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lligkv · 4 years ago

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what the world will look like when it’s over

Can’t Get You Out of My Head is the first Adam Curtis documentary I’ve seen. I gather it’s not the most successful demonstration of his method; it sounds like Hypernormalization or The Century of the Self are tighter in their construction, less effortful (count how many times Curtis says something like “But then it started to run out of control” in this one), and perhaps less frustrating in their narration. In the early episodes of this documentary in particular, it feels like Curtis is constantly presenting what’s being covered as the turn, the decisive shift in his narrative—the emergence of the American counterculture, the revolution of the “unit of One” led by Mao Zedong’s wife Jiang Qing to help her break the stalemate with the other revolutionaries in China into which Zedong had fallen in the 1960s, George Boole’s development of Boolean logic to describe human thought. And the whole thing feels longer and baggier than it needs to be. The early episodes devote much time to interesting individual narratives, like that of the Trinidadian British activist or sorts named Michael Freitas (or Michael X) or a trans woman named Julie in 1960s Britain; they also sprawl in a way that makes the overall argument a bit hard to divine. It’s not until the fourth episode that the shape of Curtis’s narrative becomes clear—that our age is the product of a struggle between a new, broadly liberal-democratic and capitalist image of individualism, a dying era of collectivist struggle, and older, more vicious systems of power, derived from the control of capital and expressed through the middle classes’ suspicion and viciousness toward the subaltern and toward each other, even as they remain subject to the power of oligarchs and billionaires.

Curtis also seems to play fast and loose with the facts sometimes. When he presents Médecins Sans Frontières’s founder Bernard Kouchner as an avatar of a theory of the “one world” of liberal democracy—the idea that we’re basically one world of individuals, enjoying certain human rights regardless of political orientations or ideologies, and that Western nations are duty-bound by virtue of their prosperity to intervene when other nations violate people’s rights—it seems a distortion of what Kouchner actually says in the footage Curtis includes: “We don’t care on leftist or rightist countries [sic]; there is no leftist and rightist suffering, and there is no possibility to split the world in[to] ‘good’ people or ‘bad’ people, ‘good’ dead and ‘bad’ dead.” Which isn’t to say Kouchner didn’t believe in liberal-democratic ideas—he may well have—but what he’s shown as saying has to do with the consideration of suffering as suffering regardless of a person’s identity or allegiance, which is a different matter.

This is just one of several moments when I stopped to wonder how secure I actually was in Curtis’s hands. But ultimately, I find the emotional history he lays out resonant. The age we’re living through now, in the 2020s, is indeed the product of certain fantasies of individualism and of a post-end-of-history, neoliberal “one world”—with no ideologies but capitalism and putative democracy—meeting age-old systems of power, acquisition, and control, and age-old features of the human mind and heart: resentment, prejudice, betrayal, jealousy, the need to be prosperous, the need to be free.

And Curtis’s work appeals to me for the same reason the writer Pankaj Mishra’s work does. He historicizes our underhistoricized time. What’s more, he does so in a way that’s especially rare to see in any mainstream media venue. Usually, when you want to understand the connections between, say, colonial-era empires and post-war welfare states, or if you want to understand what happened to turn Western societies as they were post-war to Western societies as they are post-financialization, you have to seek the information out on your own. It’s valuable to have someone in a place like the BBC willing to put the pieces of these narratives together. And willing to remind us of the events that are so incredibly easy to forget even in one’s own lifetime. Abu Ghraib, for instance, which pops up in part 6 of the documentary. That shit happened while I was alive. How often do I remember it? How many American sins get drowned out in the new ones that emerge every day of every month of every year? Or in the stasis that sets in when what was once novel, like the War on Terror or the invasion into our privacy represented by the Patriot Act, fades into regular life?

I was jotting down copious notes while watching the doc, as is my wont. The questions and thoughts that came up, in no particular order:

How do the elites of a given era impose their preferred ideologies? How are the structures of power we grow up with constructed, and how do those go on to shape our behavior?

Control, as it’s practiced by societies in the 21st century, often comes down to the recognition of patterns in human behavior—and their manipulation.

The loss of power, like that which was suffered after the collapse of Britain’s empire or in the slow hollowing-out of America’s manufacturing industry in the 20th century, leads to anger and melancholy that people can’t be expected to abandon. Does doing what you’re supposed to do bring you the happiness you were promised—or anything even resembling that happiness? When we’re living in a historical moment in which the answer is no, as is often the case today, we’ll need to watch out. It’s a sign people are being manipulated and abused.

Over time, the tech industry has come to understand that you can manage people en masse by collecting their data and manipulating the messages they receive in social media activity feeds and advertising—and you can make them feel like sovereign individuals at the same time through the very same means. In light of all this, will there ever be a revolution that actually changes the structure of power we’re currently stuck in? Is there a chance to alter this extreme individualism. on the part of people who are surrounded by political systems so enervated, by the supra-governmental system that is global finance capital—which politicians can’t control, and must appease and palliate—that they can’t respond to phenomena like climate change or meaningfully punish atrocities like wars prosecuted on false pretenses? Or are we stuck where we are, in a world that’s corrupt and exhausted? In nations whose governments depend on technologies of surveillance and myths of consumerist abundance or nationalist glory to maintain power, in the absence of any real vision for the future?

It all leads to some interesting takeaways. For one, the way culture reacts to politics and vice versa. As I was watching Can’t Get You Out of My Head, I was reminded of a conversation folks on the Discord server for the Relentless Picnic podcast had had recently about the strange things Richard Dawkins posts on his Twitter account. And it led me to think: when religious “caring conservatism” was in the White House, Richard Dawkins and his New Atheism, this brash repudiation of religion and its pieties, grew as a counterweight. When Obama and his technocratic regime were in power, with social media bringing on a wave of progressivism in popular culture and algorithms presenting us a fantasy of endless choice—much of which was a thin veneer over the same old shit: banks getting bailed out, forever wars going on, productivity rising while wages stagnated—we also got Jordan Peterson-types who claimed to speak to a human need for narrative, even in this point of stability we had seemed to reach, this recovery of sanity after the chaos that was the Iraq War and the financial crisis; who claimed we needed ideas and myths to animate and drive our lives, because they sensed there was something hollow and mendacious driving all this consumer choice, for all it seemed a symbol of our freedom and progress.

Of course, both Peterson and Dawkins are provocateurs, not intellectuals; I don’t mean to dignify the movements they led much, since in both the appearance of intellectual rigor or moral clarity often covered the indulgence of the worst instincts: immaturity, obstinacy, provocation for provocation’s sake, contempt for women and trans people. The New Atheists had a point, and could be absolute assholes about it; they ultimately could be as fundamentalist and dogmatic as any religious people. As for Jordan Peterson, his actual work, in the way of so many grand theorists, uses the appearance of profundity to cover something ultimately pretty banal. And he’s most known for grandstanding in the public sphere—refusing to use people’s pronouns, the usual conservative shit. But these movements do seem to reflect a countercultural response no less than 1960s counterculture reflects a reaction to the staid culture of 1950s America and the sins it covered up.

Which leads me to the question: what was the culture’s response to Trump’s administration? Maybe QAnon and Russiagate, as conspiracies—that is, actual narratives people inhabit to explain the world’s evils, and not just a vague need for them that they satisfied with Jordan Peterson’s light form of Stoicism or his theories of Light and Dark or whatever the fuck. And in that way, perhaps, once a countercultural movement—namely nationalism and Trumpian populism—actually seemed to have overthrown a regime, of Obama-era liberal technocratic management, culture and politics came to mirror each other, rather than standing in opposition to each other. Both became equally conspiratorial and unhinged; in fact, they merged. All the ruling myths and conspiracies mutate in kind these days: Trump’s garbage about draining the swamp, a cover for Trump and his family enriching themselves and Stephen Miller’s like getting to fashion the state they wanted, becomes QAnon’s garbage about rings of child trafficking and pedophilia and Trump, of all people, being their savior—all while actual trafficking and abuse perpetuated by Jeffrey Epstein and his ilk goes unpunished, Epstein’s death swallowed up by the state without a sound—becomes the liberal pundit class’s screaming about Russia: connections between Trump and Putin that were always conjectural to me, because no one who pled them seemed to feel much need to substantiate them.

Here again I feel like what were once centrifugal forces in our culture—between mainstream and the independent media, for example; between people in power and their critics, either in the media or at society’s margins—have collapsed into a single morass. We’re all in hell and there’s no way out.

In all this, what does Biden’s administration represent? Little more than an interregnum, to my mind. How disappointing to see not even a gesture toward forgiving student debt or raising the minimum wage in these first 100 days of his presidency. There’s been some progress in climate legislation, and progress in putting Stephen Miller’s deportation machine to a halt (though they’re also reopening several emergency shelters to accommodate more minors already being held past the mandated limits for keeping them in the custody of the Department of Health and Human Services’s Office of Refugee Resettlement). But there’s also been such triangulation on policy by the administration and its supporters and such complacency on the part of the media covering the administration, refusing to call them out on or even cover this. And how can the average voter respond but with resignation?

Ever since I read Thomas Mann’s Doctor Faustus near the start of lockdown, absorbing the picture of the world pre-World War II that’s presented in that book, I’ve thought we’re in the same sort of moment that Mann’s protagonist Zeitblom was in. There’s a crisis that’s passing over this whole planet like a wave or a seismic event, and no human intervention can interrupt it. We can only wait for it to pass—holding on to whatever’s to hand, waiting to see what the world will look like when it’s over.

#adam curtis #documentaries #thomas mann #jordan peterson #richard dawkins #pankaj mishra #the relentless picnic #conspiracy

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thebookdragon217 · 3 years ago

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"The Blackness between the stars is the melanin in your skin. I read it in a book. I take it to mean that as Black folks we are limitless. That, maybe, our blackness holds our dreams, not just churches and Bibles?" I finished this one earlier in the week and I am still basking in the glow of the magic in its pages. Junauda Petrus' writing skills are gold. I especially love the structure of the book because it wove in astrology, feminism, ancestral powers, magical realism, spirituality and healing, queer love and astronomy. She showed out with this treasure and reminds the world that Black people are magic PERIOD! I loved the dual point of views of Audre and Mabel. Their characters had depth and I enjoyed their transformations and adjustments to their new situations. My heart broke for the abuse and eventual uprooting that Audrey faced for being a queer Trinidadian. Mabel's storyline was a gut punch very early on. I loved the exploration of their identities through books, horoscope and ancestral gifts of healing. Petrus made every scene on the page come alive. I know the ancestors approve because this book was an ode to the beauty and magic of Blackness and an offering to thank them for all their knowledge and talents. Not only did this book have great quotes but it also expanded on interesting themes: 🌠 Family is sometimes made and not just blood ties. 🌌 Freedom starts in the mind and heart. 🌠 Black identity and feminism is magic and transcends what is seen. 🌌 Knowing yourself fully requires knowledge of all that ancestors have to teach. 🌠 To see the future, you may have to visit the past. 🌌 Trusting yourself and your inherent gifts is crucial to your identity. 🌠 Love is meant to be free, not boxed into categories. 🌌 Understanding multiple forms of spirituality help you experience humanity fully. 🌠 Blackness is limitless. 🌌 There is no place in the world for hate of any kind. 🌠 You have to be uprooted in order to bloom where you're supposed to. 🌌 Identity is a lifelong journey and not a linear pathway with only one option. 🌠 Books open minds, save lives & provide healing. 🌌 True healing is holistic. This book will live in my heart forever. (at The Bushwick Collective) https://www.instagram.com/p/CR7-CrZr5aw/?utm_medium=tumblr

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mangoesblythe · 5 years ago

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Traveling Pt. 1

masterlist

You wiped of your trousers and looked at yourself in the mirror. you looked down at the hair you had just cut off. you wanted to work on a ship so you could travel and experience this kind off work but as a girl it wasn't possible. so you decided to make yourself look like a boy. it was hard for you to look like a boy but you found a way to properly cover up your feminine curves. you couldn't wait to go on this adventure. you had packed your stuff and you were planning to start working tomorrow. you went to bed and tried to fall asleep but you were way to excited to sleep. you were also a bit nervous you had no idea what they'd do if they found out you were a girl.

stop it. I'm going to be fine. I'm going to live my dream and travel.

the next morning you got up early. you made breakfast with shaking hands off excitement. after breakfast you grabbed your stuff and walked out of your small home.

The first day on the ship was rough. you had to work really hard but you didn't mind. you weren't afraid of getting your hands dirty but when you were finally able to get to your hammock you were exhausted. you were started to doze off as a boy next to you started singing. "Oh when I was a little boy my mother always told me.."

you knew that song. your parents used to sing it. you chuckled and decided to sing along in a deep voice. "way haul away, we'll haul away, Joe!" you both laughed and a man not too far away groaned. "it's been hours of this. Fireman isn't the only one who don't appreciate that song" the man said. "I was just joking around" the boy next to you said. "well don't" the other man said. you were a little confused what was so bad about joking around. "you're right, you're right, fireman's an easy target." the boy said "that's not why" "what's eating you?" you asked and the man looked over to you. "I've been trimmer for ten years, more. this is all I have. I can't move up, this is it for me. and there ain't nothing for me on dry land" you immediately felt guilty. he continued "you're white boys, you've got options. you are tourists. I need this, don't lose this work for me, understand?" he said while you looked at him with a painful expression. you nodded and looked over at the boy next to you. "yeah" he said and he laid back down in his hammock. "yeah I'm sorry" you said also laid back down feeling really guilty. "and you two don't sing worth a damn" the man said causing you to chuckle. "says you" the boy said also chuckling. after that it was quiet. you almost immediately dozed off.

the past days were exhausting. you had worked really hard all the time but it was all worth it because to day you were going to Trinidad! you had grown closer to the boy next to you. his name was Gilbert and the man called Bash. you told them you name was Tom. it was all really confusing for you but you enjoyed it nevertheless. Bash was born in Trinidad and with all his stories you couldn't wait to explore with them.

You walked over the market with them and you were amazed by all the exotic foods and interesting people. you were starving but you weren't able to eat anything. Bash wouldn't let you, saying we needed a taste off the best in Trinidadian bush medicine

"mommy'd say "bash come for a taste" and I'd tip my head back and she'd feed me a spoonful. I can almost taste it now sliding down my throat like spicy green medicine" he said "sounds delicious" you and Gilbert said both at the same time. "oh it was," bash said. "but it was always just the one taste and then she'd serve the family. and I'd be given the scraps that were left" "why didn't you eat with the family?" Gilbert asks slightly confused. "wasn't my family" bash replied. you frowned "who's family was it?" you asked. "the white family she worked for L/n" Bash said and you looked at him "I feel like an idiot I'm sorry" you said. "don't be. still got more flavor from one spoon than you've had in you whole life," he said chuckling. you chuckled as well. "now let's go, you two still need some medicine," he said before fastening his pace.

Bash walked in front off you and you walked next to Gilbert. you looked over at him looking at his soft curls. he looked over at you and you quickly looked away blushing slightly. he was so handsome.

snap out of it Y/n!

You guys walked for what seemed like hours. you were constantly talking about everything and nothing and your feelings for Gilbert started to grow stronger every minute.

