by Renée Watson
“Yes, you can,” Maxine says.
I can. I can speak for myself.
I walk over to Mia, and as I approach her, she smiles. “Hey, Jade, so good to see you again.”
“Good to see you too,” I say. “I love this exhibit.”
“I’m so glad.” Mia is standing there, normal and casual, with no idea that my heart is pounding on the inside.
“I, um, I really like what you said about why you started your business,” I tell her. “I’d like to learn more. You know, I’m an artist—”
“Yes, Maxine keeps telling me that. I’d love to see some of your work.”
“Maybe I can come by one day and bring a few pieces.” I can see Sabrina gathering everyone to close the day. I am running out of time to ask about the internship. Mia says I can stop by anytime, so then I say, “Maybe I’ll come by next week after school. I’d like to talk with you about the possibility of interning here. Do you have internships?”
“I do,” Mia tells me. “I have two paid internship positions. I’d love for you to work here. Let’s talk more about it. In the meantime, I’ll get you an application so we can get the process started.” Mia walks to the back and goes into her office. She returns, the application in her hand.
Sabrina calls out, “Okay, everybody! We’re going to end the day with a closing reflection. I want you all to close your eyes, think about our time together, everything you saw, the information you learned. Now think of one word you’re feeling, and once everyone has their words, we’ll go around and put those words into the space.”
The room is silent.
I don’t need to think hard. My word comes immediately.
Inspired.
63
soledad
loneliness
How I Know Sam’s Not My Friend Anymore:
No more bus rides to and from school together.
When Mr. Flores tells us to choose a partner, she doesn’t choose me.
Even when something is funny, she doesn’t turn to me and laugh. She’d rather hold it in, keep her joy to herself.
64
oportunidad
opportunity
Woman to Woman’s second Money Matters workshop has ended, and the guest speaker is bombarded by all the mentees rushing to meet him. Sabrina calls me over to the back of the church, telling me she has something to ask me. “As you know, we’re having our annual fundraiser soon, and I wanted to know if you’d contribute a piece of art for our auction.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. We’d love to showcase some student work this year,” Sabrina says. “You can donate something you already have, or if you want, you can make something new.”
Of course I tell her yes.
Maxine and I talk about it the whole way home. She parked her car at my house before the workshop and we walked over together.
When we get to my house, Maxine comes in to say hello to Mom. I tell Mom about the auction, and the first thing she says is, “So they’re going to make money off your art? What do you get out of it?”
I tell her what Sabrina told me. “I get exposure. There are going to be a lot of people there—people with money—and you never know what could happen. Plus, it helps raise money for us to go on all those outings and, of course, it’ll help the scholarship fund. I like being able to say I’m not just getting an opportunity from Woman to Woman, but that I am helping to keep it thriving. Don’t you think that’s a good thing?”
“I do,” Mom says. “I just want to make sure you’re okay with it. That it’s really something you want to do.” Then she looks at Maxine and says, “What do you think? You think it’s all right for her to do this? Aren’t these kind of events fancy and full of rich white folks? I don’t want people gawking over her. I mean, I know she’s all excited about it, but I don’t want her to come home, feeling like she’s been a zoo animal all night. You know what I mean?”
Maxine nods. “I absolutely know what you mean. I’ve had to participate in my fair share of fundraisers and gala events. I can give her some tips on what to expect,” Maxine says. “And I’ll be there looking out for her,” she promises.
“Well, good. Glad she won’t be there by herself,” Mom says.
“And you know, it will be good for Jade to speak about her work and meet and greet people who are interested in supporting young women. They need to meet her,” Maxine explains.
“Well,” Mom says. “I guess they do.” She smiles so big, bigger than any smile I’ve seen on her face in a long while. “Our little artist is doing big things, huh, Maxine?”
I like that she said our, like she’s okay with sharing me.
Mom goes to the kitchen. “Maxine, you been using any of those skills I taught you?”
“Well, you see, what happened was—”
“No excuses,” Mom says, laughing and shaking her head.
Maxine and I go to the kitchen too.
Mom is cutting up a rotisserie chicken. There’s a bag of kale sitting on a cutting board and a box of croutons on the countertop. “Thought I’d try one of those healthy-living recipes,” she says. Mom asks Maxine to rinse the kale.
I take out bowls and forks. I set them on the table and ask Maxine, “So, what is it going to be like?”
She tells me it’s a cocktail party. “But of course, you won’t be drinking.” She laughs.
“I know that’s right,” Mom says.
Maxine tells us, “This year the fundraiser will be at Mia’s gallery. There will be a live jazz band, and people will mingle and talk and buy art. And toward the end, Sabrina will say a few words about the program. That’s all.”
“So, I don’t have to make a speech or anything, right?”
“No,” Maxine says, “but since your art is being featured as the student art, I’m sure folks will want to talk with you. You should think of how you want to represent yourself. Come up with a few things you want to say about your art, about the program, about your goals in life.” She tells me, “You’ll be fine. Just be yourself.”
