reason I kept going. You had it organized. You know I can’t stand a bunch of mess. You know . . . prayer plus planning—”
“Equals progress.”
Another of Joyce’s many proverbs she’d drilled into us. If only I’d listened as hard as Zeely to all those sayings, maybe things would have been different. Maybe I would have been different. I hoped not. I’d just started to love myself again, to really enjoy being me. It’d be a pity to waste all that love.
Zeely checked her manicured toenails for cracked polish. “It’s amazing how we can still remember all that stuff Joyce used to tell us. Sometimes I find myself saying Joyce-isms to my students. It’s crazy.”
That much I could agree with. “Isn’t it?” Zeely also had Joyce as her teacher at school, so it was no wonder that she remembered the Ngozi sayings word for word. It wasn’t the words that I remembered so much but the dancing. And the beat. Lately, I’d been hearing it, seeing it in my sleep. My short time in Ngozi had changed my life. I had no doubt that Imani would do the same.
Imani. Faith. How appropriate. It had taken all the believing I had and then some to get here. All Joyce’s believing too. Where she’d gotten so much faith I never could figure it, but she’d always had it, bidding us leap when we could barely stand. “The school. Tell me about it.”
“You’ll see it soon enough. You know Joyce. She hasn’t changed.” Zeely patted my thigh. “Let’s talk about you. You look good. Better than the last time I saw you. You must be dancing again.” She pinched the back of my arm. “But still eating the house down, I see.”
I shrugged. Counting things and going to gyms wasn’t my thing. I walked, climbed, ran, but never anything steady. Without dancing, my body didn’t operate very well. “I did do a dance actually. Not long ago. On the riverfront with a class of kids. It was amazing. Those kids were totally into it. I don’t think I was ever like that.”
Zeely rolled her eyes at me. “Oh, you were into it.”
Another shrug. “Maybe.” We were going into were-was territory, the land of things that happened but didn’t happen. It was a rocky, dangerous land.
I chose to focus on her compliment. I smoothed a hand down my jeans. “I’m still hanging on to a little muscle mass from climbing that rock wall last year, but not much.”
Zeely stretched out on my couch and raised an eyebrow. “I remember that. It sounds just as crazy now as it did then. Didn’t your mama tell you black folks don’t do stuff like that?”
No, my “mama” hadn’t concerned herself with what black folks didn’t do. Even now, my mother prided herself in doing the unexpected. After I’d climbed the wall, she’d driven down a van full of her Bible study friends and done it too. “All kinds of people do all kinds of things. You’d be surprised. . . .” I joined her on the couch. It was even more comfortable than it’d been in the store.
Zeely cracked a knuckle. “Well, it won’t be me. We both know that.”
We both laughed. Zeely’s fear of heights and planes had squashed many of our travel plans over the years. Before Peter, I’d been like that. I’d been twenty-two probably when he taught me how to drive. Back then I was scared of everything. Now I was just trying to feel, well, anything. Either way, I knew how it felt to be afraid of something. “I understand. Sometimes I still feel afraid of things, but after Peter died—”
It was Zeely’s turn to shrug. “I know. I know. Tomorrow isn’t promised and all that. Are you still keeping that hundred-things-to-do-before-I-die list?”
I was surprised that she’d remembered. “Yes. I’m up to thirty-seven. Wearing my hair natural.” I drug a hand through my hair, curly since that day when the envelope came. A few strands floated to the floor. I’d always wanted to do it and now that there were no men to consider, I’d made my choice. Now if I could just figure
“Equals progress.”
Another of Joyce’s many proverbs she’d drilled into us. If only I’d listened as hard as Zeely to all those sayings, maybe things would have been different. Maybe I would have been different. I hoped not. I’d just started to love myself again, to really enjoy being me. It’d be a pity to waste all that love.
Zeely checked her manicured toenails for cracked polish. “It’s amazing how we can still remember all that stuff Joyce used to tell us. Sometimes I find myself saying Joyce-isms to my students. It’s crazy.”
That much I could agree with. “Isn’t it?” Zeely also had Joyce as her teacher at school, so it was no wonder that she remembered the Ngozi sayings word for word. It wasn’t the words that I remembered so much but the dancing. And the beat. Lately, I’d been hearing it, seeing it in my sleep. My short time in Ngozi had changed my life. I had no doubt that Imani would do the same.
Imani. Faith. How appropriate. It had taken all the believing I had and then some to get here. All Joyce’s believing too. Where she’d gotten so much faith I never could figure it, but she’d always had it, bidding us leap when we could barely stand. “The school. Tell me about it.”
“You’ll see it soon enough. You know Joyce. She hasn’t changed.” Zeely patted my thigh. “Let’s talk about you. You look good. Better than the last time I saw you. You must be dancing again.” She pinched the back of my arm. “But still eating the house down, I see.”
I shrugged. Counting things and going to gyms wasn’t my thing. I walked, climbed, ran, but never anything steady. Without dancing, my body didn’t operate very well. “I did do a dance actually. Not long ago. On the riverfront with a class of kids. It was amazing. Those kids were totally into it. I don’t think I was ever like that.”
Zeely rolled her eyes at me. “Oh, you were into it.”
Another shrug. “Maybe.” We were going into were-was territory, the land of things that happened but didn’t happen. It was a rocky, dangerous land.
I chose to focus on her compliment. I smoothed a hand down my jeans. “I’m still hanging on to a little muscle mass from climbing that rock wall last year, but not much.”
Zeely stretched out on my couch and raised an eyebrow. “I remember that. It sounds just as crazy now as it did then. Didn’t your mama tell you black folks don’t do stuff like that?”
No, my “mama” hadn’t concerned herself with what black folks didn’t do. Even now, my mother prided herself in doing the unexpected. After I’d climbed the wall, she’d driven down a van full of her Bible study friends and done it too. “All kinds of people do all kinds of things. You’d be surprised. . . .” I joined her on the couch. It was even more comfortable than it’d been in the store.
Zeely cracked a knuckle. “Well, it won’t be me. We both know that.”
We both laughed. Zeely’s fear of heights and planes had squashed many of our travel plans over the years. Before Peter, I’d been like that. I’d been twenty-two probably when he taught me how to drive. Back then I was scared of everything. Now I was just trying to feel, well, anything. Either way, I knew how it felt to be afraid of something. “I understand. Sometimes I still feel afraid of things, but after Peter died—”
It was Zeely’s turn to shrug. “I know. I know. Tomorrow isn’t promised and all that. Are you still keeping that hundred-things-to-do-before-I-die list?”
I was surprised that she’d remembered. “Yes. I’m up to thirty-seven. Wearing my hair natural.” I drug a hand through my hair, curly since that day when the envelope came. A few strands floated to the floor. I’d always wanted to do it and now that there were no men to consider, I’d made my choice. Now if I could just figure
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