"You traded this for a boiler room?" Gilbert asks while walking up to a beautiful and huge house. "to trade you got to have a choice" Bash says. suddenly you hear horses not far away. Bash quickly pushes you into the bushes and you fall over onto Gilbert.

crap.

you laugh and get off of him. you're now blushing and you try to hide it by looking away. Gilbert looks at you a bit weirdly. you look at him and he looks away he's blushing as well.

crap does he know?

when the coast is clear you guys walk on. every once in a while you look over at Gilbert. he looks a little confused making you nervous.

You guys walk up to a lady you assume is bash's mother. you and Gilbert stand behind Bash and you look at the lady. she suddenly notices you. "Sebastian! boy you tryna kill me?" she says "anybody see you?" bash slowly shakes his head. "come, come," the lady says gesturing to Bash and he walks over. they hug each other and the lady quickly pulls away when she notices you and Gilbert. "who are these boys you bring here looking like a wet fowl" she says looking back at Bash. "what name they christen you?" she says looking at you and Gilbert. "uh Gilbert Blythe ma'am" Gilbert says and you follow him "Tom L/n ma'am" you give her a small smile. "well I never, you two must be the first to ever call me ma'am" she says. "where you from?" "Prince Edward island, Canada" you and Gilbert both say at the same time. you give Gilbert a small smile.

you found out he lived in Avonlea that's not to far away from your home in Charlotte Town.

"They don't feed you on that boat?" she asks and she looks at you up and down. you chuckle. "Sebastian has promised us the best in Trinidadian bush medicine" Gilbert says. "I see" she looks at Bash before walking inside.

"Sebastian is so much more elegant than bash" Gilbert says slowly shaking his head. "hush your mouth" Bash says and you and Gilbert chuckle. she comes back outside with three plates full of delicious looking food. "I just made it, my mind told me I might soon get to see my one son," Gilbert sits down at the table and a little boy runs towards you. "Hazel!" he yells and he runs into her arms. you chuckle at the little kid. "is he stealing?" he asks and he points at Sebastian. "No doux-doux, remember Jesus say we have to help people. the men just hungry" she says causing you to frown a little and look over at Bash. "okay you have your food" she says. "uhh.. we could come back tomorrow?" Bash says. you start to feel a little uncomfortable and you give Gilbert a look. "nah that's enough charity, you come here again you're looking for trouble" she says and she walks back into the house. you just stand there. Gilbert stands up and grabs his plate. so do you and Bash. Bash walks away and you follow him.

that night back in your hammock you can't sleep. you stare at the ceiling. "Bash do you wanna talk about it" you hear Gilbert say causing you to sit up. "Bash I know you're not asleep your eyes are open" he says "Sebastian?" "your born name is Sebastian?" you hear a man a few hammocks away say. "you sound like you should own this boat. and here I thought Bash meant you like to rough a feller up, good to know" the man says and he chuckles. "you have ruined my reputation. I could hit you two tap myself" Bash says. "There was this girl back in Avonlea, Anne, one time I called her carrots and she wacked me over the head" "I give her right on that" you say chuckling "she's a redhead, fiery temper" he says chuckling to himself. you feel a weird feeling in your stomach. "she should've done more than wack you" Bash says causing you to chuckle again. "I wonder if I'll ever see her again" Gilbert says. "how long are you planning to stay on this ship?" Bash asks. "I don't know" Gilbert says "I wanna go wherever the spirit moves me, that's what my dad used to say" you give Gilbert a small smile. "I feel like we'll be cracking coal forever, like them pistons in the engine always going and going and going nowhere. I'm trapped here" Bash says looking at the ceiling. "I felt trapped in Avonlea" Gilbert sighs. you just keep listening to the conversation. you felt trapped back home as well but you could never tell anyone why. "If I go back home I might never be able to leave" Gilbert says looking down. "boy you call that a problem? some of us ain't have no home" the other man says. you slowly lay back down. you feel a little guilty.

Bash lays back down to fall asleep and you look over at Gilbert. you admire his soft features and then try to go to sleep. for what seems like hours you stare at the ceiling. everyone is asleep already. or so you thought.

"Tom?" Gilbert says looking at you. "yea" you look over at him wondering what he wants to talk about in the middle of the night. "are you pretending to be a boy?" Gilbert whispers. you freeze. he noticed. "I uhh- yes" you whisper back "how did you-" "well you fell on top of me and I could feel well... you know" He says and you turn bright red. "why?" he asks sitting back up. "you can't work on this ship as a girl" you say also sitting back up"I know but why do you wanna work here so bad that you pretend to be a boy" he asks chuckling. "We all have our reasons. I just wanted to experience more off the world" you say looking at him. "what happened that you needed to leave so bad?" he asks and he gives you a small smile. "I lived alone with my grandmother. my parents left me with her. she passed away not too long ago so I'm alone now" you say fighting against your tears. Gilbert notices he sticks out his hand and you take it. he softly rubs his thumb over you fingers, you feel butterflies in your stomach and you feel your cheeks heat up. you don't mind because it's dark. you calm down a little and turn your head towards Gilbert . "you should know my name is Y/n L/n" you say chuckling. "Nice to meet you" Gilbert says chuckling as well. he lays back down not letting go of your hand. you do the same. you both fall asleep holding hands.

#gilbert blythe #gilbert blythe imagine #gilbert blythe imagines #gilbert blythe oneshot #gilbert blythe oneshots #gilbert blythe x reader #Lucas Jade Zumann #lucas zumann #lucas zumann imagines #lucas jade zumann imagines #lucas zumann imagine #awae #awae cast #awae fandom #save awae #save anne with an e

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richardmaddan · 4 years ago

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where are you from originally? what do you mean your first language is english but you’re afraid people won’t understand what you say in australia?

I’m originally from a Trinidad and Tobago, it’s a small island in the Caribbean. The official language is English.

Trinidad Creole English, as it stands today, is an English-based Creole that is a merging of all of the languages from the people who came to Trinidad! Being the lexifier language, you hear influences from British English and most notably Welsh.

If I talk slowly people tend to understand me better, but once I start to talk a little faster they find it quite difficult to understand. if you really want to know the accent look up some videos on youtube, like this one (the girl driving is what I sound like if I talk 100% Trinidadian. haha)

#asked and answered #Anonymous

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queensofrap · 6 years ago

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Cardi B in the March 2019 issue of Harper’s BAZAAR. QUEEN.

Cardi B Opens Up About Her "Rags to Riches" Cinderella Story

When Cardi B visits her favorite nail salon in the Bronx, she enters through a raggedy hallway covered with a rug emblazoned with the image of a $100 bill. The salon, which overlooks a bustling avenue of pizza shops, sports-gear superstores, and boutiques with weaves in 70 colors, is a temple to money, excess, and sexiness, symbolized in the application of nails that look like diamond-encrusted Buck knives. Portraits of two icons of pulchritude hang on the walls—namely, Marilyn Monroe and the very 2019 version of Marilyn: Cardi.

With a posse that includes her dad, her half-sister, her half-brother, and two Drogosize bodyguards whose names I don’t catch but imagine to be Bulwark and Spear, Cardi, 26, heads toward a private side room. She surrenders her hands and feet to Jenny Bui, her sharp-tongued nail tech of more than half a decade, even back when she didn’t have the money to move out of this borough.

A tiny, makeup-less sprite in magenta leggings and a playful Moschino sweatshirt, Cardi talks about where she’s at today. On one hand, she says, “I feel like my life is a fairy tale and I’m a princess—rags to riches, people trying to sabotage,” she says. But she also complains fervently about being over the fairy-tale life and wanting peace and quiet. “Before, I cared about everything—relationship, gossip. Now I don’t feel like I have the time to please people,” she explains. “I don’t care about anything anymore—just my career and my kid.” What about money, the thing she raps about caring for quite a bit? “Well, I care about my career because of my money,” Cardi says, giving me a “c��mon, stupid” face.

“Before,” in this context, means before the tectonic shifts that have taken place in Cardi’s life in the past year: that she became a global superstar; relocated from New York to Atlanta to live with the charismatic rapper Offset, her new husband; gave birth to an unplanned but much loved daughter, Kulture Kiari, in July; then, five months later, after the drip-drip-drip of rumors about Offset’s infidelity, announced on Instagram that the marriage was over.

Today Cardi tells me that Offset has been to her apartment, but they haven’t seen each other and are “not really” talking, which is a bit hard to believe after she shows me videos of her gurgling baby on her iPhone and happens to scroll past a photo of Offset with a time stamp reading today. When I ask her if she’s getting back with Offset, I can almost hear her curious entourage, who have arranged themselves on sofas on the perimeter of the room, lean forward to catch the answer. For a moment, the only sound is Bui engaging in some hard-hat-level sanding and scraping of the star’s three-inch nails. Then Cardi says both, “I don’t think so,” and “Who knows? You never know, you can never tell,” neither of which is exactly a definitive answer.

I’ve interviewed dozens of pop stars, and Cardi, despite the massive entourage and the bear-claw-like nails, seems the most normal. She’s not the most down-to-earth or the most perfect, and she’s definitely not the least into social media, but she knows who she is and where she came from, and has somehow managed to keep expressing genuine emotions in the face of blockbuster success. And while her emotions can sometimes seem out of control, who hasn’t been there? We might not have screamed and thrown a shoe at Nicki Minaj at a Harper’s Bazaar event this past September (in retribution, Cardi has said, for various slights from Minaj, including liking a negative comment about her parenting skills), or allegedly ordered an attack on two female bartenders at a strip club visited by Offset (a judge issued orders of protection in December for the accusers), but we’ve all been mad as hell. And the unbearable cuteness and sexiness of Cardi, a raunchy L.O.L. doll, quickly erases those moments, drowning them in adorable high jinks.

Leaving aside the fake nails and boob implants, with Cardi the artifice is in the artwork. In the space of less than a year, her music, videos, and fashion have made her a star of Lady Gaga proportions. She releases hit after hit; following last summer’s “I Like It,” the first Latin trap song to rise to number one on the Billboard Hot 100, with “Money,” a song, unsurprisingly, about money. In the video, she wears gorgeous clothes (she’s got “10 different looks and my looks all kill,” she raps), including outfits referencing Thierry Mugler, a gold bikini inspired by 1990s Lil’ Kim’s, and a custom Christian Cowan bodysuit fabricated from dozens of actual watches. She’s a post-Kardashian American superstar, a master of selfies, belfies, late-night Instagram videos, and all other manner of self-promotion— and also a creative genius. In 2019, no one needs to pick.

Raised in the Bronx, Cardi was the naturally rebellious daughter of a Trinidadian-born cashier mother and a Dominican Republic–born cabdriver father. Her mother was strict. Nevertheless she joined the notorious Bloods gang, moved out of her mother’s home and in with a boyfriend and, finding herself broke, took a job as a cashier at a grocery store. To build a nest egg, she became a stripper. To build a bigger nest egg, she became a hot girl on social media. In 2015, she was cast as a lovable loudmouth on the VH1 reality show Love & Hip Hop: New York, then began releasing her own mixtapes. Her debut single, “Bodak Yellow,” went to the top of the charts, and it took her only one album to achieve escape velocity: Invasion of Privacy, arguably the best debut album from a female rapper since Lil’ Kim’s 1996 Hard Core.

It’s an intense time for Cardi, now one of the biggest rappers—and one of the most famous women in the world—caring for an infant and dealing with a semi-estranged husband. Her answer is to be as real as she can. As much as she may imagine herself as a princess, she talks about admiring Meghan Markle for becoming a real one. “She must just be like, ‘Who am I?’” Cardi says, referring to Markle’s having to live by the royal family’s rules. Not being able to be herself would be the worst punishment for Cardi.

Up and down, joy and pain, sunshine and rain—we’ve experienced all her days on her social media channels, where she posts close-up, emotional videos like an Instagram mime. She’s not your typical grasping celebrity, and doesn’t get off on endless adulation. “I work with somebody who gives me compliments all day, and I’m like, ‘Oh, my gosh, can you just stop?’” she says.

Cardi’s fans have been so protective of her that when Offset broke in to her set at a concert, walking onstage with a $15,000 rolling floral display made of 2,000 roses that read TAKE ME BACK CARDI, they exploded on social media with anger over a man who refused to take a woman’s “no” at face value. (A backstage video showing one of Cardi’s reps escorting Offset to the stage did little to dim the outrage.)

I ask if any family or friends influenced her decision to leave Offset. “No, I decided on my own,” she declares, looking me straight in the eye. “Nobody makes my decisions about my life but me.” Before they broke up, Offset begged Cardi to see a therapist. “I didn’t want to go to marriage counseling,” she says, in a firm tone of voice. “He suggested it, but it’s like, ‘I don’t want to go.’ There’s no counselor or nothing that could make me change my mind.”

Like many women who’ve experienced heartache and alleged infidelity, she seems caught between wanting to stay and leave. As Elizabeth Gilbert wrote in Eat Pray Love, Offset is “[her] lighthouse and [her] albatross in equal measure.” But Cardi also knows that dating new guys might be bizarre. “I have a kid, and I’m also famous,” she says quietly. “So I can’t just sleep with anybody. People talk. You know, if I date somebody in the industry, that’s another person in the industry. If I date somebody who is not in the industry, he might not understand my lifestyle.” Since the breakup, she’s been getting a ton of messages from guys but ignoring them. “It’s like, ‘Bro, why would you want to holler at me right away? You’re weird.’ If you think Imma automatically hop onto you after a marriage, that just means you think I’m a sleaze. And I’m not. I have a kid—I have to show an example.”

Bui, who has been listening intently to our interview while crafting Cardi’s nails, waves a hand and then interjects, “You’re so old-fashioned!”

“Jenny, just because I’m out there and very sexual doesn’t mean that I have to be whorish,” says Cardi. “I like to have sex. That doesn’t mean I have to have it with everybody.” She pauses, then adds, “Not that I judge women who want to have sex with the world.”

Done with her rant, Cardi turns her attention to her nails. “Damn, that’s sharp,” she says to Bui, whistling a little under her breath. “The polish will make them less sharp, right? Because we can’t forget about the baby.” Ignoring her, Bui says only, “Don’t move.”

Throughout our conversation, Cardi has been jiggling her leg up and down like a schoolkid. I ask her how long she’s had that habit. “Forever, and you know what? People always talk shit about it, but now it’s like, ‘Ha ha,’ because when I do it my daughter likes it,” she says.

Despite the indelible image of Cardi breast-feeding in the “Money” video, wearing a black gown open at the bodice, she isn’t breast-feeding Kulture, whom she’s nicknamed KK. “It was too hard,” she explains. In fact, she spent most of the time after the baby was born in a haze of postpartum depression. “I thought I was going to avoid it,” Cardi says. “When I gave birth, the doctor told me about postpartum, and I was like, ‘Well, I’m doing good right now, I don’t think that’s going to happen.’ But out of nowhere, the world was heavy on my shoulders.”

Realizing that taking KK with her on the tour bus was unrealistic but unable to bear leaving her at home, Cardi dropped out of a lucrative tour with Bruno Mars. She started feeling better a couple of months after the baby was born, she says, and her mother has been helping out; Cardi hasn’t hired professional help because she isn’t sure she can trust anyone outside her family.

