Crown

Saint and I sat in the courtyard and people watched. It was the best place to get the news on campus, the gossip between the social groups, and the updates on parties for the weekend. While we did spend some of our time doing homework, the idea of taking in the sun's rays and our stressed-out classmates overruled.

“I just can't believe this is the state of our nation right now. Folks voted a criminal into office. Taking away so much from us, I wouldn’t be surprised if we lose our freedoms. It’s almost coming to that. Give it some time. Randoms in the office. If that’s what we're doing I might as well go a sock Prof. Locomb in the throat for the B in African American Studies.”

Saint lifted his hands out to his sides, “The man doesn’t have a percentage of Black in him. That shouldn’t be allowed.”

“They shouldn’t have non-black people teach AA studies?” I responded. I agreed, but I needed to know the in-depth reasoning behind his stance.

“Hell nah. He will never know our struggle. I know he’s old and claims he was sitting with us at the black tables and was or is an ally, but that skin will always be white, and even on his worst day he’ll never get profiled for just existing.” He paused, then continued. “Like, I can date a white girl but ill never be able to fully connect or marry her because I can’t come home and explain to her how I got called a nigger and she can empathize with me. She's gonna try and sooth me when I need my woman, my black woman to walk up and ask what I did in retaliation. I don’t need Emily telling me to turn the other cheek. I need Keisha to grab the keys and call the cousins so we can go -”

“Alright. “ I cut him off and chuckled. He lost me at Keisha.

“I get your point. While we want to be open and let others in on our experience, it's almost like our experience is too raw, or too precise and specific to us that try as they may, they can’t relate and will never be able to. Even with the whole, ‘help me understand,’ as much as I try, they can never experience this.”

Saint looked like he was listening to me as he stared off into the hills, but I could tell he was ready to give his take again.

“It’s like what K.Dot said in Euphoria. Something about running to America to imitate heritage, they can’t imitate this violence. Not in the actual sense of how he is saying it, but in the sense of if you don’t wear this skin, you don’t know this culture, you didn’t have this heritage, you can’t imitate it, you can’t feel it, and you definitely can’t experience it.” He finally sat back in his chair.

“Look at that BA coming to use. This Masters will be a cakewalk if you’re walking around referencing diss tracks in your dissertations.”

Saint chuckled, but he was right. We’re living in such wild times, that it's hard to not have a little bit of hate or disdain in your heart.

“Anyways,” He began, “I think your hair is long enough to start your locs. They’ll never be as long as mine, but you can get started by now and have a good length come graduation.”

“Funny you should mention that! I’m going this evening. As soon as my last class is over, I’m headed to Fulani to get them put in. But check this out.”

I had wanted to start my locs for so long by now, but just did the big chop. While I wasn’t against the “fuzzy tennis ball” phase, I didn't want to have to wait that long. I grew my hair out so it was about 6 inches long when stretched out. I needed to be able to shake my dreads just a little. I believe Saint when he said they’ll be long enough by the time graduation came because my hair grows fast. So grateful for great genetics. While I enjoy the look of lots, I was mostly inspired because of my grandmother who had Locs my whole life. I didn't know her without them. When she passed, she asked that we cut them and one of her grandchildren install them in their hair. My brother, unfortunately, received the recessive gene and started balding so when I finally reached the point I was ready to loc my hair, I became eager to add them.

I reached into my bag and pulled out a zip log bag that held 70+ locs. A mix of black and gray.

“These are my g’ma’s locs I was telling you about. She's going to put them in tonight.”

“Aye, Crystal, that’s tough. You cheating by getting them installed and not starting from scratch, but I'll let you ride with these.”

“Oh shut up,” I responded, “Locs are locs are locs.”

“While I agree, I also disagree. You’re about to inherit years and years of memories, history, experiences, and culture with her hair.”

I just rolled my eyes. I know we always claim hair holds things; which is why after dramatic experiences women tend to cut it, but I think it’s just a sweet way to keep my gma’s memory close. I looked down at the bag to see the numerous threads of hair. Their coils and curls are all bunched together.

