She Spoke

Tonya Ingram spoke about her struggles with lupus and I touched my own arthritic knees, thinking of how similar we were, and simultaneously how different.

She spoke of being scared and proud to be black, I thought of not understanding what it meant to be white.

She spoke of the butterfly shaped rash across the bridge of the nose, I thought of how something so horrible as the disorder I somewhat understood could be shown by something so beautiful.

She spoke of “healthy, active lives,” and I thought of how even Google gets it wrong sometimes.

She spoke, and I listened. Listening to Tonya speak of her disease that was so similar to mine made me realize that I was not alone.

Rachel Wiley spoke of the boy who left because she was “too intense.” I touched my chest and felt my heart, thinking of the one who thought I was “too childish.”

She spoke of wishing him dry cake and beige, I thought of my own version of hatred I held for him and the hate I wished I could hold.

She spoke of wishing him a daughter who had eyes close to being hers, I thought of the daughter I’d imagined and held, the one with eyes just like his.

She spoke of the Labrador that peed on the carpet almost every Wednesday morning, and I thought of how I compared him to a large, loving dog once.

She spoke, and I listened. Listening to Rachel speak of the boy who left like the one who left me helped me through a place I never would’ve made out of.

She spoke, I felt a stirring that no other person had awoken within me.

She spoke, and I knew I was not alone.