As a new mom, Cardi is still experiencing aches and pains. “For some reason, I still don’t feel like my body’s the same,�� she says. “I feel like I don’t have my balance right yet. When it comes to heels, I’m not as good at walking anymore. I feel like I’m holding a weight on me. I don’t know why because I’m skinnier than I’ve ever been. But there’s an energy I haven’t gotten back yet that I had before I was pregnant. It’s just the weirdest thing.”

The baby is starting to help Cardi balance her emotions, though. “Sometimes I’ll see something online and it’ll piss me off, and then my baby will start crying or something, and it’s like, ‘You know what? I’ve got to deal with the milk. Forget this.’” She’s thinking about pulling back a little from social media. “I’ve noticed that every time you respond, you just make things worse, so I’m over it. I’m just over it. I really don’t need it, and sometimes it just brings chaos to my brain.” She adds, “I can stay off social media. I’ve been trying.” For months after KK was born, Cardi didn’t put pictures of her on social media, and certainly didn’t sell any to the tabloids. She says Offset wanted to put a picture up, but she was unsure.

“As soon as she was born, one month in he was like, ‘She’s so beautiful. Watch how people gonna go crazy.’ ’Cause a lot of people were saying mean stuff, like that we don’t post her because she’s ugly. He was like, ‘I’m about to post my baby right now.’ But then we were very concerned because we were getting a lot of threats, so he said, ‘The world don’t even deserve to see her.’” Eventually Cardi wanted to put a photo up because “it’s really annoying and we don’t have a life. We have to hide her all the time. I can’t go to L.A. or Miami and walk down the beach with my baby. I want to go shopping with my baby. I want to take a stroll with my baby. Sometimes I feel bad for her because all she knows is the house.” But can’t you put on a baseball cap? I ask. Will people still recognize you? “Yeah,” she says. “It’s my nose.”

Bui applies a final coat of purple paint on Cardi’s nails—a brief discussion ensues about whether the shade is the exact “baby purple” Cardi has requested—and then she talks about needing to get home to go to sleep. “I’ve got a big meeting in the morning in Boston,” Cardi says, nodding slowly. “Lots of money in Boston.” She begins horsing around with her six-year-old half-brother, ribbing him for being rebellious the way she used to be. “He’s a child of the corn!” she wails. “He’s just like me.” (Her half-sister adds, “Like you, sharp but sweet.”) Bui says she thought that when Cardi hit it big, she wouldn’t see her in the salon again. “I told her, ‘You’re going to forget about me,�� ” Bui says. “And she said, ‘Never.’”

#cardi b #harper's bazaar #rap #rapper #hiphop #hip hop #female rap #2019 #march #female rapper #fashion

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theblogginbritt · 5 years ago

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No, Lilly - being from Malvern doesn’t give you a free pass to claim Caribbean or black culture.

Its been a few weeks since Trinidad Carnival has concluded and so begin the Instagram “carnival tabanca” posts from Caribbeans and tourists alike. Like clockwork, Lilly Singh is back at with her new “Trinidad Carnival Guide” vlog which is essentially supposed to give you an insight into what Trinidad Carnival and what to expect through her eyes and with her bud, Machel Montano. My first thought was, why is Lilly Singh trying to educate me on Trinidad Carnival? Lilly has been known to appropriate Caribbean and black culture on a regular basis, so it’s no surprise that she added a little tidbit about why she is the way that she is:

“Anyone that knows me knows that I was not only raised within Caribbean culture, amongst others..”

As a Guyanese-Canadian born and Pickering and raised in Scarborough, specifically the Malvern community - I can attest to the fact that you are surrounded by many different West Indian cultures. On the other hand, just because you are raised in a neighbourhood of predominately West Indians, it does not give you the right you say you were raised in the Caribbean culture. Lilly credits her “vernacular” and use of Patois to the Guyanese and Trinidadians she grew up around. PSA, Guyanese and Trinidadians do not speak PATOIS, the term is CREOLE. If you’re going to say you’re influenced by West Indians, maybe get the dialects correct.

I digress, let’s take a look at the definition of cultural appropriation:

“The unacknowledged or inappropriate adoption of the customs, practices, ideas, etc. of one people or society by members of another and typically more dominant people or society”

Inappropriate adoption of customs:

The slang/putting on a Trinidadian/Jamaican accent, using the language without knowing the context of the phrases. Also just being completely incorrect about what Patois is..

The cornrows, the CORNROWS.

Clothing choices (Yes, Carnival wear when it’s being credited to “Scarborough roots” and not the actual culture)

Claiming you act this way because of the society you grew up in, which was a more Caribbean dominated community. You can choose to be your own person, without completely taking on the persona of a West Indian.

Calling Carnival, Carnevaaaal (That’s Brazil or Quebec Winter Carnevaaaaal)

I grew up in Malvern and went to an elementary school with a largely West Indian population and it’s interesting to see how Lilly claims that Scarborough and Malvern made her this way. From all the Guyanese, Trinidadian and Jamaican kids I grew up with - and now thanks to Instagram, I see as adults, not one of them acts or appropriates culture the way Lilly Singh does.

As someone who was raised by Guyanese immigrants who came to Canada as young children, it’s extremely embarrassing that this is what we’re being represented as on social media and television.

As a lighter skin West Indian, I can completely acknowledge the fact that my roots go back to India, I’m often told I don’t even look Guyanese (ps. there’s no “universal look for Guyanese people”). I especially find that many South Asians try to discredit the fact that my parents, grandparents and great grandparents were all born and raised in Guyana - making them Guyanese. We may share similarities with other Indian cultures - be it religion, music or food, but Indo-Guyanese and Indo-Trinidadians have created their own identities since they left India.

So when I see posts from a Punjabi woman who doesn’t understand West Indian roots, appropriating the culture and blaming it on where they were raised - it’s concerning. It’s even a little more concerning that she’s appropriating black Caribbean culture when she’s an Indian woman and nearly half of Trinidadians have South Asian roots.

Don’t get me wrong, I definitely used to be a fan of Lilly back when I was in high school, she often made videos about “growing up as a brown girl” or just a girl in general, which were definitely relatable. Furthermore, I do believe Lilly has been instrumental in bringing awareness to mental health, lgbtq rights and the empowerment of women. While I do personally find some of her comedy crass, she is still an inspiration to women of colour and women in general.

I’ve come across many West Indians who love her and don’t feel the same way, due to the fact she is bringing awareness to the culture - but as someone who grew up in the same part of Scarborough, I definitely don’t understand how she can claim the neighbourhood just “made her like this”. Girl, I feel the cultural appreciation but I definitely see the cultural appropriation.

P.S - Guyana is part of the Caribbean - geographically part of South America and founding member of Caricom, it’s considered the largest and most diverse Caribbean country. Do your research.

#lilly singh #scarborough #malvern #toronto #guyanese #trinidadian #jamaican #cultural appropriation #superwoman #iisuperwomanii #cultural appreciation #guyana #trinidad #jamaica #west indian #trinidad carnival

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salamoonder · 4 years ago

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@ my black friends and followers/anyone who happens across this post: my dms are open. if you need a distraction or a good listener or just someone to commiserate with, i am here.

@ my white followers: i understand many of you don’t know what to do. that’s okay. this is a fucking insane moment. i understand that many of you are in a difficult position. here are some things that ALL of you can do, if you can’t do anything else:

LISTEN TO BLACK VOICES. listen to many black voices. we are not all the same person and we have differing opinions, but it is our voices that really count right now.

ELEVATE black voices. if you don’t know what to say, spread what we are saying: by reblogging or retweeting or sharing or by simply talking about it, to your family and to your white coworkers and to your white friends.

OFFER YOUR SUPPORT. just a simple “what can i do?” is perfect. if you’re lgbtq+, think about how you’d want a cishet person to approach you to offer their support after something like the pulse nightclub. (NOT a perfect metaphor, but i’ve found it to be a fairly handy yardstick.)

FACTCHECK. spreading misinformation is never a good thing but right now it’s especially awful. use those high school taught research skills and check your sources. who’s funding those news outlets? does this story actually make sense? has this video been strategically cut, or does it seem unedited? who are people trying to silence? why are they trying to silence them?

i don’t talk about my race much on tumblr because a lot of the time it’s something i just don’t want to think about, the world being what it is, and tumblr is my escape. i also see a lot of posts circulating about black culture that i really don’t relate to because they’re heavily americanized, and i’m half trinidadian. black island culture and black american culture are quite different, and i never felt i could speak to what the majority of this website thinks is UNIVERSALLY “black culture”.

but it is important to me. and the people killing us don’t care whether i’m island black or american black. we’re all against this together, and i thought i should say something.

#black lives matter #justice for george floyd #thane.txt

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tthael · 5 years ago

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Oh also thanks for writing decent RN characters too? I feel like so often there’s a ‘they be bishes’ kind of attitude in fanworks directed at nurses, or just a fundamental lack of understanding what it is that we do, or how we behave towards our patients. Or maybe it’s just ignored because it doesn’t serve the plot, idk. It’s nice to see positive depictions in fanworks every now and again. Thanks dude. Also I didn’t say it before but awesome fic. I’m enjoying the shit out of it.

I’m very aware that there’s a lot of suspicion leveled at nurses these days, especially on tumblr. I’m sure that there are people out there who’ve had negative experiences, but I haven’t and I just really wasn’t interested in writing that kind of story. (Stephen King did that already with Misery, I’m pretty sure.) When I was diagnosed with a chronic illness back in 2016, it was an RN who called me and told me I might want to sit down and said that my blood tests indicated rheumatoid arthritis, and helped me find a rheumatologist to confirm my diagnosis. (My grandmother worked in medical billing for most of her career and she was really b*tchy about an RN giving me that diagnosis, but I think it was because she didn’t want it to be true. Which, like, neither did I, but the RN was really good about my symptoms and my pain and hiding my blood samples from me after she drew them, we had a good time.)

Also, I have the utmost respect for a nurse in the phlebotomy lab who drew my blood when I hadn’t eaten that day (stupid of me) and when I said, “I’m just gonna put my head down for a little bit,” she said, “No, lean back against the wall and tilt your head up,” which meant that when I blacked out she caught me before I hit my head on the ground. When a very nice Trinidadian doctor woke me up and asked me if that was my first seizure and how my headache was, I said, “I don’t have one?” Thanks to her, I was not concussed.

So I’m not gonna say that I 100% understand what nurses do, because I definitely don’t. I know that a good nurse saves lives (I’m thinking about the story Justin and Sydnee McElroy shared on their medical history podcast Sawbones about the birth of their second child, where a nurse made the call to initiate skin-to-skin and the newborn began to stabilize, though I can’t quite remember from what, and the parents were so relieved that they actually considered naming their daughter after her). I know that depending on where they’re stationed they have a number of different functions. I’ve been obsessed with Call the Midwife on Netflix for like the last year. I don’t have the physical stamina or the stomach for the work, and I’m glad there are people out there who do.

Not sure what fandoms you’re into, but my nurses in Indelicate are inspired partially by my real-life coworkers (Tracy and Nathan), partially by @northern-sparrow‘s recurring OC Sarah from Destiel fics Flight (https://archiveofourown.org/works/1749230) and You Can Keep Holding On (https://archiveofourown.org/works/7233709), for whom Sarah is named. Eddie’s attitude towards nursing (more comfortable with someone who’s getting paid for their work than a friend helping out of the goodness of their heart/sense of obligation) is inspired by @chrononautintraining‘s Bagginshield fic None So Blind (https://archiveofourown.org/works/16306439). Both You Can Keep Holding On and None So Blind were very influential for me in how I address Eddie’s recovery--and then some of my own mixed feelings about my chronic illness and the limitations of my body.

#my fic #indelicate #hello yes i love this fic #this ra life #chronic illness #Anonymous

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aleapoffaithfiction · 5 years ago

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"Love is not all about loving everything perfect, it is when someones corrosive nature is the only thing that glues you to them which you wished it were never there." ― Michael Bassey Johnson

“I heard you the first time ma.”

Curtains and dinnerware. She’d been going on and on about the need for both for nearly thirty minutes. I’d have to question my own mental capacity if I hadn’t remembered it. With the first day of fall already over two weeks behind us, she complained about the need to change all of the pale coral drapes in the house to be in accord with the season. She raved about multiple shades of red being the perfect color palette for the Brooklyn townhome she resides in but eventually changed her mind by randomly blurting out that it’s too early for things to be so Christmas-y and instead opted for brunt orange. As for the dinnerware, it specifically has to be the nearly five hundred-dollar twenty-piece lace gold Vera Wang Wedgwood set that she fell in love at Bed Bath & Beyond.

It took every ounce of energy I had left within me to get off of the couch, change my clothing, and drive over here per her request after an extremely loaded day at work, so the last thing I want to hear about is her trivial needs and yet...here we are.

“Well, I know it’ll be like pulling teeth to get you over here any other day this week, so maybe we can do a little shopping this weekend. We can pick up Celeste and take that new car of yours for a good drive around the city or maybe we can head back your way so that I can go to Walmart.” Or she and Celeste can take either one of their cars and go on their boring shopping trip without me. With mommy’s early retirement and Celeste’s somewhat loose schedule with her counseling and life coaching career, the both of them have more than enough time to be in and out of stores for the sake of having something to do.

Every now and then, they’ll pester me into joining them for the sake of the three of us spending time together, but I usually dread it. They’re the slow, look at anything and everything for no logical reason, shoppers who slowly stroll around the stores while discussing the most trivial things. And me? I’m usually trailing behind them while huffing and puffing in annoyance at it all. Celeste always deems me to be the annoying little sister who throws a tantrum when everyone isn’t doing what she wants whenever I react in that manner and I always let her know that she can kiss my black ass every single time she says it. There’s a lot more I can be doing on a Saturday besides walking around Walmart and looking at the same ol’ shit.

“Yeah, I guess so.” As she wiped her counter top in the kitchen, I broke off another piece of the piña colada pound cake she made with my fingers and dropped it into my mouth. Per the usual, the flavoring and moisture was to perfection.

“I know I thought you better than that. The spoon is right there.” I let that go in one ear and right out of the other. The only way I’d be using that spoon is if she had some vanilla ice cream to go with this cake and she doesn’t, because it’s the first thing I checked for when I arrived. She only has butter pecan. What is it with older people and butter pecan ice cream anyway?

“Are you still going back home for auntie Shelly’s birthday or are you still thinking about it?” She immediately scoffed with a roll of her eyes and began to fold up the wet kitchen towel so that she could toss it behind the faucet as she always does when she’s finished wiping the counters.

