A Safe Place

The song of the morning is the birds’ tune carried by the soft wind, keeping time with the church’s bells. It seems to lighten the sky itself by churning a fluffy pinkish orange to a solid daydream blue. Floating music notes seem to sneak into the ears of my lethargic body, and I’m not ready to remove the soft blankets from the skin they’ve been tightly wrapped around. I want to stay in bed and listen to the birds sing to the angels. But the sun becomes less shy as she replaces her lover in the sky, her rays pop out of her shell slowly as if someone is taking their time to crack open the atmosphere. Their tough fingers pressed against the night sky as they split the deep blackness in two, popping stars like balloons and unbraiding constellations. Brighter colors washing over their fingers and dripping down the sky until the sun's light is bursting through the deep blue canvas. The rays warm the concrete and make it too hot for bare feet but warms the air just enough for cold lemonade. How could I stay in bed instead of going out to appreciate such a beautiful day, God has blessed me and allowed me to witness His mother earth. Plus I had plans with Esmerelda, whose skin was probably already itching from the grass in her lawn as she watched butterflies leap from flower to flower. She wouldn’t pay homage or thank God for today, she’d thank the universe or something else. I could never understand, my family thanks God for everything (so does hers). My family talks of God and Heaven so often it sometimes seems like we’re already there. Light always shines through our windows and bounces off the white walls and hand painted pictures of a black Jesus, the gospel Mama plays makes it feel like I’m just outside those golden gates.

As the sun’s touch upon my cheek began to get too hot to bare, I got up to finally get ready for the day. The mirror in my restroom was covered in sticky note residue from reminders Mama always leaves me. Once she had left one that said “Grace, your skin shines like gold, and it's beautiful.” Strangely she had left it there a day after I had googled “how to lighten your skin,” and I’m still not sure if she had seen my search history or if it was just a mother's intuition. Today she left two notes; one said “You are not bulletproof, be safe,” and the other said “I love you”.

As I traced the twists in my hair with oily fingers- undoing them gently so I wouldn't ruin the curl, I got a text from Esmeralda reminding me to meet her by the tree at the top of the hill followed by at least one hundred heart emojis. I imagined her waiting for me under a perfectly shaded spot, her bald head tilted back, eyes closed. She’d have a slight smirk on her full reddened lips as her small body made impressions in the grass beneath her. Mississippi's sweet summer air would be humbled by the light cocoa scent of her lotion. The little beauty marks and moles that traced her arms would only be slightly visible against her dark bare skin (you’d really have to inspect her arms to even see them). I began thinking of the first time we had went there; most people were much too lazy to walk all the way to the top, so we figured it was the perfect place to exist peacefully. That day we had carved our names in the tree, and it didn’t stop us or question if two girls being in love was right. Up on that hill we felt entirely free, the feeling you get from listening to waves crash is the feeling we get from hearing wind blow through branches and leaves. We talked about our future and we didn't have to whisper, the air didn't feel like it was burning my throat when I wanted to say I love you. I smiled knowing that she’d be there waiting for me, under our permanent initials. I undid my final twist, wiped my oily fingers on my pajama shirt and replied to her text. I typed out that I would only be able to stay until 2 today because I had church, which heavily annoyed her. I know she was annoyed because when she is she texts me in full sentences and uses proper punctuation.

“God doesn’t believe in us so why should I believe in him?”

When she gets like this I always remind her that “God loves all his children,” and it’s not him who preaches hate, but the assholes who are allowed to be pastors. At first the three little bubbles that implied she was responding popped up, but they disappeared. I figured she’d just want to tell me in person and finished getting ready, then made my way to the kitchen. The smell of sausage clung to the walls and smooth countertops. My mother’s thick arm moving a spatula vigorously back and forth across a burnt pan. Her little afro is held back by a headband decorated in gold and white designs that matched a long white flowy dress. The window she stood in front of let so much light in she was nearly just a beautiful golden figure engulfed by God’s touch. Without turning around her light mousy voice slipped out of her full lips.

“Good morning sleepin’ beauty, you want any breakfast?”

“No thanks I’m meeting Esmeralda right now” I said as I wrapped my arms round her belly.

I grabbed the basket that had a latch shaped like a heart and began stuffing it with the food that I had made the night before. Mama began talking about planning a cookout for the neighborhood, just as she got to discussing who’d make the ribs a deep voice interrupted.

“Damn girl, you tryna feed the whole neighborhood?” my dad chuckled, his big arm reached across me and grabbed one of the sausages.

“Nah just me and Esmerelda, we’re having a picnic.”

I paused at picnic and prayed he wouldn’t ask where because then I’d have to lie. If I were to tell him where my only safe spot was then he’d know where to come looking for me if I didn't answer his texts. Then our spot would be ruined. He put his arm around Mama’s waist.

“Oh, well tell that girl to bring the food next time, we can't afford to be feedin’ everybody and they mama.” A giant sigh of relief escaped me as I sprinted out of the door as quickly as possible.

