Wednesday, March 13, 2019// The Statement
6B
O
n Saturday, he came for the ticket at 3:15 and she came
at 4. He went towards that way and she went towards
the other way. The event was in a week. It required sun,
which he hoped for. She wanted rain.
He spent the Sunday with nobody to tell jokes to and she spent
it with no one to laugh at. Sometimes he would tell a joke out loud,
to the dense, green trees, just for fun, and take the sound the wind
made through their leaves as laughter. When she flipped through
the television channels, hoping for entertainment, she couldn’t
understand why people were laughing at others for falling, slip-
ping, embarrassing themselves. She just wanted someone to tell
jokes.
Monday before bed he wrote in his journal, so did she. Each
day he would write an entry about what happened. Each day she
would write about what she wished would happen. His were get-
ting shorter and hers were getting longer.
On Tuesday, the weather forecast predicted rain on Saturday.
But only a 60% chance, he thought, it should be fine. She was
relieved; It ought to rain at 60%.
While he was at the store on Wednesday he reached for the
same carton of milk as a woman in a blue dress. Her eyes sparkled
at him, her hair was a perfect mess, and he let her have the milk.
While she was shopping, a man tried to take the carton of milk she
was going for. But then his smile seemed so pure, she forgave him,
took the carton back, and wondered at what time of day he liked
to drink milk.
On Thursday, he was able to leave work on time for once. He
used this extra time to admire and care for his newly grown pink
and yellow tulips in the backyard. He took pictures of them to
show to others, not really knowing who. After she came home she
practiced piano and wondered where the notes flew to when there
were no other ears to listen to them. She started to hope for sun.
Friday’s rain made him late for work, but he enjoyed watching
the millions of droplets create pictures on the windows of his car.
She got caught in the rain on the way home without an umbrella,
but she liked the way warm rain felt on her lips.
Saturday brought back the sun. On the way to the event his
mother called and said her house had flooded, he was worried and
said he would go help. She was on her way to the event, wearing
her favorite pink lipstick, and stopped to admire the day.
She continued on to the event, he went the other way.
Fate’s fault
BY JESSICA GARDINER,
STATEMENT CONTRIBUTOR
This is a symbol of how I, as an international student, received
both Eastern and Western education. -Maggie Huang
There are places they tell us not to go,
like that tiny town six hours outside of Philadelphia.
Where pale skin will reach inside your chest and pull out your dignity with a rope.
A rope they’ll try to cinch around your neck,
and make you gasp for air while they laugh.
While you struggle to breathe
struggle just to breathe.
In the air full of thick hatred.
Full of whispers from mammas telling their babies not to step foot in the place
that hates the same Blackness that lives inside of them.
Or they’ll snatch your life right out of you and parade you around the town, one less monkey out of the cage.
They tell you not to shake the table—
not to poke the sleeping bear.
To tip toe around the hatred and then maybe it won’t seep into you.
But the sleeping bear always finds a way to wake,
the one legged table is always rickety;
one toe is always a tiny bit too big.
And when they hang you, in an empty forest full of unknowns, nobody will know.
Your momma will miss you
but nothing will get done. As a statement
they’ll leave you strung to the tree…
with no sound but the wind.
No sound but the wind
BY DE’SIA BLACKWELL