“Yeah, ok. Roll your eyes if you want. They call it a crown for a reason. You’re putting on all your black pride and connecting to your ancestors.”

I put the locs back in my bag, “Brother Bishop Evangelist Saint, give it a rest! My class is in 5 minutes. I’ll see you tomorrow. Same place?”

He nodded his head and extended his hand to the seat I just rose from, “Same place, same time. Can’t wait to see your crown.”

I sat in my last class unable to focus on anything besides leaving so I could go get my hair done. I remember my g’ma telling me how it was frowned upon by her mother that she loc her hair, but she was a rebellious woman and did what she wanted. I could hear her talking to me like it was yesterday.

“I snuck out to Anne's basement. She used to do all the hairstyles that the elders didn't agree with, and we sat there in her cold basement with a few candles lit. She oiled my scalp. She made the parts, then began twisting or whatever she did. I always had someone redoing them for me. I wasn’t finna mess up hair.”

Her voice was so sweet and aged. I never heard her yell or even raise her voice. She took her time in her last days and deservedly so. She saw so much in her life, I can only imagine what her locs really do hold.

I made it to my appointment right on time. Fulani took me into her home and down to her basement which served as her beauty salon. It was fully equipped with everything a hairstylist would need. In the corner was her sink and she ushered me to it and instantly began washing.

“Are you excited about your installation?” She asked as her hands scrubbed my scalp. The smells of mint, tea tree oil, and rosemary surrounded me and I just knew my hair and scalp were going to be squeaky clean.

“Words can’t express,” I responded to her.

After the wash, she took me to her chair where she detangled my hair, blowdried, oiled, and then began parting. She grabbed the bag of locs that I had resting on my lap and laid them all out.

‘So we want to add each loc? Do want any of your hair without them? Or we’re just covering with all extensions?”

She asked all the questions in succession and I just gave her my best answer, “Yes, fit all the locs on my head if you can.”

“Alright,” She said with a smile.

She stood behind me and pushed my head forward as she began parting at the nape of my neck. It felt like she was drawing lines all over my head but this was the important part, as she told me, because she wanted to make sure she held a space for each loc. This process easily took over an hour, but I knew what I was in store for. I had my laptop out and was doing some work as I felt her slowly making her way up the back of my head crocheting the locs in. She did about five and I couldn't help myself. I had to reach back and touch it. It was almost like feeling a spark when I slid my fingers over the loc. I felt my heart beat a bit faster and my armpits got sweaty.

“They're coming to, “Fulani said. “This is spiritual, I must say.”

As much as I wanted her to elaborate, she didn’t need to. From what Saint was saying, the love and affection I felt from my g’ma, and now her saying this. I too knew this was something more than just hair being added. I was getting my so-called crown.

After 3 hours my neck gave up and I could no longer stay awake. I had been in classes since 7 that morning and now had to sit still for this. I remember drifting and my head falling over but Fulani was sweet and aware enough to have a studio chair that had a neckrest. I was able to lay my head to the side so she could continue her work without my head flopping all over the place. Last I remember she had reached the top of my head, then I was out cold until I felt drips of oil and fingers sliding through each part.

“Wakey wakey girl,” Her gental voice spoke.

She was so nice for not being loud and letting me sleep, “Oh my gosh, you’re finished!”

“Yes, I get to it and get it done!” She said as she held the mirror in front of me.

I grabbed it with my two hands and saw my gma’s locs in my hair. It was my hair now. As I turned every which way to observe the work, I couldn’t help but see Mary. I looked just like her. As much as I tried to hold back the emotions, it was overwhelming. She was in the room with me. It felt as though I was being hugged. I closed my eyes and felt a warm sensation around my body. I opened my eyes to make sure Fulani wasn’t holding me; she was over by the bowl. I had never felt such a sense of pride, honor, and liberation having my hair done.

