“Enjoy the show ladies!”
“How does she know where we’re going? “
“Well I mean, there are 4 black women walking towards the 92nd street Y, it’s probably not a common occurrence around here.”
My girlfriends and I are heading north on Lexington avenue towards the Y, as the stranger, also a black woman heads south, away from it. Maybe she saw the flier outside with the picture of Black America’s mom, the incomparable Phylicia Rashad aka Clair Huxtable. Maybe she saw the winding line in the lobby of the Y filled with other black women, a few black men, and even fewer non-black individuals. Regardless she was right and we are on our way to witness a dramatic reading of Toni Morrison’s “The Source of Self Regard”, performed by Ms. Rashad and a dapper Andre Holland. The line is buzzing with excitement, and as we enter into the performance space, the energy is palpable. You can almost reach out and touch it. Beautiful black folks everywhere. For a moment, we go to the bathroom and stand on another line. I’m keenly aware of the gazes of some little white ballerinas. No, it’s not in my mind. The bathroom is situated in the girls’ locker room and a ballet class has just ended. As I remind one of my girlfriends, “we are at a Y”. I don’t know what these little girls see, but all I can see is the diversity of beauty in Black women. My curls are poppin’ on this particular evening, as I take note of another woman’s afro and another’s below the waist dreadlocks. So much gorgeousness all around as we make our way back to our seats. All of a sudden I hear, my whole government name yelled from across the aisle. It’s another girlfriend, also with poppin’ curls with another beautiful sister friend of hers. My friend Ann spots her later on and says “isn’t that your friend Cara?” “Yeah”, I say, “you went to the bathroom when she greeted me.” She then scrunches her face and asks, “why do we always see your friends everywhere we go?”
“Huh?”
“Every time we go anywhere, we don’t see any of my friends or Elika’s friends, just yours.”
“Like when you guys saw Antigone”, chimes in Monique.
“You was with us?”
“No, but I know y’all went to see it. “
Ann continues, and “when we went to see Michelle Obama. “
“Oh yeah, a bunch of choir ladies were at Antigone, and Schillivia was at Michelle Obama, and Kira, and Kamilah, and Jenn! Hmm. Well I know a bunch of dope black women, who like going to dope black women things. “
I knew last evening felt familiar, and that is exactly why. There was that similar feeling when as one of my friends said “a whole bunch of cocoa butter, shea butter, and coconut oil” descended on the Barclay’s Center in downtown Brooklyn one night in December of 2018. It was all the twa, twist out, braided, weaved, poppin curls, blown-out, bone straight chocolate goodness that gathered in that place was also gathered at the 92nd street Y on this February evening. The easy smiles, the girl I love those shoes! The mutual admiration shining in each woman’s eyes. They were all present, and I just want to say I love it! I love it as much as the collective mmhmms that rose out of the audience during the readings. The groans and shared laughter throughout. That moment when Mr. Holland paused because a cell phone was ringing and we all collectively gave that person the side eye, and then laughed out loud as the line he was delivering spoke of stillness. Nothing had to be explained, these were our people speaking our language and we were here for all of it. We cheered, we shook our heads in disappointment and fully participated. I mean it felt a little bit like church, the only thing that didn’t happen was the spontaneous “shouting” that can erupt, but then again there was no organ. That’s okay we left full! Full of each other and full of Ms. Morrison. Full of Ms. Rashad, and full of the voice of Mr. Holland echoing the eulogy for James Baldwin. Yeah, it was that kinda night. And I loved it! I love my people, I love when we gather. I know this is a bit longer and different than my usual blog posts. But look, community is healthy, being in spaces of affirmation is healthy, celebrating the contributions of your elders and ancestors is healthy. So do it! Gather with each other! Create and inhabit spaces where the essence of who you are is celebrated. At the end of the night, I’m sitting on my couch and there’s a new message in my work email. “Were you at the Toni Morrison reading?” It’s from another dope black woman who likes doing dope black woman things.
P.S. I would like to have the entire book read to me by Mr. Holland.
P.P.S. I hope you got the Riley/Boondocks reference.