65
confianza
confidence
I am the most dressed up I’ve ever been. Other than these heels Maxine suggested I buy, I am feeling good. By the end of the night, though, I think I might be limping back home. Maxine helped me pick out makeup. At first I didn’t want to wear any, but now that she’s finished painting my face, I have to admit, I really like it.
“Okay, my turn,” Maxine says.
I leave my room and let her have some privacy to get ready. As I wait in the living room, E.J. comes home. “You got a date or something?” he asks.
“No, E.J. I’m going to a Woman to Woman event,” I say.
“Oh, all right, then. I know I’ve been missing in action a little bit, but you better not be dating nobody without my knowing.”
I roll my eyes.
“You think I’m playing?”
Maxine comes out of my bedroom, all transformed out of her jeans and T-shirt. E.J. looks her up and down. “You sure you not going out on a double date?”
Maxine laughs. “What kind of mentor would I be?” she asks.
“Just checking. I mean, you two are looking real nice,” E.J. says.
“Thanks, E.J.,” I say. “But I think it’s ridiculous that you think I could only be getting dressed up for a guy.”
“Well, you look beautiful, whoever it’s for.”
I think for a moment and then tell him, “It’s for me.”
Once we get to the fundraiser, I don’t feel as out of place as I thought I would. That prep time with Maxine paid off. She was right about it all, except she forgot the part about how good the food would be, how waiters walk around bringing you tray after tray of huge shrimp, stuffed mushrooms. Maxine didn’t tell me how I’d feel like some kind of celebrity, the way everyone keeps coming up to me, asking, “Are you the young lady who made that art piece? It’s lovely.” They swarm around my framed art, hovering at the wall like bees, making bids for
the silent auction and walking away, then coming back again to see if anyone else has made a bid.
I can’t believe people are going back and forth about who wants to buy something I made.
There’s so much happening all at once. Music from the jazz ensemble playing in the background, servers coming up to me every few seconds with a new offering. I am standing with Maxine and a woman named Gina, who is one of the board members of Woman to Woman.
“I love your work,” Gina says to me. She is a short white woman with black hair. We talk for a while about art because she used to paint when she was younger. “I don’t do it as much as I’d like to, but I pull out my brushes every now and then,” she tells me. Gina gives me her card. “I’d love to talk with you more about your future plans for college. Keep in touch.”
Another couple walks up to us. They are holding hands, and everything about them looks expensive. Even the smiles on their faces. They give me compliments and ask me what school I go to, what colleges I am interested in, what I like about Woman to Woman.
I answer their questions and tell them, “The thing I like most about this program is that the mentors and program director really listen.” They are all looking at me and smiling and drinking their wine and then smiling some more. I get what Mom meant by feeling like I’m on display. But Maxine was right too; if I’m going to be on display, I might as well use the opportunity to say something worthwhile, so when the man with the perfect smile asks, “And what have you learned?” I tell him I’ve learned I don’t have to wait to be given an opportunity, but that I can make an opportunity and use my voice to speak up for what I need and want.
The man with the perfect smile says, “My, I am so impressed. You are so articulate, so well spoken, and—”
Before he can finish his sentence, Gina cuts him off. “What did you expect?” she asks. She says this with a forced grin on her face, a tone in her voice that is trying to hide its irritation. She stands closer to me, almost shielding me from him. “Woman to Woman is full of talented, smart, passionate young women from all over the city.”
The man’s face tenses up, and I don’t know what to do. Thankfully, Maxine is standing next to me. She steps forward a bit and says, “Yes, and I’m so lucky to work with them.”
Just then one of the servers comes up to us. “Stuffed mushroom, anyone?”
We each take one, and there’s barely time for the awkwardness to settle in, because Sabrina takes the mic and makes a short speech.
At the end of the night, the winner of the auction comes up to me, smiling, my piece in his hands. He is a tall brown man with a watch on his wrist that says he could buy all of the art at this auction and not miss a dime. “My name is Andrew, and I’m very glad to be the new owner of this piece of art. I hear you are the artist.”
I shake his hand. Firm, like Maxine taught me. “My name is Jade.”
“I’ve got my eye on you,” he says. “I hope to see more work from you in the future. Do you have more pieces like this?”
“Oh, no,” I tell him. “I created this especially for this event.” Maxine clears her throat, giving me a glance nudging me to say more. “Right now I am working on a series of collages about police brutality against unarmed black women and men.” I also tell him all about my pieces on York and Lewis and Clark, and my vision to make beauty out of everyday things, to find beauty in the disregarded.
Andrew says, “The world is in for a big awakening once you really get your work out there.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a business card. “If there’s any way I can help you, shoot me an e-mail.”
Throughout the night, guests keep coming up to me and congratulating me and handing me their business cards. Maxine smiles at me. “Hold on to those cards you’re getting. Follow up tomorrow.”
“Okay.” I slide them into my purse, which is only big enough for my lip gloss, mints, house key, and these cards.
