So there she was, in the middle of the dance floor, doing that Mary dance, when I pushed through the crowd and walked right up to her and reached between her people to tap her on her shoulder. Before I could withdraw my hand, her sister, LaTonya, smacked the crap out of my arm. LaTonya, Mary, and I laugh about it today, but when it happened, I fought back my tears as I rubbed my arm and walked, dejected, to a dark corner on the side of the dance floor. Ow, I said to myself. You’re mean and I don’t like you.
Fast-forward to the night of the Grammy Awards a few years later. I was seeing someone in the industry then, and I was accompanying him as a date to the ceremony when we ran into Mary and her husband, Kendu, at the back door, where the celebrities enter and then get ushered to their seats. I froze when I saw her; chalk that up to that time when I was a crazy fan. In my head, I told myself, Keep your mouth shut, Taraji. Don’t say nothing. I still love you, Mary, but I’m not trying to get hit again. But on this night she could really see me. And this time, she rushed over to my space and commenced to gushing: “Oh my God, Taraji! Come here!” she said. Mary folded me into a great big ol’ hug, then grabbed my hands and looked me deep into my soul. “You are the bomb! You make people feel stuff. You take us there. You are so real—I feel everything you do.”
There she was, my celebrity hero, telling me that my art moved her like her art moved me. What I’d been saying to her that night she dismissed me, she repeated right back. You couldn’t tell me anything for the rest of the night; eyes big as cookies, I floated all through the venue, sending up hosannas to the Lord. I must have said “Thank you, God” at least a dozen times.
We wouldn’t connect like that again until 2008, on the set of Tyler Perry’s I Can Do Bad All by Myself. Mary was cast as Tanya, the bartender friend of my character, April, a self-centered lounge singer thrust kicking and screaming into motherhood when she is suddenly forced to raise her sister’s three children. While filming in Atlanta, Mary and I became the best of friends, hanging out every evening, going out to eat, sitting up deep into the night, pouring our hearts out over our shared experiences growing up in the hood, being raised by single mothers, our past relationships. As I’d long suspected, we just got each other. And we’ve been close ever since. We cheer each other on and cry on each other’s shoulders, and meet up as much as we can, given our ridiculously busy schedules. You can usually find us in Nobu, with our mutual friends Angie Martinez and Mary’s sister, LaTonya, blowing off steam. Our deepest connection comes, though, when we are secreted away, just the two of us, far from the glitz and glamour, kicking back, being just Taraji and Mary. One of my favorite things to do for my friend is to cook for her. She loves my spicy white chicken chili. I make it nice and hot, with white beans, sautéed chicken breast, cumin, jalape?os, and other spices that boost the flavor just the way Mary likes it. Her bowl stays ready. I’m happy to fill it for her, my friend.
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Of all my girls, though, the best friend I may have is Taraji Penda Henson. I’ve learned to love myself in ways that I simply didn’t when I was younger and more concerned about the care and keeping of others than myself. I’m particular about my energy and I’m protective of my heart, not just with men, but also with friends who seek to do more harm than good in our relationships. I’m a lot like my mother in this regard; we’re great at maintaining friendships, but when their shelf life expires, we have no problem tossing those expired friendships in the trash where they belong. But what’s more, I’m no longer bothered or afraid to spend time solely with myself. That’s something that comes with age; the older I get, the more I take delight in solitude. I like being alone with myself. I crack myself up. I dance with myself. I take care of myself. I love myself. I spoil myself. I take my time, and I’m patient with me. Doing so gives me the superpowers I need to be the kind of mother, daughter, friend, lover, and actress I want to be.
Still, I don’t think this growth in particular, or my relationship with my friends in general, is something that is headline worthy, fodder for gossip columns, or the stuff of legendary Internet memes, which is why the interest in my enthusiasm for the successes of my fellow actress friends took me by surprise. My friendships are to me what they are—or should be—to so many more women, who build community around the intimate connections they create with those whom they adore. It is within my sisterhood that I find comfort, joy, drama, understanding, love—the same emotional force that so many other women depend on as they find their way in the world and explore what truly makes them happy. Go to any movie theater or restaurant on a Saturday night, or peek into the kitchens and living rooms where women gather, or sip your cocktail on the margins of the dance floor at the club, and you’ll see the manifestation of this—that Waiting to Exhale kind of friendship that sticks, even when all else seems to be falling apart. This is our way. In that sense, I am not the epitome of “squad goals.” I am one in the sum of its parts, doing what we all do to lift, revere, respect, and protect one another.
13
Grown Woman