gracesays.Thenmoresilencebothofthemknowingthere’snothinglefttosay.

eachwinter

Eachwinterjustasthefirstofthesnowbeginstofall,mymothergoeshometoSouthCarolina.

Sometimes,

myfathergoeswithherbutmostly,hedoesn’t.

Soshegetsonthebusalone.Thefirstyearwithone,thesecondyearwithtwo,andfinallywiththreechildren,HopeandDellhuggingeachlegandmeinherarms.Alwaysthereisafightbeforesheleaves.

Ohio

iswheremyfatherwantstobebuttomymotherOhiowillneverbehome,nomatterhowmanyplantsshebringsindoorseachwinter,singingsoftlytothem,theliltofherwordsabreathofwarmairmovingovereachleaf.Inreturn,theyholdontotheircolorevenasthesnowbeginstofall.AreminderofthedeepgreenSouth.Apromise

oflife

somewhere.

journey

YoucankeepyourSouth,myfathersays.Thewaytheytreatedusdownthere,IgotyourmamaoutasquickasIcould.BroughtherrightupheretoOhio.

Toldherthere’snevergonnabeaWoodsonthatsitsinthebackofthebus.NevergonnabeaWoodsonthathastoYessirandNosirwhitepeople.NevergonnabeaWoodsonmadetolookdownattheground.

Allyoukidsarestrongerthanthat,myfathersays.AllyouWoodsonkidsdeservetobeasgoodasyoualreadyare.

Yessirree,Bob,myfathersays.YoucankeepyourSouthCarolina.

greenville,southcarolina,1963

Onthebus,mymothermoveswithustotheback.Itis1963inSouthCarolina.Toodangeroustositclosertothefront

anddarethedrivertomakehermove.Notwithus.Notnow.Meinherarmsallofthreemonthsold.Mysisterandbrothersqueezedintotheseatbesideher.Whiteshirt,tie,andmybrother ’sheadshavedclean.

Mysister ’sbraidswhiteribboned.

Situpstraight,mymothersays.Shetellsmybrothertotakehisfingers

outofhismouth.Theydowhatisaskedofthem.Althoughtheydon’tknowwhytheyhaveto.Thisisn’tOhio,mymothersays,

asthoughweunderstand.Hermouthasmalllipstickeddash,herbacksharpasaline.DONOTCROSS!COLOREDSTOTHEBACK!Stepoffthecurbifawhitepersoncomestowardyoudon’tlookthemintheeye.Yessir.Nosir.

Myapologies.Hereyesstraightahead,mymotherismilesawayfromhere.

Thenhermouthsoftens,herhandmovesgentlyovermybrother ’swarmhead.Heisthreeyearsold,hiswideeyesopentotheworld,histoo-bigears

alreadylistening.We’reasgoodasanybody,mymotherwhispers.

Asgoodasanybody.

home

Soon...

Wearenearmyothergrandparents’house,smallredstone,

immenseyardsurroundingit.HallStreet.Afrontporchswingthirstyforoil.Apotofazaleasblooming.Apinetree.Reddirtwaftinguparoundmymother ’snewlypolishedshoes.

Welcomehome,mygrandparentssay.Theirwarmbrown

armsaroundus.Awhitehandkerchief,embroideredwithblue

towipeawaymymother ’stears.Andme,thenewbaby,setdeepinsidethislove.

thecousins

It’smymother ’sbirthdayandthemusicisturneduploud.

Hercousinsallaroundher—thewayitwasbeforesheleft.

Thesamecousinssheplayedwithasagirl.Rememberthetime,theyask,

WhenwestoleMizCarter’speachpieoffherwindowsill,gotstuckinthatditchdownbelowTodd’shouse,climbedthatfenceandsnuckintoGreenvillepool,weren’tscaredaboutgettingarrestedeither,shoot!nobodytellinguswherewecanandcan’tswim!

Andshelaughs,rememberingitall.

Ontheradio,SamCookeissinging“Twistin’theNightAway”:

Letmetellyou’boutaplaceSomewhereup-aNewYorkway

ThecousinshavecomefromasfarawayasSpartanburgtheboysdressedinskinny-leggedpants,thegirlsinflowyskirtsthatswirlout,whentheyspintwistingthenightaway.CousinDorothy’sfiancé,holdingtighttoherhand

astheytwistCousinSamdancingwithMama,readytocatchher

ifshefalls,hesays

andmymotherremembersbeingalittlegirl,lookingdown

scaredfromahigh-uptreeandseeinghercousinthere—waiting.

HeretheyhavealotoffunPuttin’troubleontherunTwistin’thenightaway.

Iknewyouweren’tstayingupNorth,thecousinssay.Youbelongherewithus.Mymotherthrowsherheadback,

hernewlypressedandcurledhairgleaminghersmilethesameoneshehad

beforesheleftforColumbus.She’sMaryAnnIrbyagain.GeorgianaandGunnar ’s

youngestdaughter.

She’shome.

nightbus

Myfatherarrivesonanightbus,hishatinhishands.ItisMaynowandtherainiscomingdown.

Laterwiththeendofthisrainwillcomethesweetsmellofhoneysucklebutfornow,thereisonlytheskyopeningandmyfather ’stears.I’msorry,hewhispers.

Thisfightisoverfornow.

Tomorrow,wewilltravelasafamilybacktoColumbus,Ohio,HopeandDellfightingforaplaceonmyfather ’slap.Greenvillewithitsseparatewaysgrowingsmallbehindus.

Fornow,myparentsstandhugginginthewarmCarolinarain.

Nopast.

Nofuture.

JustthisperfectNow.

aftergreenville#1

Afterthechickenisfriedandwrappedinwaxpaper,tuckedgentlyintocardboardshoeboxes

andtiedwithstring...

Afterthecornbreadiscutintowedges,thepeacheswashedanddried...

Afterthesweetteaispouredintomasonjarstwistedtight

andthedeviledeggsarescoopedbackinsidetheiregg-whitebeds

slippedintoporcelainbowlsthataremymother ’snow,agift

hermothersendswithheronthejourney...

Aftertheclothesarefoldedbackintosuitcases,thehairribbonsandshirtswashedandironed...

Aftermymother ’slipstickisonandmyfather ’sscratchybeginningsofabeardaregone...

AfterourfacesarecoatedwithathinlayerofVaselinegentlywipedoffagainwithacool,wetcloth...

thenitistimetosayourgood-byes,thesmallclutchofuschildren

pressedagainstmygrandmother ’sapron,hertearsquicklyblinkedaway...

Afterthenightfallsanditissafeforbrownpeopletoleave

theSouthwithoutgettingstoppedandsometimesbeatenandalwaysquestioned:

AreyouoneofthoseFreedomRiders?AreyouoneofthoseCivilRightsPeople?Whatgivesyoutheright...?

WeboardtheGreyhoundbus,boundforOhio.

rivers

TheHockingRivermoveslikeaflowingarmawayfromtheOhioRiverrunsthroughtownsasthoughit’schasingitsownfreedom,thesamewaytheOhiorunsnorthfromVirginiauntilit’ssafelyawayfromtheSouth.

EachtowntheHockingtouchestellsastory:AthensCoolvilleLancasterNelsonville,eachwaitsfortheHockingwatertowashthrough.Then

asthoughtheriverrememberswhereitbelongsandwhatitbelongsto,

itcirclesback,joinsupwiththeOhioagainasiftosay,

I’msorry.asiftosay,

IwentawayfromherebutnowI’mhomeagain.

leavingcolumbus

Whenmyparentsfightforthefinaltime,myolderbrotherisfour,mysisterisnearlythree,andIhavejustcelebratedmyfirstbirthday

withoutcelebration.

Thereisonlyonephotographofthemfromtheirtimetogether

aweddingpicture,tornfromalocalnewspaperhiminasuitandtie,herinabridegown,beautifulalthoughneitheroneissmiling.

Onlyonephotograph.

MaybethememoryofColumbuswastoomuchformymothertosaveanymore.Maybethememoryofmymotherwasapainfulstoneinsidemyfather ’sheart.

Butwhatdiditlooklikewhenshefinallylefthim?

Awomannearlysixfeettall,straight-backedandproud,headingdownacoldColumbusstreet,twosmallchildren

besideherandastill-crawlingbabyinherarms.

Myfather,whosereddish-brownskinwouldlaterremindmeofthereddirtoftheSouthandallthatwasrichaboutit,standingintheyard,onehandontheblackmetalrailing,theotherliftingintoaweakwavegood-bye.

AsthoughweweresimplyguestsleavingSundaysupper.

ournames

InSouthCarolina,webecomeTheGrandchildrenGunnar’sThreeLittleOnesSisterIrby’sGrandsMaryAnn’sBabies

AndwhenwearecalledbyournamesmygrandmothermakesthemalloneHopeDellJackiebutmygrandfathertakeshissweettime,sayingeachasifhehasalldaylong

orawholelifetime.

ohiobehindus

Whenweaskourmotherhowlongwe’llbehere,sometimesshesaysforawhileandsometimesshetellsusnottoaskanymorebecauseshedoesn’tknowhowlongwe’llstayinthehousewhereshegrewuponthelandshe’salwaysknown.

Whenweask,shetellsusthisiswheresheusedtobelongbuthersister,Caroline,ourauntKay,hasmovedtotheNorth,herbrotherOdellisdeadnow,andherbabybrother,Robert,sayshe’salmostsavedenoughmoneytofollowCarolinetoNewYorkCity.

MaybeIshouldgothere,too,mymothersays.Everyoneelse,shesays,hasanewplacetobenow.

Everyoneelsehasgoneaway.Andnowcomingbackhomeisn’treallycomingbackhomeatall.

thegarden

EachspringthedarkNicholtowndirtisfilledwiththepromiseofwhattheearthcangivebacktoyouifyouworkthelandplanttheseedspulltheweeds.

Mysoutherngrandfathermissedslaverybyonegeneration.Hisgrandfatherhadbeenowned.Hisfatherworkedthelandfromdawntillduskforthepromiseofcottonandalittlepay.

Sothisiswhathebelievesinyourhandsinthecooldirtuntiltheearthgivesbacktoyouallthatyou’veaskedofit.

Sweetpeasandcollards,greenpeppersandcukeslettuceandmelon,

berriesandpeachesandonedaywhenI’mable,mygrandfathersays,I’mgonnafigureouthowtogrowmyselfapecantree.

Godgivesyouwhatyouneed,mygrandmothersays.

Bestnottoaskformorethanthat.

Hmph,mygrandfathersays.Andgoesbacktoworkingtheland,pullingfromitallweneed

andmorethanthat.

gunnar’schildren

Atdusk,justasthefirefliesflickeron,mygrandfathermakeshiswayhome.Weseehimcomingslowdowntheroad,hissilverlunchboxbouncingsoftagainsthisleg.Now,ashegetscloser,wehearhimsinging:

“Wherewilltheweddingsupperbe?Waydownyonderinahollowtree.Uhhmmm...”

Goodevening,MizClara.Evening,MizMae.How’sthatleg,MizBell?Whatyoucooking,AuntieCharlotte,youthinkingofmakingmesomethingtoeat?HisvoiceringingdownHallStreet,circlingroundtheroadsofNicholtownandmaybeoutintothebig,wideworld...

MaybeallthewayupinNewYork,AuntKay’shearingit,andthinkingaboutcomingonhome...

Thenheiscloseenoughtorunto—thethreeofusclimbinghimlikeatreeuntilhelaughsoutloud.

WecallhimDaddy.Thisiswhatourmothercallshim.Thisisallweknownow.

OurdaddyseemstallerthananyoneelseinallofGreenville.Morehandsome,too—Hissquarejawandlightbrowneyessodifferentfromourownnarrow-faced,dark-eyedselves.Still,hishandiswarmandstrongaroundmyown

asIskipbesidehim,thewindblowinguparoundus.Hesays,Y’allareGunnar’schildren.Justkeeprememberingthat.

Justkeepremembering...

ThisisthewayofNicholtownevenings,Daddycominghome,

mejumpingintohisarms,theotherscirclingaroundhimallofusgrinningallofustalkingallofuslovinghimup.

attheendoftheday

TherearewhitemenworkingattheprintingpressbesideDaddy,theirfingersblackenedwithinksothatattheendoftheday,palmsupit’shardtotellwhoiswhiteandwhoisnot,stilltheycallmygrandfatherGunnar,eventhoughhe’saforemanandissupposedtobecalledMr.Irby.Buthelooksthewhitemenintheeyeseesthewaysomanyofthemcan’tunderstandacoloredmantellingthemwhattheyneedtodo.Thisisnew.Toofastforthem.TheSouthischanging.

Sometimestheydon’tlisten.Sometimestheywalkaway.Attheendoftheday,thenewspaperisprinted,themachinesareshutdownandeachmanpunchesaclockandleavesbut

onlyColoredfolkscomehometoNicholtown.Here,youcan’tlookrightorleftorupordownwithoutseeingbrownpeople.ColoredTown.BrownTown.Evenafewmeanwordstosaywherewelive.

Mygrandmothertellsusit’sthewayoftheSouth.Coloredfolksusedtostay

wheretheyweretoldthattheybelonged.Buttimesarechanging.Andpeopleareitchingtogowheretheywant.

Thisevening,though,IamhappytobelongtoNicholtown.

daywork

Thereisdayworkforcoloredwomen.Inthemorningstheirdarkbodiesfillthecrosstownbuses,takingthemawayfromNicholtowntotheothersideofGreenvillewherethewhitepeoplelive.Ourgrandmothertellsusthisasshesetsasmallhatwithatopazpinonherhead,pullswhiteglovesoverhersoftbrownhands.Twodaysaweek,shejoinsthewomen,takingonthissecondjobnowthattherearefourmoremouthstofeedandthemoneyshegetsfrompart-timeteachingisn’tenoughanymore.I’mnotashamed,shesays,cleaningiswhatIknow.I’mnotashamed,ifitfeedsmychildren.

Whenshereturnsintheevening,herhandsareashenfromwashingotherpeople’sclothes,Mostoftenbyhand,heranklesswollenfromstandingalldaymakingbedsandsweepingfloors,shakingdustfromcurtains,pickingupafterotherpeople’schildren,cooking,thelistgoesonandon.Don’tanyofyoueverdodaywork,shewarnsus.

I’mdoingitnowsoyoudon’thaveto.AndmaybeallacrossNicholtown,otherchildrenarehearingthis,too.

GettheEpsomsalts,shesays,leaningbackintothesoftbrownchair,hereyesclosing.Whensheisn’tinit,Hope,DellandIsqueezeinsidebysidebysideandstill,thereisspaceleftforonemore.Wefilladishpanwithwarmwater,pourthesaltsin,swirlitaroundandcarefullycarryittoherfeet.Wefighttoseewhowillgettorubtheswellingfrommygrandmother ’sankles,thesmilebackontoherface,thestoriesbackintothetoo-quietroom.

YoucouldhaveeatenoffthefloorbythetimeIleftthisonehousetoday,mygrandmotherbegins,lettingoutaheavysigh.Butletmetellyou,whenIfirstgotthere,youwouldhavethoughttheDevilhimselfhadcomethrough...

lullaby

Atnight,everylivingthingcompetesforachancetobeheard.Thecricketsandfrogscallout.Sometimes,there’sthesoftwho-whooofanowllostamidthepines.Eventhedogswon’trestuntilthey’vehowledatthemoon.

Butthecricketsalwayswin,longafterthefrogsstopcroakingandtheowlhasfounditswayhome.Longafterthedogshavelaindownlosingthebattleagainstsleep,thecricketskeepgoingasthoughtheyknowtheirsongisourlullaby.

bibletimes

MygrandmotherkeepsherBibleonashelfbesideherbed.Whenthedayisover,shereadsquietlytoherself,andinthemorningshe’lltellusthestories,howNoahlistenedtoGod’swordpulledtwoofeachanimalinsidehisark,waitedfortherainstocomeandfloatedsafelyasthesinnersdrowned.

It’smorningnowandwehavefloatedsafelythroughtheNicholtownnight,oureveningprayersJehovah,pleasegiveusanotherday,nowanswered.Biscuitswarmandbutteredstophalfwaytoourmouths.Howmuchraindidittaketodestroythesinners?Whatliesdidtheytelltodiesuchadeath?Howloudwastherainwhenitcame?HowdidNoahknowthatthecobrawouldn’tbite,thebullwouldn’tcharge,thebeewouldn’tsting?

Ourquestionscomefastbutwewantthestoriesmorethanwewanttheanswerssowhenmygrandmothersays,Hush,soIcantellit!Wedo.Jacob’sdreamofaladdertoheaven,andJesuswiththechildrensurroundinghim.Moses

onthemountain,fireburningwordsintostone.EvenSalomeintriguesus,herwishforaman’sheadonaplatter—whocouldwantthisandlivetotellthestoryofthatwanting?

Autumniscoming.Outside,there’sthesoundofwindthroughthepinetrees.Butinsidetherearestories,therearebiscuitsandgritsandeggs,thefireinthepotbelliedstovealreadyfillingthehousewithwarmth.

StillweshiveratthethoughtofevilSalome,chewourbiscuitsslowly.Wearesafehere—milesandyearsawayfromBibleTimes.

thereader

Whenwecan’tfindmysister,weknowsheisunderthekitchentable,abookinherhand,aglassofmilkandasmallbowlofpeanutsbesideher.

WeknowwecancallOdella’snameoutloud,slapthetablehardwithourhands,dancearounditsinging“She’llBeComing’RoundtheMountain”somanytimesthesongmakesussickandthecirclingmakesusdizzyandstillmysisterwilldonothingmorethanslowlyturnthepage.

thebeginning

Icannotwriteawordyetbutatthree,InowknowtheletterJlovethewayitcurvesintoahookthatIcarefullytopwithastraighthatthewaymysisterhastaughtmetodo.Lovethesoundoftheletterandthepromisethatonedaythiswillbeconnectedtoafullname,

myown

thatIwillbeabletowrite

bymyself.

Withoutmysister ’shandovermine,makingitdowhatIcannotyetdo.

Howamazingthesewordsarethatslowlycometome.Howwonderfullyonandontheygo.

Willthewordsend,IaskwheneverIrememberto.

Nope,mysistersays,alloffiveyearsoldnow,andpromisingme

infinity.

hope

TheSouthdoesn’tagreewithmybrother.Theheatsandpapershisskin.Don’tscratch,mygrandmotherwarns.Buthedoesandtheskingrowsrawbeneathhisfingers.Thepollenleaveshimpuffyeyed,hissmallbreathscomequick,havetoomuchsoundaroundthem.Hemovesslow,sicklynowwhereoncehewasstrong.Andwhenhisbodyisn’tbetrayinghim,Ohiodoes.Thememorieswakinghiminthenight,theviewfrommyfather ’sshoulders,thewonderoftheNelsonvillehouse,theairsoeasytobreathe...

YoucankeepyourSouth,myfatherhadsaid.

NowHopestaysmostlyquietunlessaskedtospeak,hisheadbentinsidethesuperherocomicbooksmygrandfatherbringshomeonFridays.Hopesearchesforhimselfinsidetheirpages.Leavesthemdog-earedbyMondaymorning.TheSouthhismortalenemy.TheSouth,hisKryptonite.

thealmostfriends

There’stheboyfromuptheroadwiththeholeinhisheart.Someafternoonshecomestositinouryardandlistentoourstories.OurauntKay,wetellhim,livesinNewYorkCityandmaybewewill,too,someday.Andyesit’strue,oncewelivedinOhio,that’swhywespeakthewaywedo.Wedon’taskabouttheholeinhisheart.Ourgrandmotherwarnsusweknowbetterthanthat.

ThereisCoraandhersisters,acrosstheroad.Onewordinmygrandmother ’smouth—YoustayawayfromCoraandhersisters,theirmotherleftthefamily,ranoffwiththeirchurchpastor.Coraandhersisterssometimessitwatchingus.Wewatchthembacknotaskingwhatitfeelslikenottohaveamotherbecauseourgrandmotherwarnsusweknowbetterthanthat.

Therearethreebrotherswholivedowntheroadweknowthisonlybecauseourgrandmothertellsus.Theyliveinsidetheirdarkhouseallsummer,comingout

intheeveningwhentheirmotherreturnsfromworklongafterwe’vebathedandslippedintooursummerpajamas,bookscurledintoourarms.

Theseareouralmostfriends,thepeoplewethinkaboutwhenwe’retiredofplayingwitheachother.

Butourgrandmothersays,Threeisplenty.Threeisateam.Findsomethingtodotogether.Andsooverandoveragain,wedo.Eventhoughwewanttoaskher,Whycan’tweplaywiththem?wedon’t.