The grassy little park where the hill is wasn’t too far from my house, but I hated the walk. There was a police station right on the same street of the park and the cops here in Greenville, Mississippi have a knack for stopping black people for no reason. Before I got to the corner I crossed to the safe side of the street and let go of my breath, thinking of all the black men and women that had been murdered at their hands. I’ve never been into the police station, I didn’t even go when I had gotten mugged once. I imagined that when I walked in there’d be a giant desk that sat a big fat white cop. Behind him there’d be more white cops, some would be skinny and lanky others would be buff or fat. I thought the air would smell like decaying bodies and freshly made donuts. The cop at the desk would ask me “what the hell's the matter girl?” and his voice would shake me, it would widen my eyes as he took a sip from a coffee cup dirtied with bloody handprints. The cops behind him would be smacking on sprinkled donuts, reenacting a man trying to run from them- getting shot and then lying dead. They'd laugh at the one that was acting like he was twitching and begging for help. I imagined I’d be held in a jail cell for something like disorderly conduct or not answering his question fast enough, and never come back out.

Two white boys ran past me wiping something off their hands onto their pants and almost pushed me down, probably going nowhere special. The one in a striped shirt threw something in the bushes, and I thought he must have been raised by a pig! I stopped at the base of the hill mentally preparing myself for the short but tortuous trek up. It sucked for a few minutes but it was sweet in the end, like a tootsie pop that keeps giving your tongue little slits until you reach the chocolatey goodness in the middle. I could begin to see her bald head behind the horizon of green, she stared at the sky probably in awe of whatever shapes she found in the clouds today. As I approached her her soft and loud laugh exuded from her lungs uncontrollably.

“You’re sweating soooo much, Grace oh my god” she breathed.

“Have you SEEN that hill?” I laughed, setting my hands on my dark knees trying to catch my breath.

She was laying on her back, her small hands holding her stomach trying to seize her laughter. I kneeled next to her and kissed her puffy cheeks on both sides.

“Alright alright let's set out the food” I said smiling at her watery eyes.

We began setting out the food, talking about our day so far and I told her how I thought I’d have to tell my dad about this spot. She looked slightly worried, but I assured her no one would ever take this spot from us as I put out the container full of grapes (her favorite fruit). We laid on our backs talking about random things like dogs, school, and a little bit about the future. Small moments of silence would pass, but they weren't uncomfortable. After a particularly long moment of silence she looked over at me.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked as quietly as I ever heard her speak.

“Anything, always” I said, surprised that she even felt the need to ask me.

She pulled out a small journal, I immediately recognized the dirty brown suede. It was her dream journal, she loved writing down her dreams after she woke up because she thinks they all mean something. As she began looking for a page she sighed “I had a pretty terrible nightmare” her thumb stopped flipping at a page, and she stared. She looked fearful. I peered over to the page, the writing was kind of shaky but still legible, as if she was writing quickly or tiredly. It was about white giants emerging from the crust of a peaceful flower bed, smashing churches, and liquor stores with their hate filled fists. Chopping off cornrowed heads, setting fire to coiled strands of hair. Scrubbing off the black on our skins. She said that here at this very tree, she dreamed of a man being lynched.

“Then the branch snapped, millions of tiny wood shards were sent into the air to pierce the clouds. Now just a soulless body on the ground- surrounded by a crowd of people foreign to hate crimes- he was just another black man to them. They were intruders, preying upon black bodies. Tying them up like hogs and hanging them like they were to be cooked on a fire. Anyone black as us could mistake these people for demons let loose from Satan's own leash.”

She began getting so flustered and angry, I tried drawing her attention away from the horrors her mind conjured up in the night. I only knew God when I had felt angry or too tired to carry on, but I knew that probably wouldn't console her. I reminded her that when we graduate we plan to move to California or New York, somewhere where there isn’t more white people than colored people. She got a lot calmer and the sweet faced joyous Esmerelda I know began to appear from behind raised brows and teary eyes. We began planning where the couches and flower pots would go as I noticed the sky soaking up black clouds from the ground, it looked like a gigantic cumulonimbus cloud had appeared suddenly. But the air didn't smell like rain, it smelled like smoke. We poked our heads up and saw the big cloud coming from the direction of the church. We sprang up quickly, bouncing around as we tried to push our feet into our shoes.

“What do you think is on fire?” I asked, thinking of one thing in that direction. Esmeralda just looked at me, she didn’t say anything. She just gave a look that already said ‘I’m sorry for your loss.” Fire truck sirens rang in our ears as we raced down the hill, our breasts bouncing in our tank tops. Our sweaty hands, or maybe just my sweaty hands cuffing tightly as our legs tried to stay in tune with one another. Esmerelda had a harder time keeping up with me so she let go so I could run quicker. I wasn’t too far ahead of her before I got to the corner where the smoke cloud was the darkest, the same corner as the church. It felt like my lungs were running even faster than me, going full speed before they smacked a big brick wall. I stopped, everything inside me stopped. Little pieces of white ash covered the hot concrete, embers floated around my head. The air smelled like a chimney in deep winter, it burned my nose and made my eyes water. Anger, sadness, and everything in between crawled up my toes and knees till they reached my shaking hands. I was like the sky this morning, but Satan was splitting my brightness in two and tears fueled with fury and sorrow dripped down my burning cheeks. I felt Esmeralda's hand on my shoulder, her touch was as soothing as the sun's warmth on an icy day. But flames were still roaring through the windows, trying to escape God’s grasp. Burn marks kept appearing over the white house as if it were sick with a plague that spreads too fast. That beautiful white church that was always filled with black joy and unity, was replaced with what looked like a fight between Heaven and hell. This was the first time I ever felt as though hell would win.