trailer treasure

eyewish.

i told you that i wrote list.
and at first encounter you became an addition
"beautiful people" i labeled it.
drawing acute triangles and obtuse intersecting angles around names in geometry class.
updating it hoping nobody would peak over my shoulder,
asking to see my paper intrigued by a foreign form of wild style.
criss cross apple sauce,
in too small school desk,
using your old converse as a canvas,
as your laugh as splatter paint.
your presence the gallery
and you would stay around,
demanding no pay.
thank you. 

but how i wish i told you i wrote list.
i hope you wrote them too. 

if i could give advice to my 16 year old self, i wouldn't say a thing...

Malaika Clements

12/11/07

4^TH Period

                                          Narrative in the Life of Malaika Clements

Chapter 1

     Life is an obstacle course filled with monkey bars and seesaws .There’s work but there’s also fun. There’s up’s but there are also some downs. I personally consider my life to be made up of solely up’s. Life is what you make it and if you take all the obstacles you have overcome and learn to look at them with an appreciative eye then you are sure to come out a stronger, happier person.

     Since the day I was born I have been fortunate enough to be supported with caring people who only want me to truly experience life. Both my parents being products of the late 50’s have seen their share of struggle. They marched for equality during the black power movement and dealt with stigma’s that often seem like they were stamped on the forehead of young blacks at the time. However both my parents wanted knowledge and when the opportunity came for my father to go to Swaziland as a volunteer he took it. Later on after meeting my mother in Atlanta they both took a trip to Africa together. My father once told me that that when he was growing up going to Africa felt like an obligation. He felt that he needed to know as much as possible about his history and experience his culture.

     I myself was born in Harare , Zimbabwe and lived there for the first four years of my life. Though I was young the Africa I remember is not much like the Africa I often have seen on television. The Africa I remember was one of swimming pools, lavish birthday parties and catching lightning bugs at dusk. However even at my young age I was not ignorant that everyone did not have a pool in their backyard. I once remember going to my housekeeper, Auntie Joyce, one bedroom tattered house with the room lit only by sunlight and thinking this is not how they should be living. Then she smiled as she handed me an orange from a brown fruit basket on her table and these thoughts quickly went away. She shouldn’t be living…happy? This was the first time I realized that you don’t need things to be happy. You simply need fruit and someone to share it with.

Chapter 2

            When I came to live in the United States I was overwhelmed by all the family we had here. There were cousins, aunts, uncles, even grandparents that I never remembered seeing, yet they all knew my name; embracing me for the simple fact that I was family.

            The one person who stood out the most was the tall mocha colored fellow with jet black hair, a big nose and a reseeding hairline; my granddad, Walter. He sounded smooth like a harmonica he always kept in hand and smelt of red peppermints. He would often randomly burst out into song having either his harmonica, recorder or trusty guitar as his sidekick. Everyone agreed that he was indeed the life of the party.

            Years passed and I got to know my granddad better. I learned that he was a lawyer, a graduate from Morehouse at the same time of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., an artist, and a musician. However, he never told me any of this. I probably heard that he graduated from school at the age of 17 from family members that pass through or that he played at night clubs from his friends who frequently came through the house, but he never told me. He didn’t have to. We instead talked about me…how my day was, what did I want in life. Even if I answered with something ridicilous, like a beekeeper he would nod his head in agreement, then help plot out a plan of being the best beekeeper I could be.

            You could tell by the way he discussed politics with my father that he was a lawyer. You could listen to how he painted a picture with his words and tell that he was an artist, and you could close your eyes and hear the fortes and pianos in his tone when he talked and tell that he was a musician.

            In the winter of 2007 my granddad passed. It was a shock to know that someone so cheerful could be gone. I didn’t cry…not at first. I laughed at the memories. I laughed at how we would walk downtown and find a man playing the saxophone in the park and how he would get out his recorder to chime in. I laughed at how he would tell corny jokes and how everyone would laugh not because they were funny, but because his presence simply made you smile. Then when I realized he was gone…I cried.

            His funeral was held in Detroit on a cold, yet sunny December morning. Snow was on the ground yet it was warm enough outside to touch it without gloves on just before going inside. The outcome was amazing. Every seat was taken and any floor space not blocking people’s views was equally crowded.

            As the ceremony went on I heard stories about my granddad. Every singly one had humor in it and though I was not there during many of these stories I felt like I was present. Knowing that these complete strangers all had the same appreciation for my granddad that I had really hit home. I only saw him once a year, usually in the summer until his death, but he still influenced me and all the others who he came into contact with. Some of those people had only met him that year while others have known him his whole life.

            I then pondered to myself what made him such a wonderful person. It was his truth in his character. I then knew that I as well always wanted to remain true. Not to have a hundred people at my funeral, or my name in the newspaper, but simply to be able to put a smile on a person’s face every time I came to mind.

Chapter 3

            All in all I cannot complain about anything. I have food to eat, a roof over my head, and water to drink. I choose to look on the positive side of life because I realized that every experience teaches a lesson and makes an even better story.

            Today I am sixteen years of age and have learned quite a bit for my age. But most importantly I have learned that I do not know much at all. People, place and things are always changing. You can’t always take life so literally.

            The lessons that I have learned, however, are constant. They are lessons of acceptance, hope, and truth. They are lessons of life.

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