Under The Sunset Series: Jax

Mom, I Am A Rich Man by Sabrina Dessalines

Are you working on my grandbabies yet? I’m not getting any younger and neither are you.

Jax thought she almost made it through her Wednesday call with Mama without discussing her aging uterus.

You need to get you one of those rich California men, Jax.

Mama, I am a rich man.

The call went silent.

Hello? Mama, wahn wa day?

Do we need to have wan ob dem transgenda gabbin’? Ah hep my chillun.

 No Ma. I am not transgender. I ent need no man. I have managed to get all I need and most of what I want without the help of a man. I da big buckra man.

 

Mama sucks her teeth.

Boogie ye gal. Mi stories da ‘bout tuh come on.

 

Jax knew her Mama was sick of her antics. She also didn’t play ‘bout her stories.

 

Victor Newman, ee ain ded yet? Jax laughed.

 

Dead? Ah, waach oud de nah, gal! Ee legend. Fine man. Real buckra man!

 

They laugh.

 

O’kei den. A’in gah huol ya. Call me later.

 

Take e’easy sweet dahlin. Soon talk.

 

By the end of her Wednesday calls with her mom Jax always felt warm, yet exhausted. She missed home. She missed her family. Jax left home to chase her dreams when she was 17 and hasn't returned since. She felt guilty and remedied that guilt monetarily to her family.

 

I’m glad I can be a blessing to my family in this way, she told Dr. Benton during her therapy session.

 

Monetary blessings don’t replace human connection especially familial human connection Jax. You know that. Your family is proud of you and all your accomplishments, but I am sure the absence of your presence is a void not just for them but for you.

 

Jax deflects as always by bringing up something about physical appearance. She had become a guru in the beauty industry making millions as the founder of one of the top beauty marketing agencies.

I love that lippie on you Dr. B., what brand is it?

 

You know I am a Summer Fridays girl, Jax. But let’s try to stay on topic.

 

Which is better? Summer Fridays or Fenty Beauty?

 

Jax.

 

Sorry Dr. B., I just…

 

Jax takes a deep breath.

 

We don’t have to stay on this, but I do want you to think about it. Who are you beyond the accomplishments, Jax? Beyond the money? You always say you have all of what you need and much of what you want, what’s stopping you from having all of what you want?

 

Jax looked out the window. She strategically schedules the last session with Dr. Benton so she can catch the sunset from her office window on the 73rd floor of the Wilshire Grand. The aerial view of the city beneath and God’s oil painting of a sunset sky was bliss. To Jax, sunsets were the visual definition of what Rev. Jenkins called “a pees wa pass all unnastandin.” A peace that surpasses all understanding. Her Gullah Geechee roots have always kept her grounded.

 

Jax begins to cry.

 

Dr. Benton passes her a box of tissues. It wasn’t just any box of tissues though. They were in a small warmer and infused with eucalyptus lavender essential oils. Jax loved them.

 

At least that mascara won’t move and have you out here looking like a raccoon, Dr. Benton teased.

 

Yea, Too Faced Better Than Sex Mascara don't move, you hear me?

They laugh.

 

You have a milestone birthday tomorrow. Any plans?

 

Ehhh you know I hate birthdays.

 

You hate disappointment, Jax. Not birthdays. Go where love outweighs expectation.

 

Well, I gotta go, Real Housewives is coming on in an hour.

 

Dr. Benton knew Jax was sick of her prodding. She also didn’t play ‘bout Real Housewives.

 

Same time next week, Dr. Benton inquired.

 

Wouldn’t miss it.

 

Happy early birthday, Jax.

 

Thanks, Doc.

 

Jax grabs a few more tissues for the road. She gathers her things and takes the elevator down to the lobby.

 

Barnaby was waiting for Jax outside per usual. She slid into the back seat of her Phantom and Barnaby closed the door. There was a bag of shelled peanuts and peppermint sticks on the armrest and a bottle of Sorrel in the cup holder. This was her standard after-therapy snack.

 

Any stops tonight Jax?

 

Night drive, please. She sighed.

 

You betcha.

 

After-therapy night drives were also standard for Jax. She loved riding around the city at night, catching the views, and just being. Barnaby opened the sunroof and drove straight to Griffith Park. Jax loved sitting under the Oak tree. It reminded her of home. She got out, took her shoes off, and planted her feet in the soil. The soil in LA is so rough and dry she thought. She sat under the tree with her bag of peanuts and peppermint sticks and bottle of Sorrel. 40 was here. Is this what it was supposed to feel like? She had accomplished so much thus far, yet still felt unfulfilled. This wasn’t the plan. 40 was supposed to be a life climax, right? Jax hated racing thoughts. She chugged back her Sorrel.

