Good Dirt

by Charmaine Wilkerson

“Most of the trouble in this world boils down to one person not recognizing the worth of another,” Gramps said. “But sometimes, that can be an advantage.”

Surely, she is not the only person holding in a world of hurt that pushes against their skin like water against the walls of a dam.

She closes one hand over the back of a chair. She imagines pulling it from under the kitchen table and smashing it against Henry’s chest.

Well, that’s an improvement. Ebby used to think she might run him down with her car if she happened to see him out walking somewhere.

But the Freemans were black. People saw their skin, not their history.

There was no way to get around this awful feeling of having made a bad choice.

Hold the moment,

Be aware of a beautiful moment as it is happening. Take note of your life as you are living it.

don’t you ever take your language for granted, children. Claim your language. Love your language. Use it well.”

People are always going to look for excuses to question your capacity to do things. Fair or not. And then they will use that as a reason to take away the rest, all of those expressions, colloquial or cultural, that make language more interesting.”

How much of yourself do you have to renounce in order to have the life you think you want?

What had they done? This was the question that hung in the air above every black family that had ever run into misfortune.

It was a subtext understood by so many women, of any color, who had ever been harmed.

There are people who still believe that her family and her pride are worth less than theirs. People who believe that her history is not their history, too.

People were wired to persevere. People were wired for hope. People might feel hurt, but they still liked to laugh. They might lose someone dear, but they still wanted to love.

It occurred to Betsey, then, that she had been restrained, precisely, in the manner of livestock awaiting slaughter. It was this thought, more than any other, that filled her with an oddly quiet understanding of her destiny. If she was to die, she would die as a woman. As a person.

“There will always be men willing to steal the freedom of others if they think it will bring them an advantage,”

Maybe all you can do is give yourself permission to embrace the rest of your life. To play, to love, to risk. To take the beauty that someone brought into your life and share it.

History is a collective phenomenon. It can only be told through a chorus of voices.