Black Girl: As Is

Writer. Creator. Shapeshifter.

XIX.

I love to observe people.  Sometimes I mimic their speech patterns or movements.  Often, I mimic their moods.  In order to walk in someone's shoes you must first put them on.  Sometimes they pinch and sometimes you must tiptoe to keep them on.  But, the answer is always inside.  It's why I love true crime and cult culture.  It's why I love eye contact and kissing and why I hate talking on the phone.  I'm much more interested in the why than the how.  

You heard about that chef dude? He had it all. He had money and travel and shit. But I think he was on drugs. You gotta be on drugs to do something like that.
— Random Dude at the bar

Though I've never tested the red bottom of celebrity, I know what it is to have parts unknown.  The things behind our eyes.  The unpredictable armor and the inevitable shedding. I know what it is to be a spade, to be a tool of excavation.  I was born in workman's boots.  My hands perpetually grasping, my stride unfailingly weighted.  Perhaps, the why lies in the shoes we wear, the how in the things we carry.

I carry a bag to match my shoes, a bindle of love and depletion. An abundance of one begetting a soupçon of the other.  People don't like me here.  I know that may come as a shock considering what a lovable muthafukka I am, but it's true.  Folks find me impatient, arrogant and rude.  I am not impatient but I place a price tag on my time.  I am not arrogant but I know what I know.  I am not rude but I desperately seek the point.  The South likes it's circles; I prefer a straight line.  The South likes it's boxes; I prefer the open air.  

I love the South and it's people.  I am the South and one of it's people. Yet,  I spend each day issuing explanations, performing placation and dodging definition.  My ability to smile and laugh with my heavy boots and my heavy bag and my heavy heart makes me ever curious what everyone else is carrying. What's in your wallet?

I saw a post suggesting everyone check on their strong friend.  While I think this excellent advice, I know that when someone reaches for me at my lowest points, I perform a little sleight of hand.  I distract from the weight of my sack, by offering to carry theirs.  I distract from the weight of my shoes by washing their feet.  Look over here, not over there.  Eyes on your own work.

I’m a slow learner, it’s true. But I learn.
— Sansa Stark

You must unspool in order to stitch a new pattern.  You must open your hands in order to receive.  You must ask the questions you think you know the answers to.  Don't just check on your friend.  Try on her shoes and ask to check her bags.

COPYRIGHT 2018. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.