 

Jax, do you want to drive up to the observatory it closes in 30 minutes, Barnaby interrupted.

 

Let’s just go home.  

 

Griffith Park wasn’t giving her the comfort she needed to Band-Aid the emptiness she felt.

 

You betcha.

 

On the drive home, Barnaby played Thelonious Monk's Trinkle Tinkle. It reminded Jax of Saturday nights playing dominos with Daddy. Jazz would always be playing on the juk. Guh own de road ta de club if yuh wan' fa pahty, he'd say whenever Aunt Gi-Gi tried to change the juk to slow drag.

 

Barnaby, I want to go home.

 

It's the traffic, but we are almost there.

 

Take me to LAX, please.

 

LAX? Barnaby says confusingly.

Is my emergency bag still in the trunk?

 

Yes, it is.

 

I want to go home to St. Simons. Just for a couple of days.

 

He smiles.

Ok then. LAX. You betcha.

 

A couple of text message exchanges later and a dash through TSA, Jax made it onto the last flight headed to Brunswick Golden Isles Airport. She was excited but nervous. It had been 23 years since she had been home. She tried to rearrange her work schedule with Charity, her assistant, but the plane’s WiFi was sketchy. After her third French 75, Jax had forgotten about work. She removed her makeup and put on a sheet mask. She and her nerves drifted to sleep with ease.

She didn’t wake up till the flight attendant whispered, Ma’am please put your seat back and tray table in the upright position as we prepare for landing. She took a deep breath as she looked out the window to a familiar aerial view. When she landed, she had several voicemail messages from Charity and a text from Mama that read: Happy Birthday mi sweet gyal. She thought for sure she’d have to tough it out to get a taxi but when she got to baggage claim a driver was holding a paper with her name on it. She quickly texts Charity: Thank you, Queen Efficient.

Jax spent the 30-minute drive from the airport to her childhood home on St. Simons Island making herself presentable. Even though she was 40 now, she still carried “da way fa look good” lectures Mama gave her growing up. She wiped her face with a moist towelette and lathered it in moisturizer and SPF 30. She took out her nose ring because she knew Mama would nag, why yuh gwine stick sometin’ in yuh face? She kept her make-up light with a tinted moisturizer, liner, mascara, and her favorite hot cocoa-colored gloss. As she put on a couple of Granmee’s rings, she looked out the window and saw that the driver was passing through the Avenue of the Oaks.

Sir, would you mind pulling over for a sec?

Jax hops out of the car and runs over to a tree and touches the trunk. She takes off her shoes and plants her feet in the soil. The soil in St. Simons was warm and moist. She smiled. As she turned around to walk back to the car, a gentle breeze stopped her in her tracks.

Ayuh Poppa, I’m home.

 

When Jax pulled up to her childhood home. Mama, Auntie Gi-Gi (Mama’s sister), and Aunt Dolores (Daddy’s Sister) were sitting on the porch in their rocking chairs. Daddy used to call them The Shelf Sisters because their booties sat up like shelves. Aunt Gi-Gi was chewing sugar cane, Aunt Dolores was snapping green beans, and Mama had her a cup of hibiscus tea. They were the epitome of Black beauty to Jax and the inspiration for all the work she had done in the beauty industry. She stared at them from the car window.

Who dat be? Aunt Dolores put down her bowl of green beans and stood up as if she was ready to fight. Mama stood slowly too.

Da money man, Aunt Gi-Gi said jokingly, still chewing her sugar cane. Jackie aint e pay she bills.

I pay my bills on time, krayzi ooman!

Bickering with one another was Mama and Aunt Gi-Gi's love language.

Jax gathered her things and got out of the car.

Jax? Mama quickly walks down the steps and embraces Jax. Jax collapses in her mother’s arms.

Ahhh, da money man with bitties, chuh! Aunt Gi-Gi rolled her eyes.

Aunt Dolores followed behind Mama and grabbed Jax’s bag.

Oh, it's ok Auntie, I got it.

She hugs Aunt Dolores tightly. Aunt Dolores always smelled like Opium perfume with a touch of lemongrass. Growing up, Jax would play in the array of perfumes on her vanity. She taught her how to mix scents and all things skin care.

Uno face gitcha dem clear shine! Beautiful. Aunt Dolores kissed Jax’s face repeatedly.

