ALSOBYJACQUELINEWOODSON
LastSummerwithMaizon
TheDearOneMaizonatBlueHill
BetweenMadisonandPalmettoIHadn’tMeanttoTellYouThis
FromtheNotebooksofMelaninSunTheHouseYouPassontheWay
IfYouComeSoftly
LenaMiracle’sBoys
Hush
LocomotionBehindYouFeathers
AfterTupacandDFoster
Peace,LocomotionBeneathaMethMoon
NANCYPAULSENBOOKS
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“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
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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.