“I’ll probably be there. She’s yet to stop calling and getting on my damn nerves about it. I’ve never known anyone to be more obsessed with their birthday than Shelly. You’d think that she’s turning twenty-one years old with the way she’s carrying on. Oh, and then there’s the part about her wanting a Gucci bag as a gift. She has a lot of damn nerve. Why do people automatically assume because you live in America, that you’re made of money?” And just like that, with her frustration, came her Trinidadian accent in full swing. Though they’re only two years apart in age, both mommy and auntie Shelly clash like no other and yet will give you hell if you dare to test either one of them. Even with the complaints, I won’t be surprised when she flies to Trinidad with that Gucci bag packed with her belongings because she plays the big sister role well and spoils auntie no matter how much she nags about her ridiculous requests. My grandmother, Auntie Shelly, and mommy migrated to the United States when mommy was seventeen and though she’s been here ever since, Auntie Shelly moved back to Trinidad to be with her now husband, Uncle Winston. Supposedly, mommy dated Uncle Winston first and that’s what caused their clashing ways, but that’s a story that I’ve never cared to look into. That skeleton and whatever else involves it, can remain in the closet.

“Because people stereotype. It’s a part of life.” And that’s the truth. You won’t believe how many family members believe my bank accounts are on Oprah levels because my face is on television five days a week. I dread family events for that very reason. I’m all for putting my people on and have definitely extended a helping hand for the sake of granting people opportunities but there are so many people who have no interest in working their way up to where they want to be in life. How do you expect to be somewhere in life without a foundation under you? More than anything or anyone else, the esteem you have for yourself after having busted your ass for an achievement is magical.

“Celeste said that she’d fly down with me for the birthday party if I do decide to go. Why don’t you come too? It’ll be a nice getaway for you and I’ll be able to have both of my children with me.”

“It all depends on the scheduling. I have to warn them weeks ahead if I decide to take a trip because they have to reach out to other analysts or athletes to find creative ways to fill in for me while I’m gone. I can’t just pick up and go. If it’s a weekend thing, I can probably fly out on Friday right after we wrap up on air and just skip out on the Podcast. That should get me there by like Friday evening.”

“Sounds fair enough to me, for as long as you come.”

“I’ll look into it.”

“So how is work?” My eyes instantly widened at the question because it’s one she never asks.

“It’s going great, honesty. I can’t complain even if I wanted to. How can I? I have one of my dream jobs. I’ve always wanted to have a show on ESPN and now I’m apart of a panel for the highest rated show on the network. I’d be a fool to have a single complaint about that.”

“I’ll never be able to understand how sitting around and talking about sports all day long is so interesting but that’s who you are, I suppose.” And there it is; the condescending dismissal of what I love.

Being a tomboy was something that happened to be within my nature while I was a kid, I didn’t ask for it nor did I go seeking that identity. I had no interest in playing with dolls and doll houses, I wanted soccer and basketballs. The whole kitchen and tea party thing was more of my sister’s style. I urged daddy to sign me up for the Boys and Girls Club, every summer league in Brooklyn, and to buy me game systems so that I could play them on those rainy or snowy days when I couldn’t or didn’t go outside and play. Dresses were for church and Easter, as far as I was concerned. Jeans and sneakers were more of my thing and still are; I just sex them up whenever I feel like it because I’ve confidently come into my womanhood and can be multifaced in the way that I dress myself.

I compromised with her by learning how to cook, only because she would constantly drill it into Celeste and I heads that she refused to have her children go out into the world without knowing how to feed themselves, but other than that, all of my thrills were in exciting times like those NFL wildcard games to clinch playoff spots, Venus and Serena Williams coming up in the ranks, or that kid from Akron, Ohio who was deemed to be the greatest human being to touch a basketball while still in high school. Hell, I remember when all of the girls around my way had a crush on Coney Island’s own Sebastian Telfair, meanwhile all I wanted was to play a couple of games of one on one with the guy right in the projects where he, his older brother Jamel, and their cousin, former NBA player Stephon Marbury came up. Though us two girls were all they had, daddy would always happily boast and brag about me being his best friend because I was the best of both words all made up into one. As for my other parent, she refused to understand it and even now, the stubbornness still gets in the way of the potential for us to bond more than we do.

“I’ll never be able to understand how you sit around and watch all of those Housewives shows and yet I don’t judge that you do. If anything, you should be thrilled that I’m accomplishing my goals and doing something positive with my life.”

“Oh, I know you’re doing something positive with your life. I’m not disagreeing with what you do. I’ve told you many times that I’m proud of you, but you know that I’ve never been into those things. You are your father’s child in that aspect and Celeste and I relate more in terms of our interests.”

“That approach is silly though, because despite my lack of interest in a lot of the things that the both of you like or entertain yourselves with, I at least try to figure out a way to enjoy it for the sake of the both of you, but neither one of you grant me the same courtesy. I’ve offered for the both of you to come and visit Bristol and see the studios and you’ve yet to take me up on the offer. I’ve asked you guys to come to games or events, but you haven’t come. So, I stopped asking. What’s the point in wasting my time and setting myself up for disappointment?”

“Sarai, don’t be ridiculous. You really believe that I can sit through hours of a bunch of guys dribbling a ball up and down a court? I’m getting a headache just thinking about it.”

“You believe that I wanted to be a part of that purposeless and stupid debutante ball? I mean just think about how sexist and elitist the concept of it is. It’s a ball to present young ladies to the high society and most of all, to display her to eligible bachelors so that she can marry into a rich family. How shallow can you get with something like that? And yet I did it, for you. I hated every single minute of it, including Chase Williams, and his weird topics of conversation. I can’t believe you thought he and I would ever hit it off.”

“It was at that same debutante ball that your sister met her now husband.”

“Okay, so what?” I was seventeen at the time. I wasn’t worried about finding a husband. Shit, I wasn’t even concerned with a boyfriend. I didn’t date in grammar or high school. My greatest concern at the time was gaining acceptance into the undergraduate program at New York University’s Arthur L. Carter Journalism Institute. I wanted it more than anything else and yet during my senior year, I juggled trying to keep my grades as close to perfect as possible while obliging her erratic decisions for me. Chase Williams being my future husband was a failure, but my acceptance into NYU was a success.

Despite journalism being my major and broadcast and multimedia being my minor, I also had to choose a second major within the College of Arts and Sciences and I ended up going with computer science and economics. If the journalism side of things didn’t work out, I planned to go in the cyber security route or I was going to get rich or die trying by trying to be the next Mark Zuckerberg. Thankfully, journalism was truly my calling. I was accepted into the honors program during the spring semester of my freshman year and was given the opportunity to work on an in-depth multimedia piece over the course of one academic year that ending up being reported on by The New York Times. Arguably the best part of my undergraduate years was six rigorous weeks of a summer program in Ghana where I worked as a foreign correspondent. It was an experience that I’ll never forget.

“I wanted you to be a part of that ball to expose you to things beyond yourself. Sports aside, you were so caught up in just you. I believed you needed to see there’s a lot more to life than balls flying all over the place and the occasional outings with your teammates.”

“Yeah, that’s what family vacations are for and even when we did those, it was never anything I liked. I asked you for Knicks game tickets and you took Celeste and I to see Carmen at the Metropolitan Opera House instead. I asked you for a ticket to the U.S. Open and you took us to see Swan Lake at the American Ballet Theater. For my birthday, you told me to pick anywhere in the U.S. to go for a family trip and I chose the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame in Massachusetts and where did we end up going? Niagara Falls.”

“You sound so ungrateful right now. This is exactly what Celeste talks about when she says that you throw silly little tantrums when you can’t get your way.”

“I’m not being ungrateful. You’re calling this a tantrum because I’m telling the truth?”

“Well, Sarai, in a lot of cases, you chose things that myself nor Celeste would enjoy so I tried to find things that I thought would interest all three of us.”

“An opera and a ballet show? For me? And even then, I didn’t even complain about it. I just figured out ways to enjoy it despite being internally angry that I couldn’t go to the places that I wanted to go. I had to get a summer job for that.”

“What about when I took you two to Disney World?”

“It was nice.” And it was. It was the first and only vacation I enjoyed.

“Okay then.”

“But, if we’re going to be technical, the only reason why I was able to see all of the things that I liked is because of auntie Shelly. I spent most of the time in the park with her.”

“Sarai, please. All that matters is we went and you enjoyed it.” In a gesture that she’s been doing in response to my complaints since I was a child, she waved me off with a roll of her eyes and turned her attention to the touch screen display on the right-side door of her brand-new Samsung refrigerator that I’d gotten her for her birthday. She threw enough hints out about the two thousand five-hundred-dollar state of the art gadget to convince me that it would be an essential part of her kitchen and I made it happen.

“Daddy would have taken me to all of those places though. That’s for sure.” I went to my first Knicks game with him. I saw my first home run at the Yankee stadium with him. We saw the Nets together back when they were still in New Jersey. We even went to a Jersey Devils game, though I wasn’t that into hockey at the time. In the summer time, we’d go stand outside the gate at the Rucker Park and watch the guys hoop while we enjoyed ice cream cones from the Mister Softee truck lingering on the corner. I had every pair of Jordans that hit the shelves and my poster collection on my bedroom walls? Unmatched.

“I’m sure he would have but he’s no longer with us and I’m not sure why you feel compelled to bring up what he would have done if he were.”

“I guess because it’s the truth.”

“Well he’s not here Sarai. I’m sorry if you don’t think I was a good enough parent for you. I had a roof over your head, I put food on the table, clothes on your back, and made sure you were in a great school. You had good birthdays and Christmas’. We went on vacations, whether you were grateful for them or not. I tried to do my best as a single parent so don’t come in here throwing it into my face what your father would have done. I did what I could and he would have been damn proud of me.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t a good enough parent. Daddy just understood me more.”

“Well guess what Sarai? He was my husband. You don’t think my time with him was cut short too? I miss him just as much as you do. While I understand that he was your everything, I don’t think he would want you to be behaving in the manner that you do. Parents bring children into the world with the expectation to raise them and then one day leave them behind to be here to make a legacy for themselves. Your father’s life was cut short, but ultimately, he was raising you to prepare for a time when death would happen. I’m not going to be around forever either.” The pitch of her voice suddenly increased as she leaned forward to align her eyes with my own.

“I attempted to break you out of that odd mold you were creating for yourself and to expose you to different things because I don’t want you to do exactly what you’re doing right now; being alone out in this world. You’re so hostile towards life itself and it’s such a horrible mentality to have. I’m surprised you’ve kept Taylor around for so long because all you do is push everyone away. You think your father would want you behaving like that? He would have given you a never-ending earful. I’m sorry that he’s no longer here Sarai, but Wesley isn’t coming back. It’s been sixteen years. You have to move on.”

The tears that were once burning my eyes, came trickling down the sides of my cheeks. Many of our conversations always end up here, with her making this point, and then dismissing any criticism that I have for her as me unfairly measuring her up to my father. It’s never been about that. I don’t believe we have a poor relationship with one another, I just know that it has the potential to be so much better than it is. It’s not even about the past, because I don’t have to bring it up, but when I do, it’s always to point out how things are still the same when it comes to her stubbornness about who I am, what I do for a living, and my interests. I’m not as extreme with my tom boyish ways as I used to be, but I’m also not a prissy girly girl either. I’m just me.

“Move on like you have?” She hasn’t. It’s been sixteen years and she’s never remarried. The government funded support groups helped with her coping skills but anything beyond that? It’s been a slow burn progress. When I do attend church with her, I see guys checking her out and smiling in her face all the time, but from her view, they may as well be speaking to a wall. She still wears her rings and his on a necklace that she always wears around her neck and there are pictures up around the house with him in them as if everything is still as normal as it was before our world came crashing down with his sudden death.

“Don’t worry about me and what I have going on. You’re still wet behind the ears with a whole lot of life ahead of you. Don’t waste your time by trying to be like me. You’d be a fool for that. Your happiness is somewhere out in the world waiting for you and it’s up to you to find it or accept it when it finds you. Dry your face.”

I could barely finish off the second slice of cake as my stomach dropped for the millionth time at the sight of the season ending injury that snapped Beckham’s ankle during their week five match up against the Chargers. The sight of him lying on the field clutching his ankle in agony as tears began to pour out of his eyes is still as gut wrenching as it was when I watched it from my couch yesterday and the many times ESPN replayed it as we reported on it this morning. It’s always disappointing to see a player injured but the manner in which it happened to him drew emotion out of me that I hadn’t expected and yet, I didn’t have enough courage to pick up the phone and check on him. I just…couldn’t.

How could I when I spent the last two weeks ignoring any form of communication that he attempted to have with me? His text messages had gone from being sweet messages wishing me a good morning and his own opinions on the segments from the show, to being filled with confusion as to why I refused to respond to him. He attempted to call me three times but I simply stared at the phone and watched it ring. I thought after the unanswered phone calls his persistence would cease, but he then reached out through a Twitter direct message where he asked me if I was alright, because he was worried. A day or so after that, I believe he’d gotten the hint that I was deliberately leaving him unanswered and he stopped.

I thought I would have successfully disappointed and discouraged him when I spoke on the conflict of interest between myself and any athletes beyond the professional setting but it all went into one ear and right out of the other, so I needed to go another route and ignoring him was that. In the midst of the necessary barrier I built between he and I, I hated that I would find myself looking at my phone in anticipation that he’d try again. I scolded myself for lying in bed wondering about him and hoping that he still watches the show. Last night, I berated myself for the tears that I shed in sympathy for what he’s going through right now.

It felt like the Giants were cursed that day. Dwayne Harris left the game with a fractured foot, Brandon Marshall and Sterling Shepard left the game with ankle sprains, and Beckham with a fibula fracture. It was somber in New York, especially for a team that wanted to redeem themselves after such a terrible season ending playoff lost in the prior season. It pained me to read off Harris being out for the season, but it completely sent my mood into a downward spiral when I had to state the same exact verdict for Beckham. As such an explosive player and someone who only gets sixteen games a season, excluding the playoffs, to play the sport that he loves, I can’t even begin to imagine his disappointment.

I spoke with Heather. When I reached out, he was still in recovery from surgery. She said it was successful and he’s okay.

I reached out to Taylor a short while ago and asked her had she heard anything about his surgery. Everything took place today at the Hospital for Special Surgery in Manhattan.

Okay, good. Thank you.

The remaining half of the additional slice of cake I was having went into the garbage. I then slipped into my jean jacket and grabbed my car keys.

“Ma, I’m leaving. I need to run somewhere right quick.”

“Will I see you this weekend?” I knew she wasn’t too far away. She was right there in the living room wrapped up into what NeNe Leakes has going on in her drama filled life.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Okay, then. Don’t catch an attitude when I call you.”

“I never do.”

As I neared the door, something within me told me to turn around, and I swiftly approached her and planted a kiss on her forehead. No matter how many disagreements we may have, that’s my mother, and I’m always going to leave her on a respectful note.

“Drive safely. Are you going to see a guy?” The gleam in her eyes instantly evoked the rolling of my eyes.

“Ma, don’t be ridiculous. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

My first stop was Scott’s Flowers, a florist I frequent when I feel like putting a brighter smile on my mother’s face or whenever an occasion calls for someone to receive flowers. They’re so familiar with my face that I don’t have to call ahead of time for most of my orders and today was of no exception. While swiftly flipping through a booklet of floral arrangements that weren’t impressive enough, I tossed it aside and opted for one hundred long stem yellow roses inside of a cylinder glass vase. In the corner of the room was an assortment of teddy bears that caught my eyes, so I chose the biggest one they had. I know if I had surgery, I’d want a teddy bear to keep me company. Scott slipped in a number of sly questions about who I was spending four hundred dollars on at this time of evening, but I avoided lying by diverting the subject matter. I considered grabbing some chocolates but I ultimately chose not to because I’m not sure if he likes it. The bottles of wine he raved about while I was on my way out of the door were pointless too. Wine can either be nice for a celebration or a painkiller for sadness, but it can’t be either for him because I’m sure he’s on a ton of actual painkillers.

