“Girls!” Mama says then. “Show us what you got. I think we’re gonna stay here and get some food.” She unlaces her skates and then helps Papa with his.
Eve and I zip and dip and twirl and zoom. And it is almost like flying. When the lights come up for an “under 8 only skate” we look for Mama and Papa in the food court but they are nowhere to be found. My hands get sweaty.
“Did they leave us?” I choke.
“No. They wouldn’t do that. There they are.” Eve points toward the arcade. Mama and Papa are in their socked feet. Playing a heated game of air hockey. Every time Papa makes a goal Mama screams: “DANIEL NOT SO HARD!” and then breaks into a fit of laughter.
And Papa is giggling as well. Making faces at her. And joking about how slow she is. Even though he too flinches every time Mama slams the puck back to his side.
“And that” Eve jokes motioning toward our parents “is why we don’t play sports in this family.”
“For real.” I say.
But instead of going back to the rink. The two of us join in. Mama and me against Papa and Eve. And we play so many games before we know it it’s closing time and we’re getting kicked out. And we’re laughing so hard we don’t even care.
Mama Is in the Earth
I am dreaming. I walk hand in hand with my sister through a silver field. The Georgia Belles follow behind us. Humming. Humming. Guiding us on. Eve throws her head back and howls like a wild dog. I do the same. Our howling pulls in the day. The sunrise sprinting over the land. Mama and Papa are nowhere to be found. Eve and I run and run and run. Our legs pumping. Then we collapse and the world spins.
Mama’s violin is in the earth. No. Mama is in the earth. We giggle and press our ears to the ground. We hear Mama playing her strings hard and fast. We dig a hole and climb into the earth. The earth looks like the inside of a piano. Mama is in the center. Between two ribs of the soundboard. She is furious with movement. Her eyes are closed and she doesn’t see us. We sit and watch her play. She plays all night long.
And when I wake up the next morning she is still playing. But I am in my own bed. I throw off my sheets and put on my robe. It’s early. Maybe 6am? I creep down the hallway. Mama is in the living room. By the piano. She’s wearing her nightgown and her hair is undone. But she’s playing! A slow painful song that gets faster and faster as the sun rises. I sit at the edge of the hallway and listen. She is glowing. Her red cheeks flushed. She sways and dips and moves her arm like a delicate saw over the strings. I close my eyes. I never want her to stop.
Lessons
Eventually Mama stops playing. “You can come closer little bird.” Mama calls to me. “I don’t mind.”
I scurry to sit on the rug in front of her.
“It’s been too long.” She says then. “I forgot how good it feels.”
“I thought I was dreaming when I heard you. What song is that?”
“I don’t know. I made it up.”
“That’s what I like to do. Make up songs. It helps me. Feel better. Well sometimes.”
Mama smiles and then looks at me long. “I’m so sorry. I know I put you and your sister through a lot over the summer but I’m trying now Makeda. And it makes me so proud to see the ways you are growing up. Into a strong young woman.”
I don’t say anything and Mama starts another song. This time she puts down her bow and plucks and picks at her strings with her pointer finger. When she stops playing I let the question I have been holding holding holding on to escape.
“Mama.” I start. “Are you going to try to. You know. Hurt yourself again?”
She wraps her violin in scarves and puts it in its case before sitting down next to me on the rug. “I love you Makeda. You know that? At least I hope you do.”
“But … are you going to leave me. Leave us?” I ask again.
I can feel Mama tensing next to me. She and I sit next to each other but we look at the piano in front of us. Mama grabs my hand. Hers is shaking.
“Here’s what I love about you.” She continues. “You see all the smallest details about the world. It’s a little scary how much you see. But you are curious and observant and even when you see hard things you don’t turn away.”
But do you want to live? My head echoes.
“Look. With my illness I can’t really promise anything. And I have to spend some time figuring out how to live with this. How to love myself. How to get back to my music even when the meds make me fuzzy. If I have another manic episode I might have to go away again. But no matter what I do. Or where I go. Or what my mood is. You have to know I love you and your sister.”
“Ok.” I say. But it feels like I have stones in my throat. I am heavy with knowing. A mother hurts. You cannot stop the hurt.
“Listen.” Mama says then grabbing my chin and turning my head to look her in the eyes. “I was thinking. Maybe we should get you some singing lessons huh?”
“Instead of piano!” I almost shout.