Weknowbetterthanthat.

therightwaytospeak

Thefirsttimemybrothersaysain’tmymotherpullsabranchfromthewillowtreegrowingdownthehillattheedgeofourbackyard.Assheslipsherclosedhandoverit,removingtheleaves,mybrotherbeginstocrybecausethebranchisaswitchnow

nolongerbeautifullyweepingatthebottomofthehill.Itwhirsasmymotherwhipsitthroughtheairanddownagainstmybrother ’slegs.

Youwillnever,mymothersays,sayain’tinthishouse.Youwillneversayain’tanywhere.

Eachswitchingisawarningtousourwordsaretoremaincrispandclear.Wearenevertosayhuh?ain’tory’allgitorgonna.Neverma’am—justyes,witheyesmeetingeyesenoughtoshowrespect.Don’teverma’amanyone!Thewordtoopainful

amemoryformymotherofnot-so-long-agosouthernsubservientdays...

Thelistofwhatnottosaygoesonandon...

YouarefromtheNorth,ourmothersays.Youknowtherightwaytospeak.

Astheswitchraisesdarkweltsonmybrother ’slegsDellandIlookonafraidtoopenourmouths.FearingtheSouthwillslipoutorintothem.

thecandylady

OnFridays,ourgrandfathertakesustothecandylady’shouse,eventhoughourgrandmotherworrieshe’sgoingtobethecauseofourteethrottingrightoutofourheads.Butmygrandfatherjustlaughs,makesusopenourmouthstoshowthestrongIrbyteethwe’veinheritedfromhissideofthefamily.Thethreeofusstandthere,ourmouthsopenwide,strongwhiteteethinside,andmygrandmotherhastonod,hastosay,They’reluckybeforesendingusonourway.

Thecandylady’ssmalllivingroomisfilledwithshelvesandshelvesofchocolatebarsandgumdrops,Good&PlentyandJujubes,MoonPiesandNeccoWafers,lollipopsandlongredlicoricestrings.Somuchcandythatit’shardtochooseuntilourgrandfathersays,GetwhatyouwantbutI’mgettingmyselfsomeicecream.Thenthecandylady,whoisgray-hairedandneversmiles,disappearsintoanotherroomandreturnsafewminuteslaterwithawafercone,paleyellowlemon-chiffonicecreamdrippingfromit.Outside,eventhislateintheafternoon,thesunisbeatingdownandtheideaoflemon-chiffonicecreamcoolingus,evenforafewminutes,

makesusallstartsayingatonce—Me,too,Daddy.Me,too,Daddy.Me,too.

Thewalkhomefromthecandylady’shouseisaquietoneexceptforthesoundofmeltingicecreambeingslurpedupfast,beforeitslidespastourwrists,ondownourarmsandontothehot,dryroad.

southcarolinaatwar

Becausewehavearight,mygrandfathertellsus—wearesittingathisfeetandthestorytonightis

whypeoplearemarchingallovertheSouth—

towalkandsitanddreamwhereverwewant.

Firsttheybroughtushere.Thenweworkedforfree.Thenitwas1863,andweweresupposedtobefreebutweweren’t.

Andthat’swhypeoplearesomad.

Andit’strue,wecan’tturnontheradiowithouthearingaboutthemarching.

Wecan’tgotodowntownGreenvillewithoutseeingtheteenagerswalkingintostores,sittingwherebrownpeoplestillaren’tallowedtositandgettingcarriedout,theirbodieslimp,

theirfacescalm.

Thisisthewaybrownpeoplehavetofight,mygrandfathersays.Youcan’tjustputyourfistup.Youhavetoinsistonsomethinggently.Walktowardathingslowly.

Butbereadytodie,mygrandfathersays,forwhatisright.

Bereadytodie,mygrandfathersays,foreverythingyoubelievein.

Andnoneofuscanimaginedeathbutwetrytoimagineitanyway.

Evenmymotherjoinsthefight.Whenshethinksourgrandmotherisn’twatchingshesneaksouttomeetthecousinsdowntown,butjustas

she’ssteppingthroughthedoor,hergooddressandgloveson,mygrandmothersays,Nowdon’tgogettingarrested.

AndMamasoundslikealittlegirlwhenshesays,Iwon’t.

Morethanahundredyears,mygrandfathersays,andwe’restillfightingforthefreelifewe’resupposedtobeliving.

Sothere’sawargoingoninSouthCarolinaandevenasweplayandplantandpreachandsleep,weareapartofit.

Becauseyou’recolored,mygrandfathersays.Andjustasgoodandbrightandbeautifulandfreeasanybody.AndnobodycoloredintheSouthisstopping,mygrandfathersays,untileverybodyknowswhat’strue.

thetraining

Whenmymother ’soldercousinandbestfriend,Dorothy,comeswithherchildren,theyrunoffsayingtheycan’tunderstandthewayHope,DellandIspeak.Y’allgotoofast,theysay.Andthewordsgetallpushedtogether.Theysaytheydon’tfeellikeplayingwithuslittlekids.SotheyleaveustowalkthestreetsofNicholtownwhenwecan’tleavetheporch.Wewatchthemgo,hearCousinDorothysay,Don’tyouknuckleheadsgetintotroubleoutthere.ThenwestayclosetoCousinDorothy,makebelievewe’renotlisteningwhensheknowsweare.Laughingwhenshelaughs,shakingourownheadswhensheshakeshers.Youknowhowyouhavetogetthosetrainings,shesays,andourmothernods.Theywon’tletyousitatthecounterswithoutthem.Havetoknowwhattodowhenthosepeoplecomeatyou.Shehasasmallspacebetweenherteethlikemymother ’sspace,andHope’sandDell’s,too.Sheistallanddark-skinned,beautifulandbroadshouldered.Shewearsglovesanddark-coloreddressesmadeforherbyaseamstressinCharleston.

Thetrainingstakeplaceinthebasementsofchurches

andthebackroomsofstores,onlongcartripsandanywhereelsewherepeoplecangather.TheylearnhowtochangetheSouthwithoutviolence,howtonotbemovedbytheevilactionsofothers,howtowalkslowlybutwithdeliberatesteps.Howtositatcountersandbecursedatwithoutcursingback,havefoodanddrinkspouredoverthemwithoutstandingupandhurtingsomeone.Eventheteenagersgettrainedtosittall,notcry,swallowbackfear.

ButLord,CousinDorothysays.Everybodyhasaline.WhenI’mwalkinguptothatlunchcounterandtakingmyseat,IpraytoGod,don’tletanybodyspitonme.IcanbeSweetDorothysevendaysaweek,twenty-fourhoursadayaslongasnobodycrossesthatline.Becauseiftheydo,thisnonviolentmovement

isover!

theblanket

ThefirsttimemymothergoestoNewYorkCityitisonlyforalong-weekendvisit,herkissonourcheeksasmuchapromiseastheexcitementinhereyes.I’llbringsomethingbackforeachofyou.

It’sFridaynightandtheweekendaheadisalreadycallingustothecandylady’shouse,myhandinDaddy’s.Hedoesn’tknowhowtosayno,mygrandmothercomplains.

Butneitherdoesshe,dressesandsocksandribbons,ourhairpressedandcurled.Shecallsmysisterandmeherbabygirls,smilesproudlywhenthewomensayhowprettyweare.

SothefirsttimemymothergoestoNewYorkCitywedon’tknowtobesad,theweightofourgrandparents’lovelikeablanketwithusbeneathit,safeandwarm.

missbellandthemarchers

TheylooklikeregularpeoplevisitingourneighborMissBell,foil-covereddishesheldoutinfrontofthemastheyarrivesomeinpairs,somealone,somejustlittlekidsholdingtheirmothers’hands.

Ifyoudidn’tknow,you’dthinkitwasjustaneveninggathering.MaybechurchpeopleheadingintoMissBell’shousetotalkaboutGod.ButwhenMissBellpullsherblindsclosed,thepeoplefilltheirdinnerplateswithfood,theirglasseswithsweetteaandgathertotalkaboutmarching.

AndeventhoughMissBellworksforawhiteladywhosaidIwillfireyouinaminuteifIeverseeyouonthatline!MissBellknowsthatmarchingisn’ttheonlythingshecando,knowsthatpeoplefightingneedfullbelliestothinkandsafeplacestogather.Sheknowsthewhiteladyisn’ttheonlyonewho’swatching,listening,waiting,toendthisfight.Soshekeepsthemarchers’glassesfilled,addsmorecornbreadandpotatosaladtotheirplates,standsinthekitchenreadytoslice

lemonpoundcakeintogenerouspieces.

Andinthemorning,justbeforeshepullsheruniformfromthecloset,sheprays,God,pleasegivemeandthosepeoplemarchinganotherday.

Amen.

howtolisten#2

Inthestoresdowntownwe’realwaysfollowedaroundjustbecausewe’rebrown.

hairnight

Saturdaynightsmellsofbiscuitsandburninghair.Supperdoneandmygrandmotherhastransformedthekitchenintoabeautyshop.Laidacrossthetableisthehotcomb,DixiePeachhairgrease,horsehairbrush,partingstickandonegirlatatime.Jackiefirst,mysistersays,ourfreshlywashedhairdampandspiralingovertoweledshouldersandpalecottonnightgowns.Sheopensherbooktothemarkedpage,curlsupinachairpulledclosetothewood-burningstove,bowlofpeanutsinherlap.Thewordsinherbooksaresosmall,Ihavetosquinttoseetheletters.HansBrinkerorTheSilverSkates.TheHouseatPoohCorner.SwissFamilyRobinson.Thickbooksdog-earedfromthehandingdownfromneighbortoneighbor.Mysisterhandlesthemgently,marksthepageswithtornbrownpiecesofpaperbag,wipesherhandsbeforegoingbeyondthehardboundcovers.Readtome,Isay,myeyesandscalpalreadystingingfromthetugofthebrushthroughmyhair.Andwhilemygrandmothersetsthehotcombontheflame,heatsitjustenoughtopullmytightcurlsstraighter,mysister ’svoicewaftsoverthekitchen,pastthesmellofhairandoilandflame,settleslikeahandonmyshoulderandholdsmethere.

IwantsilverskateslikeHans’s,aplaceonadesertisland.Ihaveneverseentheoceanbutthis,too,Icanimagine—bluewaterpouringoverreddirt.Asmysisterreads,thepicturesbeginformingasthoughsomeonehasturnedonatelevision,loweredthesound,pulleditupclose.Grainyblack-and-whitepicturescomeslowlyatmeDeep.Infinite.Remembered

OnabrightDecembermorninglongago...

Mysister ’sclearsoftvoiceopensuptheworldtome.Ileaninsohungryforit.

Holdstillnow,mygrandmotherwarns.SoIsitonmyhandstokeepmymindoffmyhurtinghead,andmywholebodystill.Buttherestofmeisalreadyleaving,therestofmeisalreadygone.

familynames

There’sJames,Joseph,Andrew,Geneva,AnnieMae,William,Lucinda,David,Talmudge,mygrandmothersays.Alltogether,mymamagavebirthtothirteenchildren.Ourheadsspinatthethoughtofthatmanybrothersandsisters.Threediedasbabies,shesays,butonlyalittleofthespinningstops.

There’sLevonia,Montague,Iellus,Hallique,ValieMae,VirdieandEloraonmydaddy’sside.Wecan’thelpbutlaugheachtimeourdaddytellsusthenamesofhisbrothersandsisters.Hisownname,Gunnar,sendsuslaughingalloveragain.Gavetheirkidsnamesthatnomastercouldevertakeaway.WhataboutBoborJoe?Hopewantstoknow.WhataboutJohnorMichael?Orsomethingrealnormal,likeHope?Hopeisnotnormal,mysistersays.Notforaboy.Ithinkyournameisamistake.MaybetheymeanttonameyouVirdie.

I’mthegreatHopeofthefamily,mybrothersays.JustlikeGrandpaHope.JustlikeHopetheDope,mysistersaysback.

Keepupthearguing,mygrandfathersays,I’lltakeyoubothdowntocityhall.PeoplebehappytocallyouTalmudgeandValieMae.

americandream

Evenwhenmygirlswerelittle,we’dgodownthere,mygrandmothertellsus.Andpeople’dbemarching.Themarchingdidn’tjuststartyesterday.Policewiththosedogs,scaredeverybodyneartodeath.JustonceIletmygirlsmarch.

Mygrandmotherleansbackinherbrownchair,herfeetstillintheEpsomsaltswater,herfingerstappingoutsomesilenttune.Shecloseshereyes.IletthemandIprayed.

What’sthething,Iaskher,thatwouldmakepeoplewanttolivetogether?

Peoplehavetowantit,that’sall.

Wegetquiet—maybeallofusarethinkingabouttheoneswhowantit.Andtheoneswhodon’t.

Weallhavethesamedream,mygrandmothersays.Toliveequalinacountrythat’ssupposedtobethelandofthefree.Sheletsoutalongbreath,deepremembering.

Whenyourmotherwaslittleshewantedadog.ButIsaidno.

Quickasyoucanblink,Itoldher,adogwillturnonyou.

Somymotherbroughtkittenshome,softandpurringinsideofemptyboxesmewingandmewinguntilmygrandmotherfellinlove.Andletherkeepthem.

Mygrandmothertellsusallthisaswesitatherfeet,eachstorylikeaphotographwecanlookrightinto,seeourmothertheremarchersanddogsandkittensallblendingandusnowthereineachmomentbesideher.

thefabricstore

SomeFridays,wewalktodowntownGreenvillewheretherearesomeclothingstores,somerestaurants,amotelandthefive-and-dimestorebutmygrandmotherwon’ttakeusintoanyofthoseplacesanymore.Eventhefive-and-dime,whichisn’tsegregatednowbutwhereawomanispaid,mygrandmothersays,tofollowcoloredpeoplearoundincasetheytrytostealsomething.Wedon’tgointotherestaurantsbecausetheyalwaysseatusnearthekitchen.Whenwegodowntown,wegotothefabricstore,wherethewhitewomanknowsmygrandmotherfrombackinAnderson,asks,How’sGunnardoingandyourgirlsinNewYork?Sherollsfabricoutformygrandmothertorubbetweenherfingers.Theydiscussdrapeandnapandwheretocinchthewaistonaskirtforachild.Atthefabricstore,wearenotColoredorNegro.Wearenotthievesorshamefulorsomethingtobehiddenaway.Atthefabricstore,we’rejustpeople.

ghosts

IndowntownGreenville,theypaintedovertheWHITEONLYsigns,exceptonthebathroomdoors,theydidn’tusealotofpaintsoyoucanstillseethewords,righttherelikeaghoststandinginfrontstillkeepingyouout.

theleavers

WewatchmenleaveGreenvilleintheironegoodsuit,shoesspitshined.WewatchwomenleaveinSundayclothes,hattedandlipstickedandwhitegloved.

Wewatchthemcatchbusesintheevening,theblackshadowsoftheirbacksthelastweseeofthem.Othersfilltheircarswithbags.Wholefamiliesdisappearingintothenight.Peoplewavinggood-bye.

TheysaytheCityisaplacewherediamondsspecklethesidewalk.Moneyfallsfromthesky.Theysayacoloredpersoncandowellgoingthere.AllyouneedisthefareoutofGreenville.Allyouneedistoknowsomebodyontheotherside,waitingtocrossyouover.

LiketheRiverJordan

andthenyou’reinParadise.

thebeginningoftheleaving

WhenmymotherreturnsfromNewYorkshehasanewplan—allofusaregoingtomovethere.Wedon’tknowanyplaceelsebutGreenvillenow—NewYorkisonlythepicturessheshowsusinmagazinesandthetwoshehasinherpocketbookofourauntKay.Inone,therearetwootherpeople

standingwithher.BernieandPeaches,ourmothertellsus.Weallusedtobefriends

hereinNicholtown.That’salltheyoungkidsusedtotalkabout,ourgrandmothertellsus,goingtoNewYorkCity.

Mymothersmilesatusandsays,We’llbegoingtoNewYorkCity.Ijusthavetofiguresomethingsoutfirst,that’sall.

Idon’tknowwhatI’ddowithoutyouallupunderme,mygrandmothersaysandthere’sasadnessinhervoice.Don’tknowwhatI’ddo,shesaysagain.Evensadderthistime.

asachild,ismelledtheair

Mamatakeshercoffeeouttothefrontporchsipsitslow.Twostepsdownandherfeetarecoveredingrassanddew.NewYorkdoesn’tsmelllikethis,shesays.

Ifollowher,thedewcoolagainstmyfeetthesofthushofwindthroughleavesmymotherandIalonetogether.

Hercoffeeissweetenedwithcondensedmilk,herhairpulledbackintoabraid,herdarkfingerscirclinghercup.IfIask,shewillholdittomylips,letmetastethebittersweetofit.

It’sdawnandthebirdshavecomealive,chasingeachotherfrommapletopineandbacktomapleagain.Thisishowtimepasseshere.Themaplewillbebare-branchedcomewinter,Mamasays.Butthepines,theyjustkeeponliving.

AndtheairiswhatI’llremember.EvenoncewemovetoNewYork.

Italwayssmelledlikethis,mymothersays.Wetgrassandpine.

Likememory.

harvesttime

WhenDaddy’sgardenisreadyitisfilledwithwordsthatmakemelaughwhenIsaythem—polebeansandtomatoes,okraandcornsweetpeasandsugarsnaps,lettuceandsquash.

Whocouldhaveimagined

somuchcolorthatthegrounddisappearsandweareleftwalkingthroughanautumn’sworthofcrazywordsthatbeneaththemagicofmygrandmother ’shands

become

sidedishes.

grownfolks’stories

Warmautumnnightwiththecricketscryingthesmellofpinecomingsoftonthewindandthewomenontheporch,quiltsacrosstheirlaps,AuntLucinda,MissBellandwhateverneighborhasabreathortwoleftattheendofthedayforsittingandrunningourmouths.

That’swhenwelistentothegrownfolkstalking.Hope,Dellandmesittingquietonthestairs.Weknowonewordfromuswillbringahushuponthewomen,mygrandmother ’sfingersuddenlypointingtowardthehouse,hersoft-spokenIthinkit’stimeforyoukidstogotobednowusheringusintoourroom.Sowearesilent,ourbacksagainstpostsandthebackofthestairs,Hope’selbowsonhisknees,headdown.Nowiswhenwelearneverythingthereistoknowaboutthepeopledowntheroadandinthedayworkhouses,abouttheSistersattheKingdomHallandthefarawayrelativeswerarelysee.

Longafterthestoriesaretold,Irememberthem,whisperthembacktoHopeandDelllateintothenight:She’stheonewholeftNicholtowninthedaytimetheoneGrandmamasayswasn’tafraid

ofanything.Retellingeachstory.MakingupwhatIdidn’tunderstandormissedwhenvoicesdroppedtoolow,Italkuntilmysisterandbrother ’ssoftbreathstellmethey’vefallenasleep.

ThenIletthestoriesliveinsidemyhead,againandagainuntiltherealworldfadesbackintocricketlullabiesandmyowndreams.

tobacco

Summerisover,akissofchillinthesouthernair.Weseethedimorangeofmygrandfather ’scigarette,ashemakeshiswaydownthedarkeningroad.Hearhiseveninggreetingsandthecoughingthatfollowsthem.NotenoughbreathleftnowtosingsoIsingforhim,inmyheadwhereonlyIcanhear.

Wherewilltheweddingsupperbe?Waydownyonderinahollowtree.Uhhmmm...

Theoldpeopleusedtosayapinchofdirtinthemouthcantelltobacco’sstory:whatcropsarereadyforpickingwhatneedstobelefttogrow.Whatsoilisrichenoughforplantingandthepatchesoflandthatneedayearofrest.

Idonotknowyethowsometimestheearthmakesapromiseitcanneverkeep.Tobaccofieldslayfallow,cropspickedclean.Mygrandfathercoughsagainandtheearthwaits

forwhatandwhoitwillgetinreturn.

howtolisten#3

Middleofthenightmygrandfatheriscoughingmeupright.Startled.

mymotherleavinggreenville

Itislateautumnnow,thesmellofwoodburning,thepotbelliedstovelikeawarmsofthandinthecenterofmygrandparents’livingroom,itsblackpipestretchingintotheceilingthendisappearing.

Somanyyearshavepassedsincewelastsawourfather,hisabsencelikeabubbleinmyolderbrother ’slife,thatpopsagainandagainintoawholelotoftinybubblesofmemory.

Youwerejustababy,hesaystome.You’resoluckyyoudon’trememberthefightingoranything.

It’slikeeraserscamethroughhermemory,mysistersays.Erase.Erase.Erase.

Butnow,mymotherisleavingagain.

This,Iwillremember.

halfwayhome#1

NewYork,mymothersays.Soon,I’llfindusaplacethere.Comebackandbringyouallhome.

ShewantsaplaceofherownthatisnotTheNelsonvilleHouse,TheColumbusHouse,TheGreenvilleHouse.Lookingforhernextplace.Ournextplace.Rightnow,ourmothersays,we’reonlyhalfwayhome.

