Signed, Brianna Jackson on behalf of the black kids of the world.
P.S. We aren’t brave enough to say that to your face, so we head to our rooms to get dressed while mumbling everything we want to say.
“What was that?” Jay calls.
“Nothing!”
Goddamn. She even picks up on mumbling.
The community center is a couple of streets over on Ash. It’s not eight o’clock yet, but there’s a parking lot full of cars, an eighteen-wheeler full of boxes, and a line stretched out the door.
There’s also a news van.
Aw, hell. “I’m not trying to be on the news!” I say as Jay parks.
“Girl, you not gonna be on the news.”
“The camera may pan to me or something.”
“And?”
She doesn’t get it. “What if people at school see me?”
“Why you so worried about what they think?”
I chew on my lip. Anybody notices me, I’ll suddenly be the piss-poor girl in the Not-Timbs who not only got pinned to the ground but also has to get food from a giveaway.
“Look, you can’t be worried about what folks think, baby,” Jay says. “There will always be someone with something to say, but it doesn’t mean you gotta listen.”
I stare at the news van. She acts like it’s easy not to listen. “Can’t we—”
“No. We’re gonna go in here, get this food, and be thankful for it. Otherwise, it won’t be that there’s hardly food to eat. There won’t be any food to eat. Okay?”
I sigh. “Okay.”
“Good. C’mon.”
The line moves pretty quickly, but it also doesn’t seem like it’s gonna shorten anytime soon. We get in line, and not a minute later four more people are behind us. There are all kinds of folks in line, too, like moms with their kids and elderly people on walkers. Some of them are wrapped up in coats, others have on clothes and shoes that look like they belong in the trash. Christmas music plays loudly in the building, and volunteers in Santa hats unload the truck.
A man in the parking lot pans a news camera along the line. I guess somebody somewhere loves to see poor folks in the hood begging for food.
I look at my shoes. Jay nudges my chin and mouths, Head. Up.
For what? This isn’t shit to be proud of.
“That’s your baby?” the woman behind us asks. She’s in a zipped-up coat, house shoes, and hair rollers, like she got straight out of bed to come here.
Jay runs her fingers through my hair. “Yep. My baby girl. Only girl.”
“That’s sweet of her to come help you. I couldn’t get mine away from the TV.”
“Oh, trust. I had to make her come.”
“These kids don’t know a blessing when they see it. But they wanna eat everything we bring back.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” Jay says. “How many you got?”
I swear, we can’t go anywhere without her striking up a conversation with a complete stranger. Jay’s a people person. I’m more of a “yes, people exist, but that doesn’t mean I need to talk to them” person.
By the time we get into the building, I’ve heard this lady’s life story. She also tells Jay about the churches and organizations that distribute food. Jay takes note of every single one. Guess this is our life now.
There are tables around the gymnasium covered in clothes, toys, books, and packaged foods. One of the volunteers takes some information from Jay, gives her a box, tells us to make our way around. Other volunteers pass stuff out. Over near the basketball hoops, a black Santa gives kids candy from his bag. A boy with zigzags cut into his hair helps him and poses for selfies. The front of his sweatshirt says “Mr. Swagerific.”
I’ve always had this theory that God is a sitcom writer who loves to put me in ridiculous situations. Like, “Hahahaha, not only does she have to beg for food, but she has to do it in front of Milez. Hilarious!”
This show needs to go in a new direction.
Jay follows my eyes over to Milez. “That’s that boy you battled, isn’t it? The one with that dumb song?”
How does she know? “Yeah.”
“Ignore him.”
If only. As dumb as “Swagerific” is, I can’t go around the neighborhood without hearing it.
I’m waiting for Aunt Pooh to tell me what to do with “On the Come Up.” She’s still MIA though. I’m not worried. Like I said, she does this sometimes.
“C’mon.” Jay tugs at my arm. “We’re only getting food. That’s all we need. Some of these other folks aren’t so