Mama laughs. “No. No. Piano is still mandatory. This would be in addition. I think maybe it’s time to get you some formal training. Would you like that?”
I shake my head yes and smile.
Mama kisses me on the chin. “Good.” She says. “Good.”
Flung
That night. The night after I find Mama and her violin in the earth. I do not get up once to check the locks. The door. To listen to my mama my sister my papa breathing.
Instead. When the house gets quiet. I burrow down deep into my covers. I sleep. I do not fidget or fight or tangle with my sheets. I do not twist and turn.
At dawn the late-November sun begins to filter through my blinds. And I wake up to a soft rattling in my bones. Drums in my rib cage. Voices in my ears. But no swaying bodies. No shadows in my room. Just light.
Where are you? I say. Knowing the answer already. But for just a moment wanting them back.
Baby girl
We are inside inside
Bum-bum-bum
Do-wee-do-wee
Feel our love
And make it yours
Inside inside bum-bum-bum
Where we’re all strong
Dee-dee-leedl-wee
Keda girl Keda girl
What do you know?
Sing it sing it sing it so
Fling yourself
From that tree
Peachy girl
You are ripe
You are
Your own magic
You don’t need us to be free
All you need is a song
Diddlee-do-eee
So I fling my blinds open. I open my mouth. I smear my ripe voice all over the morning. And let it ring.
What I Know
I am a girl becoming a woman. People throw their puzzled looks at me and I know they’re wondering: Who does she look like? But I am learning to say: Me. I look like me. I am a girl becoming a woman. My skin is a home and a hurt. I look in the mirror and see a mother I’ve never met. My mama looks at me with love but doesn’t always see my struggle. I have kin in places I never even knew. I am strong even when I feel scared. I open my mouth and songs spill out. I love. I hurt. I wonder. I love. I hurt. I wonder. That’s the blues. And I sing it loud. I sing it true. You can’t stop the blues. You just have to trust your heart and let them pour out of you.
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, all my love and gratitude to my parents! Thank you for instilling a deep appreciation of music and art within me from a young age, and for providing me with countless opportunities to harness my creativity. And to my beautiful siblings—you inspire and motivate me every day to be better and love harder. I love you all.
It truly takes a village to raise a book, and I feel so grateful for the mentorship of Camille T. Dungy and Tayari Jones. Thank you both for guiding me in and out of the classroom, supporting my work, and setting such shining examples of what it looks like to be a writer in this world.
Immense gratitude to my agent, Jane Dystel,
who took a chance on me and has been a champion for my work. Thank you to my wonderful editor, Joy Peskin, who has been instrumental in uplifting my vision and story. I am honored to have shared this journey with you.
Thank you, Tomi Obaro, Saeed Jones, and Buzzfeed News Reader, for giving me a platform to share my own adoptee story which in turn inspired Makeda’s story.
All my gratitude to the following institutions and writing organizations that helped shape and guide me: Interlochen Arts Academy, the University of Michigan Residential College, San Francisco State University, the Neutral Zone, 826 National, Cave Canem, Voices of Our Nations Arts Foundation, and Breadloaf Writers’Conference. And thank you to the many teachers and mentors who supported me along the way: Jack Driscoll, Michael Delp, Jeff Kass, Gerald Richards, Jen Benka, Ken Mikolowski, Megan Sweeney, Toni Mirosevich, and r. erica doyle.
Thank you to the following journals and presses for publishing drafts of some of the pieces in this book: Prelude magazine, Bodega magazine, and Damaged Goods Press.
I would be nothing without the support of my fierce writer community and chosen family: Liz Latty, Yalie Kamara, Molly Raynor, Lauren Whitehead, and José Vadi. The group works! Thank you for reading my messy drafts, giving me pep talks, and believing in me. You are my hearts. Nate and Reed—you know I love you, too! Thanks for being the #team for life.
Much love and gratitude to Chris Jennings and Dan Lau, for braving that MFA life and providing me with support, friendship, and necessary dance parties.
A big shout-out to the 2017 Heart & Sole Team at MacDonald Middle School: your bright voices and self-determination taught me so much as I was writing this book!
Taia Brymer: I am so appreciative that you and I were able to share our stories and experiences with one another. Makeda’s story is stronger because of you.
Laura and Kenny Raynor: Thank you for always making a place for me and my family at your table. For reading my work and cheering me on. I am so lucky to have you in my life.
Thank you, Shani! Because of you I learned to heal and live more honestly while writing this book. For this I am deeply grateful.
