Page 91 of You've Got a Place Here, Too
C:That’s heavy.
K:You think? This is what I felt sitting in my car, contemplating what I was supposed to do. You were so right.
I kept thinking throughBlack Madness.What did it even mean? Who was the Economy? Why had I convinced myself that there was a band of Black superheroes in the basement somewhere under the ground of Jackson State University? I wasn’t sure what the story of the transaction might be, but I knew it cost so much to love the Black Dead.
But Courtnay, here’s why I’m telling you this. I saw your name on our friend’s phone before I went to my car. You were in the basement of that apartment too. I’m not asking you to explain what really happened. I just want to know if our friend really had a “break from reality,” as the administration said.
Is this a bipolar episode or are the Plug, the Imagination, or the Candy Lady—?
C:“It is not that the dead are beyond capture of a self-constituting language…”
K:Courtnay? Someone’s outside.
C:“But they are irredeemably cut off from language…”
K:Courtnay? Please stop. Someone is banging on my door.
C:“Forever unable to speak for themselves and about themselves…”
K:(inaudible conversation then a loud scream)
C:“It’s not that the dead are beyond capture, Kiese. But they are irredeemably cut off from language.”
K:Please stop. Please.
C:The Candy Lady says so. The Candy Lady says no.
The Black Mecca
Ebony LaDelle
Sophomore Year
Lynetta
There’s a particular kind of torture to the waiting, the pining, the slowest burn, like setting fire to wet logs. One that flickers and pops like the grease in a pan. Wondering if you’ll yearn for him all four years.
When I first met him at the pinning ceremony to usher in our freshman class of 1981, I listened to our marching band, The Soul Steppers, perform the alma mater class song, reminding us to be true and stand strong. As the choir chimed “O Howard, we sing of thee,” it might have seemed sappy, but I knew I was in the right place. I got emotional listening, feeling a sense of home.
With my newly formed Quad homegirls posted on the track turf, watching the festivities on the gridiron, he walked by and for an instant, it seemed at that exact moment we felt the same pride, a shared awareness of what this moment was for both of us: a right decision. His beard and mustache parted, and teeth as white as piano keys revealed themselves in a smile, his Afro as round andglorious as the sun itself. With no hesitation, he leaned toward me and said, “I don’t know what makes me happier, being here or being here standing next to you.” Then realizing how cliché that sounded, his keys suddenly changed tune. “I hope you didn’t misinterpret what I said. It’s just…”
“It’s okay,” I responded, amused. “I’m Lynetta, nice to meet you.”
“Assad,” he said, half smirking, as though he surprised himself letting that slip out his mouth. “Nice to meet you, Lynetta.” He extended his palm face up, and I placed my hand on his, his strong fingers gripping it. “What dorm you in?”
“The Quad, Baldwin Hall,” I replied, and Assad laughed. “What?”
“I would be into a girl that stays in the hall named after my favorite writer.”
I felt my cheeks redden. “Baldwin, huh? He’s in my top five. You, like, a casual reader, or—?”
“My grandpa was a librarian, so I’d say a little more than casual. I’ve always had a book in my hand.”
I wanted to probe more but opted not to.You’re at the Mecca of Black education, you’re gonna meet brothers who like to read.“Guess I’ll run into you at Founders or the HUB then?” I replied while finally slipping my hand from under his warm embrace. “See you around?”He’s one of many.I won’t get caught up this easily, this soon.
“See you around, Miss Lynetta.”
The thing about a slow burn is even with all that logic, the agony you feel of wanting what you want doesn’t go away.
