NO LONGER THERE

STRAND NINE

I Didn't Have It

I hope my armpits don't sweat.

That has always been my biggest fear when speaking in public. I could bust my ass, even fart, but if my armpits sweat then, it would be a disaster.

It didn't help that it was one of the hottest days in Austin and the beginning of presentations. Of course, I scheduled myself first on the roster. This project had consumed my entire semester and I was ready to relax. I also scheduled myself first because I like being number one, setting the bar, so to speak.

We all know where that comes from.

It lasted fifteen minutes. Three months of research, late nights, early mornings, shelters, hospital visits, stress and a whole lot of Prada box tissues were all defined in fifteen minutes. The good news, the only person who didn't cry was me. I felt every word I spoke, every interview I showed, every statistic I read. Still, the only person who didn't need a tissue was me. I didn't cry because something fascinating came alive inside of me. I stood in the front of that lecture hall, all eyes were on me, and I liked it.

I knew my presentation was good, I knew I could deliver it well, but something exciting was birthed within me as I stood looking out at my classmates and Professor Smith. All eyes were on me. I knew my presentation was good. I delivered it well, and my armpits didn't sweat. 

To top it all off, I got an A+, and celebrated with Roxy at Gabriel's Cafe, my treat ,of course. She still has another shoe to pay off.  We headed back to the dorm after, past the yard and students with their heads in books and glued to their phones, past the stairs, vending machines and to our door.

She opened it, and I schlepped in. Thankfully, she closed it as my my phone rang because that's when I cried, in my dorm room, laying on my bed, with Roxy by my side and a Prada box of tissues between us. I began to weep like a newborn baby.

I cried because I had the gaul to be proud of scheduling myself first on the roster, so that I could be number one. I cried because other people's suffering ushered in a feeling of something fascinating within me.  I cried because after living with domestic abuse, little Black girls and little Black boys became lost. Some had committed suicide for my  A+. That really made me cry, but I couldn't upset Clarence. 

"Hey, baby girl. How far did you knock it out of the park?" He asked.

"Look out your window, Daddy. That grand slam should be heading towards your mitt right now." I tearfully boasted.

"Aw hell."  He grunted, then declared, "I got it. My baby girl did that."

He and Roxy laughed. I forced a chuckle until I heard Lillian's voice.

"A+, wonderful, Avery Grace," she said.

Daddy fell silent in the background. I peed a little, and Roxy was speechless. Lillian Rose Reed never complimented me, on anything. Next, was Nana.

"I knew you had this, Aves. My grand baby is the shit."

That's my cool as a cucumber Nana. After a brief conversation, we hung up. The weight of world lifted and fell on me at the same time. I climbed into my bed, Roxy by my side and a Prada box of tissues between us and returned to weeping like a newborn baby.

My project was over, finals were in a few weeks, and I would go home to my home small house, on my fancy street in Trophy Club, Texas, with my uptight mother, laid back daddy, beautiful little sister and my cool as a cucumber Nana, like none of this ever happened. My thoughts began to spiral quickly, so I was grateful when my phone rang again.