AndIimagineherstandinginthemiddleofaroad,herarmsoutfingerspointingNorthandSouth.

Iwanttoask:Willtherealwaysbearoad?Willtherealwaysbeabus?Willwealwayshavetochoosebetweenhome

andhome?

mymotherlooksbackongreenville

Afterourdinnerandbath,afterourpowderedandpajamaedbodiesaretuckedthreeacrossintobed,afterWinniethePoohandkissesonourforeheadsandlonger-than-usualhugs,

mymotherwalksawayfromthehouseonHallStreetoutintothegrowingnight,downalongdustyroadtowheretheNicholtownbustakeshertotheGreyhoundstation

thenmoredust

thenshe’sgone.

NewYorkaheadofher,herfamilybehind,shemovestotheback,herpurseinherlap,thelandpullinghergazetothewindowoncemore.Beforedarknesscoversitandformanyhours,thereareonlyshadows

andstars

andtears

andhope.

thelastfireflies

Weknowourdaysarecountedhere.Eacheveningwewaitforthefirstlightofthelastfireflies,catchtheminjarsthenletthemgoagain.Asthoughweunderstandtheirneedforfreedom.AsthoughoursilentprayerstostayinGreenvillewillbeansweredifwedowhatweknowisright.

changes

Nowtheeveningsarequietwithmymothergoneasthoughthenightislisteningtothewaywearecountingthedays.Weknoweventhefeelofourgrandmother ’sbrushbeingpulledgentlythroughourhairwillfastbecomeamemory.ThoseSaturdayeveningsatherkitchentable,thesmellofDixiePeachhairgrease,thesizzleofthestraighteningcomb,thehissoftheironagainstdamp,newlywashedribbons,allofthismayhappenagain,butinanotherplace.

Wesitonourgrandparents’porch,shiveringalreadyagainstthecomingwinter,andtalksoftlyaboutGreenvillesummer,howwhenwecomeback,we’lldoallthestuffwealwaysdid,hearthesamestories,laughatthesamejokes,catchfirefliesinthesamemasonjars,promiseeachotherfuturesummersthatareasgoodasthepast.Butweknowwearelying

cominghomewillbedifferentnow.

ThisplacecalledGreenvillethisneighborhoodcalledNicholtownwillchangesome

andsowilleachofus.

sterlinghighschool,greenville

WhilemymotherisawayinNewYorkCity,afiresweepsthroughheroldhighschoolduringaseniordance.

SmokefilledthecrowdedroomandthemusicstoppedandthestudentsdancingstoppedandtheDJtoldthemtoquicklyleavethebuilding.

Thefirelastedallnightandwhenitwasover,mymother ’shighschoolhadburnednearlytotheground.

Mymothersaiditwasbecausethestudentshadbeenmarching,andthemarchingmadesomewhitepeopleinGreenvillemad.

Afterthefirethestudentsweren’tallowedtogototheall-whitehighschool.Insteadtheyhadtocrowdinbesidetheiryoungersistersandbrothersatthelowerschool.

Inthephotosfrommymother ’shighschoolyearbook—TheTorch,1959,

mymotherissmilingbesidehercousinDorothyAnnandonherotherside,thereisJesseJackson,whomaybewasalreadydreamingofonedaybeingthefirstbrownmantorunforpresident.

Andnoteventhetorchingoftheirschoolcouldstophimorthemarchersfromchangingtheworld.

faith

Aftermymotherleaves,mygrandmotherpullsusfurtherintothereligionshehasalwaysknown.WebecomeJehovah’sWitnesseslikeher.

Aftermymotherleavesthereisnoonetosay,Thechildrencanchoosetheirownfaithwhenthey’reoldenough.Inmyhouse,mygrandmothersays,youwilldoasIdo.

Aftermymotherleaves,wewakeinthemiddleofthenightcallingoutforher.Havefaith,mygrandmothersayspullingustoherinthedarkness.

LettheBible,mygrandmothersays,becomeyourswordandyourshield.

Butwedonotknowyetwhowearefightingandwhatwearefightingfor.

thestoriescoratells

IntheeveningnowCoraandhersisterscomeovertoourporch.TherearethreeofthemandthreeofusbutHopemovesawayfromthegirlssitsbyhimselfoutintheyard.

Andeventhoughmygrandmothertellsusnottoplaywiththem,shedoesn’tcallusintothehouseanymorewhensheseesthemwalkingdowntheroad.Maybeherheartmovesoverabitmakingroomforthem.

Acolorfulmushroomgrowsbeneaththepinetree.Purpleandgoldandstrangeagainstthepine-needledground.WhenIsteponit,Coraandhersistersscreamatme,YoujustkilledtheDevilwhilehewassleeping!Sleepinginhisownhouse.CorawarnsmetheDevilwillsoonbealiveagain.Shesays,He’sgoingtocomeforyou,lateinthenightwhileyou’resleepingandtheGody’allpraytowon’tbethereprotectingyou.

Icryasthesunsets,waiting.Cryuntilmygrandmothercomesout

shoosCoraandhersistershomeholdsmetighttellsmetheyarelying.That’sjustsomecrazysouthernsuperstition,mygrandmothersays.Thosegirlsmustbealittlesimplenotknowingamushroomwhentheyseeone.Don’tbelieveeverythingyouhear,Jackie.Someday,you’llcometoknowwhensomeoneistellingthetruthandwhenthey’rejustmakingupstories.

hallstreet

Intheearlyevening,justbeforethebestlightforhide-and-seektakesoverthesky,it’sBible-studytime.Wewatchfromourplacesonthefrontporch,ourcoldhandscuppedaroundhotchocolatehalfgoneandsweetestatthebottomastheBrotherandSisterfromtheKingdomHallmaketheirwayupourroad.

PrettyMondayevening,theBrotherfromtheKingdomHallsays.ThankJehovah,theSisterfromtheKingdomHallsaysback.Wearesilent,BrotherHope,SisterDellandme.

Noneofuswanttositinsidewhenthelateautumniscallingtousandfrogsarefinallyfeelingbraveenoughtohopacrossouryard.Wewantanythingbutthis.Wewantwarmbiscuitsandtagandjacksontheporch,ourtoo-longsweatersleevesgettinginthewaysometimes.

ButweareJehovah’sWitnesses.MondaynightisBible-studytime.

Somewhereelse,mygrandfatheris

spendingtimewithhisbrotherVertie.Maybetheyareplayingtheharmonicaandbanjo,laughingandsingingloud.Doingwhat’sfuntodoonaprettyMondayevening.

JehovahpromisesuseverlastinglifeintheNewWorld,theBrotherfromtheKingdomHallsaysandBrotherHope,SisterDellandmearesilentwantingonlywhat’srightoutside.Wantingonlythisworld.

soon

Whenthephoneringsinmygrandmother ’skitchen,werunfromwhereverweare,jumpingfromthefrontporchswingclimbingoutofthemud-filledditchoutback,runningquickfromthepicked-cleangarden—butmybrother,Hope,isthefastest,pickingupthephone,pressingithardagainsthisearasthoughmymother ’svoicejustthatmuchclosermeansmymotherisclosertous.Wejumparoundhim:Letmespeak!untilmygrandmothercomesthroughthescreendoorputsdownthebasketoflaundry,coldanddryfromthelinetakesthephonefrommybrother,shushesus,shoosus,promisesus

amomentwithourmothersoon.

howilearnthedaysoftheweek

MondaynightisBiblestudywithaBrotherandSisterfromtheKingdomHall.

TuesdaynightisBiblestudyattheKingdomHall.

Wednesdaynightislaundrynight—theclothesblowingcleanonthelineabovemygrandfather ’sgarden.Whennooneislooking,werunthroughthesheets,breatheinallthewonderfulsmellstheair

addstothem.

ThursdaynightisMinistrySchool.Oneday,wewillgrowuptopreachGod’sword,takeitoutintotheworldandmaybewe’llsavesomepeople.

Fridaynight,we’refreeasanything,HopeandDell’sbikesskiddingalongHallStreet,mykneesbumpinghardagainstthehandlebarsofmyredthree-wheeler.OnemoreyearmaybeDell’sbikewillbemine.

Saturdaywe’reupearly:TheWatchtowerandAwake!inourhands,wewalklikesleepysoldiersthroughNicholtown,ringingbells,knockingondoors,spreadingthegoodnewsofsomethingbettercoming.Sometimes,thepeoplelisten.

Sometimes,theyslamtheirdoorsordon’topenthematall.Orlooksadlydownatmeribbonedandstarched,myfacecleanandshiningwithoil,mywordsearnestasanything:Goodmorning,I’mSisterJacquelineandI’mheretobringyousomegoodnewstoday.Sometimestheygivemeadimebutwon’ttakemyWatchtowerandAwake!

Sundayit’sWatchtowerstudyattheKingdomHall,twohoursofsittingandsittingandsitting.

ThenMondaycomesandtheweekstartsalloveragain.

ribbons

Theyarepaleblueorpinkorwhite.TheyareneatlyironedeachSaturdaynight.ComeSundaymorning,theyaretiedtothebraidshangingdownpastourears.

WewearribbonseverydayexceptSaturdaywhenwewashthembyhand,DellandIsidebysideatthekitchensink,rubbingthemwithIvorysoapthenrinsingthembeneathcoolwater.EachofusdreamingofthedayourgrandmothersaysYou’retoooldforribbons.

Butitfeelslikethatdaywillnevercome.

Whenwehangthemonthelinetodry,wehopethey’llblowawayinthenightbreezebuttheydon’t.Comemorning,they’rerightwhereweleftthemgentlymovinginthecoolair,eagertoanchorustochildhood.

twogods.twoworlds

It’sbarelymorningandwe’realreadyawake,mygrandmotherinthekitchenironingourSundayclothes.

IcanhearDaddycoughinginhisbed,acoughlikehe’llnevercatchhisbreath.ThesoundcatchesinmychestasI’mpullingmydressovermyhead.Holdmyownbreathuntilthecoughingstops.Still,Ihearhimpadthroughthelivingroomhearthesqueakofthefrontscreendoorandknow,he’smadeittotheporchswing,tosmokeacigarette.

Mygrandfatherdoesn’tbelieveinaGodthatwon’tlethimsmokeorhaveacoldbeeronaFridaynightaGodthattellsusalltheworldisendingsothatY’allwalkthroughthisworldafraidascats.

YourGodisnotmyGod,hesays.

Hiscoughmovesthroughtheairbackintoourroomwherethelightisalmostblue,thewhitewintersunpaintingit.Iwishthecoughingwouldstop.IwishhewouldputonSundayclothes,takemyhand,walkwithusdowntheroad.

Jehovah’sWitnessesbelievethateveryonewhodoesn’tfollowGod’swordwillbedestroyedinagreatbattlecalledArmageddon.Andwhenthebattleisdonetherewillbeafreshnewworldanicermorepeacefulworld.

ButIwanttheworldwheremydaddyisanddon’tknowwhyanybody’sGodwouldmakemehavetochoose.

whatgodknows

WeprayformygrandfatheraskGodtosparehimeventhoughhe’sanonbeliever.WeaskthatJehovahlookintohisheart,seethegoodnessthere.

Butmygrandfathersayshedoesn’tneedourprayers.Iworkhard,hesays.ItreatpeoplelikeIwanttobetreated.Godseesthis.Godknows.

Attheendofthedayhelightsacigarette,unlaceshisdustybrogans.Stretcheshislegs.Godseesmygood,hesays.Doallthepreachingandprayingyouwantbutnoneedtodoitforme.

newplaymates

BeautifulbrowndollscomefromNewYorkCity,fancystoresmymotherhaswalkedinto.Shewritesofelevators,trainstations,buildingssohigh,theyhurtthenecktosee.

ShewritesofplaceswithbeautifulnamesConeyIsland,Harlem,Brownsville,BearMountain.Shetellsusshe’sseentheocean,howthewaterkeepsgoinglongaftertheeyescan’tseeitanymorepromisesawholeothercountryontheotherside.

Shetellsusthetoystoresarefilledwithdollsofeverysizeandcolor

there’sabarbershopandahairsaloneverywhereyoulook

andafriendofAuntKay’ssawLenaHornejustwalkingdownthestreet.

Butonlythedollsarerealtous.

Theirblackhairinstiffcurlsdownovertheirshoulders,theirpinkdressesmadeofcrinolineandsatin.Theirdarkarmsunbending.Stillwehugtheirhardplasticcloseandimaginethey’recallingusMamaimaginetheyneedusnear.

Imaginethelettersfromourownmother—Comingtogetyousoon—areoneswe’rewritingtothem.Wewillneverleaveyou,wewhisper.Theystarebackatus,blank-eyedandbeautifulsilentandstill.

downtheroad

Becarefulwhenyouplaywithhim,mygrandmotherwarnsusabouttheboywiththeholeinhisheart.Don’tmakehimruntoofast.Orcry.

Whenhetapsonourbackdoor,wecomeoutsitquietlywithhimonthebackstairs.Hedoesn’ttalkmuch,thisboywiththeholeinhisheartbutwhenhedoes,it’stoaskusaboutourmotherinNewYorkCity.

Issheafraidthere?Didsheevermeetamoviestar?Dothebuildingsreallygoonandon?

Oneday,hesays—sosoft,mybrother,sisterandIleanintohear—I’mgonnagotoNewYorkCity.Thenhelooksoff,towardCora’shousedowntheroad.

That’ssouth,mysistersays.NewYork’stheotherway.

god’spromise

ItisnearlyChristmastime.Ontheradio,amanwithasoftdeepvoiceissingingtellingustohaveourselvesamerrylittle...

NicholtownwindowsarefilledwithChristmastrees.Coraandhersistersbragaboutwhattheyaregetting,dollsandskatesandswingsets.Inthebackyardourownswingsetissilent—athinlayerofsnowcoveringit.WhenwearemadetostayinsideonSundayafternoons,Coraandhersistersdescenduponit,taketheswingsuphigh,sticktheirtonguesoutatusaswestarefrombehindourglassed-inscreendoor.

Letthemplay,forheaven’ssake,mygrandmothersays,whenwecomplainaboutthemtearingitapart.Yourheartsarebiggerthanthat!

Butourheartsaren’tbiggerthanthat.Ourheartsaretinyandmad.Ifourheartswerehands,they’dhit.Ifourheartswerefeet,they’dsurelykicksomebody!

theotherinfinity

Wearethechosenpeople,ourgrandmothertellsus.EverythingwedoisapartofGod’splan.EverybreathyoubreatheisthegiftGodisgivingyou.Everythingweown...

Daddygaveustheswings,mysistertellsher.NotGod.

Mygrandmother ’swordscomeslowlymeaningthislessonisanimportantone.

WiththemoneyheearnedbyworkingatajobGodgavehimabodystrongenoughtoworkwith.

Outside,ourswingsetisemptyfinally,Coraandhersistersnowgone.

Hope,DellandIaresilent.Somuchwedon’tyetunderstand.Somuchwedon’tyetbelieve.

Butweknowthis:Monday,Tuesday,Thursday,SaturdayandSundayarereservedforGod’swork.Weareputheretodoitandweareexpectedtodoitwell.Whatispromisedtousinreturn

iseternity.

It’sthesame,mysistersays,ormaybeevenbetterthaninfinity.

Theemptyswingsetremindsusofthis—thatwhatisbadwon’tbebadforever,andwhatisgoodcansometimeslastalong,longtime.

EvenCoraandhersisterscanonlybotherusforalittlewhilebeforetheygetcalledhometosupper.

sometimes,nowordsareneeded

Deepwinterandthenightairiscold.Sostill,itfeelsliketheworldgoesonforeverinthedarknessuntilyoulookupandtheearthstopsinaceilingofstars.Myheadagainstmygrandfather ’sarm,ablanketaroundusaswesitonthefrontporchswing.Itswhinelikeasong.

Youdon’tneedwordsonanightlikethis.Justthewarmthofyourgrandfather ’sarm.Justthesilentpromisethattheworldasweknowitwillalwaysbehere.

theletter

ThelettercomesonaSaturdaymorning,mysisteropensit.Mymother ’shandwritingiseasy,mysistersays.Shedoesn’twriteinscript.Shewritessowecanunderstandher.

Andthenshereadsmymother ’sletterslowlywhileHopeandIsitatthekitchentable,cheesegritsneargone,scrambledeggsleavingyellowdotsinourbowls.Mygrandmother ’sbelovedbiscuitsforgotten.She’scomingforus,mysistersaysandreadsthepartwheremymothertellshertheplan.We’rereallyleavingGreenville,mysistersaysandHopesitsupstraighterandsmiles.Butthenthesmileisgone.Howcanwehavebothplaces?Howcanweleaveallthatwe’veknown—meonDaddy’slapintheearlyevening,listeningtoHopeandDelltellstoriesabouttheirlivesatthesmallschoolamiledowntheroad.IwillbefiveonedayandtheNicholtownschoolisamysteryI’mjustabouttosolve.

Andwhataboutthefirefliesandditches?Andwhataboutthenightswhenweallclimbintoourgrandparents’bed

andtheymoveapart,makingroomforusinthemiddle.

Andmaybethat’swhenmysisterreadsthepartIdon’thear:ababycoming.Anotherone.Abrotherorsister.Stillinherbellybutcomingsoon.

She’scomingtogetus,mysistersaysagain,lookingaroundourbigyellowkitchen.Thenrunningherhandoverthehardwoodtableasthoughshe’salreadygoneandtryingtorememberthis.

onemorning,latewinter

Thenonemorningmygrandfatheristoosicktowalkthehalfmiletothebusthattakeshimtowork.

Hestaysinbedforthewholedaywakingonlytocoughandcoughandcough.

Iwalkslowaroundhimfluffinghispillows,pressingcoolclothsoverhisforeheadtellinghimthestoriesthatcometomeagainandagain.

ThisIcando—findhimanotherplacetobewhenthisworldischokinghim.

Tellmeastory,hesays.

AndIdo.

newyorkbaby

Whenmymotherreturns,Iwillnolongerbeherbabygirl.Iamsittingonmygrandmother ’slapwhenshetellsmethis,alreadysotallmylegsdanglefardown,thetipsofmytoestouchingtheporchmat.Myheadrestsonhershouldernowwhereonce,itcameonlytohercollarbone.Shesmellsthewayshealwaysdoes,ofPine-Solandcotton,DixiePeachhairgreaseandsomethingwarmandpowdery.

IwanttoknowwhosebabygirlI’llbewhenmymother ’snewbabycomes,bornwherethesidewalkssparkleandmejustaregulargirl.

Ididn’tknowhowmuchIlovedbeingeveryone’sbabygirluntilnowwhenmylifeasbabygirlisnearlyover.

leavinggreenville

Mymotherarrivesinthemiddleofthenight,andsleepily,wepileintoherarmsandholdtight.

HerkissonthetopofmyheadremindsmeofallthatIlove.

Mostlyher.

Itislatewinterbutmygrandmotherkeepsthewindowinourroomslightlyopensothatthecoldfreshaircanmoveoverusaswesleep.Twothickquiltsandthethreeofussidebysidebyside.

Thisisallweknownow—

Coldpinebreezes,mygrandmother ’squilts,theheatofthewood-burningstove,thesweetslowvoicesofthepeoplearoundus,reddustwafting,thensettlingasthoughit’ssaidallthatitneedstosay.

Mymothertucksusbackintoourbedwhispering,WehaveahomeupNorthnow.

IamtoosleepytotellherthatGreenvilleishome.Thateveninthewintertime,thecricketssingustosleep.

Andtomorrowmorning,you’llgettomeetyournewbabybrother.

ButIamalreadymostlyasleepagain,twoarmswrappedtightaroundmymama’shand.

roman

Hisnameisasstrangeasheis,thisnewbabybrothersopaleandquietandwide-eyed.Hesuckshisfist,takinginallofuswithoutblinking.Anotherboy,Hopesays,nowit’seven-stevenaroundhere.

ButIdon’tlikethenewbabyofthefamily.Iwanttosenditbacktowhereverbabieslivebeforetheygethere.WhenIpinchhim,aredmarkstaysbehind,andhiscryishighandtinnyasoundthathurtsmyears.That’swhatyouget,mysistersays.Hiscryingishimfightingyouback.Thenshepickshimup,holdshimclose,tellshimsoftlyeverything’sallright,everything’salwaysgoingtobeallrightuntilRomangetsquiet,hiswideblackeyeslookingonlyatDellasifhebelievesher.

newyorkcity

Maybeit’sanotherNewYorkCitythesouthernerstalkabout.Maybethat’swherethereismoneyfallingfromthesky,diamondsspecklingthesidewalks.

Herethereisonlygrayrock,coldandtreelessasabaddream.Whocouldlovethisplace—wherenopinetreesgrow,noporchswingmoveswiththeweightofyourgrandmother.