All my love to Ray and CV for cheering me on, and for making me smile and feel loved every day.
To my beloved childhood friends: Jessye, Leah, and Lil Lizzie. Thank you for being my kin.
Finally, I am grateful to my partner, Vanessa. Whose love, support, feedback, and motivation helped push me forward with this project on so many different occasions. And also to my little dog, Henry. For warming my feet and keeping me and my characters company on so many long writing days. I love you both.
About the Author
Mariama J. Lockington is a writer, nonprofit educator, and transracial adoptee who calls many places home. She is the founder of the womanist project the Black Unicorn Book Club and is published in a number of journals and magazines including the Washington Square Review, Prelude Magazine, Bodega Magazine, and the Comstock Review. She has published a poetry chapbook The Lucky Daughter, but For Black Girls Like Me is her debut children’s novel. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraphs
Part I: SPRING
Tumbleweeds
In Broken Arrow Oklahoma
Family Names
Time Passes on the Road
Somewhere in Texas
I Have a Secret
She
Classical Music
As We Drive Through the Red Desert
Are We There Yet?!
My New Room
First Impressions
Boxes
How It All Began
El Rio Charter Academy
20 Questions
After School
Little House on the Prairie
6th Grade War Games
Improvising
Imagining Mama as a Girl
After Breakfast
Dictionary
Back to School
Letters from Lena
In the Locker Room
Blackmail
I Do Have a Crush
There Are Terrible Songs in Me
I Start to Question
Saturday April 16th
The Friday Mixer
Questions I Have for Black Girls Like Me
Maps
The Short Drive Home
Questions for HER
Betrayed
Sisters
The Georgia Belles
Our Bodies Ourselves
Top Secret
Chicks
New Routines
Questions I Have for Black Girls Like Me posted April 25th
Homeschool Group
We Spend the Next Two Days Cleaning
Tangled
Huckleberry Finn
Hot Springs
Moonlight Sonata
Insomnia (noun)
Part II: SUMMER
June in the Desert
Sweet Tomato
My Bike
Happy Birthday America
Girl Scouts
Questions I Have for Black Girls Like Me posted July 5th
In This House We Believe
Melody Icey
Never Forget
The Boy Book
Fireball
Upside Down
Questions I Have for Black Girls Like Me posted July 12th
Fire
“DO YOU LOVE IT? I LOVE IT! I GOT IT AT ROSS!”
Questions I Have for Black Girls Like Me posted July 17th
Flying
Boulder
After
The River
Needles & Yarn
No More Sweatpants and Frumpy Shirts
Safe
Practice Makes Perfect
Exploring
A Girlhood Is a Terrible-Wonderful Time
Fun Fun Fun
Independent Women
Suicide (noun)
Aunt Sarah
Reunion
Psychiatric Evaluation (noun)
Blessings
It’s a Hard-Knock Life
Small
Part III: FALL
Labor Day Weekend
Mother (noun)
A Gloomy Sunday
Bad Jokes
Brightree Clinic and Retreat
Hereditary (adjective)
Showing
Inheritance
Reset
I Have a Secret Wish
New Faces
Lists
Telling
Imagining Lady Day’s Return
Chances
State Capitol
Questions I Have for Black Girls Like Me posted October 17th
Questions I Have for Black Girls Like Me posted October 19th
Kin (noun)
Family Fridays
Mama Is in the Earth
Lessons
Flung
What I Know
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
Copyright © 2019 by Mariama J. Lockington
Farrar Straus Giroux Books for Young Readers
An imprint of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC
120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271
mackids.com
All rights reserved.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is printed in the hardcover edition as follows:
Names: Lockington, Mariama, author.
Title: For black girls like me / Mariama J. Lockington
.
Description: First edition. | New York: Farrar Straus Giroux, 2019. | Summary: Eleven-year-old Makeda dreams of meeting her African American mother, while coping with serious problems in her white adopted family, a cross-country move, and being homeschooled.
Identifiers: LCCN 2018035461 | ISBN 9780374308049 (hardcover) | ISBN (ebook) 9780374308063
Subjects: | CYAC: Identity—Fiction. | African Americans—Fiction. | Interracial adoption—Fiction. | Family problems—Fiction. | Home schooling—Fiction. | Moving, Household—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.L6235 For 2019 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018035461
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First hardcover edition, 2019
eBook edition, July 2019
eISBN 9780374308063