Sabrina motions for Maxine to come over and talk with one of the board members. I stay behind, looking at the space on the wall where my art was. I think about these people who don’t even know me but want to support me, and I am feeling seen and heard.
66
la tarea
homework
The next day, Lee Lee comes over after school so we can do our homework together. Hers is more interesting than mine. She is writing an essay about how media is used in social movements.
“I’m comparing how in 1955 the civil rights movement got a lot of attention because Jet magazine printed the photo of Emmett Till. Our teacher told us that decision put a face to racism in the South. People all over the world reacted. So, yeah, we have to write about that and connect it to how Facebook and Twitter are being used by activists now.”
“Your teacher assigned this?”
“Yeah. I wrote the first draft, but now she’s saying I need to revise it.” Lee Lee sounds so annoyed by that, but I’d rather do her homework than mine. I don’t think any of the teachers at St. Francis would assign that.
When we’re finished with our homework, Lee Lee says, “You want to hear my poem for Natasha Ramsey? I’m still working on it, but I think it’s almost finished.”
I listen to Lee Lee read her poem, and I want to say something more profound, but all I can think of is, “Wow, Lee Lee, that’s really good.”
“Thanks,” Lee Lee says. She sets her notebook down and looks over the poem again. “I want to do something with this.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Everyone’s poems in class were so good. Seems like a waste to just write them and no one hears them except us.”
When Lee Lee says this, I think about Mia’s gallery. “I have an idea,” I say.
For the rest of the night we think up a plan to have an open mic and art show in honor of Natasha Ramsey. We get so caught up with our idea that we plan every detail. Lee Lee will be the MC. She’ll open and close the event with two of her poems. We’ll ask students from her school to come and share their poems too. I’ll have some of my art on display, and hopefully we can get some other visual artists from local schools. I’ll ask Josiah if he’ll be our social media person and help us promote it.
Lee Lee says, “Should we charge people to get in and give the proceeds to Natasha’s family? I heard there’s some kind of fund where people can donate to help with the cost of medical bills.”
I think about the benefit gala and all those people coming up to me, giving me their cards, saying, “Call me if you need anything,” and “Keep in touch.” I tell Lee Lee, “I don’t want any excuse for people not to come, so let’s not charge. But we can sell the art. I know some people who will buy art for a good cause.”
We are all ready to choose a date when we realize we haven’t even asked Mia if she’ll host the event. I sure hope she meant it when she said her gallery was for the people.
67
renacimiento
rebirth
I’ve been combining moments from different photos, blending decades, people, and worlds that don’t belong together. Knitting history into the beautiful, bloody tapestry it is.
Emmett Till meets Trayvon Martin and Michael Brown.
Rosa Parks and Sandra Bland talk with each other under southern trees.
Coretta Scott King is holding Aiyana Mo’Nay Stanley-Jones in her arms.
The faces lie on top of newspaper articles and headlines, only I take the words from the headlines and spell out new titles, rewrite history. Make it so all these people are living and loving and being.
68
legado
legacy
1805.
Lewis and Clark and the rest of the explorers reached the Pacific Ocean in November. They established Fort Clatsop, near Astoria, Oregon, and stayed there for the winter. On March 23, 1806, they headed to St. Louis. The eight-thousand-mile journey had ended.
After all those days searching for the Missouri River, after being trusted to carry a gun, after being listened t
o, after having some kind of say, York returned to St. Louis with the others.
The others were welcomed back as national heroes.
They were given 320 acres of land and double pay.
But York? He didn’t get anything.
And maybe he was okay with that. Maybe he knew getting land and money was out of the question. But could he keep his freedom? Could he continue to walk the earth, going where he pleased, having a say, being part of a community? When he asked for his freedom, Clark said no. Clark said, “Who does this slave think he is?”
All York wanted was to be close to his wife, who lived in Kentucky. All York wanted was to hold on to that feeling, that feeling when you stand at the ocean, letting the water rush up to your feet and run away again. That feeling of looking out and not being able to see an end or beginning. That feeling that reminds you how massive this world is, how tiny but powerful humans are.
1816.
Clark eventually gave York his freedom.
I wonder what it would have been like if York had received that land and that money, and his freedom. What would he have built? Would he have left it to his children? Would they have done something with it and passed it on, and then their children’s children would have passed it on? And isn’t this what the man in the Money Matters workshop was telling us when he was explaining how it is that some are rich and some are poor?
Isn’t that how it works? You pass on what you were given.
But York, what could he give?
69
trabajar
to work
Mia was so excited about our idea that she decided to call up a few of her friends, and now we have three professional artists who’ve donated their work for the event. We also put a call out to local high schools for students who want to submit work. Mia is in charge of all that, thank goodness. All I have to focus on is making my piece. I thought since Lee Lee has a poem written for the occasion, I should take inspiration from her poem. We’ve been in the kitchen all day, working. Lee Lee is revising her poem one last time, and I am working on the images.