ThisplaceisaGreyhoundbushummingthroughthenightthenlettingoutadeepbreathinsideaplacecalledPortAuthority.Thisplaceisadriveryelling,NewYorkCity,laststop.Everybodyoff.

ThisplaceisloudandstrangeandnowhereI’mevergoingtocallhome.

brooklyn,newyork

WedidnotstayinthesmallapartmentmymotherfoundonBristolStreet,Brownsville,Brooklyn,USA.

Wedidnotstaybecausethedimbulbthathungfromachainswungbackandforthwhenourupstairsneighborswalkedacrosstheirfloor,castingshadowsthatmademybrothercryandsuckhardonhismiddlefingers.

Wedidnotstaybecausethebuildingwasbigandoldandwhenthebathroomceilingfellintothebathtub,mymothersaid,IamnotHennyPennyandthatisnotthesky!

SoshecalledAuntKayandherboyfriend,Bernie,theyborrowedatruckandhelpeduspack,bundledusupinwintercoatsturnedoffthatswinginglight

andgotusoutofthere!

herzlstreet

SowemovedtoHerzlStreetwhereAuntKayandBernielivedupstairs.AndPeachesfromGreenvillelivedbelowus.

AndonSaturdaynightsmorepeoplefromGreenvillecamebysittingandrunningtheirmouthswhilethepotsonthestovebubbledwithcollardsandsizzledwithchickenandcornbreadbakedupbrowninsideKay’sbigblackoven.

AndthepeoplefromGreenvillebroughtpeoplefromSpartanburgandCharlestonandallofthemtalkedlikeourgrandparentstalkedandatewhatweate

sotheywerereddirtandpinetreestheywerefirefliesinjellyjarsandlemon-chiffonicecreamcones.

Theywerelaughteronhotcitynightshotmilkoncoldcitymornings,goodfoodandgoodtimesfancydancingandsoulmusic.

Theywerefamily.

thejohnnypump

Somedayswemissthewaythereddirtliftedupandlandedagainstourbarefeet.Herethesidewalksburnhotallsummerlong.Herewewearshoes.Brokenbottlesdon’talwaysgetsweptuprightaway.

Butourblockhasthreejohnnypumpsandaguywithawrenchtoturnthemon.Onthedayswhentheheatstopsyourbreath,hecomesuptheblockpullingitoutofhispocket.Thenthejohnnypumpisblastingcoolwatereverywhereandusandotherkidsrunningthroughit,refreshedandlaughing.

Eventhegrown-upscomeoutsometimes.Once,Isawmynever-ever-barefoot-outside-in-the-citymothertakeoffhersandals,standatthecurbandletthecoolwaterrunoverherfeet.Shewaslookingupatthetinypieceofsky.Andshewassmiling.

genetics

Mymotherhasagapbetweenhertwofrontteeth.SodoesDaddyGunnar.Eachchildinthisfamilyhasthesamespaceconnectingus.

Ourbabybrother,Roman,wasbornpaleasdust.Hissoftbrowncurlsandeyelashesstoppeopleonthestreet.Whoseangelchildisthis?theywanttoknow.WhenIsay,Mybrother,thepeopleweardoubtthickasacapeuntilwesmileandthecapefalls.

carolinebutwecalledherauntkay,

somememories

AuntKayatthetopofthestairs,herarmsopen,hersmilewideandusrunningtoher.

AuntKaydresseduponaFridaynightsmellingofperfume,herboyfriend,Bernie,herfriendPeaches.

AuntKayinthekitchenwithPeachesandBerniepassingablue-and-whiteboxofArgostarchbackandforth,thehardwhitechunksofit,disappearingintotheirmouthslikecandy,theslowchewandswallow.

AuntKayandMamaandPeaches,intightskirtssinginginaband.

AuntKaybraidingmyhair.

AuntKayrunningupthestairstoherownapartmentandmerunningbehindher.

AuntKaylaughing.

AuntKayhuggingme.

Thenafall.Acrowd.Anambulance.Mymother ’stears.Afuneral.

Andhere,myAuntKaymemoriesend.

movingagain

Afterthefallingthestairswereallwrongtous.SomedaysIheadupthere,mymothersaid,forgettingthatKayisgone.

AfterthefallingBernieandPeachespackedtheirbags,movedouttoFarRockaway,tellingmymotherhowmuchKaylovedtheocean.

AfterthefallingwetooktheAtraintotheirnewapartment,playedonthebeachtillthesunwentdown,Mamaquietonablanketlookingoutatthewater.

Kaywasherbigsister,onlytenmonthsolder.Everyonealwaysthoughttheyweretwinssothat’swhattheysaidtheywere.

Couldn’tlookatoneofus,mymothersaid,withoutseeingtheother.

AfterthefallingthehallwaysmelledlikeKay’sperfumewheneveritrained

sowemovedagaintothesecondfloorofapinkhouseonMadisonStreet.Outfronttherewasafive-footsculpturemadefromgrayrock,ivoryandsand.AsmallfountainsentwatercascadingoverstatuesofMary,JosephandJesus.Peoplestoppedinfrontofthehouse,crossedthemselves,mouthedasilentprayerthenmovedon.

Thishouseisprotected,thelandlordtoldmymother.Thesaintskeepussafe.Thishouseisprotected,mymotherwhisperedtous.BytheSaintofUglySculpture.

AfterthefallingsometimesIwouldseemymothersmilingatthatsculpture.Andinhersmile,therewasAuntKay’ssmile,thetwoofthemhavingasecretsisterlaugh,thetwoofthemtogetheragain.

compositionnotebook

Andsomehow,oneday,it’sjusttherespeckledblack-and-white,thepaperinsidesmellinglikesomethingIcouldfallrightinto,livethere—insidethosecleanwhitepages.

Idon’tknowhowmyfirstcompositionnotebookendedupinmyhands,longbeforeIcouldreallywritesomeonemusthaveknownthatthiswasallIneeded.

HardnottosmileasIheldit,feltthebreezeasIfannedthepages.Mysisterthoughtmystandingtheresmilingwascrazydidn’tunderstandhowthesmellandfeelandsightofbrightwhitepapercouldbringmesomuchjoy.

Andwhydoessheneedanotebook?Shecan’tevenwrite!

Fordaysanddays,Icouldonlysniffthepages,holdthenotebookcloselistentothesoundthepapersmade.

Nothingintheworldislikethis—abrightwhitepagewithpalebluelines.Thesmellofanewlysharpenedpencilthesofthushofitmovingfinallyoneday

intoletters.

Andeventhoughshe’ssmarterthananything,thisissomethingmysistercan’tevenbegintounderstand.

onpaper

ThefirsttimeIwritemyfullname

JacquelineAmandaWoodson

withoutanybody’shelponacleanwhitepageinmycompositionnotebook,

Iknow

ifIwantedto

Icouldwriteanything.

Lettersbecomingwords,wordsgatheringmeaning,becomingthoughtsoutsidemyhead

becomingsentences

writtenby

JacquelineAmandaWoodson

saturdaymorning

Somedaysinthisnewplacethereisonlyaboxofpancakemixanegg,andfaucetwater,thehissofthosetogetheragainstablackcast-ironpan,thepancakesstickingtoitsyruplessbutedibleanduscomplainingaboutitwishinglikeanythingwewerebackinGreenville,wheretherewasalwayssomethinggoodtoeat.Werememberthecollardsgrowingdownsouth,themelons,freshpickedanddrippingwithasweetnessNewYorkcanneverknow.Weeatwithoutcomplainingorwhiningoraskingourmotherwhentherewillbesyrup,butter,milk...WerememberGreenvillewithouther,countourblessingsinsilenceandchew.

firstgrade

Myhandinsidemysister ’shand,wewalkthetwoblockstoP.S.106—Iamsixyearsoldandmysistertellsmeourschoolwasonceacastle.Ibelieveher.Theschoolstretchesforafullcityblock.Insidemarblestairswindtheirwaytoclassroomsfilledwithdarkwooddesksnaileddowntodarkwoodfloorspolishedtoahighandbeautifulshine.

Iaminlovewitheverythingaroundme,thedottedwhitelinesmovingacrossmyteacher ’sblackboard,thesmellofchalk,theflagjuttingoutfromthewallandslowlyswayingaboveme.

ThereisnothingmorebeautifulthanP.S.106.Nothingmoreperfectthanmyfirst-gradeclassroom.NoonemorekindthanMs.Feidler,whomeetsmeatthedooreachmorning,takesmyhandfrommysister ’s,smilesdownandsays,NowthatJacquelineishere,thedaycanfinallybegin.

AndIbelieveher.Yes,Itrulybelieveher.

anotherkingdomhall

Becausemygrandmothercallsandasksifwe’respreadingJehovah’sword,becausemymotherpromisesmygrandmothershe’llraiseusrightintheeyesofGod,shefindsaKingdomHallonBushwickAvenuesowecankeepourJehovah’sWitnessways.EverySunday,weputonourKingdomHallclothespulloutourKingdomHallsatchels,filledwithourKingdomHallbooksandwalkthesevenblockstotheKingdomHall.

ThisiswhatremindsusofGreenville,theSaturday-nightpressingofsatinribbons,Hopestrugglingwiththeknotinhistie,ourhairoiledandpulledbackintobraids,ourmother ’shandslesssurethanourgrandmother ’s,thepartscrooked,thebraidscomingundone.Andnow,DellandIarelefttoironourowndresses.Myhands,mymothersays,asshestandsatthesink,holdingacryingRomanwithonehand,herotherholdingabottleofmilkunderhotrunningwater,arefull.

MymotherdropsusoffattheKingdomHalldoor,watchesuswalk

downtheaisletowhereBrothersandSistersarewaitingtohelpusturnthepagesofourBibles,leanovertosharetheirsongbookswithus,pressLifeSaversintoourwaitinghands...

Thenourmotherisgone,backhomeortoaparkbench,whereshe’llsitandreaduntilthemeetingisover.Shehasafull-timejobnow.Sunday,shesays,isherdayofrest.

flag

WhenthekidsinmyclassaskwhyIamnotallowedtopledgetotheflagItellthemIt’sagainstmyreligionbutdon’tsay,Iamintheworldbutnotoftheworld.This,theywouldnotunderstand.Eventhoughmymother ’snotaJehovah’sWitness,shemakesusfollowtheirrulesandleavetheclassroomwhenthepledgeisbeingsaid.

Everymorning,IwalkoutwithGinaandAlinathetwootherWitnessesinmyclass.Sometimes,Ginasays,Maybeweshouldprayforthekidsinsidewhodon’tknowthatGodsaid“Nootheridolsbeforeme.”ThatourGodisajealousGod.Ginaisthetruebeliever.HerBibleopenduringreadingtime.ButAlinaandIwalkthroughourrolesasWitnessesasthoughthisisthepartwe’vebeengiveninaplayandonceoffstage,werunfree,sing“AmericatheBeautiful”and“TheStar-SpangledBanner”farawayfromourfamilies—knowingeveryword.

AlinaandIwantmorethananythingtowalkbackintoourclassroompressourhandsagainstourhearts.Say,“Ipledgeallegiance...”loudwithoutourjealousGodlookingdownonus.

Withoutourparentsfindingout.

Withoutourmothers’voicesinourheadssaying,Youaredifferent.Chosen.Good.

Whenthepledgeisover,wewalksinglefilebackintotheclassroom,takeourseparateseatsAlinaandIfarawayfromGina.ButGinaalwayslooksbackatus—asiftosay,I’mwatchingyou.Asiftosay,Iknow.

becausewe’rewitnesses

NoHalloween.NoChristmas.Nobirthdays.Evenwhenotherkidslaughasweleavetheclassroomjustasthebirthdaycupcakesarrivewepretendwedonotseethechocolatefrosting,pretendwedonotwanttopressourfingertipsagainsteachcolorfulsprinkleandliftthem,onebysweetonetoourmouths.

Novoting.Nofighting.Nocursing.Nowars.

Wewillnevergotowar.

WewillnevertastethesweetnessofaclassroombirthdaycupcakeWewillnevertastethebitternessofabattle.

brooklynrain

TherainhereisdifferentthanthewayitrainsinGreenville.Nosweetsmellofhoneysuckle.Nosoftsquishofpine.Noslipandslidethroughgrass.JustMamasaying,Stayinsidetoday.It’sraining,andmeatthewindow.Nothingtodobutwatchthegraysidewalkgrowdarker,watchthedropsslidedowntheglasspane,watchpeoplebelowmemovefast,headsbent.

Alreadytherearestoriesinmyhead.Alreadycolorandsoundandwords.AlreadyI’mdrawingcirclesontheglass,hummingmyselfsomeplacefarawayfromhere.

Downsouth,therewasalwayssomeplaceelsetogoyoucouldstepoutintotherainandGrandmawouldletyouliftyourheadandstickoutyourtonguebehappy.

Downsouthalreadyfeelslikealongtimeagobutthestoriesinmyheadtakemebackthere,setmedowninDaddy’sgardenwherethesunisalwaysshining.

anotherway

WhileourfriendsarewatchingTVorplayingoutside,weareinourhouse,knowingthatbeggingourmothertoturnthetelevisiononisuseless,beggingherfortenminutesoutsidewillonlymeanhersaying,No.Saying,Youcanrunwildwithyourfriendsanytime.TodayIwantyoutofindanotherwaytoplay.

Andthenonedaymymothercomeshomewithtwoshoppingbagsfilledwithboardgames—Monopoly,checkers,chess,AntsinthePants,Sorry,Trouble,justabouteverygamewe’veeverseeninthecommercialsbetweenourSaturdaymorningcartoons.

Somanygames,wedon’tknowwheretobeginplaying,soweletRomanchoose.AndhechoosesTroublebecausehelikesthesoundthediemakeswhenitpopsinsideitsplasticbubble.Andfordaysanddays,itisChristmasinNovember,gamestoplaywhenourhomeworkisdone,Monopolymoneytocountandcheckerstoslamdownonboards,antstoflipintoblueplasticpants,chesspiecestopracticemovinguntilweunderstandtheirpowerandwhenwedon’t,RomanandIargue

thatthere’sanotherwaytoplaycalledOurWay.ButHopeandDelltellusthatwe’retooimmaturetoevenbegintounderstandthenbendoverthechessboardinsilence,eachbecomingthenextchesschampofthehouse,dependingonthedayandthewaythegameisplayed.

Sometimes,RomanandIleaveHopeandDellalonegotoanothercorneroftheroomandbecomewhattheotherscallus—thetwoyoungest,playinggamesweknowtherulestotic-tac-toeandcheckers,hangmanandconnectthedots

butmostly,weleanovertheirshouldersasquietlyaswecan,watchingwaitingwantingtounderstandhowtoplayanotherway.

gifted

Everyoneknowsmysisterisbrilliant.Theletterscomehomefoldedneatlyinsideofficial-lookingenvelopesthatmysisterproudlyhandsovertomymother.OdellahasachievedOdellahasexcelledatOdellahasbeenrecommendedtoOdella’soutstandingperformancein

Sheisgiftedwearetold.AndIimaginepresentssurroundingher.

Iamnotgifted.WhenIread,thewordstwisttwirlacrossthepage.Whentheysettle,itistoolate.Theclasshasalreadymovedon.

Iwanttocatchwordsoneday.Iwanttoholdthemthenblowgently,watchthemfloatrightoutofmyhands.

sometimes

Thereisonlyoneotherhouseonourblockwhereafatherdoesn’tlive.Whensomebodyaskswhy,theboysays,Hedied.Thegirllooksoff,downtheblock,herthumbslowlyrisingtohermouth.Theboysays,Iwasababy.Says,Shedoesn’trememberhimandpointstohissilentsister.

Sometimes,Ilieaboutmyfather.Hedied,Isay,inacarwreckorHefelloffarooformaybeHe’scomingsoon.Nextweekandnextweekandnextweek...butifmysister ’snearbysheshakesherhead.Says,She’smakingupstoriesagain.Says,Wedon’thaveafatheranymore.Says,Ourgrandfather’sourfathernow.Says,Sometimes,that’sthewaythingshappen.

unclerobert

UncleRoberthasmovedtoNewYorkCity!

Ihearhimtakingthestairstwoatatimeandthenheisatourdoor,knockinglouduntilourmother

opensit,curlersinherhair,robepulledclosed,whispering,It’salmostmidnight,don’tyouwakemychildren!

Butwearealreadyawake,allfourofus,smilingandjumpingaround

myuncle:What’dyoubringme?

Ourmamashushesus,says,It’stoolateforpresentsandthelike.Butwewantpresentsandthelike.Andshe,too,issmilingnow,happytoseeher

babybrotherwholivesallthewayoverinFarRockawaywheretheoceanisrightthereifyoulookoutyourwindow.

Robertopenshishandtorevealapairofsilverearrings,saystomysister,Thisisagiftforhowsmartyouare.IwanttobesmartlikeDell,IwantsomeonetohandmesilverandgoldjustbecausemybrainclicksintothinkingwheneveritneedstobutIamnotsmartlikeDellsoIwatchherpress

thesilvermoonsintoherears

Isay,Iknowagirltentimessmarterthanher.Shegetsdiamondseverytimeshegetsahundredonatest.AndRobertlooksatme,hisdarkeyessmiling,asks,Isthatsomethingyoumadeup?Orsomethingreal?

Inmyownhead,it’srealasanything.

Inmyheadallkindsofpeoplearedoingallkindsofthings.Iwanttotellhimthis,thattheworldwe’relivinginrighthereinBushwickisn’ttheonlyplace.Butnowmybrothersareasking,

What’dyoubringme,andmyuncleispullinggiftsfromhispockets,

fromhisleatherbriefcase,frominsidehissocks.Hehands

mymotherarecord,asmall45—JamesBrown,whononeofus

likebecausehescreamswhenhesings.Butmymotherputsitontherecordplayer,turnedwaydownlowandthenevenuskidsaredancingaround—Robertshowingusthestepshelearned

attheFarRockawayparties.Hisfeetaremagicandwealltrytoslideacrossthefloorlikehedoes,ourownfeet,againandagain,betrayingus.

Teachus,Robert!wekeepsaying.Teachus!

wishes

Whenhetakesustothepark,UncleRoberttellsus,Ifyoucatchadandelionpuff,youcanmakeawish.Anythingyouwantwillcometrue,hesaysaswechasethefeatherywishesaroundswings,beneathslidingboards,untilwecanholdtheminourhands,closeoureyestight,whisperourdreamthensetitfloatingoutintotheuniversehopingouruncleistellingthetruth,hopingeachthingwewishforwillonedaycometrue.

believing

Thestoriesstartlikethis—

JackandJillwentupahill,myunclesings.Iwentupahillyesterday,Isay.Whathill?Inthepark.Whatpark?HalseyPark.Whowaswithyou?Nobody.Butyou’renotallowedtogototheparkwithoutanyone.Ijustdid.Maybeyoudreamedit,myunclesays.No,Ireallywent.

AndmyunclelikesthestoriesI’mmakingup.

...Alongcameaspiderandsatdownbesideher.Igotbitbyaspider,Isay.When?Theotherday.Where?Rightonmyfoot.Showus.It’sgonenow.

Butmymotheraccusesmeoflying.Ifyoulie,shesays,onedayyou’llsteal.

Iwon’tsteal.

It’shardtounderstandhowoneleadstotheother,howstoriescouldevermakeuscriminals.

It’shardtounderstandthewaymybrainworks—sodifferentfromeverybodyaroundme.HoweachnewstoryI’mtoldbecomesathingthathappens,insomeotherwaytome...!

Keepmakingupstories,myunclesays.You’relying,mymothersays.

MaybethetruthissomewhereinbetweenallthatI’mtoldandmemory.

off-key

WestarteachmeetingatKingdomHallwithasongandaprayerbutwe’realwayslate,walkinginwhenthepinksongbooksarealreadyopen,lookingovershoulders,askingBrothersandSisterstohelpusfindourplace.Ifit’sasongIlike,Isinglouduntilmysistershushesmewithafingertohermouth.

MywholefamilyknowsIcan’tsing.Myvoice,mysistersays,isjustleftofthekey.Justrightofthetune.

ButIsinganyway,wheneverIcan.

EventheboringWitnesssongssoundgoodtome,thewords

tellingushowGodwantsustobehave,whathewantsustodo,Begladyounationswithhispeople!Gopreachfromdoortodoor!

ThegoodnewsofJehovah’skingdom—Proclaimfromshoretoshore!

It’sthemusicaroundthewordsthatIhearinmyhead,eventhougheveryoneswearsIcan’thearit.Strangethattheydon’thearwhatIhear.

Strangethatitsoundssoright

tome.

eveandthesnake

TheSundaysermonsaregivenbymen.Womenaren’tallowedtogetonstagelikethis,standingalonetotellGod’sstory.Idon’tunderstandwhybutIlistenanyway:

Onthefirstday,GodmadetheheavensandtheearthandHelookedatit,anditwasgood.