“Tell Dominique I said hello.”

“Will do.” Yes, mommy’s name is Dominique. Mrs. Dominique Nicole Thomas-Nazaire. Trini to de bone.

The drive to the hospital was twenty minutes of bad nerves and conversations with myself that drowned out whatever Hot 97 had playing. I hadn’t even announced that I would be showing up and yet, here I am, in the parking lot, about to intrude on he and his family’s privacy as he recovers from surgery. I’ve always considered myself to be a thinker even though I think too damn much at times, but I didn’t spend much time taking into consideration all the things that could go wrong with this mission to do a good deed tonight. Who I am to even think that I may be able to slightly cheer him up with some tired ass flowers that’ll die within a few days, a teddy bear that his little brother will enjoy far more than he will, and two “Get Well Soon” balloons that I grabbed from a dollar store five minutes before arriving here? And I didn’t even take into account that it’s fucking me. I’m not Oprah known, but I’m known enough for people to make a narrative that is far from the truth if I’m seen here.

“You can be such a dumbass Sarai.” I panned my eyes over the parking lot. “Fuck it.”

I cleared my conscious as I slipped out of the car and retrieved all that I’d gotten for him out of the backseat. With the click of a button, I locked all of my doors and quickly trekked through the sliding doors and to the lobby’s information desk to get a pass.

“Good evening, how are you?” The short, stocky, and elderly woman warmly smiled at me while watching me manage to juggle the flowers, bear, balloons, and my purse.

“Hi. I’m well. I’m here to see Odell Beckham Jr.”  “Are you on the list?”

Oh. My. God. See? I’m stupid. How and why didn’t I think about there being a list? He’s only one of the most high-profile athletes in the whole fucking world.

“Um, I’m not sure.” I’m not. Obviously.

“What’s your name? Also, I have to note that visiting hours are ending soon.”

“Sarai. Sarai Nazaire.” Great. Just great.

As her fingers went to tapping away at the keyboard, I began to strategize my escape plan so that I won’t suffer in embarrassment when she tells me that my name isn’t there. While on my way out, I’ll trash all of this, because they’re obviously not going to make sure all of this gets upstairs to him due to it being a security risk.

“Sarai?” I couldn’t mistake that voice. As my head twisted to the left, Heather stopped squinting her eyes and brightly smiled at my presence. God decided to be gracious towards me today. I definitely have to go to church this Sunday with mommy. I’m not going to use cramps as a poor excuse like I did yesterday. My period ended Saturday. Lord, forgive me please.

“Hey Heather.” She adjusted the strap on her Chanel bag while approaching me and immediately engulfed me into a hug. Much like her son, I don’t know how anyone can ever become angry with this woman. She’s just one big ball of positivity.

“I’m so glad to see you. O’s going to be so happy you’re here.”

“They said that visiting hours are ending soon.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. We’re in good standing with the surgeon. Once you’re upstairs, no one’s going to bother you. I stayed here all night long last night.”

“How is he?”

“He’s alright. He’s in good spirits even though he’s in both mental and physical pain. I know that sounds like it doesn’t make sense, but it does to me. He could be a lot of worse, you know? As I told him, it’s a minor setback for a major comeback.”

“That’s true.”

“And the surgery went extremely well. The fix is as perfect as it’s going to get so I can feel a lot of weight being lifted off of my shoulders and his, even though he’s not going to admit that right now. He has a long road ahead of him before full recovery and of course him getting back to the athletic O that we all know and love, but the fact of the matter is that he’s going to recover. There are people who do not, so he’s blessed.”

“I’m so glad to hear that. When I saw his ankle bend like that, I literally yelped out loud.”

“Oh, so did I. I just about had a heart attack. Thank God I was here. My nerves would have been shot to hell had I been back home.”

“Were you leaving?”

“Yeah, I’m going to head back to the house to freshen up and get a bit of rest. He sent everyone else home about an hour ago. I was the last one hanging around. He claims everyone needs to go and chill out for a bit, but honestly, I think he was tired of the crowd being in the room. He couldn’t get much rest himself with everyone hovering over him and doing all of that talking.”

“Oh my gosh, well then, maybe I can just have this sent up and I’ll just head out. If he’s trying to rest, I don’t want to disturb him.”

“Oh no. Don’t be silly. Please go up, I insist. Even if it’s just for a few minutes, I know he’ll be happy you came by.”

“Okay.” Maybe I’ll stick around for ten minutes.

“I should be back first thing in the morning. Oh, and thank you so much for the words of encouragement you spoke this morning for he and the other wide receivers who were injured yesterday. You’re so awesome Sarai. Truly.” Yet again we were hugging.

“Oh, there’s no need to thank me. I hate to see players get injured. It’s awful.”

“Yes, it is. They’ll be alright though. I just try to think positive. I grabbed him a light dinner earlier because he’s not fond of the hospital’s food and he has some snacks up there too, so he should be okay. He knows to call me if he needs me. You can also call me if anything comes up. You have my number.”

“Yes, I do. I’ll be sure to call.”

“Alright then. I’ll see you soon. Have a good night.”

“Goodnight.”

As she walked away, I realized that she hadn’t given the receptionist clearance for me to be able to go upstairs.

Shit.

“Sarai right? I placed your laminated pass right there. I just need you to step back a bit so that I can take a picture with the camera and print one out.”

“Oh, everything is okay?” My brows raised in confusion.

“Of course. Your name is there.” She said it so nonchalantly, it almost went over my head that my name was indeed on his visitor’s list. I’m sure the picture she took looked foolish and that was confirmed once she passed it to me. How is my name already on the list?

“He’s on the fourth floor. The room is on your pass. The elevators are right over there to the right.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Flutters filled my core as the elevator ascended to the fourth floor. The feeling worsened as I stood in front of the closed door to his private room.

What will I say? If he saw this morning’s episode, then I don’t want to be repetitive with the words of encouragement. Then again, does he even want to hear that? I know I wouldn’t want to hear the cliché “it’ll be okay” after being told I won’t be able to play for the rest of the season. That’s not okay. Maybe I won’t say anything and I’ll just listen. After so much disappointment and a surgery, who wouldn’t want to vent? Either way, I came all this way, so I might as well go through with this. I’ll kick myself in the ass later on when I’m back home.

“Beckham?” I poked my head into the room. There was silence. As he lay there in bed, he stared up at the ceiling in deep thought until I interrupted him.

“Sarai?” He cleared his throat to rid it of some of the rasp as I stepped into the room and allowed the door to close behind myself. Our eyes instantly met and the glossiness within them sunk my mood even further. I could tell he hadn’t been crying but it was clear that the weight of all that had happened to him over the last twenty-four hours was on his shoulders like a ton of bricks and right now, within this moment, he feels something he typically never feels for himself; helpless.

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Wow. Flowers?” A bit of gleam filled his eyes and he chuckled at the sight of all of the yellowness in my hands. As I glanced around the room, I noticed a ton of balloons, two gift baskets filled with chocolate, but no flowers. “I’ve never received flowers before.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Is it a bad thing?”

“Of course not. I’m flattered, honestly.” I found a nice spot near the window to place them down, so they’d be able to receive a good amount of sunlight and I placed the teddy bear on the couch just near the window.

“I figured I’d get them in yellow to bring some brightness around here. I don’t care what they look like; all hospitals are dull and glum to me. You don’t need that kind of energy around you right now. You want to hug the bear?”

“A hug from you sounds better.” It felt like someone punched a hole into my chest and knowingly squeezed my lungs once he said that. The hesitance was clear as my feet remained just about glued to the floor for a few seconds but I eventually began to inch my way over to his awaiting arms and laid my upper frame on top of his. With him laying down, I was only able to grip both of his arms as he wrapped his drawn-out arms around my body and pulled me close. The beating our hearts synced and somehow, I felt more alive than I did at any point during this befuddling day. A laziness filled me as the warmth of his body relaxed mine and the enthralling scent of his cologne coerced my eyes to close as we basked in the moment. The feeling his fingers lightly pressing into my back informed me of just how much he needed to be embraced and if that could give him just the slightest bit of comfort through this, I’m am willing to give him as many hugs as it takes.

“I ran into your mom. She said the surgery was a success.”

“Yeah, the doctor claims all is well. I have a long road ahead of me though.” Despite me sitting up to be able to look at his alluring face, I was still wrapped up within his arms.

“It takes about six weeks for bones to heel, but there’s a possibility it can be longer. We’ll just have to pace it. For the next four to six weeks I really have to chill out and keep my weight off of it as much as possible. They’re going to put me on a pain management protocol so I won’t be so dependent on the opioid medications which is great for me because I hate how all of that shit is making my body feel. I’m going to be in a splint when I get out here and I have to basically sit on my ass and elevate it ninety percent of the day. In about two weeks, he’ll take the sutures out and then I’ll get one of those boots that you can take on and off. I’ll be able to start slightly moving the ankle then and taking showers. They’ll do an x-ray in six to seven weeks to see how well the bone healed and if all is well then, I’ll be able to start putting weight on it and doing physical therapy.”

“Well, at least you really listened to all that he had to say.” I had to laugh at the way he easily listed off the way his life is going to be for the next month and a half. He didn’t sound enthusiastic about it whatsoever, but he’s certainly well informed.

“Well, yeah I did. I can’t take not being on my feet for so long. All of that sitting around is going to drive me insane.”

“It doesn’t have to. Now is a good time for you to find other things to entertain yourself with.”

“You know what’s crazy? Remember when I said to you that I was praying to God for more time to do things that are beyond the football field like spending time with my family, friends, and the dogs? Now look.”

“Well, I don’t think God decided to grant you that wish by snapping your ankle, but at least you’ll be able to gain some perspective about life in the midst of this.”

“Everyone keeps telling me that it’s going to be alright. Minor setback for a major comeback.”

“Well, I’m not going to tell you that.” His hands trailed down my back as he frowned in confusion in the same manner that I had been doing downstairs.

“What do you mean?”

“You snapped your ankle. You’re lying in a hospital bed. Despite what everyone is telling you, that’s not what you feel. This feels fucked up and pretty shitty. You’re out for the season and now you have to watch your team fight for victories without you. That feels even worse. So right now, it doesn’t feel like it’s going to be alright because it’s still all so fresh and you have the right to feel that way. Be angry, frustrated, hell, even cry if you want to. It’s alright to have those emotions because this isn’t easy. There will come a time when you do feel like everything’s going to be alright, but tonight isn’t it…and that’s okay.”

I don’t know how anyone uses those ridiculous and yet absolutely insulting adjectives such as diva, asshole, little girl, and selfish to describe this man. The majority of the time we see him, he’s covered up in a uniform and is defined by the number on the back of his jersey. For sixty minutes, people create so many false narratives of who he is based upon passionate responses on the field and his will to win. It’s beyond unjust because the person that I’ve come to know is charming, compassionate, and has elements of shyness within him. He’s composed, observant, and aware. He has a keen eye for detail, listens intently, and thinks before he speaks. He carries himself with his head held high and brings about an energy into any room he steps into unlike any other. He puts smiles on people’s faces, tells the silliest jokes to lighten the mood, and shows genuine concern for the well-being of others. He’s unique; a one of a kind Baton Rouge born royal who has made his mark and is continuing to do so no matter what negativity his naysayers speak.

“Thank you for that, Sarai.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Can I ask you something? You don’t have to explain yourself if you don’t want to. I’m just curious.” And suddenly I wanted him to let me go. I hate that he could easily feel the nervousness within my now tense fame. To soothe me, he ran one of his ridiculously huge palms up and down my back.

“Yeah?”

“Why’d you ignore me? Did I do something wrong?”

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong. Beckham, you don’t understand.”

“Help me understand.”

“This can’t…” It was me who broke his embrace as the door suddenly cracked open. With one step, I dashed backwards to create some space between the bed and myself.

“Mr. Beckham, it’s time for your final round of medication for the night. You should be able to sleep with this one. Are you feeling any pain?”

“Nah not really. The only thing I’m feeling is flips in my stomach and chills from all of the medication.”

“Yeah, those are typical side effects, especially because we’re giving it to you intravenously. Usually when medication is going straight through the vein it can cause you to have slight jitters, chills, possible anxiety, or it feels like there’s this rush happening within your body. I promise we’re not going to give you anything that is dangerous for you. We’re just trying to keep your pain under control. Remember you had surgery today.”

“I know.”

“At least your girlfriend is here to keep you company. She’ll keep your mind off of it until you fall asleep.” My mouth fell agape at her assumption and he giggled like a young school boy as she viewed his chart.

“That’s true.” If I didn’t have any sense, I would have beamed my phone at his head.

“So, this is morphine and your antibiotic. This should last you throughout the night, but I’ll be in to check on you. Do you have to use the bathroom?” She began to check his pulse and blood pressure.

“Nope, because I’m not going in that bed pan again.”

“Beckham, don’t be stubborn.” I had to butt in. He’s in here for an ankle fracture and he’ll be back for a damaged bladder if he holds his urine due to being too prideful.

“I actually don’t have to go.”

“Are you sure? Why don’t we try? I’ll get a pan.”

“I’ll step outside.” Their conversation was officially shifting into a privacy territory.

“You don’t have to step outside.” Beckham found her responses to be all too funny as I widened my eyes in disbelief. Uh, I absolutely do have to step outside and I’ll be stepping outside of the building if she continues with these assumptions.

“Nurse Meghan, I really don’t have to go. I’m okay.”

“What about number two? Have you had the urge yet?” And then it quickly became my turn to laugh at him as he frowned his face up in sheer embarrassment at such a question.

“No.”

“That’s normal. It may take a day or two for your bowels to open up but if it’s any longer than that we’ll give you a mild laxative to fix that problem.”

“I doubt I’ll need that.”

“We’ll see. Hopefully you won’t. Your blood pressure is great. I’ll check your temperature, insert your medicine through the IV, and you should be good to go. You need anything else for the night? I already showed you how to work the television. On the remote is a button for you to press to call the nurse’s station and I’ll be right here to assist you. You have water right over there if you want it. You want any extra pillows or blankets?”

“Nah. My mom brought me some from home so that I could be comfortable. I’m straight.” He lifted his tongue for the thermometer and within a few seconds she was jotting down his temperature.

“All normal. If anything should change, you know how to reach me.” I’m not sure why but my eyes followed her every move as she worked with the IV to properly insert the liquid within both syringes into the line. She was gentle enough to make sure she didn’t irritate his arm and the vein by pulling on or adjusting it.

“I do.”

“Alright then, I’ll check on you in a bit Mr. Beckham.”

And yet again, we were left alone. His eyes hadn’t panned back up to the ceiling like they were before I intruded on his thinking. Instead, they were directly on me while I leaned against the wall.

“You’re going to go to sleep soon, so I’m going to get out of here. You need your rest.”