Gul she da prettiest thing ain't she Gi? Aunt Dolores yelled to Aunt Gi-Gi who hadn’t left her rocking chair on the porch.

Aunt Gi-Gi grunted. Eet still dutty, chuh. She sucks her teeth.

They all look down at Jax’s feet which are still bare and dusted in St. Simons Island soil.

Sorry Mama, Jax whispered.

You stopped at the Oaks huh? She smiled.

Was your Daddy there today? Aunt Dolores whispered.

Jax shook her head yes, and began to cry.

Don’t pay Gi no mind. You know she be bittah, Mama whispered.

Wha ya'll whisp'rin bout? Aunt Gi-Gi yelled.

Growing up Aunt Gi-Gi was Jax’s favorite aunt. Her best friend. She taught her to always say what's on her mind and speak her truth. Holler t'ru, she'd say. Aunt Gi-Gi was a hairstylist and did hair out of the basement of her home. Jax spent most of her days after school at Aunt Gi-Gi's shop shampooing heads and listening to the ladies vent about their lives. They trusted her aunt like a superhero. Aunt Gi-Gi held the ladies of the island's secrets and made them feel and look beautiful in the process. Jax mirrored Aunt Gi-Gi's business practices. She attributed the success of her business to all she learned in Aunt Gi-Gi's shop. Jax leaving and not telling her was something Aunt Gi-Gi was not over.

The ladies climbed the stairs to the porch. Mama and Aunt Dolores went inside leaving Jax and Aunt Gi-Gi on the porch. Jax sat next to her in a rocking chair. Aunt Gi-Gi won’t look her way.

Wa yu say dena? Jax inquires.

Duh ting aint sweet. You been gone 23 years nah!

I called you, but you wouldn’t take my calls. I sent money and you sent it back.

Yea. And don’t think I don’t know you been paying mi tab at Parker’s and beauty store either.

I didn’t wan you to wan fo nothin’.

Yea, ‘cept you! Family mean more to me den money.

It is silent. But not uncomfortable.

You was like mi daughta, Jax.

You of all people, know I had to go Auntie. You know I couldn’t stay here. We talked about it. What would I do? Work wid dem rice peoples? Be teecha? Marry young? I wanted so much more. You taught me to want more for my life.

I do know. But you left wit no word. Like you erase dem we. You coulda come home. Even if Jackson was gone. We was still here! Greef mek um dum!

Part of Jax died with her father, Jackson. Even though she left St. Simons to chase her dreams, she also left running from heartbreak. Her father's presence was still very much known and felt on the island and she wasn't able to face it.

You’re right auntie. Yuh fah true.

Jax gets up and sits at her Aunt’s feet. She lays her head on her lap.

Mi-saari, auntie.

Aunt Gi-Gi ran her fingers through Jax’s hair.

You taking care of your hair? Put dem roller een yah hair?

Yes, Ma'am.

Gud gyal! I can tell. Gud hurr, en tikk! Make up for em dirty feet.

They laugh and hug. 

C’mon grab that bowl of beans. You know your Mama done planned you a Birthday party.

What? She knew I was coming?

Aha dat prim-prim baka wi’umuhn called done tol huh.

Charity, my assistant.

She wuk gud. Efficient.

 

Charity giving Mama a heads-up of Jax’s arrival gave Mama enough time to make sure Jax felt all the love she had been craving. While Jax napped Mama and her aunties cooked and by evening the house was full of family and old friends.

Mi baby is home raise up yo glass. Mama bragged.

Jackie and Jackson’s stubborn dirty foot gyal, Aunt Gi-Gi chimed in.

We sho' proud a' yuh, Jax, Aunt Dolores proclaimed.

Cheers to mi baby gyal. Happy Birfday!

Happy Birfday!

This love exceeded Jax's expectations.

Hit the juk! Aunt Gi-Gi yells.

Music, dancing, family, friends, and all her favorite foods. Jax was home and happy. This is what 40 should feel like she thought.

Jax went to the kitchen and got a bowl of Aunt Dolores’s gumbo. She went out and sat on the porch to catch the St. Simons sunset.

A car pulls up in front of the house. A man gets out of the car. Jax squinted trying to make out who it was. The man begins walking up the stairs to the porch, whistling. Jax stands up slowly. They catch eyes. He looks her up and down.

Jax, Wha gwan?

Kwasi…

On Therapy: Dusting Off the Mask

I can pinpoint moments in my life where I have mentally and emotionally changed. Physically too but that’s a different blog post altogether. As a fickle blogger, I haven't documented these changes in written form as much as I would have hoped. Nevertheless, I am coming in hot today with another one of my self-reflections. 

