Monday, August 11, 2014
Sometimes Harriet Tubman and I sit at the Starbucks on Crenshaw until they close and we just laugh and laugh at the white girls walking by with their too short shorts on and hair all braided and baby hair down the sides and speaking the latest slang and then Ms. Tubman looks at me and asks how I cry sad tears and happy chuckle at the same time. I tell her I don't know I guess because life is so blue and yellow all at once some days. Then I excuse myself and stand in line to get us more grande lattes that she hates but drinks because Oprah's name is on the menu. And she tells me more stories the world doesn't know about secret pathways and slavery and songs that got her through. "Sing the song, please sing the song. Not just the words all the time." I always tell her. She won't though. "I ain't a slave no more." She tell me all the time. "I only know the words. The rhythm gone far away."