“I don’t want you to go.” Why does he say all of the things that men don’t say but actually need to say?

“You’re going to fall asleep within the next ten minutes or so.”

“I’ll fight it. I want to talk to you.”

“You’re so stubborn.”

“I won’t fall asleep. Just stay for a little while longer.” How can I deny someone laying in a hospital bed?

“Okay.”

“So, I watched clips from today’s show on my phone. I couldn’t see the whole episode because I was in recovery and still under the anesthesia when it was on. Scott wasn’t there today, which made the show even better.” My laughter was louder than it should have been because that is one of my co-hosts after all, but gosh, he peeves so many people. There’s one side of him that deliberate does it for the sake of sparking debates and the other side is actually just his personality coming out to shine, often times, in the worst ways. He can be condescending, over exaggerated, and a large majority his sentiments causes our viewers to unleashed full on rants about him on social media but he is who he is and he’s yet to say anything controversial enough to be removed from the show. His disdain for Beckham, Tom Brady, Lebron James, and Antonio Brown never falters. We’ve all learned not to take him seriously whatsoever because if he were to meet any one of the three, he’d never keep that same energy in their faces.

“Yeah, Scott went on vacation with his girlfriend.”

“I see the way he looks at you. I think he likes you.”

“He does.” He flirts, he’s asked me out for drinks once, and his compliments can be overkill. I’m not interested nor will I ever be.

“You’re out of his league. He should know better than that.” Though he attempted to suppress it, I noticed the yawn and the way he attempted to pull the covers up over his body. I decided to help. If I felt the chill within the room, I’m sure it feels worse for him.

“How’s that?” I covered him up to the top of his shoulders.

“It’s great, thank you. So back to what I was saying, he’s out of your league.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. I’m sure he knows it too.”

“So, who’s in my league?”

“No one.”

“No one?” I didn’t expect that answer. I figured he’d throw in some joke about it being him. He’s good for a flirtatious moment.

“No one. You’re definitely in a league of your own, but I’m trying to work my way up to bring drafted in. With the first and only pick in the 2017 Sarai Nazaire draft, Sarai selects Odell Beckham Jr. from Baton Rouge, Louisiana and the New York Giants.”

“Shut up!” I knew it was coming. We roared in laughter because of that. He wouldn’t be himself without inserting some kind of joke into the mix.

“Sarai, you know after this you can’t ignore me ever again, right? You bought me flowers, a teddy bear, and balloons. You told me I could be as mad as I want. You were about to help me use the bed pan.”

“Oh, no I wasn’t.” The only way I would have done that is if it were truly an emergency and the hospital had not a single nurse within reach of him.

“Yeah, you were. You tucked me in. All that’s left for you to do is kiss me and then we can start talking about the rest of our lives together.”

“Go to sleep Beckham.”

“You go to sleep Nazaire.” This yawn came with his heavy eyelids struggling to stay open so that he could focus on me. He didn’t have the strength to say anything more. I looked on as he eventually drifted into the deep slumber that he was fighting against and the light snoring was a clear sign that he’d be out for the night.

The reclining chair directly next to the bed had a pillow and blanket neatly folded up in its seat and on the opposite side of the room was the couch. I had options and yet I chose to remain nearby. I’m going to assume this is where Heather slept. She did a nightshift last night, so I’ll do one tonight.

I gently lifted the yellow beanie hat covering his head just a bit and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. I, then, gave him a second one for good measure. As my eyes panned down to his slightly pouting lips, I mentally scolded myself for momentarily craving to feel them against my own. The man is laying in a hospital bed and yet I’m consumed with my own childish and temporary fantasies.

I kicked off my sneakers and curled up into the chair. I didn’t expect it to be comfortable but it isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. The cushion is soft enough to keep my back and bottom without aches throughout the night.

Lastly, I covered myself in the blanket smothered with his scent and propped up the pillow that smelled just the same right under my head.

“Sweet dreams, O.”

Within a half an hour, I was having sweet dreams of my own.

#fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #fan fic #odell beckham jr fanfic #odell beckham fanfic #obj fanfic

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almostwatch · 6 years ago

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hi Caribbean black lady back again 👋! You’re Caribbean black too?! That’s awesome!!! I heard that lifeline from apex legends was Trinidadian :D! And I agree, big companies do need to better normalize general diversity in games. Especially blizzard and overwatch, for a company that tries to downplay their supposed diversity goals but don’t exactly pull off said goals either. You make really Rest points, thank you!

Yeah! I’m actually only part Caribbean black (Belize/Jamaica) but I totally understand what you were saying and I do agree that adding Baptiste is a step in the right direction. Blizzard just needs to get to stepping a little faster man, use your lootbox and merchandise revenue you fools and maybe you won’t get dragged every fortnight

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archivednerdfics · 6 years ago

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“Fair and Square” Summery: Anne notices that Gilbert hasn’t acting like himself and decides to take care of him. (Takes place a few months after season 2, episode 10, so beware of spoilers if you haven’t finished the season yet!) ______________________________________ He hadn’t seemed quite like himself the entire school day. He was never a particularly rowdy student — he did his work diligently, answered questions from Miss Stacy when addressed, and rarely talked to the other boys during class; partly, Anne was sure, because he didn’t particularly enjoy their company. However, today was different. Gilbert had nearly dozed off several times during the lesson, and when approached by one of the other boys, he’d positively snapped at him. Not that this in particular concerned Anne, as the boy Gilbert had snapped at was Billy, and she had absolutely no sympathy for that particular boy; not after all he had done — especially to Cole. However, there was no denying the fact that all of this was very unlike the Gilbert Blythe she had come to know over the past months now that they were... well, friends. This was the reason that she chased after him as he made his way to the Haunted Wood after school, he had a head start as he’d been the first to leave the schoolhouse the moment everyone had been dismissed — something else that was very unlike him as he normally stayed behind for a bit to discuss his plans for the future with Miss Stacy, and ask her for her advice on such matters. “Gilbert! Gilbert, wait!” The boy stopped in his tracks and turned around to face her. “Anne?” he asked in surprise, “What’s wrong?” “Nothing! —Or, well nothing to do with me, that is. It’s just... are you alright? Because you haven’t seemed like yourself today and— What?” She cut herself off as she noticed the small, amused smile playing on Gilbert’s lips. “I’m fine,” the boy said in a reassuring voice, “Just tired is all.” She stared at him for a few moments with a quizzical expression. Something about him still didn’t seem quite right; he did seem tired, just as he’d said, but there was something else amongst his features that concerned her. He’d always been pale, but this was different, he was much paler than he should have been — even allowing for the cold of November — and it made the dark circles under his eyes and the unnatural flush of pink in his cheeks stand out more than it normally would have. “You’re ill,” Anne said eventually, a somewhat accusing tone to her voice as she reached up and placed her hand on his forehead. “No,” Gilbert said dismissively as he gently pushed Anne’s hand away from him, “I told you; I’m fine.” He turned and began to walk again, but quickly stopped when he found himself staggering slightly and leaning against a tree for support, a dizzy spell having taken over him for several moments. Anne rushed over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder to help steady him. “Yes,” she said when she was sure he wasn’t about to faint, “Because not being able to walk straight is completely fine!” She realized that, again, he was giving her an amused smile, and she sighed in irritation. “Gilbert Blythe you are positively infuriating. Come,” she added as she took his arm and linked it with her own, “You are clearly much too unwell to be left to your devices; I’ll help you home.” He gave a half-hearted protest, but quickly gave up as the thought of Anne helping him was a pleasant one. ...And besides, when Anne Shirley-Cuthbert made her mind up about something, there was no changing it. It was a long walk — longer than it normally would have been due to Gilbert’s slower pace, something else that concerned Anne, but it was a pleasant walk all the same. Eventually they reached Gilbert’s home, and upon entering, Anne immediately noticed how still and quiet and, well, cold it was. “...Where are Bash and Mary?” she asked as she followed Gilbert to the kitchen table and sat in the chair next to him. “They went to visit Mary’s son. They want him to stay here with us for... well I’m not sure how long. I don’t think he’ll go for it, but Mary wants him to come here so badly...” Anne nodded sadly and gave him a smile, “I hope they convince him to come.” “Yeah,” he returned her smile, “So do I.” They sat quietly for a few long moments when Anne stood up. “Now, you need to change into something more comfortable and warm,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone that took Gilbert slightly by surprise, “Then get into bed and rest. I’m going to get a fire started and make some tea.” “Maybe you should be the one studying to be a doctor,” Gilbert said with a smile, making Anne blush slightly. “Gilbert Blythe, don’t be ridiculous. I am going to become a teacher; and I hope my students will listen to me better than you do. Now go to bed.” Gilbert slowly stood up and gave Anne a pointed, mischievous smile “Yes, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert.” Anne’s eyes widened and she blushed again — a little more pink than before — and Gilbert laughed slightly before leaving the kitchen and retreating to his bedroom. He changed as quickly as possible, trying to keep the chill of the room from getting to him, and got into his bed. The moment his head hit the pillow he realized just how tired and ill he really felt. The last time he’d been sick his father was still alive, and the memory made him smile. He had always hated being alone when he wasn’t well, so on that day he had opted to stay with his father, who was bedridden himself. It was one of the last days the two had really spent together, without Gilbert gone at school or working the farm, and he wouldn’t trade that day with his father for anything. Still, the thought of his father sick and dying wasn’t exactly a welcome one, especially while Gilbert was sick in bed himself... Anne entered the room several minutes later, cup of tea in hand, and found the boy curled up in bed looking like he was trying to hold back tears. She set the cup on the nightstand and quickly sat on the edge of the bed, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Gilbert, what’s wrong?” she asked in concern, “Does something hurt?” “No... no I-I’m fine I just...” he let out a shaky breath as he looked up at Anne who was waiting patiently for him to finish speaking, “I don’t want to die like him, Anne.” “Like who?” “My father. He was sick for so long and I... I don’t want to die like that.” Tears filled his eyes and he looked so small and frightened; not at all like the Gilbert Blythe that Anne had come to know so well, and it frightened her. “Oh, Gil,” she said softly, using the nickname she reserved only for important occasions as she pulled him up into a tight, reassuring hug, “I promise you, you aren’t going to die like that. You’ve just got a fever, you’ll be better in no time.” They sat like that for several long moments with their arms wrapped around each other. The boy’s anxious breathing slowed until he finally relaxed, releasing Anne from the hug, suddenly feeling more exhausted than he had when he’d first laid down. “...Thank you,” he said, looking up at the girl through half-closed, glassy eyes. “What do you mean?” “For helping me. I know I can be stubborn, but I do appreciate it.” Anne smiled, but shrugged it off all the same, “You’re my friend. Of course I’m helping you. —And Marilla often tells me that I am stubborn as a mule, so I’m sure you aren’t half as stubborn as I am.” “Are you trying to compete with me?” Gilbert said with a small, playful smile. “Perhaps.” They both laughed, then Anne noticed how tired Gilbert seemed and quickly stood up. “I should go so you can rest.” “No...!” the boy said, panic showing slightly in his fever-bright eyes, ”Please, Anne, I... I don’t want—“ The girl sat on the edge of the bed again, just as quickly as she had stood up, and took his hand. “—I understand,” she said gently, “I don’t like to be alone when I don’t feel well either.” This was a lie meant to make him feel better, and he knew it. Anne would not permit anyone to speak to her when she was in the “depths of despair” as she called it — except for perhaps Diana. Still, he appreciated it; especially when she laid next to him and started to tell one of the many stories she was able to create out of thin air. He drifted into sleep after a short time, dreaming of a certain red-headed Princess Cordelia and a nameless prince who’s description had sounded suspiciously like himself. By the time Gilbert awoke it was dark, though there was a lit oil lamp on his nightstand which illuminated the room. He thought he was alone until he heard a quiet laugh from the doorway and looked up. “Bash?” he asked as he sat up. “You still going to tell me that Anne’s ‘just a friend’?” “What are you talking about?” Bash looked pointedly at Gilbert’s nightstand and the boy followed his gaze to find his school slate sitting next to the oil lamp with: I’ll be back tomorrow to recount the lessons you miss. When I beat you I want it to be fair and square. Love, Anne written on it. He smiled and placed the slate back on the small table, then leaned back into his pillows. “She left you a love note.” Bash was positively grinning and Gilbert rolled his eyes. “It is not a love note. She just said that she’s going to help me.” “I think that fever cooked your brain, Blythe.” “...How did you know I—“ “Anne.” Gilbert sighed; of course Anne had told Sebastian everything. “Now how about we get you something to eat? My mother always said there’s no ill that some good food can’t cure.” The younger of the two smiled and nodded a little. “Yeah,” he said as he pushed himself out of bed and made his way to the man who had become his family, “I think I could use some Trinidadian Bush Medicine.” Bash laughed a put an arm around the boy’s shoulders as he led him to the kitchen. “You still wish you were sick every day?” he asked jokingly and Gilbert rolled his eyes but didn’t otherwise respond, trying not to think about the fact that he’d been telling Anne how afraid he was of that very thing only a few hours earlier. “You were talking in your sleep earlier,” Bash said, sensing that he should change the subject. “Who’s Cordelia?” Gilbert could feel heat rushing to his cheeks. “A friend...” he said and Sebastian gave him a look of amused surprise. “What, another one?” “...No. Same one.” He knew he was blushing furiously now, he just prayed that he could pass it off as part of his fever. Bash just shook his head in disbelief and laughed a bit as he made his way to the stove, and Gilbert sat at the table, a small, involuntary smile playing on his lips as he thought about the princess Anne Shirley-Cuthbert who had graced him with her friendship.

#anne of green gables #anne with an e #anne shirley #anne shirley cuthbert #gilbert x anne #gilbert/anne #anne x gilbert #gilbert blythe #anne/gilbert #shirbert #bash lacroix #anne with an e netflix #anne with an e fic

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anneshirleywasmychildhood · 6 years ago

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At a party, confessing feelings

Ok, I know it’s late but whatever. Shirbert, 3800 words.

It was the baby shower for Sebastian and Mary’s first child. A two and a half after they got married, and Gilbert was back in Avolea over the winter break after his first semester away at Queens. Gilbert was helping Sebastian in the field, so he didn’t have a lot of time to help plan the shower. That’s why he was only a little surprised when he saw Anne sitting at his dinning room table when he came in from the field.

“Anne,” he smiled.

“Gilbert,” she returned. “Gilbert,” Marilla said, interrupting their moment. Gilbert hadn’t noticed at first, but Mary and Marilla also in the room, though sort of behind the door, looking over some recipe books together.

“Marilla,” he nodded, not nearly as breathlessly as he addressed Anne.

“The coffee is on the stove,” Mary said, then she and Marilla went to talking about something. Anne was still sitting at the table, somewhat excluded. Gilbert went to the stove, poured himself a cup of coffee, then took a seat next to Anne.

“What are they talking about?” Gilbert asked.

“They are discussing what to make for Bash and Mary’s baby shower,” Anne informed him. “Mary needed some help, it’s two much for just one person, much less one stove. She called over Marilla to help.”

“And you came to help too?” Gilbert assumed. “That’s generous.”