I recently started seeing a new therapist. If you've read any of my other On Therapy posts, you know my journey with therapy has been really rewarding. However, I have been putting therapy on the back burner this past year mainly because I still miss my old therapist. Somebody, please eliminate these limitations where therapists can't have virtual sessions with you if you're not physically sitting in the state where they are licensed. It makes no sense as we are living in a digital age, especially post-quarantine. You should be able to be anywhere in the world and talk to your therapist as long as your insurance and/or payment tracks. Finding the right therapist is tricky but I am back at it. Me and my new therapist are in the getting acquainted stage of this partnership. My eyes started sweating during the intake process of the first session. During the second session, my awkward overthinking brain kept deflecting by thinking about everything but the session itself. "When this is over, what we bout to eat and watch on TV?" Yes, I internally address myself as "we." Mind your business. 😂

The conversation during the second session was about whether or not I've always had social anxiety and, if not what age I noticed a shift happen. I remembered a few months back talking to one of my best friends and she said I wasn't always like this. She said in high school I was a light source. Always talking to people. Mind you, this is the same friend who told me years prior that she hated going with me to clubs because I would just stand there with a stink face. Ah, friendship. Gather me, friend! My line sister often jokes with me about how I was while we were pledging. Jovial and giggly. "You got on my nerves," she always says.  Yet, I always remember having social anxiety. When I was 16 I liked this boy Kwasi and mustered up enough courage to go to the school dance to see him. I stood holding up the wall the whole time because I couldn't walk over to talk to him, while my friends were having the time of their lives slow grinding on imbeciles. Before speeches at church or stage performances, I always had to talk myself down from having a panic attack. I probably should've been in therapy back then.

"I feel like I was masking to fit in," I told my therapist. 

"We all wear a mask sometimes. It sounds like you've stored yours away," she assessed.

She's right. I just don't feel like masking anymore, you know? I have been through a lot that I feel has reshaped who I am. I have become very protective over my life and my peace. That's why I audit my life constantly and remove people and things that disrupt that peace. Masking requires so much effort from the masker. It also requires a level of not giving AF that I have not mastered yet. How can I protect my peace when I am bothered by so many happenings in the world? Ah, the empathetic introvert struggle. I realize that for me, introversion is a coping mechanism. The older I have gotten the more I have found solace in it.

"What was your motivating source," she asked. 

When I was younger my Mom was my motivating source and still is in many ways. Sis would throw me in front of the church to speak or perform in a heartbeat. Had me speaking and competing in oratorical contests across the DMV area. She saw my gift early on and was unwavering about me sticking with it. I really didn't have the option to say, no. Today, I navigate the world independently and admittedly the social components of this industry are draining. I am left now with my inner thoughts to be my motivation. Ah, adulthood. I don't say no often but often wish I had. There's so much internal dialogue happening I just hate subjecting myself to it. And I am still holding up walls at events like I did when I was 16 trying to talk to Kwasi at the dance. 5 or 6 gin (or tequila) and tonics in, I am still on mute. Help me, Lord! Got a whole chastity belt around my existence. I watch my colleagues navigate rooms with ease, bouncing from person to person like they're playing a game of Whac-A-Mole. And they flawlessly advertise a heightened version of themselves on Al Gore's internet. Masters of Disguise. It's giving Batman and I'm in awe.

"How will I ever get funding for my dreams when I can't even work the room to talk about my projects?"

I'm working on it. One thing that has always been true for me is that though feeling defeated is very real, succumbing to the feeling isn't an option I am willing to give myself, introversion and all. I am also happy AF most days and enjoying this moment in time which has been my continuous prayer. I do get hyper-focused on the things I need to work on because I want to be holistically well in mind, body, and spirit - no mask. I want that wellness to authentically mirror my efforts to be a good human being in this world. I am currently trying to figure out how to merge parts of the outspoken person I was in high school with the introversion I am comfortable with today. I know I am not alone. There are introverts who navigate this industry well, I have spoken to a few. They all have told me the same thing, "Dust off your mask. You're gonna need it!"

This Time Last Year

This time last year I…

I was…

Low

Dragging behind the flow.

Quiet externally.

Loud internally.

Silenced.

I was…

Worried about myself.

My mental health.

Me.

This time last year I...

I was…

Desperate for a change.

Tired of the same routine.

Tired of feeling undervalued.

Unappreciated.

Unworthy.

Disrespected.

I cried most days.