It’salongstory.It’sagoodstory.AdamandEvegotmade,asnakeappearedinatree.Atalkingsnake.ThenEvehadtomakeachoice—theapplethesnake

wantedhertoeatlookedsogood—justonebite.Butitwastheonlyapple

inakingdomfullofapplesthatGodhadsaidDon’ttouch!

It’sthebestappleinalltheworld,thesnakesaid.Goaheadandtasteit.Godwon’tcare.

Butweknowtheending—inourheads,wescream,Don’tdoit,Eve!That’stheDevilinsidethatsnake!He’strickingyou!

ButEvetookabite.Andsohereweare,sittinginaKingdomHallonabeautifulSundayafternoonhopingthatGodseesitinHishearttoknowitwasn’tourfault.Giveusanotherchancesendthatsnakebackandwepromise

we’llsaynothistime!

ourfather,fadingaway

Inallourmoving,we’veforgottenourfamilyinOhio,forgottenourfather ’svoice,theslowdrawlofhiswords,thewayheandhisbrotherDavidmadejokesthatweren’tfunnyandlaughedasthoughtheywere.

Weforgetthecolorofhisskin—wasitdarkbrownlikemineorlighterlikeDell’s?DidhehaveHopeandDell’sloosecurlsormytighter,kinkierhair?

Washisvoicedeeporhigh?WasheahuggerlikeGrandmaGeorgianaholdinguslikesheneverplannedtoletgoordidhehughardandfastlikeMama,plantingherwarmlipstoourforeheadswherethekisslingeredlongaftershesaidIloveyou,pulledhersweateronandleftforworkeachmorning.

InBrooklyntherearenomorecallsfromOhio.NomorecallsfromourfatherorGrandpaHopeorGrandmaGraceorDavidorAnneorAdaorAlicia.

Itisasifeachfamilyhasdisappearedfromtheother.

Soon,someonewhoknowssomeoneinOhiowhoknowstheWoodsons

tellsmymotherthatGrandpaHopehasdied.Atdinnerthatevening,ourmothergivesusthenewsbutwekeepeatingbecausewehadn’tknownhewasstillalive.

Andforamoment,IthinkaboutJack...ourfather.Butthenquicklyasitcomesthethoughtmoveson.

Outofsight,outofmind,mybrothersays.

Butonlyapartofmebelievesthisistrue.

halfwayhome#2

Foralongtime,thereisonlyonetreeonourblock.Andthoughitstillfeelsstrangetobesofarawayfromsoftdirtbeneathbarefeetthegroundisfirmhereandtheonetreebloomswideenoughtoshadefourbuildings.Thecityissettlingaroundme,mywords

comefastnowwhenIspeak,thesoftcurloftheSouthonmytongueisneargone.

Whoarethesecitychildren?Mygrandmotherlaughs,herownvoice

sadandfarawayonthephone.Butitisalong-distancecall

fromGreenvilletoBrooklyn,toomuchmoneyandnotenoughtimetoexplainthatNewYorkCityisgrayrockandquick-movingcars.ThatthetrafficlightschangefastandmysistermustholdtighttomyhandaswecrosstowhereasmallmansingingPiragua!Piragua!sellsshavedicesfromawhitecartfilledwithbottlesandbottlesoffruit-flavoredsyrupcoloredredandpurple,orangeandblue.Thatourmouthswaterinthehotsunaswehandhimourquartersthenwaitpatientlyashepours

thesyrupovertheice,handsittousinpapercones.

We’llbecominghomesoon,Grandmaeachofuspromises.Weloveyou.

Andwhenshesays,Iloveyou,tootheSouthissoheavyinhermouthmyeyesfillupwiththemissingofeverythingandeveryoneI’veeverknown.

thepainteater

Inthenightinthecornerofthebedroomthefourofusshare,comesapick,pick,pickingofplasterpaintgonecomemorning.

Myyoungerbrother,Roman,can’texplainwhypaintmeltingonhistonguefeelsgood.

Still,heeatsthepaintandplasteruntilawhiteholegrowswherepalegreenpaintusedtobe.

Andtoolatewecatchhim,hisfingersinhismouth,hislipscoveredwithdust.

chemistry

WhenHopespeaks,it’salwaysaboutcomicbooksandsuperheroesuntilmymothertellshimhehastotalkaboutsomethingelse.Andthenit’sscience.Hewantstoknoweverythingaboutrocketsandmedicineandthegalaxy.Hewantstoknowwheretheskyendsandhow,whatdoesitfeellikewhengravity’sgoneandwhatisthefoodmeneatonthemoon.Hisquestionscomesofastandsooftenthatweforgethowquietheoncewasuntilmymotherbuyshimachemistryset.

Andthenforhoursafterschooleachdayhemakespotions,mixingchemicalsthatstinkupthehouse,causingsparkstoflyfromshavedbitsofiron,puffsofsmoketopopfromstrange-coloredliquids.Wearefascinatedbyhim,goggledandbent

overthestoveaclampedtesttubeprotrudingfromhisglovedhand.

Onthedayswhenourmothersaysshedoesn’twanthimsmellingupthehousewithhispotions,hetakeshistrainsapart,studieseachtinypiece,thenslowlyputsthemtogetheragain.

Wedon’tknowwhatitishe’slookingforashesearchestheinsidesofthings,studiesthewaythingschange.EachwhisperedWowfromhimmakesmethinkthathewithhissearching—andDellwithherreadingandevenRomanwithhistryingtoeattotheothersideofourwalls—islookingforsomething.SomethingwaypastBrooklyn.Somethingoutthere.

babyinthehouse

Andthenoneday,Romanwon’tgetup,suncominginbrightthroughthebedroomwindow,therestofusdressedandreadytogooutside.Nolaughter—justtearswhenweholdhim.Morecryingwhenweputhimdown.Won’teatandevenmymothercan’thelphim.

Whenshetakeshimtothehospital,shecomesback

alone.

Andformanydaysafterthat,thereisnobabyinourhouseandIamfinallythebabygirlagain,wishing

Iwasn’t.Wishingtherewasn’tsomuchquietwheremybrother ’slaughusedtobe,wishing

thetruebabyinourhousewashome.

goinghomeagain

JulycomesandRoberttakesusonthenighttrainbacktoSouthCarolina.Wekissourbabybrothergood-byeinhishospitalbedwherehereachesout,criestocomewithus.

Hiswordsareweakaswater,nomorethanawhisperwithsomuchairaroundthem.

I’mcomingtoo,hesays.

Butheisn’tcoming.Notthistime.Mymothersaysthereisleadinhisbloodfromthepainthefindsawaytopickandeatoffourbedroomwalleverytimeourbacksareturned.Smallholesgrow,likewhitestarsagainstthegreenpaint,coveredagainandagainbyourmother.Butstill,hefindsaway.

Eachofushugshim,promisestobringhimcandyandtoys.Promiseswewon’thavefundownsouthwithouthim.

Eachofusleansinforourmother ’skissonourforehead,herwarmlips,alreadyamemory

thateachofuscarrieshome.

homeagaintohallstreet

Mygrandmother ’skitchenisthesamebigandyellowandsmellingofthepoundcakeshe’smadetowelcomeusback.

Andnowinthelateafternoon,sheisstandingatthesink,tearingcollardsbeneathcoolrunningwater,whilethecrowscawoutside,andthesunsinksslowintoredandgold

WhenHopeletsthescreendoorslam,shefusses,Boy,don’tyouslammydooragain!andmybrothersays,I’msorry.

Justlikealways.

Soon,there’llbelemonadeontheporch,theswingwhiningthesameearlyeveningsongitalwayssingsmybrotherandsisterwiththecheckersetbetweenthemmenexttomygrandfather,fallingasleepagainsthisthinshoulder.

Andit’snotevenstrangethatitfeelsthewayit’salwaysfelt

liketheplacewebelongto.

Likehome.

mrs.hughes’shouse

InGreenville,mygrandfatheristoosicktoworkanymore,somygrandmotherhasafull-timejob.NowwespendeverydayfromJulyuntilthemiddleofAugustatMrs.Hughes’sNurseryandDaySchool.

Eachmorning,wewalkthelongdustyroadtoMrs.Hughes’shouse—large,whitestone,withayardcirclingandchickenspeckingatourfeet.Beyondtheyardthere’scollardsandcorngrowingascarecrow,blacksnakes,andwhip-poor-wills.

Sheisabigwoman,tall,yellow-skinnedandthickasawall.

Iholdtighttomygrandmother ’shand.MaybeIamcrying.

Mygrandmotherdropsusoffandtheotherkidscirclearoundus.Laughingatourhair,ourclothes,thenamesourparentshavegivenus,ourcitywayoftalking—toofast,toomanywordstohearatoncetoomanybigwordscomingoutofmysister ’smouth.

Iamalwaysthefirsttocry.Agentleslaponthesideofmyhead,asecretpinch,girlscirclingaroundmesinging,Whostolethecookiefromthecookiejarand

pointing,asthoughthesongistrue,atme.

Mysister ’stearsareslowtocome.Butwhentheydo,itisn’tsadness.It’ssomethingdifferentthatsendsherswinging

herfistswhentheothersyankherbraidsuntilthesatin,newlyironedribbonsbelongtothem,hiddenawayinthedeeppocketsoftheirdresses,tuckedintotheirsaggingstockings,buriedinsidetheirsilverlunchpails.

Hopeissilent—hisname,theysay,belongstoagirl,hisears,theylaughstickouttoofarfromhishead.

Ourfeetarebeginningtobelongintwodifferentworlds—GreenvilleandNewYork.Wedon’tknowhowtocomehomeandleavehomebehindus.

howtolisten#4

Kidsaremean,Dellsays.Justturnaway.Pretendweknowbetterthanthat.

fieldservice

Saturdaymorning’sthehardestdayforusnow.ForthreehourswemovethroughthestreetsofNicholtown,knockingonstrangers’doors,hopingtoconvertthemintoSistersandBrothersandchildrenofGod.

ThissummerIamallowedtoknockonmyfirstdooralone.Anoldwomananswers,smileskindlyatme.Whataspecialchildyouare,shesays.Sky-blueribbonsinmyhair,myWatchtowerheldtightinmywhite-glovedhand,thebluelinendressafriendofmygrandmother ’shasmadeformestoppingjustabovemyknees.

MynameisJacquelineWoodson,Inearlywhisper,mythroatsuddenlydryvoiceneargone.I’mheretobringyousomegoodnewstoday...

Wellhowmuchdoesyourgoodnewscost,thewomanwantstoknow.

Adime.

Sheshakesherheadsadly,closesherdooramomenttosearchbeneathatrunkwhereshehopesshe’sdroppedacoinortwo.Butwhenshecomesback,therearenocoinsinherhand.OhI’dlovetoreadthatmagazine,shesays.

Ijustdon’thavemoney.

AndformanydaysmyhearthurtswiththesadnessthatsuchanicewomanwillnotbeapartofGod’s

newworld.Itisn’tfair,Isaytomygrandmotherwhensomanydayshavepassed.Iwanttogoback.Iwanttogivehersomething

forfree.

Butwe’redonenowwiththatstripofNicholtown.NextSaturday,we’llbesomewhereelse.AnotherWitnesswillgothere,mygrandmotherpromises.Byandby,shesays,thatwomanwillfindherway.

sundayafternoononthefrontporch

Acrosstheroad,MissBellhastiedablue-checkedsunbonnetbeneathherchin,liftsherheadfromherbedofazaleasandwavestomygrandmother.Iamsittingbesideheronthefrontporchswing,HopeandDellleaningbackagainstthewoodbeamatthetopofthefrontporchstairs.Itisasthoughwehavealwaysbeeninthisposition,thefrontporchswingmovinggentlybackandforth,thesunwarmonourfaces,thedayonlyhalfwayover.

Iseeyourgrandsarebackforthesummer,MissBellsays.Gettingbig,too.

ItisSundayafternoon.Outback,mygrandfatherpullsweedsfromhisgarden,digssoftlyintotherichearthtoaddnewmelonseeds.

Wonderingifthistime,they’llgrow.Allthishedoesfromasmallchair,acanebesidehim.Hemovesasifunderwater,coughshardandlongintoahandkerchief,callsoutforHopewhenheneedsthechairmoved,seesmewatching,andshakeshishead.I’mcatchingyouworrying,hesays.Tooyoungforthat.Sojustcutitoutnow,youhear?Hisvoicesostrongandcleartoday,Ican’thelpsmiling.

SoonI’llrisefromtheporch,changeoutofmyKingdomHallclothesinto

apairofshortsandacottonblousetrademypatent-leatherMaryJanesforbarefeetandjoinmygrandfatherinthegarden.

Whattookyousolong,he’llsay.Iwasabouttoturnthiseartharoundwithoutyou.

Soon,it’llbeneareveningandDaddyandIwillwalkslowbackintothehousewhereI’llpulltheEpsomsaltfromtheshelffillthedishpanwithwarmwater,massagehisswellinghands.

Butfornow,IsitlisteningtoNicholtownsettlearoundme,praythatonedayRomanwillbewellenoughtoknowthismoment.Praythatwewillalwayshavethis—thefrontporch,mygrandfatherinthegarden,awomaninablue-checkedsunbonnetmovingthroughazaleas...

Prettychildren,MissBellsays.ButGoddon’tmakethemnootherkindaway.

homethenhomeagain

Toofast,oursummerinGreenvilleisending.Already,thephonecallsfrommymotherarefilledwithplansforcominghome.Wemissourlittle’sbrother ’slaughter,thewayherunstousattheendoftheschooldayasifwe’vebeengoneforever.ThewayhissmallhandscurlaroundourswhenwewatchTV.Holdingtightthroughthescaryparts,untilwetellhimScooby-Doowillsavetheday,BugsBunnywillgetaway,UnderdogwillarrivebeforethetrainhitsSweetPollyPurebred.

Wedragourfeetbelowourswings,ourarmswrappedlazilyaroundthemetallinksnolongerfascinatedbythenewnessoftheset,thewayweclimbedallovertheslide,pumpedourlegshard—towardheavenuntiltheswingsetshookwiththeweightofusliftingitfromtheground.Nextsummer,mygrandfathersaid,I’llcementitdown.Butinthemeantimeyouallswinglow.

Oursuitcasessitatthefootofourbed,openslowlyfillingwithfreshlywashedsummerclothes,eachblouse,eachpairofshorts,eachfadedcottondressholdingastorythatwe’lltellagainandagain

allwinterlong.

family

Inthebooks,there’salwaysahappilyeverafter.Theuglyducklinggrowsintoaswan,Pinocchiobecomesaboy.ThewitchgetschuckedintotheovenbyGretel,theSelfishGiantgoestoheaven.EvenWinniethePoohseemstoalwaysgethishoney.LittleRedRidingHood’sgrandmotherisfreedfromthebellyofthewolf.

Whenmysisterreadstome,Iwaitforthemomentwhenthestorymovesfaster—towardthehappyendingthatIknowiscoming.

OnthebushomefromGreenville,Iwaketothealmosthappyending,mymotherstandingatthestation,Romaninhisstroller,hissmilebright,hisarmsreachingforusbutweseethewhitehospitalbandlikeabraceletonhiswrist.Tomorrowhewillreturnthere.

Wearenotallfinallyandsafelyhome.

oneplace

Foralongtime,ourlittlebrothergoesbackandforthtothehospital,hisbodyweakfromthelead,hisbrainnotdoingwhatabrainissupposedtodo.Wedon’tunderstandwhyhe’ssosmall,hastubescomingfromhisarms,sleepsandsleeps...whenwevisithim.

Butoneday,hecomeshome.Theholesinthewallarecoveredoverandleftunpainted,hisbedpulledawayfromtemptation,nothingforhimtopeelaway.

Heisfournow,curlslonggone,hisdarkbrownhairstraightasabone,strangetousbutourlittlebrother,thefourofusagain

inoneplace.

maria

LateAugustnowhomefromGreenvilleandreadyforwhatthelastofthesummerbringsme.Allthedreamsthiscityholdsrightoutside—juststepthroughthedoorandwalktwodoorsdowntowheremynewbestfriend,Maria,lives.Everymorning,Icalluptoherwindow,Comeoutsideorsheringsourbell,Comeoutside.Herhairiscrazilycurlingdownpastherback,theSpanishshespeakslikeasongIamlearningtosing.Miamiga,Maria.Maria,myfriend.

howtolisten#5

Whatisyouronedream,myfriendMariaasksme.Youronewishcometrue?

tomboy

Mysister,Dell,readsandreadsandneverlearnstojumpropeorplayhandballagainstthefactorywallonthecorner.NeverlearnstosprintbarefootdowntheblocktobecomethefastestgirlonMadisonStreet.Doesn’tlearntohidethebeltorstealthebaconorkickthecan...ButIdoandbecauseofthisTomboybecomesmynewname.Mywalk,mymothersays,remindsherofmyfather.WhenImovelong-leggedandfastawayfromhersheremembershim.

gameover

Whenmymothercalls,HopeDellJackie—inside!thegameisover.NomorereadingbeneaththestreetlightforDell.Butformybrotherandmeit’snomoreanything!Nomorestealthebaconcocolevio1-2-3MissLucyhadababyspinningtopsdoubleDutch.Nomorefreezetaghidethebelthotpeasandbutter.Nomoresingingcontestsonthestoop.Nomoreicecreamtruckchasing:Wait!Wait,icecreamman!Mymother’sgonnagivememoney!

Nomoregettingwetinthejohnnypumporstandingwithtwofistedhandsoutinfrontofme,adimehiddeninone,chanting,Dumbschool,dumbschool,whichhand’sitin?

Whenmymothercalls,HopeDellJackie—inside!wecomplainaswewalkuptheblockinthetwilight:Everyoneelseisallowedtostayoutsidetilldark.Ourfriendsstandinginthemoment—

stringhalfwaywrappedaroundatop,waitingtobetaggedandunfrozen,searchingforwordstoasong,drippingfromthejohnnypump,silentinthemiddleofMissLucyhada...

Thegameisoverfortheeveningandallwecanhearisourfriends’Aw...man!!Bummer!Forreal?!Thisearly?!Dangit!Shoot.Yourmama’smean!Earlybirds!Whyshegottamessupourplayinglikethat?Jeez.Nowthegame’sover!

lessons

Mymothersays:

WhenMamatriedtoteachme

tomakecollardsandpotatosaladIdidn’twanttolearn.

Sheopenstheboxofpancakemix,addsmilkandegg,stirs.Iwatchgratefulforthefoodwehavenow—syrupwaitinginthecabinet,bananastosliceontop.It’sSaturdaymorning.Fivedaysaweek,sheleavesustoworkatanofficebackinBrownsville.Saturdaywehavehertoourselves,alldaylong.

MeandKaydidn’twanttobeinsidecooking.

Shestirsthelumpsfromthebatter,poursitintothebuttered,hissingpan.

WantedtobewithourfriendsrunningwildthroughGreenville.Therewasamanwithapeachtreedowntheroad.OnedayRobertclimbedoverthatfence,filledabucketwithpeaches.Wouldn’tsharethemwithanyofusbuttolduswherethepeachtreewas.Andthat’swherewewantedtobesneakingpeachesfromthatman’stree,throwing

therottenonesatyouruncle!

Mamawantedustolearntocook.

Asktheboys,wesaid.AndMamaknewthatwasn’tfairgirlsinsideandboysgoingofftostealpeaches!Sosheletallofusstayoutsideuntilsuppertime.

Andbythen,shesays,puttingourbreakfastonthetable,

itwastoolate.

tradingplaces

WhenMaria’smothermakesarrozconhabichuelasytostones,wetradedinners.Ifit’saschoolnight,I’llruntoMaria’shouse,aplateofmymother ’sbakedchickenwithKraftmacandcheese,sometimesboxcornbread,sometimescannedstringbeans,warminmyhands,readyforthefirsttasteofMaria’smother ’sgarlickyriceandbeans,crushedgreenbananasfriedandsaltedandwarm...

