Mama's Little Girls

twenty-three

Beyoncé Knowles
5 September 2019
Atlanta, GA

Two hours had passed since that first unexpected glance across the jazz bar. It was weird.

I'd been seeing her boujee ass all up and down the places I visited everyday. I wasn't mad at it, but it was interesting.

Now, we were seated across from each other at a small table in the corner, the lights low. Onika was more composed than when I first saw her tonight, but she was still a little too tipsy to really hear me out. I slid a glass of water across the table.

"Drink this." I said, keeping my voice gentle but firm.

Onika looked at the glass and then back at me with a faint smile. "I'm fine, Bey. Just happy to see you."

"I know you are." I replied, not letting the warmth in her gaze pull me in. She was too fine to just be looking at me all type of crazy. "But I need you to be able to listen to me tonight. Really listen. So please, drink the water."

She gave a small sigh, but picked up the glass and took a long drink. I waited, watching as the fun Onika faded, replaced by a curious Onika. When she set the glass down, I leaned forward, taking a breath.

"Three months, Onika." I started, looking into her eyes. "Three months since I decided to step away, from you. Do you even know why?"

She looked away, fiddling with her glass. "I thought maybe—" She cut herself off, thinking hard. "I mean, I knew it had to do with my friends, but I didn't think that was all of it. Or, maybe I just didn't want to believe that was all of it."

I nodded, appreciating her honesty. "You're right—it wasn't all of it. But it was a big part."

Her face fell, and I saw the guilt flash across her eyes, but I didn't let that stop me. She needed to hear this.

"You're someone who gets caught up in what people think of you, Onika. Whether you admit it or not, you're affected by the way your friends see me. And it's not just that they were judgmental—I could've handled that. It's that you let it affect your decisions. That had you changing how you saw me, and you ain't even know it."

She opened her mouth to protest, but I held up a hand, and she fell silent. I wanted to get this out before her apologies came tumbling forward.

"Look, I get it." I continued. "They're your best friends. You've known them for years. But I don't think you understood how much it hurt to sit there and feel like I was being evaluated, judged, like I had to prove myself in a way you never did. I'm a mechanic. I don't live in Midtown. But I've got my girls, I've got my work, and I'm proud of both. The last thing I need is a bunch of stuck up bitches critiquing me."

Her eyes were glossy as she took this in, her hands resting on the table, fingers entwining in what looked like a silent struggle to keep herself steady. "I-I'm so sorry, Beyoncé. I never wanted to make you feel that way."

"Maybe you didn't want to." I conceded, nodding. "But you did, baby."

She swallowed, her gaze falling to her hands. I could see she wanted to say something, but I waited, giving her the space to find the words. When she looked back up at me, her eyes were filled with vulnerability I hadn't seen in a long time.

"I thought a lot about us after you left." She began, her voice a little quieter. "About what you said, and I realised that I was so afraid of disappointing them that I ended up disappointing you instead. It was stupid and ignorant, and I know it now."

I softened, letting her words sink in. "I think you get it. But the question is, have you changed? Or is this just talk?"

Her eyes widened slightly, the question clearly stinging a little. But I had to ask it. If she was still the same, then I'd just end up back here, sitting across from her, having the same conversation three months from now.