“Your gma is proud of you, you know. I felt the presence doing your hair. Your g'ma was a force. I guarantee it. Wasn’t she?”

I stumbled getting my words out because there was no way Fulani knew my g’ma but I also knew she was speaking facts, “Yes. Yes, she was.”

I paid Fulani and thanked her for her services. She told me to come back in 2 months and to treat my hair like literal extensions. I needed to be careful with them. Even though they were secure and latched in my head, I still needed to care for them. That was no problem for me because I planned to do that anyway.

I got home around midnight and immediately wrapped my scarf around my edges. I looked at them in the mirror again to see how they rested on my shoulders. This was much better than the tennis ball look. I put the bonnet on next and then prepared all my things for tomorrow's classes.

That morning I woke up hearing chatter. I Sat up in bed to make sure the TV wasn’t on and even grabbed my phone to see if there was a podcast playing for some reason. I sat a few moments longer until it subsided. I looked around feeling a bit lightheaded, but also my hair was fairly tight so I figured it was that, the lack of sleep and hydration.

I went ahead and got up and prepared myself for the day. I removed my bonnet and undid my scarf to admire my new locs once again. I started to hear the chatter again. I looked around confused because my neighbors have never had their TV or music so loud where I can hear it. I ignored it and kept going. I had my bag packed and my water cup in tow. I Slid into my car and headed to class. Thinking of what Saint was talking about yesterday, I went ahead and put on the song to hear the part he was talking about. Finally making it to the third verse I hear the mention of heritage and how this violence can’t be imitated. The song went off but that part seemed to stay with me.

“They can’t imitate this violence,” I said aloud mimicking Kendrick.

I shook my head because why is violence on my mind? I turned the music off to ride in silence for the next few moments until it turned into a light chant in my ears.

“I’m trippin’,” I couldn’t help but say aloud.

I made it to my first class and ended up having to leave early because I couldn’t hear the professor over all the chatter and conversing in my ears. It subsided after I took a walk, but by the time my second class started, it revved up again. I immediately walked out before I considered yelling shut up. I really didn’t want to embarrass myself any more than I did walking out shaking my locs. They’re going to think was trying to show off my hair.

It was finally noon and Saint was seated right where we always sit. He was bobbing his head back and forth as he wore his headphones.

“Saint,” I practically yelled as I walked up to him. I hit his shoulder as I set my bag on the table and sat in my designated chair.

He immediately removed his headphones, “My goddess. My Queen! Your crown!”

After this morning I wasn’t in the mood for the extras, I needed help.

“Yeah, sure. Do you see ‘em? Ok Cool. Look, something is happening.”

“Ah,” he began, “You have been enlightened! You are now the woke one, huh?”

I shook my head at him because the voices were still going. It was like I had earbuds in on max volume and couldn’t remove them. Now and again I winced because it was so loud.

“Why are you flinching? Are they that tight?” He asked.

“No,” I responded trying not to shout, “I'm hearing chanting, yelling. Almost like a -a group of people rioting”

Saint's face gave the expression of the exclamation point before he spoke, “A riot in your ears?” He paused a moment as I continued to wince and listen to the noise.

“You do an edible this morning?” He asked.

“No!” I-Im literally hearing…” I tried my hardest to focus on what was being said but there was so much noise. I hunched over, my locs falling by my face and put my fingers in my ears. I could faintly hear “ —ution will …. be…. vised”

I repeated it to Saint, “The ution will be vised? the vlution will be tvised?”

There were a few moments of silence I tried repeating it for him.

“the -

He cut me off, “The revolution will not be televised?”

“Yes! I responded followed by a wince.

“That’s what you’re hearing in your head?” He tied his locs back and sat forward, “What was your granny into?

I shrugged at his question, “I don’t know. She grew up in the 60s- so-”

“So your granny was out there fighting for equal opportunity? The betterment of black folks? She was live with the NAACP?"

We both looked at each other. Saint had excitement in his eyes while I gave pain for my eardrums pounding.

