You Should See Me in a Crown

by Leah Johnson

I’m clutching my tray with both hands, hoping that Beyoncé grants me the strength to make it to my usual lunch table without any incidents.

Beyonce is a deity.

“Jealousy is a disease, Marino. Get well soon.”

But that limbo, the space between the people we used to be and the people we are now, feels like it’s always going to hang in the air between us.

“Do you feel that?” Mack shouts over the music. Her hand slips into mine gently, bringing me closer. “Feel what?” I don’t know what she means, not exactly anyway, but I want to stand still and allow whatever is happening to completely wash over me. She pulls back to smile at me. “Everything.”

Me and Jordan may not be who we used to be, but we still fit together. Like Snoop Dogg and Martha Stewart: Freaky, but it works.

I never needed this race or a hashtag or the king to be a queen. I was born royalty. All I had to do was pick up my crown.

I try to channel the confidence of a mediocre white man in a boardroom: untouchable.

“I should disown you for this, you know. You are literally the cherry on top of a curdled-milk sundae of an emotional roller coaster.”

Someone once told me You spent your life running. Well, I wish you’d stand still, ’Cause in this light you’re stunning. It’s my life, my story, And I want to share it with you. It’s my life, my story, But part of it was always yours too.