Piecing Me Together

by Renée Watson

The only thing fancy about me is my name: Jade. But I am not precious like the gem. There is nothing exquisite about my life. It’s mine, though, so I’m going to make something out of it.

I think about this as I ride to school. How I am someone’s answered prayer but also someone’s deferred dream.

Why do people who can afford anything they want get stuff for free all the time?

The whole time Lee Lee is talking, I am thinking about York and Sacagawea, wondering how they must have felt having a form of freedom but no real power.

I wonder, how could she get that feeling that night and know her brother was in danger when he was miles away, and not know he’s in danger when he’s right in front of her face?

You told me that knowing how to read words and knowing when to speak them is the most valuable commodity a person can have.

I wonder if any of these boys ever sit in a room for boys’ talk night and discuss how to treat women. Who teaches them how to call out to a girl when she’s walking by, minding her own business? Who teaches them that girls are parts—butts, breasts, legs—not whole beings?

I hope one day my family gets to a place where we can be thankful just to be thankful and not because we’ve compared ourselves to someone who has less than we do.

I don’t know what’s worse. Being mistreated because of the color of your skin, your size, or having to prove that it really happened.