In my car before work.

I cried most days.

In my car at lunch.

I cried most days.

In my car after work.

I cried most days.

Who am I kidding?

I cried everyday. 

This time last year I…

I had written a whole op-ed piece about how eff'd up the education system is.

How horribly teachers are being treated.

How these initiatives in attempt to save Black boys from the school to prison pipeline, has in turn over sexualized and/or forgotten about Black girls. 

I used evidence from my life as a case study. 

Real time experience. 

I had over 8 years of evidence.

Documented.

Written.

This time last year... 

I was a teacher in the system.

I was a guardian of a Black girl child in the system.

Real time experience.

Over 8 years of evidence.

Documented.

Written.

This time last year I…

I had a “send it when you’re ready and we'll publish” email thread. 

Two editors. 

I pitched our story to. 

The exposé of the year! 

I declared whenever I got out I was gonna whistleblow the house down!

“Got out.”

That term stings because...

This time last year…

I felt stuck.

Stuck in hurt.

Stuck in frustration.

Stuck in self doubt. 

Stuck in silence.

Stuck in defeat.

This time last year…

All year 

I hid in the corner of an open multipurpose space. 

Dislocated.

Secluded.

Grateful it had windows to look out at the promise in the sky. 

Wishing I could live in the sky.

This time last year...

My therapist was trying to help me navigate dating. 

I enjoyed her pep talks knowing damn well I had no plans on dating.

I just liked talking to her.

She was non judgmental.

Kind.

Funny.

Darkskinned like me.

I never really wanted to talk about what was really going on.

Lied about doing the assigned homework. 

But loyal to the space she created for me to just be...last year.

This time last year...

After a few sessions my therapist called me out.

She say, I was "avoiding dealing with what was really troubling me." 

She wasn't wrong.

I didn't feel like talking about that.

I would have rather talked about the journal I was keeping of all the cannabis strains I had tried so far.

I took copious notes!

I dream of opening my own dispensary.

I wondered if she smoked?

Still do.

Sis saw straight through my BS.

I could tell she saw in me the same beauty you see when you see straight through the pristine waters of Pelican Beach. 

I wished I saw it myself.

What she saw in me,

My iridescence.

I'm teal.

Cerulean.

Deeper shades of green.

Mahogany.

I dream in canary.

This time last year... 

I was eatin' apples. 

Intermittent fasting. 

My increased water intake Mike Tyson'd my Holyfield bladder. 

I even hired someone to do my meal prep. 

Sis made good brussels and pepper medley. 

Teased me about ordering the same protein all the time.

Salmon and ground Turkey. 

Clean eats.

I miss it. 

I was intentionally eatin’ “right.” 

For the millionth time. 

This time last year...

I was writing cover letter after cover letter. 

Applying for job after job.

Paid buku bucks to revamp my resume.

Sent my resume to every company, in every industry, I thought would hire me. 

Even though all I really wanted to do was live a carefree, unproblematic, multi hyphenate artistic life and get paid. 

I would go through several long interview processes, only to not get the job. 

I even applied to write people’s profiles on dating apps. 

Ironic. 

Don't tell my old therapist.

This time last year... 

I prayed the next year would change but honestly didn’t believe it would. 

Boy, did God prove me wrong!

This time last year didn’t see this time this year coming. 

I don’t know if I was ready or not, but I damn sure hit the ground running. 

Changing with the new year brings new peace and continued healing. 

My peace is invaluable. 

My future is magical.

This year I got my hope back. 

This year my dreams aren’t crippled by fear. 

This year ain’t easy and has its own set of challenges.

But this year I feel capable. 

This year I feel free.

And when I take a closer look...

The last few years' hurts are being sat back in the laps of the inflictors. 

Karma has written its own exposé. 

I didn't even have to.

So here’s to this time last year and all it was meant to teach. 

Writing this I realize the many lessons I learned. 

I retained. 

I use what I've learned to help guide me on who I want to be in this world.

How I treat people.

I share to the ones praying for a better year.

Don't stop.

Even on your lowest days.

Don't stop.

I’m so much better because of it. 

Under the Sunset Series: Olivia Louise Dixon

Art By: Solomon Omogboye

Under the Sunset Series is a series of short stories that I write using artwork of Black women or girls as my prompt/inspiration.