“Yo, I told you,” He said and sat back in his chair with his eyebrows raised.

“You told me what?”

“You just added your granny’s locs to your head. You just got the most real history lesson one could ever get-”

I yelled out in pain because voices were so loud, “The revolution will not be televised. The revolution will not be televised”

I almost fell out of my seat when it all stopped. Still bent over, I finally heard myself panting from the noise. I slowly sat up to see Saint staring at me.

“You good?” he asked.

I wanted to respond that I was, but only physically “ok” because the voices stopped. But mentally, I wasn’t. I was hearing the cries of my ancestors. The longing and desire of freedom. They were protesting, rioting, and meeting for their liberties. They wanted justice in the land in which they lived; the land they created with their blood and built off of their backs. Now, history is starting to repeat itself as it usually does. I felt uneasy. I felt weary of what was to come. I felt the heaviness of a burden that was now put on me to bear. I felt the warm hug I felt last night when my hair was installed but it slowly became an ember burning my chest.

I looked up at Saint, tears forming immediately in my eyes as I see my g’ma standing behind him.

I gasped at the sight of her making Saint jump and frantically look around. He gripped the arms of his chair as he stared at me.

I stared at my g’ma but she had aged backward. She wasn't a ghost, but she wasn’t fully present either. She had a golden glow to her but looked like she belonged in the 60s. Her locs were short like they had just been put in. Her face was young and taught as she wore all black. I noticed the corners of her lips begin to curl up into a sly smile. Her eyes were boring a hole through me.

“You know, Kendrick was right, they can’t imitate this violence.” She began.

I gulped as her voice echoed ever so clearly to me. I looked over at Saint because there was no way he didn’t hear her.

“You all are your ancestor's wildest dreams. You now have and hold the crown of your people. What are you going to do with this knowledge and power?”

I stared in awe and took a breath as I watched person after person appear behind her. They all had the same similar golden glow. At first, it was 5 then more showed up one by one until there were hundreds gathered all around our table. Saint still looked around unsure of what I was seeing. I slowly stood up and took in all my ancestors. Some had afros, while others had braids. Others had guns and berets while some stood in suits. There were women and children and even those with chains on. I took another deep breath since I forgot to breathe at the sight of all the people.

“You doubted the power of your lineage,” She began again, “but you have taken this crown and placed it on your head. Rise and lead your people to a new history.”

I continued to stare at her, Saint yelling my name but he was drowned out by the humming of all the ancestors. He finally stood up and snapped me out of what seemed like a trance.

“Yo! Crystal!” He shouted.

One heavy blink and everyone was gone. I turned around; every which way looking for my g’ma or anyone else. Completely gone.

“What happened?”

We both lowered ourselves back into our seats, “My g'ma just appeared with… who knows. All of my ancestors and probably yours and every other black person on the earth.”

“What?”

“She told me I bore the weight of the crown and- I need to lead our people into a new revolution.”

We both sat in silence. I was still trying to compose myself but Saint seemed ecstatic about the idea.

“Now that’s the kind of awakening I’m talking about! I'm with you. The revolution will indeed not be televised.”

I felt weak from that whole situation, or whatever it was. I was still trying to catch my breath. I can’t lead the people. I just want my masters in communications. This isn’t my dream.

“This can’t be real,” I said quietly.

“Of course it’s real! I told you!” Saint responded gathering his things from the table.

“It feels too real. I can’t do this.”

“Oh, you’re going to do it. And I’m going to be your right-hand man.”

I put my hand to my chest and the other grabbed my locs and looked at the coils and how they intertwined with my own hair, “I can’t wear this crown.”

With his backpack now on his back, Saint reached his hand out to help me up, “It's your crown, Crystal. Wear it.”

We were silent as I packed my things.

“Too bad you spent the past 10 minutes trippin’ or we could have already gotten started. Easy. First item on the agenda to get Prof. Locomb replaced by a black professor.

To be continued?

Thanks for Reading :)