Mariawillbewaiting,herownplatecoveredinfoil.Sometimes

wesitsidebysideonherstoop,ourtradedplatesinourlaps.Whatareyouguyseating?theneighborhoodkidsaskbutweneveranswer,toobusyshovelingthefoodweloveintoourmouths.Yourmothermakesthebestchicken,Mariasays.Thebestcornbread.Thebesteverything!Yeah,Isay.Iguessmygrandmataughthersomethingafterall.

writing#1

It’seasiertomakeupstoriesthanitistowritethemdown.WhenIspeak,thewordscomepouringoutofme.Thestorywakesupandwalksallovertheroom.Sitsinachair,crossesonelegovertheother,says,Letmeintroducemyself.Thenjuststartsgoingonandon.ButasIbendovermycompositionnotebook,onlymynamecomesquickly.Eachletter,neatlyprintedbetweenthepalebluelines.Thenwhitespaceandairandmewondering,HowdoIspellintroduce?Tryingagainandagainuntilthereisnothingbutpinkbitsoferaserandaholenowwhereastoryshouldbe.

lateautumn

Ms.Moskowitzcallsusonebyoneandsays,Comeuptotheboardandwriteyourname.Whenit’smyturn,Iwalkdowntheaislefrommyseatintheback,writeJacquelineWoodson—thewayI’vedoneahundredtimes,turnbacktowardmyseat,proudasanythingofmynameinwhitelettersonthedustyblackboard.ButMs.Moskowitzstopsme,says,Incursivetoo,please.ButtheqinJacquelineistoohardsoIwriteJackieWoodsonforthefirsttime.Struggleonlyalittlebitwiththek.

Isthatwhatyouwantustocallyou?

Iwanttosay,No,mynameisJacquelinebutIamscaredofthatcursiveq,knowImayneverbeabletoconnectittocandusoInodeventhoughIamlying.

theotherwoodson

EventhoughsomanypeoplethinkmysisterandIaretwins,IamtheotherWoodson,followingbehindhereachyearintothesameclassroomshehadtheyearbefore.Eachteachersmileswhentheycallmyname.Woodson,theysay.YoumustbeOdella’ssister.Thentheynodslowly,overandoveragain,callmeOdella.Say,I’msorry!YoulooksomuchlikeherandsheisSObrilliant!thenwaitformybrilliancetolightuptheclassroom.Waitformyarmtoflyintotheairwitheveryanswer.Waitformypenciltomovequicklythroughthetoo-easymathproblemsonthemimeographedsheet.Waitformetostandbeforeclass,easilyreadingwordsevenhighschoolstudentsstumbleover.Andtheykeepwaiting.Andwaitingandwaitingandwaiting

untiloneday,theywalkintotheclassroom,almostcallmeOdel—thenstoprememberthatIamtheotherWoodson

andbeginsearchingforbrilliance

atanotherdesk.

writing#2

Ontheradio,SlyandtheFamilyStonearesinging“FamilyAffair,”thesongturnedupbecauseit’smymother ’sfavorite,theonesheplaysagainandagain.

Youcan’tleave’causeyourheartisthere,Slysings.Butyoucan’tstay’causeyoubeensomewhereelse.

ThesongmakesmethinkofGreenvilleandBrooklynthetwoworldsmyheartlivesinnow.Iamwritingthelyricsdown,tryingtocatcheachwordbeforeit’sgone

thenreadingthemback,outloudtomymother.ThisishowI’mlearning.WordscomeslowtomeonthepageuntilImemorizethem,readingthesamebooksoverandover,copyinglyricstosongsfromrecordsandTVcommercials,thewordssettlingintomybrain,intomymemory.Noteveryonelearnstoreadthisway—memorytakingoverwhentherestofthebrainstopsworking,butIdo.

Slyissingingthewordsoverandoverasthoughheistryingtoconvincemethatthiswholeworldisjustabunchoffamilieslikeours

goingabouttheirownfamilyaffairs.

Stopdaydreaming,mymothersays.

SoIgobacktowritingdownwordsthataresongsandstoriesandwholenewworldstuckingthemselvesintomymemory.

birchtreepoem

Beforemyteacherreadsthepoem,shehastoexplain.Abirch,shesays,isakindoftreethenmagicallyshepullsapicturefromherdeskdrawerandthetreeissuddenlyrealtous.

“WhenIseebirchesbendtoleftandright...”shebegins“Acrossthelinesofstraighterdarkertrees,Iliketothink”—

andwhenshereads,hervoicedropsdownsolowandbeautifulsomeofusputourheadsonourdeskstokeepthehappytearsfromflowing

—“someboy’sbeenswingingthem.Butswingingdoesn’tbendthemdowntostayAsice-stormsdo.”

Andeventhoughwe’veneverseenanicestormwe’veseenabirchtree,sowecanimagineeverythingweneedtoimagine

foreverandever

infinity

amen.

howtolisten#6

WhenIsitbeneaththeshadeofmyblock’soaktreetheworlddisappears.

reading

Iamnotmysister.WordsfromthebookscurlaroundeachothermakelittlesenseuntilIreadthemagainandagain,thestorysettlingintomemory.Tooslowtheteachersays.Readfaster.Toobabyish,theteachersays.Readolder.ButIdon’twanttoreadfasterorolderoranywayelsethatmightmakethestorydisappeartooquicklyfromwhere

it’ssettlinginsidemybrain,slowlybecomingapartofme.AstoryIwillrememberlongafterI’vereaditforthesecond,third,tenth,hundredthtime.

stevieandme

EveryMonday,mymothertakesustothelibraryaroundthecorner.Weareallowedtotakeoutsevenbookseach.Onthosedays,noonecomplainsthatallIwantarepicturebooks.

Thosedays,noonetellsmetoreadfastertoreadharderbookstoreadlikeDell.

Nooneistheretosay,Notthatbook,whenIstopinfrontofthesmallpaperbackwithabrownboyonthecover.Stevie.

Iread:Onedaymymommatoldme,“Youknowyou’regonnahavealittlefriendcomestaywithyou.”AndIsaid,“Whoisit?”

Ifsomeonehadbeenfussingwithmetoreadlikemysister,Imighthavemissedthepicturebookfilledwithbrownpeople,morebrownpeoplethanI’deverseeninabookbefore.

Thelittleboy’snamewasStevenbuthismotherkeptcallinghimStevie.MynameisRobertbutmymommadon’t

callmeRobertie.

Ifsomeonehadtakenthatbookoutofmyhandsaid,You’retoooldforthismaybeI’dneverhavebelievedthatsomeonewholookedlikemecouldbeinthepagesofthebookthatsomeonewholookedlikemehadastory.

whenitellmyfamily

WhenItellmyfamilyIwanttobeawriter,theysmileandsay,Weseeyouinthebackyardwithyourwriting.Theysay,Wehearyoumakingupallthosestories.And,Weusedtowritepoems.And,It’sagoodhobby,weseehowquietitkeepsyou.Theysay,Butmaybeyoushouldbeateacher,alawyer,dohair...

I’llthinkaboutit,Isay.

Andmaybeallofusknow

thisisjustanotheroneofmystories.

daddygunnar

SaturdaymorningandDaddyGunnar ’svoiceisontheotherendofthephone.Weallgrabforit.Letmespeaktohim!Myturn!Nomine!UntilMamamakesusstandinline.

Hecoughshard,takesdeepbreaths.Whenhespeaks,it’salmostlowasawhisper.

HowaremyNewYorkgrandbabies,hewantstoknow.

We’regood,Isay,holdingtighttothephonebutmysisterisalreadygrabbingforit,HopeandevenRoman,allofushungryforthesoundofhisfarawayvoice.

Y’allknowhowmuchIloveyou?

Infinityandbackagain,IsaythewayI’vesaiditamilliontimes.

Andthen,Daddysaystome,Goonandaddalittlebitmoretothat.

hopeonstage

Untilthecurtaincomesupandhe’sstandingthere,tenyearsoldandaloneinthecenteroftheP.S.106stage,nooneknewmybigbrothercouldsing.Heisdressed

asashepherd,hisvoicesoftandlow,moresurethananysoundI’veeverheardcomeoutofhim.Myquietbigbrother

whoonlyspeakswhenasked,haslittletosaytoanyofus,exceptwhenhe’stalkingaboutscienceorcomicbooks,nowhasavoicethatiscirclingtheair,landingclearandsweetaroundus:

“Tingalayo,comelittledonkeycome.Tingalayo,comelittledonkeycome.Mydonkeywalks,mydonkeytalksmydonkeyeatswithaknifeandfork.OhTingalayo,comelittledonkeycome.”

Hopecansing...mysistersaysinwonderasmymother

andtherestoftheaudiencestarttoclap.

Maybe,Iamthinking,thereissomethinghiddenlikethis,inallofus.Asmallgiftfromtheuniversewaitingtobediscovered.

Mybigbrotherraiseshisarms,callinghisdonkeyhome.Heissmilingashesings,themusicgettinglouderbehindhim.

“Tingalayo...”

Andinthedarkenedauditorium,thelightisonlyonHopeandit’shardtobelievehehassuchamagic

singingvoiceandevenhardertobelievehisdonkeyisgoingtocomerunning.

daddythistime

Greenvilleisdifferentthissummer,

Romaniswellandoutback,swinginghard.Somewherebetweenlastsummerandnow,ourdaddycementedtheswingsetdown.Romandoesn’tknowtheshakydays—justthismoment,hisdarkblueKedspointingtowardthesky,

hislaughterandscreams,likewindthroughthescreendoor.Nowmygrandmothershusheshim,Daddyrestinginthebedroom,thecoverspulledup

tohischin,histhinbodysomuchsmallerthanIrememberit.

Justalittletired,Daddysaystome,whenItiptoeinwithchickensoup,sitontheedgeofthebedandtrytogethimtotakesmallsips.Hestrugglesintositting,letsmefeedhimsmallmouthfulsbutonlyafewareenough.Tootiredtoeatanymore.Thenhecloseshiseyes.

Outside,Romanlaughsagainandtheswingsetwhineswiththeweightofhim.MaybeHopeisthere,pushinghimintotheair.Ormaybeit’sDell.Thethreeofthemwouldratherbeoutside.

Hisroomsmells,mysistersays.

ButIdon’tsmellanythingexceptthelotionIrubintomygrandfather ’shands.Whentheothersaren’taround,hewhispers,You’remyfavorite,

smilesandwinksatme.You’regoingtobefine,youknowthat.

Thenhecoughshardandcloseshiseyes,hisbreathstrugglingtogetintoandoutofhisbody.

Mostdays,Iaminherewithmygrandfather,holdinghishand

whilehesleepsfluffingpillowsandtellinghimstoriesaboutmyfriendsbackhome.Whenheasks,IspeaktohiminSpanish,thelanguagethatrollsoffmytonguelikeIwasbornknowingit.Sometimes,mygrandfathersays,Singmesomethingpretty.

AndwhenIsingtohim,I’mnotjustleftofthekeyorrightofthetuneHesaysIsingbeautifully.

HesaysIamperfect.

whateverybodyknowsnow

Eventhoughthelawshavechangedmygrandmotherstilltakesustothebackofthebuswhenwegodowntownintherain.It’seasier,mygrandmothersays,thanhavingwhitefolkslookatmelikeI’mdirt.

Butwearen’tdirt.Wearepeoplepayingthesamefareasotherpeople.WhenIsaythistomygrandmother,shenods,says,Easiertostaywhereyoubelong.

Ilookaroundandseetheoneswhowalkstraighttotheback.Seetheoneswhotakeaseatupfront,daringanyonetomakethemmove.AndknowthisiswhoIwanttobe.Notscaredlikethat.Bravelikethat.

Still,mygrandmothertakesmyhanddowntownpullsmerightpasttherestaurantsthathavetoletussitwhereverwewantnow.Noneedinmakingtrouble,shesays.YouallgobacktoNewYorkCitybutIhavetolivehere.

WewalkstraightpastWoolworth’swithoutevenlookinginthewindowsbecausetheonetimemygrandmotherwentinsidetheymadeherwaitandwait.ActedlikeIwasn’teventhere.It’shardnottoseethemoment—

mygrandmotherinherSundayclothes,ahatwithaflowerpinnedtoitneatlyonherhead,herpatent-leatherpurse,perfectlyclaspedbetweenherglovedhands—waitingquietlylongpastherturn.

endofsummer

Toofastthesummerleavesus,wekissourgrandparentsgood-byeandmyuncleRobertistherewaitingtotakeushomeagain.

Whenwehugourgrandfather,hisbodyisallbonesandskin.Butheisupnow,sittingatthewindow,ablanketcoveringhisthinshoulders.

Soon,I’llgetbacktothatgarden,hesays.Butmostdays,allIwanttodoislaydownandrest.

Wewaveagainfromthetaxithatpullsoutslowdownthedrive—watchourgrandmother,stillwaving,growsmallbehindusandourgrandfather,inthewindow,fadefromsight.

farrockaway

Robertonlystayslongenoughformymothertothankhimforbuyingourticketsforgettingushome.

Hedoesafancyturnonhisheel,aimstwopointerfingersatussays,I’llcatchupwithallofyoulater.

Wetellhimthathehastocomebacksoon,remindhimofallthestuffhe’spromisedustripstoConeyIslandandPalisadesAmusementPark,

aCrissydollwithhairthatgrows,aTonkatoy,Gulliver’sTravels,

candy.

Hesayshewon’tforget,asksusifhe’samanofhiswordandeveryoneexceptmymothernods.

Hardnottomissmymother ’seyebrows,givingherbabybrotheralook,pressingherlipstogether.Once,inthemiddleofthenight,twopolicemenknockedonourdoor,askingforRobertLeonIrby.Butmyunclewasn’there.

Sonowmymothertakesabreath,says,Staysafe.

Says,Don’tgetintotroubleoutthere,Robert.

Hegivesherahug,promiseshewon’tandthenheisgone.

freshair

WhenIgetbacktoBrooklyn,Mariaisn’tthere.She’sgoneupstate,stayingwithafamily,hermothertellsme,thathasapool.Thenhermotherputsaplateoffoodinfrontofme,tellsmehowmuchsheknowsIloveherriceandchicken.

WhenMariareturnssheistannedandwearinganewshortset.Everythingaboutherseemsdifferent.Istayedwithwhitepeople,shetellsme.Richwhitepeople.Theairupstateisdifferent.Itdoesn’tsmelllikeanything!ShehandsmeapieceofbubblegumwithBUBBLEYUMinbrightletters.Thisiswhattheychewupthere.ThetownwascalledSchenectady.

AlltherestofthesummerMariaandIbuyonlyBubbleYum,blow

hugebubbleswhileImakehertellmestoryafterstoryaboutthewhitefamilyinSchenectady.

TheykeptsayingIwaspoorandtryingtogivemestuff,Mariasays.Ihadtokeeptellingthemit’snotpoorwherewelive.

Nextsummer,Isay.Youshouldjustcomedownsouth.It’sdifferentthere.

AndMariapromisesshewill.

Onthesidewalkwedrawhopscotchgamesthatweplayusingchippedpiecesofslate,chalkMaria&JackieBestFriendsForeverwhereverthereissmoothstone.Writeitsomanytimesthatit’shardtowalkonoursideofthestreetwithoutlookingdownandseeingusthere.

p.s.106haiku

JacquelineWoodson.I’mfinallyinfourthgrade.It’srainingoutside.

learningfromlangston

Ilovedmyfriend.

Hewentawayfromme.There’snothingmoretosay.Thepoemends,Softasitbegan—Ilovedmyfriend.

—LangstonHughes

Ilovemyfriendandstilldowhenweplaygameswelaugh.IhopeshenevergoesawayfrommebecauseIlovemyfriend.—JackieWoodson

theselfishgiant

InthestoryoftheSelfishGiant,alittleboyhugsagiantwhohasneverbeenhuggedbefore.Thegiantfallsinlovewiththeboybutthenoneday,theboydisappears.Whenhereturns,hehasscarsonhishandsandhisfeet,justlikeJesus.ThegiantdiesandgoestoParadise.

ThefirsttimemyteacherreadsthestorytotheclassIcryallafternoon,andamstillcryingwhenmymothergetshomefromworkthatevening.

Shedoesn’tunderstandwhyIwanttohearsuchasadstoryagainandagainbuttakesmetothelibraryaroundthecornerwhenIbegandhelpsmefindthebooktoborrow.TheSelfishGiant,byOscarWilde.

Ireadthestoryagainandagain.Likethegiant,I,too,fallinlovewiththeJesusboy,there’ssomethingsosweetabouthim,Iwanttobehisfriend.

Thenoneday,myteacherasksmetocomeupfronttoreadoutloud.ButIdon’tneedtobringthebookwithme.ThestoryoftheSelfishGiantisinmyheadnow,livingthere.Remembered.

“Everyafternoon,astheywerecomingfromschool,thechildrenusedtogoandplayintheGiant’sgarden...”Itelltheclass,thewholestoryflowingoutofmerightuptotheendwhentheboysays,

“ThesearethewoundsofLove...“Youletmeplayonceinyourgarden,todayyoushallcomewithmetomygarden,whichisParadise...”

Howdidyoudothat,myclassmatesask.Howdidyoumemorizeallthosewords?

ButIjustshrug,notknowingwhattosay.HowcanIexplaintoanyonethatstoriesarelikeairtome,Ibreathetheminandletthemoutoverandoveragain.

Brilliant!myteachersays,smiling.Jackie,thatwasabsolutelybeautiful.

AndIknownowwordsaremyTingalayo.Wordsaremybrilliance.

thebutterflypoems

NoonebelievesmewhenItellthemIamwritingabookaboutbutterflies,eventhoughtheyseemewiththeChildcraftencyclopediaheavyonmylapopenedtothepageswherethemonarch,paintedlady,giantswallowtailandqueenbutterflieslive.Evenonecalledabuckeye.

WhenIwritethefirstwordsWingsofabutterflywhisper...

noonebelievesawholebookcouldevercomefromsomethingassimpleasbutterfliesthatdon’teven,mybrothersays,livethatlong.

Butonpaper,thingscanliveforever.Onpaper,abutterflyneverdies.

sixminutes

TheSistersintheKingdomHallgetsixminutestobeonstage.Inpairs.Orthrees.Butneveralone.WehavetowriteskitswherewearevisitinganotherSisterormaybeanonbeliever.Sometimestheplaytakesplaceattheirpretendkitchentableandsometimes,we’reintheirpretendlivingroombutinreallifewe’rejustinfoldingchairs,sittingontheKingdomHallstage.ThefirsttimeIhavetogivemytalkIaskifIcanwriteitmyselfwithoutanyonehelping.Therearehorsesandcowsinmystoryeventhoughthemainpointissupposedtobethestoryoftheresurrection.Sayforinstance,Iwrite,wehaveacowandahorsethatwelove.Isdeaththeendoflifeforthoseanimals?Whenmymotherreadsthoselines,sheshakesherhead.You’regettingawayfromthetopic,shesays.Youhavetotaketheanimalsoutofit,getrighttothepoint.Startwithpeople.

Idon’tknowwhatIamsupposedtodowiththefabulous,moreinterestingpartofmystory,wherethehorsesandcowsstartspeakingtomeandtoeachother.Howeventhoughtheyareoldandwon’tlivemuchlonger,theyaren’tafraid.Youonlyhavesixminutes,mymothersays,andno,youcan’tgetupandwalkacrossthestagetomakeyourpoint.Yourtalkhastobegiven

sittingdown.

SoIstartagain.Rewriting:Goodafternoon,Sister.I’mheretobringyousomegoodnewstoday.DidyouknowGod’swordisabsolute?IfweturntoJohn,chapterfive,versestwenty-eightandtwenty-nine...

promisingmyselfthere’llcomeatimewhenIcanusetherestofmystoryandstandwhenItellitandgivemyselfandmyhorsesandmycowsawholelotmoretimethansixminutes!

firstbook

Therearesevenofthem,haikusmostlybutrhymingones,too.NotenoughforarealbookuntilIcuteachpageintoasmallsquarestaplethesquarestogether,writeonepoemoneachpage.ButterfliesbyJacquelineWoodsononthefront.

Thebutterflybookcompletenow.

john’sbargainstore

DownKnickerbockerAvenueiswhereeveryoneontheblockgoestoshop.There’sapizzeriaifyougethungry,seventy-fivecentsaslice.There’sanicecreamshopwhereconescostaquarter.There’saFabcoShoesstoreandabeautyparlor.AWoolworth’sfive-and-dimeandaJohn’sBargainStore.Foralongtime,Idon’tputonefootinsideWoolworth’s.Theywouldn’tletBlackpeopleeatattheirlunchcountersinGreenville,ItellMaria.Nowayaretheygettingmymoney!Soinstead,MariaandIgotoJohn’sBargainStorewherethreeT-shirtscostadollar.Webuytheminpalepink,yellowandbabyblue.Eachnightwemakeaplan:Wearyouryellowonetomorrow,Mariasays,andI’llwearmine.Allyearlong,wedressalike,walkingupanddownMadisonStreetwaitingforsomeonetosay,Areyouguyscousins?sowecansmile,say,Can’tyoutellfromlookingatus?!

newgirl

Thenonedayanewgirlmovesinnextdoor,tellsushernameisDianaandbecomesmeandMaria’sSecondBestFriendintheWholeWorld.AndeventhoughMaria’smotherknewDiana’smotherinPuertoRico,Mariapromisesthatdoesn’tmakeDianamásmejoramiga—abetterfriend.Butsomedays,whenit’srainingandMamawon’tletmegooutside,Iseethemontheblock,theirfingerslacedtogether,headingaroundthecornertothebodegaforcandy.Thosedays,theworldfeelsasgrayandcoldasitreallyisandit’shardnottobelievethenewgirlisn’tmásmejorthanme.HardnottobelievemydaysasMaria’sbestfriendforeverandeveramenarecounted.

pasteles&pernil

WhenMaria’sbrother,Carlos,getsbaptizedheisjustatinybabyinawhitelacegownwithsomanytwenty-dollarbillsfoldedintofanspinnedalloveritthathelookslikeagreen-and-whiteangel.