I hated 2nd Thursdees out the month. Mama signed me up for etiquette class at Madame Marbury’s house. All’s I really wanted to do was race Jean Paul up and down Center Avenue. After I whooped his ass he'd pay me my $2.00 because ain't no race without a cash bet! Wit my money I'd get me a quarter water from the Deli and put the rest in my piggy bank. I always beat Jean Paul. He was slower than molasses. Fool tried to get me to race his cousin last summer. Cousin came all way up from Mississippi to race me. All week Jean Paul kept saying, "my cousin coming and he faster than Jessie Owens! He goin’ smoke you out your britches!” Whatever the hell that mean. I only raced for the money so I said, "your cousin gonna have to pay me double when I beat him since he ain’t from round here." "Aight, bet!" I took off running when I heard Rudy say “go!” Halfway down Center Jean Paul's cousin fell to the ground. Say he had on the wrong shoes. Say he tripped. Over his own feet? Man, it was a waste of my time! I could’ve been at the lake wit Daddy or picking figs off Ma June tree. I told Jean Paul he had to pay me $5.00 for wasting my summer day. "How your cousin wear Jesus sandals to a race anyway?"

At recess today Jean Paul stood up on the stump talking bout he let me win all those races cuz I’m a girl and his Nanny told him to be nice to girls. Say, “I’m tired of being nice,” and held up a crispy $5.00 bill. “Put up or shut up, Mighty Mouse!” I hated when he called me that! Besides, fool knew I couldn’t race today. He knew all the girls had to go to Madame Marbury’s house after school. I didn’t even have on the right clothes or shoes. Last month Madame Marbury made me stay after for 20 whole minutes to talk to me bout my “hygiene.” Say, don’t show up to her house no more with muddy shoes smelling like outside. I’d rather smell like outside than moth balls and Bengay that she tried to cover with Amber musk. Bengay smells so strong, makes my eyes water. I told Mama and she said, “be more intentional about how you look and more careful at recess next time that’s all.” I wanted to push Jean Paul off the stump but I knew if I did we’d start rumbling and I’d get dirty and have to hear Madame Marbury’s mouth. Mama would be disappointed in me too. So I went over to the other side to play Jacks with Cassie. 

“He stupid Livi don’t study him. Just mad cause he foot slow and book slow. I like your dress.” 

“Thank you.” 

Cassie was right. Too bad we couldn't be real friends. She was always nice to me but we just ain’t like the same things. She didn’t like to race, she always wore dresses, bow bows and frilly socks. I liked wearing sneakers and my fro. Today, I was intentional like Mama say to be. I pulled the flower dress Ma June bought me last Easter out the back of my closet. I put twisties in my hair by myself. No help from Mommy or my PMS big sister Dalia. There was only one green. I think Dalia took all the green twisties out the basket just to piss me off. Imma cut up her fashion magazines. She knows green is my favoritest color! I wore the Mary Janes Daddy got me and my frilly socks with O.L.D. stitched on them. O.L.D. do spell old but I'm only 10 in the 5th grade. O.L.D., thems my nitials. O is for Olivia, L is for Louise, and D is for Dixon. Olivia Louise Dixon. I love my name. Ma June stitched it with green thread. She know green’s my most favoritest color. I wasn’t gonna dirty it all up because of dirty ole Jean Paul either. After the bell rang Jean Paul bumped me in the hallway and I almost fell. I wanted to Joe Frazier his high yellow ass but I didn’t. I kept walking out the door with Cassie. 

When we got to Madame Marbury’s she looked me up and down and sniffed my neck. “Better” she said. Better? This ain't better, this is best! I did my best! What did this lady want from me? But I ain’t say it out loud. Mama would have a fit if I did. Daddy too. But I did have a turnip green attitude. Pretty to look at but nasty to taste. I sat down and put my elbows on her table and rested my chin in the palms of my hands. The other girls gasped. Cassie whispered, “Livi, your elbows!” I didn’t care. I was tired. Tired of it all! Madame Marbury came rushing over to the table and whacked it with her yardstick. 

"Madame Dixon get the encyclopedia, you owe me 10 minutes!" 

I rolled my eyes so hard, the left one started throbbing. 

"Make that 20 minutes Madame Dixon!" 

Whenever a girl would break one of Madame Marbury’s rules we’d have to walk back and forth in her parlor room with an encyclopedia on our head for 10 minutes. Elbows on the table and rolling my eyes got me double the time. I didn’t care. I’d rather be walking with an encyclopedia on my head for 20 minutes than sitting at the table playing with dusty old plates, knives, and forks with no food! I wish I could’ve walked the whole hour and a half we spent there. I watched the clock as Madame Marbury went on and on about what it means to be a "respectable young lady." I wondered why respectable meant we had to dress a certain way, walk a certain way,  and sit a certain way? Ma June told me to respect everybody no matter who they are. That make more sense to me than respecting a person by the way they look. As soon as the short hand was on 5 and the long was on 12, I hopped up and headed towards the door.