“Oh, I will help when it comes to the actual baking,” Anne assured him, “but I’m not exactly sure how useful I am now. I don’t know anything about planning all the food for a party.”

“That’s exactly why you are here,” Marilla reminded her, “to learn.”

“Who knows, maybe soon enough you’ll have to plan out the food for your own engagement party,” Mary suggested with a smile, and a subtle nod at Gilbert.

Anne smiled back, though she was mostly oblivious to the nod at Gilbert. “Who would ever want to marry me?” she wondered in the most self-deprecating manner.

Mary and Marilla looked over at Gilbert and tried their best not to laugh as he struggled against the urge to propose then and there. Luckily for him, though perhaps also unluckily, Bash chose that exact moment to come in.

“Hello, everyone,” he addressed them all before turning his attention purely to Mary. “Hello, beautiful,” he said, kissing her on the check.

“Coffee’s on the stove,” she said.

“In a moment,” Bash said, not wanting to leave Mary’s side just yet.

Anne looked up at them. She often imagined what true romantic love would look like, seeing it was the fulfilment of so many wishes she didn’t know she had. Her heart was in her eyes as she looked at the two of them holding each other close. She wanted that, that sort of true, everlasting love. Not knights and castles, not per se, though that would be nice. Kisses on the cheek and missing them when they are gone and counting the seconds till you could see them again. That was love. That’s what she wanted.

Gilbert looked over at Anne, who was looking at Mary and Bash. Her eyes were alight with romantic possibilities, which saddened Gilbert because he knew none of them would include him. No matter how much he wished she could wish for him, he knew she would never.

Marilla examined Gilbert, saw the sadness on his face as he looked at Anne. He cared for her, deeply. She knew from talking to Anne that she cared for him too, though she had no idea how deeply. Then Gilbert saw Marilla looking at him and looked down, embarrassed. Marilla also averted her gaze.

Bash went by the stove and poured himself some coffee. “So, what food are we bringing our new child into society with?” he asked, taking a seat at the table. Mary sat next to him and Marilla joined them. Mary and Bash were seated across from Anne and Gilbert, with Marilla at the head of the table.

“We have three savoury dishes and two sweet ones,” Mary said. “For savoury, we have the traditional Trinidadian dish that you requested, though I am having a hard time finding some of the spices. We will also have a chicken and potatoes stew and shepherd’s pie.”

“Is Anne making the shepherd’s pie?” Gilbert asked, remembering when she, Diana, and Ruby came to this exact house after his father dies.

“She can,” Mary said. “You can, right?” Mary asked Anne.

“Of course,” Anne replied firmly, “and it will be a most sincere and humble honour to prepare it for you.” Gilbert smiled as Mary looked for a way to respond to that. He wondered if maybe he could correct her this time. Before, he had been to stunned to respond. Now, he would make sure to correct Anne and tell her that she would make an amazing wife and that any guy would be lucky to marry her and oh no, he was about to propose again!

“For the sweet dishes we have an apple and cherry pie,” Marilla continued, much to Gilbert’s thanks. He knew he couldn't spend much more time around Anne. She was too perfect, he could barely stop himself from accidentally proposing around her.

“That all sounds wonderful,” Bash said.

“I agree,” Gilbert said, looking for a way out before he does something he’ll regret. “But we should head back out to the field.” He tried to pull Sebastian out with him.

“I just got here,” Sebastian complained. “I want to spend some time with my beautiful wife and our lovely guests.” He gestured at Anne, and Gilbert wanted to stay, but knew he couldn’t.

“Come and find me when you are done,” Gilbert said, making his way out of the house on his own.

“That was weird,” Sebastian said when he met Gilbert outside a few moment later. “What’s going on with you?”

“I think I’m going to ask Anne to marry me,” Gilbert said.

“Congratulations!” Bash said.

“No, not congratulations,” Gilbert corrected his friend. “If I ask, Anne will say no and that will be the end our friendship. That can’t happen, so I can’t ask her so I can’t be left alone with her.”

Sebastian looked at his friend suspiciously. “What do you need?” he asked.

“Can you run interference at your party on Saturday? I need someone to make sure Anne and I don’t end up alone.”

“I will,” Bash said, “though for the record, I don’t think Anne would say no if you asked her.”

“That was weird,” Anne said, walking back home with Marilla. “Gilbert, when he left. He was really weird. You think so, right? It isn’t just me.”

“It was rather odd,” Marilla said in a very measured manner, before glancing over at Anne. “Why do you ask? Were you thinking about him?”

“I’m always thinking about him,” Anne said to herself before realizing she said it out loud and immediately back-pedalled. “By that I mean I’m not always thinking about him is particular. I am thinking of others and of my friends so naturally he would enter my mind. And even if I were thinking about him, it’s only ever as a friend, nothing more.”

Marilla wasn’t convinced Anne was telling herself the truth, but let the issue drop. She knew better than to push the young girl.

Saturday, the day of the party, Anne and Marilla came over around noon with party stuff, streamers and hats and the like. Gilbert was able to stay out in the field during this visit and soon enough the Cuthbert woman left to return home and finish the food before returning to the Blythe home at 4 to help decorate in time for the start of the party at 6. When Gilbert came back, Mary smiled as she informed him that Anne asked after him 3 times and would have went out to the field to meet him if Marilla hadn’t dragged her away. Gilbert was thankful for Marilla, but noticed that the way Mary was smiling told him she had more to stay on the situation.

“What?” he asked.

“Do you really think you can avoid her forever?” Mary asked.

“I can try,” Gilbert claimed. “It’s better than making a fool of myself and declaring my undying love for her a ruining our friendship.”

“Your right, if you declared your love you wouldn’t be friends anymore-” Mary started.

“Finally, someone who understands,” Gilbert sighed in relief.

“-you’d be lovers,” Mary finished. “There is no way Anne doesn’t reciprocate you’re feelings.”

Gilbert looked at Mary. “I see you agree with your husband.”

“I agree with 90% of the town when I say that you two will end up together,” Mary corrected. “The only thing you are by avoiding it is delaying the inevitable.”

“Thank you for the advice, but I don’t think you’re right,” Gilbert said firmly.

“We’ll see who’s right when the two of you end up at the alter together,” Mary said. “Promise me one thing, though.”

“What is it?” Gilbert asked.

“Name you’re first kid after me,” Mary joked. Gilbert chuckled softly, then left. He and Sebastian had a lot of work to do. Mary watched him go, wanting him and Anne to be happy together.

When Anne arrived, Mary was determined to play matchmaker. She tired sending Anne out to deliver scones and coffee to Sebastian and Gilbert, but forgot about Anne’s imagination and Anne spent most of her time with them telling them about how all the snowflakes are actually snow fairies, as well as a few stories about the Snow Queen, saving Gilbert from making any actual conversation.

Later, she tried assigning Anne and Gilbert to the same task, but only a few minutes after that Jerry arrived to help out as well and Gilbert had the young farmhand take his place as he looked for a different task.

When everyone had arrived, Mary had mostly gave up on her efforts. There were too many people now, to many variables and places to hide. Let them find each other, she thought, I am done playing God. Everyone arrived and it was a lovely party. Gilbert and Sebastian had moved most of the furniture out to the barn, leaving a huge open room that, with the addition of a fiddler, they turned into a dance area. They also hung streamers from every door way and on most walls too, livening up the house.

Everyone arrived, happily greeting Bash and Mary and congratulating them. Mrs. Lynde arrived first, promptly at 6 o’clock, so she could never be accused of being rude and showing up early while at the same time hoping to see that the push wasn’t out or that the decorations weren’t up or that they weren’t prepared in some way. She couldn’t find anything wrong and unfortunately had little to fuel her gossip later at that week’s sewing circle.

Then the Andrews arrived, and later the Barrys. Anne was happy to see Diana and immodestly pulled her aside to talk to her. Gilbert was happy to see Anne so happy, and maybe with the arrival of her best friend would help distract Anne from himself. The two girls joined Jane and were soon joined by Ruby with the arrival of the Gillis family a few moments later. Cole and Aunt Jo showed up too since Jo was already in Avonlea for Christmas

Soon enough the party is in full swing. Gilbert tried to stay out of Anne’s way, avoided being in the same room as her. A buffet was set up, so guests could take what they wanted as the night wore on. Gilbert tried the Shepard’s pie first, and it was delicious though somewhat bittersweet for him. As delicious as it was, Gilbert knew that it was closer to the last time he’d have Anne’s cooking than the first. Still he tried to savour it as best he can. While eating, Diana came up to him.

“Hello, Gilbert,” she said.

“Hello Diana,” he returned. “Lovely party, don’t you think?”

“Certainly,” Diana agreed. “What do you think of the dancing?”

The fiddler had started, filling the house with music, and a few brave couples had started on the dance floor. “There doesn’t seem to be many people,” Gilbert noticed, “but the ones out there seem to be having fun.”

“So, would you be open to a dance?” Diana asked.

Gilbert examined the young girl. It was very odd that a girl ask the boy, it was even more odd that Diana ask him. She had never shown interest in him that way before. “Diana,” he said, unsure how to proceed. “I didn’t think you-”

“Oh it isn't for me,” Diana said. “I have been sent as the delegate from my groups girls to see when you would be starting dancing on behalf of a few of them.”

“Oh,” Gilbert glanced back at the group Diana was talking about. Ruby was staring at the two with utter rapture. “I want to finish my pie, then I’ll start.”

“Anne is an excellent cook,” Diana agreed. “I’ll pass along the message.”

Diana walked back to her friends, and as she walked away Gilbert realised something. Diana said she was operating of behalf of a few girls, that must mean more than one. Ruby, obviously, but who else. Gilbert observed as Diana squeezed Anne’s hand while delivering the news. Could that mean that Anne was the other girl? No, he told himself. Stop thinking such silly things. The other girl was probably Tillie, or Jane, or Josie. Stop letting what you want to happen cloud how you perceive what is actually happening.

Sebastian came up to talk to Gilbert as he was finishing his pie. “If you keep staring at her, your going to be called a stalker,” he said, distracting Gilbert from observing Anne.

“I’m not staring,” he objected.

“Yeah, and a pig can swim,” Sebastian said.

Gilbert thought for a moment, confused. “But a pig can swim.”

“Well, whatever the farmer saying is,” Sebastian had grown accustom to the life of a farmer, just not the vernacular. “You are staring, it’s as plain as the nose on the face.”

“My face,” Gilbert corrected. “Plain as the nose on my face.”

“Exactly, so you agree.” Gilbert couldn’t help laugh a little. He tried to observe other things. He noticed Billy reach up and pull down one of the streamers, grinning at the destruction. He also noticed Cole give Billy a very stern look, and Billy put the streamer back then made his way to Mary to apologize. Gilbert was surprised at this behaviour, it was so unlike anything else Billy had ever done. He made a mental note to observe this change more, and also to talk to Cole to figure out what’s going on there.

“Did you see Anne?” Bash asked his young friend.

“Of course, you can’t miss her,” Gilbert said. “She’s the most beautiful person in the room.” He then looked over to find Bash smiling a very weird smile, and realised his mistake. “I mean, she has the reddest hair. That’s why she’s noticeable.”

“That’s not what you said,” Bash continued to smile. “You said she was beautiful. The most beautiful person in the room, in fact.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Gilbert attempted to lie.

“Yes you did,” Bash saw right through him. “Hold on, I have to tell Mary. My love!” he called, getting her attention. “My love! I have something to tell you!” He made his way over to her a whimpered in her ear.

“Their child isn’t going to know Mary’s name,” Anne said, appearing at Gilbert’s side and looking at Bash and Mary with him. “Bash calls her “my love” so often, they are just going to think that that’s her name.”

Gilbert looked over at Anne who was staring at the couple longingly. “Will your kids know what your name is?” he asked.

“They’ll know it’s spelled with an e,” Anne joked. Then, on a more serious note, she continued. “I hope so, but I do not think so. I doubted a love that strong, pure, and true existed in real life, thought that it was only in fairy tales. To be able to see it is… an honour. But I don’t think two such romances would exist so close to each other.”

She obviously thought about this a lot, Gilbert observed. It also disproved Mary an Bash’s theory that she loves him the way he loved her. If she did, she wouldn’t be doubting that she could get that type of romance, she’d know that she could. He wanted so desperately to let her know she was loved like that, romantically. He knew he had to go before he did something he’d regret.

“Excuse me,” he said, going over to where Cole and Moody were hanging around. He joined their conversation, about Cole explaining his new life in Charlottetown, but soon noticed Ruby and Diana hanging close by and remembered his promise to dance. He excused himself again and walked over to Diana and Ruby.

“I’m free to dance now,” he told Diana.

“Ruby is very excited,” Diana informed him.

He smiled at her. “Care to dance?” he asked. She squealed excitedly and accepted his arm. Luckily for Gilbert, it was a fast song. There were also a few more people dancing than before. They joined the couples. Once the song was done, Gilbert excused himself for some air.

He left the house, and the cool winter night air hit his face. It was pleasant after the hot and stuffy interior. He walked out. The snow crunched underfoot. He quickly noticed that he wasn’t the only one who had this idea. Anne was also standing out there.

Her back was to the house and by extension Gilbert. Her face was up to the sky, taking in the cool night air while looking up at the stars. She looked still, calm and beautiful, and Gilbert became conscience of how they were alone and knew he had to leave. He turned to go back inside, but Anne heard him and turned around. “Gilbert?” she asked, trying to figure out who was out there with her. He tried to walk away from her. “Gilbert!” she exclaimed. “Wait up!” He continued waling away from her as she ran after him. “Gilbert, stop. Please just stop.” Anne grabbed his arm, forcing him to turn and face her. He noticed something, something that he couldn't before because she was far away and not facing him. There were tears in her eyes. She was crying.

“Anne,” he immediately regretted walking away. “Are you ok?”

“What did I do?” she asked him, through tears but also slightly angry.“What do you mean?” Gilbert had no idea what was happening.

“Every room I enter, you leave,” Anne explained through tears. “You are always trying to escape me, why? Did I do something to offend you? Am I too annoying? That’s it, isn’t it. I’m an annoying, ugly, little girl who should stop following you around and acting like an idiot.”

“You aren’t annoying,” he tried to say, but Anne wasn’t done.

“I thought you were my friend,” Anne continued, tears running down her face. “I thought you liked me, but clearly I was mistaken. You hate me it’s obvious.”

“I don’t hate you,” he tried to object.

“Then why are you avoiding me?” Anne demanded.

“Because.. Because… Because every time you walk into the room, my heart feels like it’s going to burst into song. Because I promised myself I would not return, but the second I sent the letter I realised that the idea of never being able to see your face again made me come right back home. Because even as I promised Sebastian it wasn’t a love letter, it was. Not because the contents were particularly romantic, but because of how much love I had for you. I know how I feel about you and I know how you feel about me and if I were to do what I wanted, I would scare you off and destroy our friendship. So, I can’t talk to you because I can’t even think about you without wanting to propose marriage.”

Anne looked down at her feet. The tears had stoped, and were replaced by an expression of relief and hope. “Wait,” she said, her mind reeling. “You love me.”

Gilbert then took stock of all that he said. “Well,” he said smiling, “maybe a little.” He thought a joke would lighten the mood.

