Last night, I tossed and turned and didn’t fall asleep until around three a.m. I kept thinking about my mom’s call to my uncle. Seriously, what is the point if everything I do falls short of her expectations? Well, I’m no longer going to try.

I get up, go over to my backpack, and take out the letter. This is usually about the time where I would doubt my decision. I’d second-guess myself, and in the end, I’d “do the right thing.” But this ain’t no Spike Lee joint. I’m getting off the Pleasing Rosalie Bosia train. I’m going to hop on the Young, Gifted, and Free Myself express.

The very first stop is Forgery City.

I shower, dress, and quickly gather my stuff. I need to get out of the house without running into my mom. I try to get downstairs without making a sound. I’m new to being sneaky, but I’m gonna give it a shot because my mom is the last person I want to see right now. I get down the hardwood staircase and over to the coat rack by the door.

Please, God, let me make it out of this house without being seen.

“Good morning,” she says behind me.

Really, God, it’s like that?

I roll my eyes and turn around to face my mother. She’s dressed for work from head to ankle. But on her feet are fuzzy slippers shaped like the Cookie Monster’s paws. Her slippers bring back a vivid memory.

When I was five, the Cookie Monster used to scare the hell out of me. I knew he was supposed to be a fun, playful puppet, but he starred in all my nightmares. In my defense, he had the word “monster” right in his name.

This was around the time that See Us put together a monthlong seminar on health and nutrition in the Black community. Every Saturday, a different healthcare professional would speak. Other kids who came with their moms got to go outside and play. My mom insisted I not only help set up, but that I take part in the workshop.

That summer, I learned more than any kid should about high blood pressure, strokes, and diabetes. I was up on game. I knew that the “lovable” Cookie Monster was nothing more than a sugar peddler.

One night, after a particularly bad nightmare about the blue menace, I woke up screaming and ran to Mom’s room. She vowed that she would track down the Cookie Monster, and when she did, I would have to face him head-on.