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“Boy, we all gonna die. Question is, how did you live? Did you live or just wait for death to come? Not me. I ain’t waiting for nothing.”
“I told you it’s hard for a guy to wait, but you . . . you weren’t ready.”
Even if I don’t agree with someone, I never discount the opportunity to learn something I hadn’t considered.
Wright “Monk” Bellamy is one of the best musicians I’ve ever met. He plays several instruments, but piano is what he’s best known for.
“You got this,” my hairstylist and best friend Takira
There was a time when I couldn’t imagine a night like this without Mama and Terry, and now it’s hard to see them in any part of my life.
A wound left untended festers, and that’s what’s happened with my family.
She’s attractive, I guess. Even under the thick layer of stage makeup and the wig and the costume, there’s an arresting quality to her.
And in a moment when I wasn’t looking, I’ve found exactly what I was looking for.
The first time I saw someone who looked like me onstage, it planted a seed inside of me. It whispered a dream. That could be you.
“You blew it out of the water. I knew you were good, but damn.”
when I feel a light touch on my arm. I look up and shock rolls through me. Shock and a thrill. It’s Canon.
Everything, anything good in me, Remy Holt put there. Thanks to my first documentary, everyone knows it.
“I just sent a text to Canon Holt from my porny phone.”
“No, you’re a star who was standing by waiting for me to find her.”
“You don’t have time for this shit,” I mutter, grabbing the phone and dialing. “It’s just a call.”
“Sometimes it’s easier to be good with people you don’t know than the ones you do. Than the ones who know you.”
“Oh.” Her laugh dips low and has me gripping the phone tighter. “I meant . . . talking, I guess. I like your voice when you . . . talk.”
I hate her voice. It’s all deep and sexy and pleasant. Yuck.
“The story matters most. Always the story.” He looks back to the rooftop, still packed with patrons, now bathed in star glow. “And if you’re lucky, you find people along the way who keep your feet on the ground—who remind you that real life matters, too.”
When you lose your natural family by blood, the family you choose is that much dearer, and I’m closer to Takira than anyone else.
“I believe it and I saw her screen test. I see why you’re so into her.”
“So, what looks good?” I ask. Besides you because dayummmmmm.
They’ve made a lot of strides with MS now. I wish she’d lived long enough to take advantage of them.”
You took Mama. You took my home and you broke my heart.”
Now can we please talk through these line edits so I can check you off my list and maybe have half an hour to eat uninterrupted with my girlfriend?” The word lands between us like a rock for a moment before it starts to float. It’s the first time I’ve called Neevah that even to myself, much less aloud to someone I work with.
“So . . . you don’t want to be my girlfriend?” “Oh my God! You should see your face.” She points at me and laughs. “Of course, I want to be your girlfriend. What do you think I am? Crazy?”
“I don’t get stronger when you shield me from things, but I can draw strength from you if you walk with me through them.
Hurt people holler, Mama used to say. When something hurts, you scream.
You don’t really know a person when you’re starstruck. You’re awed by the idea of them and your idea of them is filtered through a public lens. What has me tripping is that Canon is so much more, so much better in private, when we’re alone.
She’s right. If there’s one thing my mother taught me, it’s how to love through hard times. I thought I had forgotten, or hoped I’d never have to again.
The one woman who reaches my heart could shatter it the same way my mother did when I lost her. I don’t let myself think that way often because it would drive me crazy and I’d roll Neevah in bubble wrap and hold Dr. Okafor hostage twenty-four hours a day to make sure my girl is okay.
“I don’t want you to stay out of obligation, or because it’s the noble thing to do, or because you can’t figure out how to walk away from the sick girl without looking like an asshole.”
“I love you, Neevah Saint.” I chuckle, emotion crowding my throat. “Or Mathis—whatever your damn name is. I love you.”
“I get it now—my mother’s fascination with light. She chased it for years, committing it to memory and film with every sunset.
“Mama. I want my mama.”
“Can you just let me be sad? Can you just let it hurt? I don’t need you to tell me why it shouldn’t, or that it will be okay. I just want to not fight for a minute. Can you be here for me, with me, while I stop fighting and let myself feel this? I promise I’ll get back up, but for just a minute, let me fall.”
I think if I told him I wanted to go home, he’d be like, ‘Sure. Gimme a minute so I can pack my bag.’”
Forgiving is harder than forgetting. Forgetting would
be the oblivion of never knowing how you hurt me. Forgiving is accepting you hurt me, deciding that I’m going to keep loving you anyway.”
“is the most presumptuous word in the world, because who knows if you even get that. Yesterday, spilled milk and old news. You can’t do nothing about how you messed up or fell short or didn’t do yesterday. Even when you mess up and make it right, it has to be done today.”
Hers was a race that had already been decided, a race against time, but the beauty was in how she ran. And I think that’s the point. Every single one of us is in that race, and a race against time is one you’ll never win.
It’s not a string of todays that become yesterdays and aspire to tomorrow, but living like there is no guarantee. Living with an urgency to say what needs to be said, do what needs to be done. To no matter what, live with what you’ll leave behind in mind.
I think my mother was one of the earliest examples I had of looking beyond the surface.
When you love someone, you truly see who they are beyond the surface. And whether I look like the headshot I proudly passed all over New York when I auditioned, or I look the way I do right now, I have to see and love myself beyond the high gloss.
“If you think about it, neither did you. She flew out here before you even got a chance to tell her you needed her.”
When your people need you, you go.
It’s the lesson of seizing this existence with both hands; of not letting anything stand in your way; of living with as few regrets as possible. Of loving even when it might hurt because loss is as much a part of life as what we gain.
“You look at me the way your mom looked at sunsets.” If possible, the emotion in his eyes deepens. His arms around me tighten, like he’s found something precious he’ll never let go.
We, all of us, were not only the stars. We were the night—the dark sky without which no star can shine. In Paris, we ruled the heavens, but I never saw coming home as a fall.
