Not Every Friendship Is Meant to Last

That reunion was a bit like her bachelorette party. We remembered our teenage years, our bad grades, the teachers we drove crazy, and above all our crushes. We laughed until we cried. Sousou's wedding was in October. There was a good chance I wouldn't be there. It's sad to say, but I didn't want to come back once I'd left. Nothing would bring me back—not weddings, not births, not anything. Nobody would understand, but I couldn't wear the mask in front of them anymore. I couldn't walk into those projects and see the price list of the drugs sold within those walls. I couldn't fear for our parents' cars every time there were riots. I couldn't pretend to be against the police, or believe that America owed us everything because it's racist. I couldn't stand hearing that we were victims because we'd been parked in the projects. I couldn't stand being told I talked white because I used words with more than three syllables. I couldn't stand hearing that fighting was pointless because society had already condemned us for our color. I couldn't take the giving up. I couldn't take hearing that a guy is a guy, so it's no big deal if he cheats or hits. I was sick of holding my tongue when I heard that an easy girl's reputation is always deserved—and so many other stupidities. Nothing here looked like me. I did like the others, but I hated feeling like them. So no, girls. I had some good times with you, but most of the time I wanted to scream my pain and my despair. I wanted to tell you that I know some of you helped build my reputation as an easy girl, a reputation that put more strength in my brother's fists. I don't hold it against you. In the projects, it's hard to survive, and it's easier to be in the group that beats than to be the one beaten. I forgive you, because I was dishonest too, sometimes, or not whole. I should have pushed you to rebel against parents who would rather see you dumb but virgin than educated and free. I should have pushed you to leave some of your men, because no, violence and cheating are not forms of love. But understand me: I barely had the strength to save myself. So I did what anyone in my situation would have done. I saved my own skin, praying for all of you. It's still every woman for herself. As we said goodbye at the end of that night, in my heart I was saying farewell. With great relief.