Day 25: The Story of Us {Mieyoshi}
In 2020, Cranbrook Academy of Art hit its own historical stride for amount of Black students on campus in a single year— 12 I believe? Q and I immediately conspired to host a secret “Black-people-meet” party in the Photo Department. Among the 12 (through my careful observation of all the negros on campus), I found that the “New Black Girl” was in the Painting Department (the entrance to which was in clear perspective from my dorm room). But not only was the “New Black Girl” in Painting but every time I see her leave the studio she immediately rushes straight back to our building. But which floor is she on? In dorm 2 there were 3 levels of floors. Entrance in and out our floor is easily recognizable through our doors. I was able to put two and two together that the “New Black Girl in Painting” was on my floor and two doors down! I was so excited and eager to make her acquaintance. In retrospect I can understand why our initial introduction may have caused her to get the impression she did. In an attempt to corner her on her way back to her room and as I was leaving my own I managed to get her to stop so I could give her the best “Sistah to Sistah —Look, I know these white people crazy but we have each other..” jello-mold welcome. I extended myself to be there if any need arose and invited her to join our campus ethnic group that I was Co-President over. I later found out that the New York in her read the Suburban in my intonation and put me in an “inauthentic” folder. This makes sense because my luke warm welcome was not what brought us together. And I didn’t speak with her again until..
It’s party day. Mind you, its still 2020, Covid is at large and in-class meetings had been suspended across campus for safety purposes. If we had been made by whomever we could have risked academic penalty. But none of that mattered. For those who had entered into our second year, there is no way we would have missed the opportunity to get all the black faces together in one room. We’ve got pizza, music, Deja made Enchiladas, plenty to drink and partake in. When Mieyoshi walked in the room there was no way that everyone wouldn’t look her way. She had on lilac purple from head to toe, layered in different textures with a big puffy people coat, matching bag and mask. Bantu knots and a gold Africa chain. Her unapologetic blackness was refreshing and a much needed representation on Cranbrook’s tiny PW campus. I was completely enthralled and instantly she became my muse. East Harlem was all in and through her. —Then, someone offered me a personal joint. Coincidentally we were the only two in the room who were interested in partaking at that particular time so I took us to my smoke spot located in the department. The beautiful thing about the Photo Department is its double doored bathroom with panel windows that open with a hinge. It’s also located on the second floor. Needless to say, high elevation + ventilation system = Ideal location for indoor smoking.
My left arm is leaning on the window ledge, my joint in my right hand. Her right arm is leaning on the window ledge, her joint is in her left hand. We are standing in the same position about 4 feet from one another— eyes locked. This happened naturally. In that moment I swore that we had met in a past life, but the past life felt like this lifetime. She felt it too. We had a connection. Granted I had gone 6 months without smoking and so whatever shit Jay gave me had me teleported but there was an unshakable feeling that me and this girl had somehow met before. We bargained with each other as to possibly when and where. For me it felt like I had became best friends over night with a girl I met on vacation as a child and this was our divine reunion. That or I randomly saw her in a crowd one day but my brain never forgot her face. She agreed that it could have been it and wasn’t far fetch for her. She’d had a similar experience with a friend where they were in the background of a picture, then they met in person. But even still it was deeper than that. She spoke my language and I understood hers, naturally. Together we’d entered the realm of the spiritual and admitted it to each other. Again— the weed was strong. Nevertheless what bond was being fostered was anything but fanciful intoxication. I didn’t realize it at the time but I had fallen in love with her at that time. It was the storybook connection that I’d only dreamed of with a man. But instead it was happening with a woman and it was platonic. I didn’t have a say in the matter I just knew I loved her and I knew I wanted to keep her in my life. From there after, any moment of strife we had my heart dealt with it the same as if I would have for a man I was seeing. I’d never had friendship and “romance” intertwine like that. Grad school turned to Sleep Away Camp. We were inseparable. We shared trauma stories, laughs, cries, meals, the same bed, relationship advice. We’ve uplifted each other, held one another down and made a promise to be committed to the relationship as if we were lovers. Radical sister to sister love. Thats my friend.