MariaandIstandoverhiscribtalkingaboutallthecandywecouldbuywithjustoneofthosefans.ButweknowthatGodiswatchinganddon’tevendaretouchthemoney.

Inthekitchen,thereispernilroastingintheoventhedelicioussmellfillingthehouseandMariasays,Youshouldjusteatalittlebit.ButIamnotallowedtoeatpork.Instead,Iwaitforpastelestogetpassedaround,waitfortheoneshermotherhasfilledwithchickenforJackie,miahijada,waitforthemomentwhenIcanpeelthepaperawayfromthecrushed-plantain-coveredmeat,breakoffsmallpieceswithmyhandsandletthepastelemeltinmymouth.MymothermakesthebestpastelesinBrooklyn,Mariasays.AndeventhoughI’veonlyeatenhermom’s,Iagree.

Wheneverthereisthesmellofpernilandpastelesontheblock,weknowthereisacelebrationgoingon.Andtonight,thepartyisatMaria’shouse.Themusicisloudandthecakeisbigandthepasteles

thathermother ’sbeenmakingforthreedaysare

absolutelyperfect.

Wetakeourfoodouttoherstoopjustasthegrown-upsstartdancingmerengue,thewomenliftingtheirlongdressestoshowofftheirfast-movingfeet,themenclappingandyelling,Baila!Baila!untilthelivingroomfloordisappears.WhenIaskMariawhereDianaisshesays,They’recominglater.Thispartisjustformyfamily.

Shepullsthecrispskinawayfromthepernil,eatstheporkshoulderwithriceandbeans,ourplatesbalancedonourlaps,tallglassesofMaltabesideus.andforalongtime,neitheroneofussaysanything.

Yeah,Isay.Thisisonlyforus.Thefamily.

curses

Wearegoodkids,peopletellmymotherthisallthetime,say,Youhavethemostpolitechildren.I’veneverheardabadwordfromthem.

Andit’strue—wesaypleaseandthankyou.Wespeaksoftly.Welookadultsintheeyesask,Howareyou?Bowourheadswhenwepray.Wedon’tknowhowtocurse,whenwetrytoputbadwordstogethertheysoundstrangelikenewbabiestryingtotalkandmixinguptheirsounds.

Athome,wearen’tallowedwordslikestupidordumborjerkordarn.Wearen’tallowedtosayIhateorIcoulddieorYoumakemesick.

We’renotallowedtorolloureyesorlookawaywhenmymotherisspeakingtous.

Oncemybrothersaidbuttandwasn’tallowedtoplayoutsideafterschoolforaweek.

Whenwearewithourfriendsandangry,wewhisper,Youstupiddummyandourfriendslaughthenspewcursesatuslikebullets,bendtheirlipsoverthewordsliketheywerebornspeakingthem.Theycoachuson,tellustoJustsayit!

Butwecan’t.Evenwhenwetrythewordsgetcaughtinsideourthroats,asthoughourmotherisstandingtherewaiting,daringthemtoreachtheair.

afros

WhenRobertcomesoverwithhishairblownoutintoanafro,Ibegmymotherforthesamehairstyle.EveryoneintheneighborhoodhasoneandalloftheblackpeopleonSoulTrain.EvenMichaelJacksonandhisbrothersareallallowedtoweartheirhairthisway.Eventhoughshesaysnotome,mymomspendsalotofSaturdaymorninginherbedroommirror,pickingherownhairintoahugeblackandbeautifuldome.Whichissocompletelyonehundredpercentunfairbutshesays,Thisisthedifferencebetweenbeingagrown-upandbeingachild.Whenshe’snotlooking,Istickmytongueoutather.Mysistercatchesme,says,Andthat’sthedifferencebetweenbeingachildandbeingagrown-up,likeshe’stwentyyearsold.Thenrollshereyesatmeandgoesbacktoreading.

graffiti

Yourtagisyournamewrittenwithspraypainthoweveryouwantitwhereveryouwantittobe.Itdoesn’tevenhavetobeyourrealname—likeLocowholivesonWoodbineStreet.HisrealnameisOrlandobuteveryonecallshimbyhistagsoit’severywhereinBushwick.BlackandredlettersandcrazyeyesinsidetheOs.Somekidsclimbtothetopsofbuildings,hangovertheedgespraytheirnamesupsidedownfromthere.

ButmeandMariaonlyknowtheground,onlyknowthefactoryonthecornerwithitsnewlypaintedbrightpinkwall.OnlyknowthewaymyheartjumpsasIpressthebuttondown,hearthehissofpaint,watchJ-A-C-begin.

Onlyknowthesoundofmyuncle’svoice,

stoppingmebeforemynameisapartofthehistory—liketheonesontheroofsandfireescapesandsubwaycars.IwishIcouldexplain.WishIhadthewordstostophisanger,stoptheforceofhimgrabbingmyhand,wishIknewhowtosay,Justletmewrite—everywhere!

Butmyunclekeepsaskingoverandoveragain,

What’swrongwithyou?Haveyoulostyourmind?Don’tyouknowpeoplegetarrestedforthis?

They’rejustwords,Iwhisper.They’renottryingtohurtanybody!

music

Eachmorningtheradiocomesonatseveno’clock.SometimesMichaelJacksonissingingthatA-B-Cisaseasyas1-2-3orSlyandtheFamilyStonearethankingusforlettingthembethemselves.Sometimesit’sslowermusic,theFiveStairstepstellingusthingsaregoingtogeteasier,ortheHolliessinging,Heain’theavy,he’smybrotherSoonwego...

Mymotherletsuschoosewhatmusicwewanttolistentoaslongasthewordfunkdoesn’tappearanywhereinthesong.ButthesummerIamten,funkisineverysinglesongthatcomesonthecoolblackradiostations.Soourmothermakesuslistentothewhiteones.

AllafternooncornypeoplesingaboutColorado,abouteverythingbeingbeautifulabouthowwe’veonlyjustbegun.MysisterfallsinlovewiththesingersbutIsneakofftoMaria’shousewheresafeinsideherroomwiththepinkshagcarpetandbunkbeds,wecancombourdolls’hairandsingalongwhen

theOhioPlayerssay,He’sthefunkiestWormintheworld.WecandancetheFunkyChicken,tellimaginaryintruderstogetthefunkoutofourfaces.Saythewordsohardandsoloudandsomanytimes,itbecomessomethingdifferenttous—something

sosillywelaughjustthinkingaboutit.Funky,funky,funky,wesingagainandagainuntilthewordisjustasoundnotconnectedtoanythinggoodorbadrightorwrong.

rikersisland

Whenthephonecallcomesinthemiddleofthenight,itisn’t

totellussomeonehasdied.It’sRobertcallingfromaprisoncalledRikersIsland.Evenfrommyhalf-asleepplace,Icanhearmymothertakingaheavybreath,whispering,Iknewthiswascoming,Robert.Iknewyouweren’tdoingright.

Inthemorning,weeatourcerealinsilenceasourmothertellsus

thatourunclewon’tbearoundforawhile.Whenweaskwherehe’sgone,shesays,Jail.Whenweaskwhy,shesays,Itdoesn’tmatter.Welovehim.That’sallweneedtoknowandkeepremembering.Robertwalkedthewideroad,shesays.Andnowhe’spayingforit.

Witnessesbelievethere’sawideroadandanarrowroad.TobegoodintheeyesofGodistowalkthenarrowone,liveagoodcleanlife,pray,dowhat’sright.Onthewideroad,thereiseverykindofbadthinganyonecanimagine.Iimaginemyuncledoinghissmoothdancestepsdownthewideroad,smilingasthemusicplaysloud.Iimaginehimlaughing,pressingquartersintoourpalms,pullingpresentsforusfromhisbag,thickgoldbraceletflashingathiswrist.Where’dyougetthis?mymotherasked,herfacetight.

Itdoesn’tmatter,myuncleanswered.Y’allknowIloveyou.

Youdoingtherightthing,Robert?mymotherwantedtoknow.Yes,myunclesaid.Ipromiseyou.

Itrainsallday.Wesitaroundthehousewaitingforthesuntocomeoutsowecangooutside.Dellreadsinthecornerofourroom.Ipulloutmybeat-upcompositionnotebooktrytowriteanotherbutterflypoem.Nothingcomes.

Thepagelooksliketheday—wrinkledandemptynolongerpromisinganyoneanything.

movingupstate

FromRikersIsland,myuncleissenttoaprisonupstatewecanvisit.

Wedon’tknowwhathe’lllooklike,howmuchhe’llhavechanged.Andbecauseourmotherwarnsusnotto,Idon’ttellanyonehe’sinjail.

Whenmyfriendsask,Isay,Hemovedupstate.We’regoingtovisithimsoon.

Helivesinabighouse,Isay.Withabigyardandeverything.

Butthemissingsettlesinsideofme.EverytimeJamesBrowncomesontheradio,IseeRobertdancing.

EverytimethecommercialfortheCrissydollcomesonIthinkhowIalmostgotone.

He’smyfavoriteuncle,Isayoneafternoon.

He’sourONLYuncle,mysistersays.Thengoesbacktoreading.

onthebustodannemora

Weboardthebuswhenthesunisjustkissingthesky.Darknesslikeacapethatwewearforhours,curledintoitandbacktosleep.FromsomewhereaboveustheO’Jaysaresinging,tellingpeopleallovertheworldtojoinhandsandstartalovetrain.Thesongrocksmegentlyintoandoutofdreamingandinthedream,atrainfilledwithlovegoesonandon.

Andinthestorythatbeginsfromthesong,thebusisnolongerabusandwe’renolongergoingtoDannemora.Butthereisfoodandlaughterandthemusic.Thegirltellingthestoryismebutnotmeatthesametime—watchingallofthis,writingitdownasfastasshecan,singingalongwiththeO’Jays,askingeveryonetoletthistrainkeeponriding...“ridingonthrough...”

andit’sthestoryofawholetrainfilledwithloveandhowthepeopleonitaren’tinprisonbutarefreetodanceandsingandhugtheirfamilieswhenevertheywant.

Onthebus,someofthepeoplearesleeping,othersarestaringoutthewindowortalkingsoftly.Eventhechildrenarequiet.Maybeeachofthem

isthinkingtheirowndream—ofdaddiesanduncles,brothers

andcousinsonedaybeingfreetocomeonboard.

Pleasedon’tmissthistrainatthestation‘Causeifyoumissit,Ifeelsorry,sorryforyou.

toogood

Thebusmovesslowoutofthecityuntilwecanseethemountains,andabovethat,somuchbluesky.

Passingthemountains.

PassingtheseaPassingtheheavens.That’ssoonwhereIwillbe...

Asongcomestomequickly,thewordsmovingthroughmybrainandoutofmymouthinawhisperbutstillmysisterhears,askswhotaughtittome.

Ijustmadeitup,Isay.

Noyoudidn’t,shesaysback.It’stoogood.Someonetaughtthattoyou.

Idon’tsayanythingback.Justlookoutthewindowandsmile.

Toogood,Iamthinking.ThestuffImakeupistoogood.

dannemora

Atthegateoftheprison,guardsglareatus,thenslowlyallowusin.

Mybigbrotherisafraid.Helooksupatthebarbedwireputshishandsinhispockets.Iknowhewisheshewashomewithhischemistryset.Iknowhewantstobeanywherebuthere.Nothingbutstoneandabigbuildingthatgoessofarupandsofarbackandforththatwecan’tseewherethebeginningisorwhereitmightend.Graybrick,smallwindowscoveredwithwire.Whocouldseeoutfromhere?Theguardscheckourpockets,checkourbags,makeuswalkthroughX-raymachines.

Mybigbrotherholdsouthisarms.Letstheguardspathimfromshouldertoankle,checkingforanythinghemightbehiding...HeisHopeAustinWoodsontheSecond,partofalonglineofWoodsons—doctorsandlawyersandteachers—butasquicklyasTHAT!hecanbecomeanumber.LikeRobertLeonIrbyisnowsomanynumbersacrossthepocketofhisprisonuniformthatit’shardnottokeeplookingatthem,waitingforthemtomorphintolettersthatspelloutmyuncle’sname.

notrobert

Whentheguardbringsouruncletothewaitingroomthatisfilledwithotherfamilieswaiting,heisnotRobert.Hisafroisgonenow,shavedtoablackshadowonhisperfectskull.HiseyebrowsarethickerthanIremember,dippingdowninanewer,sadderway.Evenwhenhesmiles,openshisarmstohugallofusatonce,thebitIcatchofit,beforejumpingintohishug,isahalfsmile,caughtandtrappedinsideanewer,sadderuncle.

mountainsong

OnthewayhomefromvisitingRobert,Iwatchthemountainsmovepastmeandslowlythemountainsongstartscomingagainmorewordsthistime,comingfasterthanIcansingthem.

PassingthemountainsPassingtheseaPassingtheheavenswaitingforme.

LookatthemountainsSuchabeautifulseaAndthere’sapromisethatheavenisfilledwithglory.

Isingthesongoverandoveragain,quietlyintothewindowpane,myforeheadpressedagainstthecoolglass.Tearscomingfastnow.ThesongmakesmethinkofRobertandDaddy

andGreenvilleandeverythingthatfeelsfarbehindmenow,everythingthatisgoing

oralreadygone.

IamthinkingifIcanholdontothememoryofthissonggethomeandwriteitdown,thenitwillhappen,I’llbeawriter.I’llbeabletoholdontoeachmoment,eachmemory

everything.

poemonpaper

WhenanyoneinthefamilyaskswhatI’mwriting,Iusuallysay,NothingorAstoryorApoemandonlymymothersays,Justsolongasyou’renotwritingaboutourfamily.

AndI’mnot.

Well,notreally...

Upinthemountainsfarfromtheseathere’saplacecalledDannemorathemenarenotfree...

daddy

Itisearlyspringwhenmygrandmothersendsforus.

Warmenoughtobelieveagainthatfoodwillcomefromthenewlythawedearth.Thisistheweather,mymothersays,Daddylovedtogardenin.Wearrivenotlongbeforemygrandfatherisabouttotakehislastbreaths,breathlessourselvesfromourfirstrideinanairplane.

Iwanttotellhimallaboutithowlouditwaswhentheplaneliftedintothesky,eachofus,leaningtowardthewindow,watchingNewYorkgrowsmallandspeckledbeneathus.Howthemealsarrivedontinytrays—somekindoffishthatnoneofusate.IwanttotellhimhowthestewardessgaveuswingstopintoourblousesandshirtsandtoldMamawewerebeautifulandwellbehaved.Butmygrandfatherissleepingwhenwecometohisbedside,openshiseyesonlytosmile,turnssothatmygrandmothercanpressicecubesagainsthislips.Shetellsus,Heneedshisrestnow.Thateveninghedies.

Onthedayheisburied,mysisterandIwearwhitedresses,theboysinwhiteshirtsandties.

WewalkslowlythroughNicholtown,alongparadeofpeople

wholovedhim—Hope,Dell,Romanandmeleadingit.Thisishowweburyourdead—asilentparadethroughthestreets,showingtheworldoursadness,otherswhoknewmygrandfatherjoininginonthewalk,childrenwaving,grown-upsdabbingattheireyes.

Ashestoashes,wesayatthegravesitewitheachhandfulofdirtwedropgentlyontohis

loweringcasket.Wewillseeyouinthebyandby,wesay.Wewillseeyouinthebyandby.

howtolisten#7

Eventhesilencehasastorytotellyou.Justlisten.Listen.

aftergreenville#2

AfterDaddydiesmygrandmothersellsthehouseinNicholtowngivesthebrownchairtoMissBell,Daddy’sclothestotheBrothersattheKingdomHall,thekitchentableandbrightyellowchairstohersisterLucindainFieldcrestVillage.

AfterDaddydiesmygrandmotherbringsthebedourmotherwasbornintoBrooklyn.Unpacksherdressesinthesmallemptybedroomdownstairs,putsherBible,WatchtowersandAwakes,apictureofDaddyonthelittlebrownbookshelf.

AfterDaddydiesspringblursintosummerthenwintercomesontoocoldandfast,andmygrandmothermovesachairtothelivingroomwindowwatchesthetreedropthelastofitsleaveswhileboysplayskellyandspinningtopsinthemiddleofourquietBrooklynstreet.

AfterDaddydiesIlearntojumpdoubleDutchslowlytrippingagainandagainovermytoo-bigfeet.Counting,Ten,twenty,thirty,fortydeepintothewinteruntiloneafternoon

gravityreleasesmeandmyfeetflyfreeintheropes,fifty,sixty,seventy,eighty,ninety...

asmygrandmotherwatchesme.Bothofourworldschangedforever.

mimosatree

Amimosatree,greenandthinlimbed,pushesupthroughthesnow.Mygrandmotherbroughttheseedswithher

frombackhome.

Sometimes,shepullsachairtothewindow,looksdownovertheyard.

Thepromiseofglitteringsidewalksfeelsalongtimebehindusnow,nodiamondsanywheretobefound.

Butsomedays,justaftersnowfalls,thesuncomesout,shinesdownonthepromiseofthattreefrombackhomejoiningushere.

Shinesdownoverthebrightwhiteground.

Andonthosedays,somuchlightandwarmthfillstheroomthatit’shardnottobelieveinalittlebit

ofeverything.

bubble-gumcigarettes

Youcanbuyaboxofbubble-gumcigarettesforadimeatthebodegaaroundthecorner.Sometimes,MariaandIwalkthere,ourfingerslacedtogether,anickelineachofourpockets.

Thebubblegumispinkwithwhitepaperwrappedaroundit.Whenyouputitinyourmouthandblow,awhitepuffcomesout.Youcanreallybelieveyou’resmoking.

Wetalkwiththebubble-gumcigarettesbetweenourfingers.HoldthemintheairlikethemoviestarsonTV.Weletthemdanglefromourmouthsandlookateachotherthroughslittedeyesthenlaughathowgrown-upwecanbehowbeautiful.

Whenmysisterseesuspretendingtosmoke,sheshakesherhead.That’swhyDaddydied,shesays.

AfterthatmeandMariapeelthepaperoff,turnourcigarettesintoregularbubblegum.Afterthatthegameisover.

what’sleftbehind

You’vegotyourdaddy’seasyway,mygrandmothersaystome,holdingthepictureofmygrandfatherinherhands.Iwatchyouwithyourfriendsandseehimalloveragain.

Wherewilltheweddingsupperbe?Waydownyonderinahollowtree...

Welookatthepicturewithouttalking.Sometimes,Idon’tknowthewordsforthings,howtowritedownthefeelingofknowingthateverydyingpersonleavessomethingbehind.

Igotmygrandfather ’seasyway.MaybeIknowthiswhenI’mlaughing.MaybeIknowitwhenIthinkofDaddyandhefeelscloseenoughformetolaymyheadagainsthisshoulder.

Irememberhowhelaughed,Itellmygrandmotherandshesmilesandsays,Becauseyoulaughjustlikehim.Twopeasinapod,youwere.

Twopeasinapodwewere.

thestoriesitell

Everyautumn,theteacherasksustowriteaboutsummervacationandreadittotheclass.

InBrooklyn,everybodygoessouthortoPuertoRicoortotheircousin’shouseinQueens.

ButaftermygrandmothermovestoNewYork,weonlygodownsouthonce,formyauntLucinda’sfuneral.Afterthat,mygrandmothersaysshe’sdonewiththeSouthsaysitmakeshertoosad.

Butnowwhensummercomes

ourfamilygetsonaplane,fliesto

AfricaHawaiiChicago.

ForsummervacationwewenttoLongIsland,tothebeach.Everybodywentfishingandeverybodycaughtalotoffish.

Eventhoughnooneinmyfamilyhaseverbeen

toLongIslandorfishedorlikestheocean—toodeep,tooscary.Still,eachautumn,Iwriteastory.

Inmywriting,thereisastepfathernowwholivesinCaliforniabutmeetsuswhereverwego.Thereisachurch,notaKingdomHall.Thereisabluecar,anewdress,looseunribbonedhair.

Inmystories,ourfamilyisregularasairtwoboys,twogirls,sometimesadog.

Didthatreallyhappen?thekidsinclassask.