"Madame Dixon sit down! You have not been dismissed." 

One by one she called the other girls to be dismissed until I was the only girl left. 

"Adjust your behavior to match where you are Madame Dixon. This is not the swap meet. Carry yourself appropriately. And have someone do something to that hair! You are dismissed."

I got up annoyed. I wanted to ask her to take her wig off so I could see her real hair but I didn’t. That’s respectable. 

When I got outside Daddy was waiting by the car. Cassie was in the back seat. I was kind of glad we were giving her a ride. When I got in the car I told Daddy what Madame Marbury said. 

“She has some nerve when she doesn’t have any hair,” Cassie said from the back seat. 

Daddy laughed. 

"Let’s stop at the Deli to get Bomb Pops," Daddy said. "They always make you feel better."

We stopped at the light on the corner of Center and 4th and there was Jean Paul and his friends, throwing rocks at the telephone pole. Lame. I tried the slide down so he wouldn’t see me but before I could he yelled, “Mighty Mouse, you scared huh? Little girl scared to race a man!”

"A man?" Cassie yelled. "You ain’t no man. You think you a man cause you 12 years old in the 5th grade?" 

Even though Cassie didn't race and dressed like an American Girl doll, she still had heart. We had more in common than I thought. Daddy pulled over and got out. He popped the trunk, came over to the passenger’s side and opened my door. 

"Here," he handed me my sneakers. “Smoke ‘em!” 

I put on my sneakers and got out the car. 

"Show me the cash before I race you Jean Paul!" 

Jean Paul pulled out a $5.00 dollar bill. It wasn’t crispy no more but cash is cash and I don't race for free. 

"Alright. To the Deli and back." 

We lined up on the sidewalk next to the telephone pole. Cassie got out of the car and leaned on the front hood with Daddy. 

"You got this Livi!"

"On your mark, get set, go!" 

Rudy yelled go and off we went. 

I ran. Nah, I was flying. The air lifted my dress like parachute. I ran to the Deli and back and was drinking out of Daddy’s car water cup before Jean Paul even got back. His friends were laughing at him. 

“You embarrassing man!” Rudy said. 

Mad, Jean Paul threw the $5.00 bill on the ground. 

"Be respectable young man. Pick it up and hand it to the young lady," Daddy said. 

He did. 

We got back in the car and drove to Deli. 

"I can buy the Bomb Pops Daddy."

"Nope put it in your bank, I got it." 

Cassie and I sat in the car replaying the race while Daddy went in. 

He came back with 3 Bomb Pops and 3 quarter waters. The perfect victory snack. 

"Should we have these by the lake, young ladies? 

“Yes!” Me and Cassie yelled. 

Daddy pulled the car around to the lake and we watched the sunset. 

I guess 2nd Thursdees out the month ain’t too bad after all.

Excitement: "What Does That Even Mean?"

"How are you feeling?” 

“You excited?”

These are the two most common questions I get from folks when asked about my next chapter. Recently, one of my friends asked me, "are you excited," and  I took a long pause and asked, "what does that even mean?" I’m sure this is something I probably need to unpack in therapy but I don't know if I've ever been excited about next chapters. What I assume excitement feels like is how eager I am in anticipation of the new Ari Lennox album or when I see these IG chefs curate exquisite looking bowls of ramen. I equate excitement with how free I feel when I catch a flight or get a new passport stamp or how I've felt witnessing my friends get married, have children, and celebrate milestones. I haven't reached the peak of what "excitement" seemingly looks and feels like in this chapter of life yet but I am extremely proud of myself and emotionally grateful. I am also leery of the unknown. 