Instead, Anne started crying again. Gilbert leaped forward, trying to figure out what he said wrong and how to fix it, but instead Anne’s head rolled back into laughter. They were tears of joy.

Anne waited until she had calmed down, stoped laughing and crying. Then she looked Gilbert straight in the eyes and confessed, “I love you too.”

Gilbert felt a weight in his gut disappear. It was a weight that had first appeared that day in Charlottetown, when he realised just how much he liked her and knew she didn’t reciprocate it. The weight had gotten heavier every time he thought about her, every time someone else had mentioned her, every time he saw her. Now, he let it go. Instead of the love in his heart weighing him down because he thought it wasn’t reciprocated, it lifted him up because he knew it was. He was so utterly happy, he was speechless. But not action-less. He leaned forward and kissed Anne.

It was a soft, quick kiss. When it was done, he looked at Anne, and Anne smiled back, pulling him into a deeper kiss. She ran her fingers through his hair and he pulled her close, a hand on her waist. They stayed there for a long time, so long they needed to come up for air. Even then they didn’t break apart. Gilbert held her as the snow started falling gently, and Anne could hear his heart beat though his shirt. She closed her eyes, wanting to stay there forever.

“There you two are!” Bash said, causing Anne and Gilbert to look back at the house. “You’re missing all the p- oh.” Bash realised how they were standing, and could guess at what had happened. “Well, I wanted to tell you you’re missing the party, but you two take your time.”

He went back inside and Gilbert couldn’t help but laugh a little. Anne joined him, and they went back to holding each other.

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collateralfiction · 6 years ago

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Bailey

Out of all Sunday services, I have never seen so many faces; familiar and some not, show up… out of support for such a tragedy in the community. Even when it was a wedding or someone being baptized, it was nothing compared to how much people came to show their faces and condolences today; July 28. Those that weren’t even as religious as they should be, showed their faces and arrived in their cleanest of Sunday clothes, ready to show their support and love. It took a loss in the community for everyone to realize how things will never be the same. It took a loss in the community to gather everyone together for once. It took a loss in the community for many to realize everyone’s life was limited.

Why weren’t we warned about this two weeks ago?

Two weeks ago, everything seemedabsolutely perfect. New York’s weather was great for once, I was able to see my father, my mothers’ Day Care was ranked number one in New York State, along with her budding interior design company. Ryan finally had his brother back after he relocated from Georgia to New York. Things were running smoothly and most importantly, the violence and corruption was at a bare minimum, for once. Of course, in this world not everyone was able to coexist but I did wonder what worldwide peace would look like. It seemed childish to even think about but it was a legit goal. I guess people would have to be high for that to happen. But then again, people still manage to do outrageous stuff when under the influence.

Fast forward two weeks later, nothing seemed to be falling into place like it once did a few weeks back. The sun was no longer shinning and creating a warm weather we all grew accustomed to, everyone seemed tense and unrealistic, and it was seldom you wouldn’t see anyone outside. Now? No one wanted to be outside like they used to, and it was all due to an unfortunate turn of events. People were too shaken up to function, let alone do a simple task of grocery shopping at the local supermarket. It was complete and utter chaos.

A slew of Riley and Ryan’s family sat in the front few pews, stoic as ever. I know this must have been rough on them but I was surprised that none of them were weeping as hard as I had been prior to the occasion and even the days leading to it. I wondered if this was just a casualty of the game. Were they expecting it? No, but did it happen? Yes and they would be stupid to ignore the small hints along the way.

I didn’t have any blood connection to Riley but I always looked at him as my older brother and someone I could easily run to for whatever, regardless of the distance. A year in New York and I had not the slightest clue it would result in this; no one was expecting it. Not him, at least. A surge of emotions started to skyrocket through my body as my legs continued to tremble. I’ve never been to a funeral, surprisingly, and being at one now caused a plethora of emotions to fly from inside. Knowing that if I possibly shed a single tear, I wouldn’t stop, I tried not to.

Crying really does nothing for the body anyhow. My tears aren’t going to bring Riley back so why exhaust myself to the point of sickness?

I stared at my lap and toyed with my royal blue colored acrylic nails. The service hadn’t started yet and we were just waiting on Riley and Ryan’s mother to come along. I haven’t seen Ms. Chalmers in quite a while and ever since Riley had been gunned down, the same day as his birthday might I add, she’s been different. The relationship I used to have with her, I have no longer. The idea of one of her sons’ being gunned down really brought her to her breaking point. She remained to herself and most recently, it seems she severed her relationship with her only remaining child, Ryan. Although he might deny the fact that it doesn’t bother him, I know it does and it’s a sad thing to see.

Ryan and his mother weren’t as close as Riley and their mother, but it was better than nothing. They still communicated very often unlike now.

“Are you okay?” I mumbled, connecting Ryan and I’s hand together. He was relatively quiet for the most part, only speaking when spoken to. We arrived an hour before the service was set to begin because of how antsy Ryan had become. We were one of the first to arrive and we’d probably be the last to leave. The dynamic relationship between his brother and him were one for the books. There was once a time when neither of them enjoyed the other’s company and I hypothesized it was because they have different fathers and their living situations while growing up was much different as well. However, things changed as they grew and had begun to appreciate one another like they should have before. Too bad it was too late for them to develop that bond they severely needed.

“I’m good,” he said, his chocolate eyes focused ahead. I leaned my head against his shoulder and sighed. Ryan’s very good at suppressing his emotions and it’s not intentional either. When you’re put into certain situations you have no control over, your emotions are the last thing that could possibly interfere. With this moment here, behind closed doors, he let everything out; I know he has. But in front of hundreds of civilians, he wouldn’t. I watched as he looked down at his gold Patek watch and mumbled something inaudible about the time or something concerning his mother. I kept my eyes planted on the door, awaiting for his mother’s arrival. My mind began to wonder and conjure up the idea of her not showing. I mean, I wouldn’t fault her but I know Ryan would make a big fuss out of it.

“She’s here,” I said, admiring her natural beauty. Ms. Chalmers was a beautiful Trinidadian lady with natural curls that surrounded her round face. She had light hazel eyes that were almond shape. She had a slight accent but spoke fluent English. I know her to be strict at times but she was very affectionate and loving as well. I just couldn’t understand nor fathom the sudden change. Ryan turned his head to look at his mother and for a second, I saw the sadness clearly in his eyes but he simply shrugged it off and turned to look away. Ms. Chalmers was stopped numerous times towards her seat and all eyes were placed on her; except for her son. “Are you going to greet her?”

“No,” he mumbled. “I’m here to pay respect to my brother. My mother and I have nothing to talk about whatsoever,” he stated sternly, clenching his jaw. It seems like when he loses someone he was close with, he loses someone else at the same time. I don’t want him to experience that again. That would tear him apart.

“Don’t be like that,” I whispered, making eye contact with his mother. She stared at me for a total of five seconds before giving me a small smile. I know she noticed that Ryan was beside me, but she didn’t even bother to acknowledge him causing me to frown. Sucking his teeth, he dropped my hands from his hold and crossed them over his chest. Rolling my eyes at his unnecessary attitude, I just decided to focus on what was happening before me. Memories of that fatal night flooded my mind miserably once the funeral began.

The cool nighttime air of New York was without a doubt beautiful tonight. So beautiful, only a pair of ripped jeans, an Indiana Pacer jersey and a pair of black Toms rested comfortably on my body. It had just struck midnight and Ryan and I decided to visit Riley and surprise him with the first of the many Happy Birthdays’ he would receive over the day. He was turning twenty-three and being that I get overly excited about the idea of a birthday or something similarly close to it, I wanted his day to be amazing from start to finish. This was the first birthday I would be sharing with him and it was a birthday that I wanted to be memorable for him. The only proper way that would be able to happen is if I carried a bottle of his favorite liquor and some new clothes. Two of his favorite things in the world. I live only a mere ten blocks from the brownstone he resided in and with Ryan insisting on taking his car, we reached the house in no time. As a gift for graduating College early, his paternal grandfather allowed him to reside in the house he grew up in as a child.

To my surprise, when we reached the brownstone Riley was already standing outside, a blunt in hand. Upon noticing our arrival, his smile widened as he jogged down the few steps and stood before me. “Happy birthday, Riley!” I smiled, extending my arms out wide for a hug.

His deep baritone voice invaded my ears as he chucked before responding. “Thank you, ma. I appreciate it, I do,” he said, welcoming me in a tight embrace, my feet coming off the ground a bit. Riley was a little bit taller than Ryan, but they shared a lot of characteristics together such as their thick hair, smooth chocolate skin and sense of style. I’m surprised they aren’t twins with the way they tend to act. Pulling away from me, he looked down at the blunt in his hand and then at me. “I should put this out, right?” he questioned with a chuckle.

“I don’t want to be the reason for you to not enjoy your day so do as you please. I should be fine,” I told him, stepping back some.

“Good looks,” he nodded. “What’s good with you and this Pacers jersey though?” he commented.

“It’s just for looks,” I chuckled. “You know I support Miami,” Slightly.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, taking a quick pull of the neatly rolled blunt. His eyes looked past me and landed on his brother. “What’s up, Ryan?” he questioned, pulling him into a brotherly hug and dap.

“Shit. We out here for you, bro,” he chuckled. “Happy pussy day, nigga. Stay trill for the day,” I rolled my eyes accordingly to their conversation and moved to take a seat on the steps. Their conversation continued for a total of fifteen minutes as they pretty much summed up their night and what’s been going on lately. Their conversation was cut short by a black Jeep pulling up and the door opening with great ease. Out walked a few of Riley’s friend, coming along with more Liquor in their hands and bags of food. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had ample the amount of weed hidden somewhere in those bags. From the logo on one of the bags, I easily noted that the food came from the seafood spot not too far away from here.

Great choice.

As the group embraced each other with loud talking, I distracted myself with my iPhone, wanting to make sure that my sister was alright and according to her, she was. I only had one sibling and that was my eighteen-year old sister, who I cared for as if she was mine. I would go insane if something were to happen to her due to what the men in our lives do.

“You want some food, Bailey?” Riley questioned, causing me look away from my phone. “There’s more than enough for everyone,” he said, passing off the blunt for Ryan to finish.

“Sure,” I declared. “I can’t stay long though,”

“No problem,” he smiled. “I can’t send my sister home without something to fill her up though,” he said, draping his arm around my shoulder. I turned around slightly and went to question what Ryan was doing, seeing that he was on his phone, feverishly talking to someone after Riley gave him the blunt to finish. However, with Riley almost dragging me inside his lavish house, I didn’t have time to question him on what he was doing. Riley’s brownstone was nothing short of magnificent. I trailed behind everyone as they led the way towards the living room, setting everything up. Riley had the Stereo on, playing the latest rap music. The T.V. was on and GTA V was on, ready to be played by anybody. I would have to call dibs before someone else did. With the addition of food, liquor, weed and friends, this could have been considered a small get together or party if you will.

I took a seat at the table, along with the two other girls that emerged from the Jeep. Food was placed in front of us and since I hadn’t had anything to eat for the day, the Shrimp and Fish, along with a side order of French Fries would have to do. It wasn’t until thirty minutes later that Ryan finally made his appearance besides me, reaching to take a sip of the drink I had been babysitting. His hand rested on the thigh furthest from him as I sat back against his arm and leaned into him. “Who were you talking to?” I questioned, smelling the odor of weed on him.

“No one, baby,” he mumbled. “No one important at least,”

“No,” I said. “That person must have been extremely important if the conversation lasted thirty minutes,” I gritted, not trying to easily display my distaste in him lying to me.

“Well, it’s nothing to worry ‘bout so don’t stress it,” he said sternly. I sighed wearily, knowing that Ryan was extremely stubborn and nothing would be solved until he admits it on his own time. However, not everything is on his time. For as long as I’ve known Ryan, all through Middle School and High School, he’s always been very hardheaded. It’s his way or no way at all. You’re either on his side or you’re against him. You either work with him or leave him alone. Everything must be done on his accord and I must be that one exception, depending on the situation.

Sighing roughly, I stood from my seat and went to go find Riley. I had to go home soon, and I wanted to say my farewells to him before I see him later on today. There were a couple of things I had planned and he was included in all of it. I checked in his room, but he wasn’t there, he wasn’t in the living room and wasn’t in the kitchen. My best guess would have to be outside, seeing as that his doorbell would constantly ring. Pulling the door back, I looked outside and noticed how quiet the neighborhood was, but I didn’t see any signs of Riley. However, I didn’t go back inside because I noticed his favorite Supreme hat siting on one of the steps. I continued down the stairs, in reach to get it. I damn near jumped out of my skin after hearing an electrifying sound, resembling one of a fire cracker. Fourth of July was a week ago and people were still doing them?

Shaking my head, I snatched the hat off the ground and looked up in time to catch a black van, tinted heavily, speed down the road quickly as if cops were behind them. Funny thing is, none were behind them. “What the fuck? That’s the number one way to cause an accident,” I grumbled.

“B-B-Bailey…” My voice got caught in my throat as I halted and look to the left of me. Through the dim lightening, my eyes had to be playing cruel tricks on me. I dropped the Supreme hat that was once in my grasp and briskly walked towards Riley. My hands came in contact with the side of his stomach. “Call Ryan,” he choked out.

Tears I’ve been trying to suppress lately, easily spilled from my eyes and I hadn’t even noticed Ryan trying to console me to stop. I’ve never lost anyone as close as I was to Riley so this hit close to home. I can recall the many conversations I would hold with him and he was so wise and smart for someone so young. He was going to be great one day but no one would be able to see that and neither would he. “Calm down with the tears now. No more tears,” Ryan mumbled, pulling me in closer to his body, kissing my forehead. The service was devastating and every now and then, you could easily hear the weeping of many. The only one who looked like they refused to cry was Ms. Chalmers; she was being strong about this. It was obvious that she favored Riley more than Ryan but at this point, she was numb to everything that was occurring. The last thing she expected was for her son to be murdered the day of his birthday.

The service continued for at least another hour and by then, people were able to approach the casket – the open casket - and say their farewells. I clung to Ryan as he weaved through the crowd, heading towards the exit. “You’re not going to…”

“No,” he said, cutting me off. “I’m not saying goodbye to my brother like that. He’s still here with me,” he snapped.

“Okay,” I said, sighing. “What does this mean now?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. I’ll figure it out,” he said shortly, looking for someone over my head. I turned, trying to scout out who he was looking for but coming up fruitless. I frowned and turned to look at him. His jaw was clenched, and his fist were balled tightly, exposing his veins.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, my turn to now console him.

“Niggas are so disrespectful,” he spat, my eyebrows furrowing together. He pushed me to the side gently and began storming off. Due to the church attendees’ emerging from the church, it blocked my vision of him; essentially, losing him to the crowd. What niggas were he referring to? I felt so lost and drained. My mind was spinning with a million and one thoughts, all breaking me down mentally. A part of me didn’t find the courage to wake up this morning and attend this service because of the effects that it would come with. But I knew I had to, I just didn’t know what would possibly entail from this point on.

#j. cole #asap rocky #trey songz #Chris brown #kendrick lamar #august alsina #fanfic #fiction

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