We will meet people; they will transform us. We will see things that will age us. That summer when I am twelve and Meechie is sixteen, we will lose so many things, so many people. Among the loss will be the high-rises that our family called home for three generations, but the high-rises aren’t the most important thing we’ll lose; that summer, we will lose ourselves. This photo will remind me of who we are, at our core. It’s just a piece of paper, worn, even cracked in some places, but it displays an image of a boy and girl who are fully alive and thriving and will love one another forever.

Thirty-Six
Invitations

For years, I wondered if both Stacia and Tonya had had different mothers maybe Tonya would still be alive. There were a lot of devastating stories in Stacia’s journal, but after I read about how Ms. Pierce called Stacia baby, it made the monster that I’d created in my mind a wounded human being, and I could no longer add to her torture.

I eventually accepted her friend request, remembering that so many years ago, she’d accepted mine. Almost immediately, like she’d planned it, she had another request for me:

“Fe Fe, let’s go back.” I had no plans to ever go back there, but the words echoed: Let’s go back . . . Let’s go back . . . Let’s go back . . .

Precious and I sat on a beach and talked about Stacia. The Pacific Ocean always reminded us of the blue waters on the lakefront in Grant Park. I gave her the latest update, that Stacia and I were talking, and that she wanted us to come back and go over to the land where our building once stood. Precious was quiet, but as long as I’d known her, she couldn’t hide any emotions; the blood in her face would tell you immediately what she was feeling. It was anger that appeared. She was still mad at Stacia and couldn’t imagine being near her.

“You don’t have to go,” she said.

“We can’t hate her forever. Let’s put this behind us.”

She stared out at the water, a brow raised in defiance.

“I’m going,” I said. “Let’s go pray together and put that time to rest.”

Precious had a calm face when she told me, “I don’t think I’m ready for that. But you should go.”

I nodded, and we lay in the sun, quiet for a while. We were both back in Chicago, replaying bits of our childhood in the Robert Taylor Homes.