Yeah,Isay.Ifitdidn’t,howwouldIknowwhattowrite?

howtolisten#8

Doyouremember...?someone’salwaysaskingandsomeoneelse,alwaysdoes.

fate&faith&reasons

Everythinghappensforareason,mymothersays.ThentellsmehowKaybelievedinfateanddestiny—everythingthateverhappenedorwasgoingtohappencouldn’teverbeavoided.Themarchersdownsouthdidn’tjustupandstarttheirmarching—itwaspartofalonger,biggerplan,thatmaybebelongedtoGod.

Mymothertellsmethisaswefoldlaundry,whitetowelsseparatedfromthecoloredones.EachathreattotheotherandIrememberthetimeIspilledbleachonabluetowel,dottingitforever.Thepalepinktowel,amemoryofwhenitwaswashedwitharedone.Maybethereissomething,afterall,tothewaysomepeoplewanttoremain—eachtoitsownkind.Butintimemaybeeverythingwillfadetogray.

EvenallofuscomingtoBrooklyn,mymothersays,wasn’tsomeaccident.AndIcan’thelpthinkingofthebirdshere—howtheydisappearinthewintertime,headingsouthforfoodandwarmthandshelter.Headingsouthtostayalive...passingusontheway...

Noaccidents,mymothersays.Justfateandfaith

andreasons.

WhenIaskmymotherwhatshebelievesin,shestops,midfold,andlooksoutthebackwindow.

Autumn

isfullonhereandtheskyisbrightblue.

IguessIbelieveinrightnow,shesays.Andtheresurrection.AndBrooklyn.Andthefourofyou.

whatif...?

Maria’smotherneverleftBayamón,PuertoRico,andmymotherneverleftGreenville.

WhatifnoonehadeverwalkedthegrassyfieldsthatarenowMadisonStreetandsaid,Let’sputsomehouseshere.

WhatifthepeopleinMaria’sbuildingdidn’tsell1279MadisonStreettoMaria’sparentsandourlandlordtoldmymomthathecouldn’trent1283tosomeonewhoalreadyhadfourchildren.

Whatiftheparkwiththeswingswasn’trightacrossKnickerbockerAvenue?

WhatifMariahadn’twalkedoutofherbuildingonedayandsaid,MynameisMariabutmymomcallsmeGoogoo.WhatifIhadlaughedinsteadofsaying,You’relucky.IwishIhadanickname,too.Youwanttogototheparksometime?

Whatifshedidn’thaveasisterandtwobrothersandIdidn’thaveasisterandtwobrothersandherdaddidn’tteachustoboxandhermotherdidn’tcooksuchgoodfood?

Ican’tevenimagineanyofit,Mariasays.

Nope,Isay.NeithercanI.

bushwickhistorylesson

BeforeGermanmotherswrappedscarvesaroundtheirheads,

kissedtheirownmothersgood-byeandheadedacrosstheworld

toBushwick—

BeforetheItalianfatherssailedacrosstheoceanforthedreamofAmericaandfoundthemselvesinBushwick—

BeforeDominicandaughtersdonnedquinceañeradressesandwalkedproudlydownBushwickAvenue—

BeforeyoungbrownboysincutoffshortsspuntheirfirsttopsandplayedtheirfirstgamesofskellyonBushwickStreets—

Beforeanyofthat,thisplacewascalledBoswijck,

settledbytheDutchandFranciscustheNegro,aformerslavewhoboughthisfreedom.

AndallofNewYorkwascalledNewAmsterdam,runbyaman

namedPeterStuyvesant.Therewereslaveshere.Thosewhocouldaffordtoowntheirfreedomlivedontheothersideofthewall.

AndnowthatplaceiscalledWallStreet.

Whenmyteachersays,Sowritedownwhatallofthismeanstoyou,ourheadsbendoverournotebooks,thewholeclasssilent.Thewholeclassbelongingsomewhere:Bushwick.

Ididn’tjustappearoneday.Ididn’tjustwakeupandknowhowtowritemyname.

Ikeepwriting,knowingnowthatIwasalongtimecoming.

howtolisten#9

Underthebackporchthere’sanaloneplaceIgowritingallI’veheard.

thepromiseland

Whenmyunclegetsoutofjailheisn’tjustmyuncleanymore,heisRoberttheMuslimandwearsasmallblackkufionhishead.

AndeventhoughweknowweWitnessesarethechosenones,welistentothestorieshetellsaboutamannamedMuhammadandaholyplacecalledMeccaandthestrengthofallBlackpeople.

Wesitinacirclearoundhim,hishandsmovingslowthroughtheair,hisvoicecalmerandquieterthanitwasbeforehewentaway.

WhenhepullsoutasmallrugtoprayonIkneelbesidehim,wantingtoseehisMeccawantingtoknowtheplacehecallsthePromiseLand.

Lookwithyourheartandyourhead,hetellsmehisownheadbowed.It’soutthereinfrontofyou.You’llknowwhenyougetthere.

powertothepeople

OntheTVscreenawomannamedAngelaDavisistellingusthere’sarevolutiongoingonandthatit’stime

forBlackpeopletodefendthemselves.

SoMariaandIwalkthroughthestreets,ourfistsraisedintheairAngelaDavisstyle.

WereadaboutherintheDailyNews,runtothetelevisioneachtimeshe’sinterviewed.

Sheisbeautifulandpowerfulandhasmysamegap-toothedsmile.WedreamofrunningawaytoCaliforniatojointheBlackPantherstheorganizationAngelaisapartof.

Sheisnotafraid,shesays,todieforwhatshebelievesinbutdoesn’tplantodiewithoutafight.

TheFBIsaysAngelaDavisisoneofAmerica’sMostWanted.

Already,therearesomanythingsIdon’tunderstand,whysomeonewouldhavetodieorevenfightforwhattheybelievein.

Whythecopswouldwantsomeonewhoistryingtochangetheworldinjail.

Wearenotafraidtodie,MariaandIshout,fistshigh,forwhatwebelievein.Butbothofusknow—we’dratherkeepbelievingandlive.

sayitloud

MymothertellsustheBlackPanthersaredoingallkindsofstufftomaketheworldabetterplaceforBlackchildren.

InOakland,theystartedafreebreakfastprogramsothatpoorkidscanhaveamealbeforestartingtheirschoolday.Pancakes,toast,eggs,fruit:wewatchthekidseathappily,singsongsabouthowproudtheyaretobeBlack.Wesingthesongalongwiththemstandonthebasesoflamppostsandscream,Sayitloud:I’mBlackandI’mprouduntilmymotherhollersfromthewindow,Getdownbeforeyoubreakyourneck.

Idon’tunderstandtherevolution.InBushwick,there’sastreetwecan’tcrosscalledWyckoffAvenue.Whitepeopleliveontheotherside.Onceaboyfrommyblockgotbeatupforwalkingoverthere.Oncetherewerefourwhitefamiliesonourblockbuttheyallmovedawayexceptfortheoldladywholivesbythetree.Somedays,shebringsoutcookiestellsusstoriesoftheoldneighborhoodwheneveryonewasGermanorIrishandevensomeItaliansdownbyWilsonAvenue.Allkindsofpeople,shesays.Andthecookiesaretoogoodformetosay,

Exceptus.

Everyoneknowswheretheybelonghere.It’snotGreenville

butit’snotdiamondsidewalkseither.

Istilldon’tknowwhatitisthatwouldmakepeoplewanttogetalong.

Maybenoonedoes.

AngelaDavissmiles,gap-toothedandbeautiful,raisesherfistintheair

says,Powertothepeople,looksoutfromthetelevision

directlyintomyeyes.

maybemecca

Thereisateenageronourblockwithonearmmissing,wecallhimLeftieandhetellsushelosthisarminVietnam.That’sawar,hesays.Y’allluckytobetooyoungtogo.Itdoesn’thurtanymore,hetellsuswhenwegatheraroundhim.Buthiseyesaresadeyesandsomedayshewalksaroundtheblockmaybeahundredtimeswithoutsayinganythingtoanyone.Whenwecall,HeyLeftie!hedoesn’tevenlookourway.

Someevenings,IkneeltowardMeccawithmyuncle.MaybeMeccaistheplaceLeftiegoestoinhismind,whenthememoryoflosinghisarmbecomestoomuch.MaybeMeccaisgoodmemories,presentsandstoriesandpoetryandarrozconpolloandfamilyandfriends...

MaybeMeccaistheplaceeveryoneislookingfor...

It’soutthereinfrontofyou,myunclesays.

IknowI’llknowitwhenIgetthere.

therevolution

Don’twaitforyourschooltoteachyou,myunclesays,abouttherevolution.It’shappeninginthestreets.

He’sbeenoutofjailformorethanayearnowandhishairisanafroagain,gentlymovinginthewindasweheadtothepark,himholdingtighttomyhandevenwhenwe’renotcrossingKnickerbockerAvenue,evennowwhenI’mtoooldforhandholdingandthelike.

TherevolutioniswhenShirleyChisholmranforpresidentandtherestoftheworldtriedtoimagineaBlackwomanintheWhiteHouse.

WhenIhearthewordrevolutionIthinkofthecarouselwithallthosebeautifulhorsesgoingaroundasthoughthey’llneverstopandmechoosingthepurpleoneeachtime,climbingupontoitandreachingforthegoldenring,assoftmusicplays.

Therevolutionisalwaysgoingtobehappening.

Iwanttowritethisdown,thattherevolutionislikeamerry-go-round,historyalwaysbeingmadesomewhere.Andmaybeforashorttime,we’reapartofthathistory.Andthentheridestopsandourturnisover.

WewalkslowtowardtheparkwhereIcanalreadyseethebigswings,emptyandwaitingforme.

AndafterIwriteitdown,maybeI’llenditthisway:

MynameisJacquelineWoodsonandIamreadyfortheride.

howtolisten#10

WritedownwhatIthinkIknow.Theknowingwillcome.

Justkeeplistening...

awriter

You’reawriter,Ms.Vivosays,hergrayeyesbrightbehindthinwireframes.HersmilebiggerthananythingsoIsmileback,happytohearthesewordsfromateacher ’smouth.Sheisafeminist,shetellsusandthirtyfifth-gradehandsbendintodeskswhereourdictionarieswaittoopenyetanotherworldtous.Ms.Vivopauses,watchesourfingersflyWebster’shasouranswers.Equalrights,aboynamedAndrewyellsout.Forwomen.Myhandsfreezeonthethinwhitepages.LikeBlacks,Ms.Vivo,too,ispartofarevolution.

Butrightnow,thatrevolutionissofarawayfromme.Thismoment,thishere,thisrightnowismyteacher

saying,You’reawriter,assheholdsthepoemIamjustbeginning.Thefirstfourlines,stolenfrommysister:

Blackbrothers,Blacksisters,allofthemweregreatnofearnofrightbutawillingnesstofight...

Youcanhavethem,Dellsaidwhenshesaw.Idon’twanttobeapoet.

Andthenmyownpencilmovinglateintotheevening:

Inbigfinehouseslivedthewhites

inlittleoldshackslivedtheblacksbuttheblacksweresmartinfeartheytooknopart.OneofthemwasMartinwithaheartofgold.

You’reawriter,Ms.Vivosays,holdingmypoemouttome.

AndstandinginfrontoftheclasstakingmypoemfromhermyvoiceshakesasIrecitethefirstline:

Blackbrothers,Blacksisters,allofthemweregreat....

Butmyvoicegrowsstrongerwitheachwordbecausemorethananythingelseintheworld,Iwanttobelieveher.

everywish,onedream

EverydandelionblowneachStarlight,starbright,ThefirststarIseetonight.

Mywishisalwaysthesame.

Everyfalleneyelashandfirstfireflyofsummer...

Thedreamremains.

Whatdidyouwishfor?Tobeawriter.

Everyheads-uppennyfoundanddaydreamandnightdreamandevenwhenpeoplesayit’sapipedream...!

Iwanttobeawriter.

Everysunriseandsunsetandsongagainstacoldwindowpane.

Passingthemountains.

Passingthesea.

Everystoryread

everypoemremembered:

IlovedmyfriendandWhenIseebirchesbendtoleftandrightand“Nay,”answeredthechild:“butthesearethewoundsofLove.”

Everymemory...

Froggiewenta-courting,andhedidrideUhhmm.

bringsmecloserandclosertothedream.

theearthfromfaraway

EverySaturdaymorning,werundownstairstothetelevision.JustasthethemesongfromTheBigBlueMarblebegins,thefourofussingalong:

Theearth’sabigbluemarblewhenyouseeitfromoutthere.

Thenthecameraiszoominginonthatmarble,thebluebecoming

water,thenland,thenchildreninAfricaandTexasandChina

andSpainandsometimes,NewYorkCity!Theworldcloseenoughtotouchnowandchildrenfromalloverrightinourlivingroom!Tellingustheirstories.

Thesunandmoondeclare,ourbeauty’sveryrare...

Theworld—myworld!—likewords.OncetherewasonlytheletterJandmysister ’shandwrappedaroundmine,guidingme,promisingmeinfinity.Thisbigbluemarbleofworldandwordsandpeopleandplacesinsidemyheadand

somewhereoutthere,too.

Allofit,minenowifIjustlisten

andwriteitdown.

whatibelieve

IbelieveinGodandevolution.IbelieveintheBibleandtheQur ’an.IbelieveinChristmasandtheNewWorld.Ibelievethatthereisgoodineachofusnomatterwhoweareorwhatwebelievein.Ibelieveinthewordsofmygrandfather.IbelieveinthecityandtheSouththepastandthepresent.IbelieveinBlackpeopleandWhitepeoplecoming

together.Ibelieveinnonviolenceand“PowertothePeople.”Ibelieveinmylittlebrother ’spaleskinandmyown

darkbrown.Ibelieveinmysister ’sbrillianceandthetoo-easy

booksIlovetoread.IbelieveinmymotheronabusandBlackpeople

refusingtoride.Ibelieveingoodfriendsandgoodfood.

Ibelieveinjohnnypumpsandjumpropes,MalcolmandMartin,BuckeyesandBirmingham,writingandlistening,badwordsandgoodwords—IbelieveinBrooklyn!

IbelieveinonedayandsomedayandthisperfectmomentcalledNow.

eachworld

Whentherearemanyworldsyoucanchoosetheoneyouwalkintoeachday.

Youcanimagineyourselfbrilliantasyoursister,slowermoving,quietandthoughtfulasyourolderbrotherorfilledupwiththehiccuppingjoyandlaughterofthebabyinthefamily.

Youcanimagineyourselfamothernow,climbingontoabusatnightfall,turningtowavegood-byetoyourchildren,watchingtheworldofSouthCarolinadisappearbehindyou.

Whentherearemanyworlds,lovecanwrapitselfaroundyou,say,Don’tcry.Say,Youareasgoodasanyone.Say,Keeprememberingme.Andyouknow,evenasthe

worldexplodesaroundyou—thatyouareloved...

Eachdayanewworldopensitselfuptoyou.Andalltheworldsyouare—OhioandGreenvilleWoodsonandIrbyGunnar ’schildandJack’sdaughterJehovah’sWitnessandnonbelieverlistenerandwriterJackieandJacqueline—

gatherintooneworld

calledYou

whereYoudecide

whateachworldandeachstoryandeachending

willfinallybe.

author’snote

Memoryisstrange.WhenIfirstbegantowriteBrownGirlDreaming,mychildhoodmemoriesofGreenvillecamefloodingbacktome—smallmomentsandbiggerones,too.ThingsIhadn’tthoughtaboutinyearsandotherstuffI’veneverforgotten.WhenIbegantowriteitalldown,IrealizedhowmuchImissedtheSouth.Soforthefirsttimeinmanyyears,Ireturned“home,”andsawcousinsIhadn’tseensinceIwassmall,heardstoriesIhadheardmanytimesfrommygrandmother,walkedroadsthatwereverydifferentnowbutstillthesameroadsofmychildhood.Itwasabittersweetjourney.IwishIcouldhavewalkedthoseroadsagainwithmymom,mygrandfather,myuncleRobert,myauntKay,andmygrandmother.Butallhavemadetheirownjourneytothenextplace.SoIwalkedtheroadsalonethistime.Still,itfeltasthougheachofthemwaswithme—they’realldeeplyetchednow,intomemory.

Andthat’swhatthisbookis—mypast,mypeople,mymemories,mystory.IknewIcouldn’twriteabouttheSouthwithoutwritingaboutOhio.AndeventhoughIwasonlya

babywhenwelivedthere,IhavethegiftofmyamazingauntAdaAdams,whoisagenealogistandourfamilyhistorian.Shewasmygo-topersonandfilledinsomanygapsinmymemory.AuntAdatookmerightbacktoColumbus.Duringthewritingofthisbook,IreturnedtoOhiowithmyfamily.AuntAdatookusonajourneyoftheUndergroundRailroad,showedusthegravesofgrandparentsandgreat-grandparents,toldmesomuchhistoryIhadmissedoutonasachild.AuntAdanotonlyshowedmethepastbutshealsohelpedmeunderstandthepresent.Sooften,Iamaskedwheremystoriescomefrom.Iknownowmystoriesarepartofacontinuum—myauntisastoryteller.Soweremymomandmygrandmother.AndthehistoryAuntAdashowedme—therichhistorythatismyhistory—mademeatonceproudandthoughtful.Thepeoplewhocamebeforemeworkedsohardtomakethisworldabetterplaceforme.Iknowmyworkistomaketheworldabetterplaceforthosecomingafter.AslongasIcanrememberthis,IcancontinuetodotheworkIwasputheretodo.

Onthejourneytowritingthisbook,mydad,JackWoodson,chimedinwhenhecould.EvenasIwritethis,Ismilebecausemyfatheralwaysmakesmelaugh.IliketothinkIacquiredabitofhissenseofhumor.Ididn’tknowhimformanyyears.WhenImethimagainattheageoffourteen,itwasasthoughapuzzlepiecehaddroppedfromtheairandlandedrightwhereitbelonged.Mydadisthatpuzzlepiece.

GapswerealsofilledinbymyfriendMaria,whohelpedthejourneyalongwithpicturesandstories.Whenwewerelittle,weusedtosaywe’donedaybeoldladiestogether,sittinginrockingchairsrememberingourchildhoodandlaughing.We’vebeenfriendsfornearlyfivedecadesnowandstillcalleachotherMyForeverFriend.IhopeeveryonehasaForeverFriendintheirlife.

Butattheendoftheday,IwasalonewithBrownGirlDreaming—walkingthroughthesememories

andmakingsenseoutofmyselfasawriterinawayIhadneverdonebefore.IamoftenaskedifIhadahardlifegrowingup.Ithinkmylifewasverycomplicatedandvery

rich.Lookingbackonit,Ithinkmylifewasatonceordinaryandamazing.Icouldn’timagineanyotherlife.IknowthatIwasluckyenoughtobebornduringatimewhentheworldwaschanginglikecrazy—andthatIwasapartofthatchange.IknowthatIwasandcontinuetobeloved.

Icouldn’taskforanythingmore.

thankfuls

Iamthankfulformymemory.Whenitneededhelponthejourney,Iamalsothankfulformyfabulouseditor,NancyPaulsen.MorehelpcamefromSaraLaFleur.Thisbookwouldn’tbeintheworldwithoutmyfamily,includingHope,Odella,andRoman,Toshi,Jackson-Leroi,andJuliet—thankyouforyourpatienceandthoroughreadingandrereading.Thankstomyforeverfriend,MariaCortez-Ocasio,herhusband,Sam,andherdaughtersJillian,Samantha,andAngelina.Evenhergrandson,LittleSammy.Andofcourse,hermom,Darma—thanksforfeedingmesowellovertheyears.

ToshiReagon,thanksforreadingthisandsittingwithmeasIfrettedoverit.Thanksforyourmusic,yourguidance,yourstories.

OntheOhioside:abigbigthank-youtomyauntAda—genealogistextraordinaire!—andtomyauntAliciaandmyuncleDavidand,ofcourse,mydad,JackWoodson.

OntheGreenvilleside:bigthankstomycousinsMichaelandSherylIrby,MeganIrby,MichaelandKennethSullivan,DorothyVaughn-Welch,SamuelMiller,La’Brandon,MonicaVaughn,andallmyotherrelativeswhoopenedtheirdoors,letmein,toldmetheirstories!

InNorthCarolina,thankssomuchtoStephanieGrant,AraWilson,Augusta,andJosephineforthatfabulouslyquietguestroomanddinnerattheendofthedayformanydaysuntilthisbookwasclosetobeingintheworld.

OntheBrooklynandVermontsides:thankstomyvillage.Sogratefulforallofyou!Inmemory:thankstomymom,MaryAnneWoodson,myunclesOdellandRobertIrby,my

grandmotherGeorgianaScottIrby,mygrandfatherGunnarIrby,andmyauntHalliqueCaroline(Kay)Irby.

Thesethankfulswouldn’tbecompletewithoutacknowledgingthemyriadteacherswho,inmanydifferentways,pointedthisbrowngirltowardherdream.

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