Recently, I went to a friend's gathering and they were talking about being excited about the fall season and how they couldn’t wait till October to go to haunted houses. Every time someone mentions a haunted house I immediately remember when I was young I went on a haunted hayride. It was dark and I rode on the hayride until it stopped in what seemed like the middle of nowhere. I got off of the hayride with the group and our guide told us that we'd have to walk through an enclosure of sorts to get back to where we came from. Of course as we were walking, there were people dressed up jumping out to scare us. It was dark and I was scared. I was unsure of where I was going and what was going to happen next and I freaked out. A person jumped out to scare me and I started screaming and swinging and ended up punching them in the face. The facility had to stop the entire haunted experience because of me. This is kind of what I am feeling today. I’m on the ride of my life and I’m ready. But I do not know where I am going and what is going to jump out at me. The unknown is scary and I am a person that finds comfort in knowing what happens next, at least in retrospect. I guess that’s why I stayed in the classroom for so long. I was safe even though I was unhappy. I knew all the players and I was an expert on how to play the game. I could navigate through being unappreciated and devalued. I had enough money to pay my bills and to create and produce artistic work. I had the summers off to rest and I'd repeat the yearly cycle of enduring a toxic work environment. Now that that’s over, I feel like I’m in physical therapy. Learning how to walk again, socialize again, lift my head up again, and trust people again. I no longer spend mornings crying in my car. I no longer feel alone and isolated. Life today feels great. I can breathe. But it also feels scary. 

That’s my truth. 

I am wholeheartedly an introvert who dreams and overthinks, who is used to doing things by herself, who has taught herself how to do much of her creative output, who struggles in silence and shares through prose, and who rarely asks for help and when I do I immediately try to figure out how to give back to the person who helped me. Today, I’m being asked what I need and people, outside of my family and friends, are rallying around me to help me. I’m not used to that. I get emotional just thinking about it. 

So there. 

That’s where I’m at with it. 

That’s how I feel. 

My inner most thoughts. 

Gratefulness takes precedence right now in my life. 

I’m working through the rest.

Bday Reflections: Welcoming Rêves en Couleur

Closing out my 38th chapter around the sun and stepping into chapter 39 was kind of out of body-ish. These chapters begin and end so fast. The last couple months of 38 I was struggling mentally. I'd been toiling with lingering self-doubt, teacher burnout, worrying about what’s next, and disappointed by things I hoped would’ve happened but hadn’t yet. When talking about anxiety/depression one of my favorite comedic personalities said, “it’s unfair” and I couldn't agree more. Things are most definitely moving and shifting in my life and I am beyond grateful yet, there are times this looming mental state decides to put a damper on my joy and it’s not as easy to get rid of as the suggestions to “be grateful” or “pray it away” imply. I’ve been working with my therapist to name it and not mask it by pretending to be ok, or sweeping it under the rug and placing “busyness” on top as means to ignore it. 

I called chapter 38 my Midas Year. I claimed at the beginning of chapter 38 that everything I touched in this year would turn to gold. That I would see the richness of my work and begin to benefit from it. 

It did happen. 

It really did happen. 

Here's a brief recap:

• I traveled with friends and family. Even went to Hawaii twice.
• I got accepted and successfully completed the Theater Producers of Color program. 
• I am currently a co-producer of the Off-Broadway summer revival of Kinky Boots. 
• I produced, directed, and edited a virtual reading of a pilot episode of a web series I wrote, FAT, Black Millennial. 
• I was asked to teach with Juilliard this summer.
• I up the anti a bit on my freelance graphic design work and secured a few paid gigs. 
• I performed at the Kennedy Center with the cast of Mortified DC/Baltimore to a sold out crowd. 
• I was interviewed on a couple of new media talk shows.
• I directed and edited a virtual production of Rainbow Children, Angel Babies, & Fruitless Fig Trees for the Rogue Theater Festival. 
• Currently, I’m in the interview process for a few other opportunities. 

It has indeed been a full chapter of Midas proportions! In spite of, I persisted and I did well.

Chapter 39, I am claiming more. I’m calling this year my rêves en couleur (dreams in color) year. I have so many dreams that I often see in black and white or sepia if my mind is feeling frisky. The full color seems to come with goosebumps and tears when the dream is realized. The goal I'm setting for myself this year, is to see my dreams in full color more often. Most importantly believe that I can have the desires of my heart. My dreams aren't "too big." I can achieve every dream and all my hard work and prayers are not in vain. 

When I turned 30 I asked a few of my friends at the time to come with me to New Orleans. 39 being the last year of my 30s I decided to go back to NOLA. Now most of you know I don't need a reason to hop a flight to NOLA but this time I really focused on me. The 30 year old woman who twerked on a couple randoms on Bourbon Street is a whole different woman. Now don't get it twisted you may get a chair twerk or two out of me if the cocktails are right and the clouds are high, but I have grown into a woman of deep retrospect, gratefulness, compassion and love. 

I have changed. 

I'm so glad I have changed. 

I am in love with the woman I have become and welcome the continued growth, blessings, and peace that will adorn my life in my newest chapter.

Nipsey was right, the marathon will continue and so will my work to realize my dreams.

Rêves en couleur.