The Window

The Window is an ever persistent presence in my life. The Window is the source of core memories that shaped me into who I am today, for better or worse. The harbinger of good news and horrible news alike. Where I realized all my fears could come true, a form of escapism that developed into an addiction I refused to combat.

The Window that I was looking out of with such intensity one day. My father always came home from work at 6:30 PM every Friday but on this particular day the clock was approaching 8 PM and he was nowhere to be found. The Window that once was a gateway into what would be a happy reunion turned into my worst fears becoming a reality. 

The Window that my brother broke from playing football in the house. The Window that he blamed the neighborhood kids for destroying even though the scene of the crime was on the second floor and the point of impact came from inside the house. This was one of my earliest lessons of the insidious nature of Anti-Blackness as my mother spewed vitriol and hatred at the teenager she suspected broke the window. The window that remained broken for almost a decade because it was beyond our means to replace. 

The Window that displayed Sather Tower which my parents tried to use as a bribe to keep me closer to home. Instead it created a void 2,917 miles in diameter that only seemed to widen as I matured. 

“You can see the campus from our living room!” 

“You can come home every weekend!”

“I’ll be able to do your laundry and cook for you.” 

They saw this as a slam dunk but instead it felt like the oxygen in my lungs was escaping at a speed impossible to replenish until the light within me dimmed. 

The Window that offered a means of escape when I was feeling trapped and out of space. I wasn’t in Oakland, when I looked out the window I would be at Couture Fashion Week in Paris watching beautiful humans adorned in garments that were larger than life. I wasn’t in Oakland, I was in the streets of Rio De Janeiro dancing, laughing, feeling jubilated as I celebrated Carnival with strangers looking for a release just like I was. I wasn’t in Oakland, I was on an uncharted island where for once everything was still, silent, with oceanic waves the only noise that penetrated my ears.

Photo by Danielle Dolson on Unsplash