“Mine either.” At least I’m not the only one.
A woman stands at the front of the room and calls everyone’s attention. “Good afternoon, everyone. My name is Sabrina. I am so honored to kick off another cohort of mentors and mentees,” she says. “I am the founder and executive director of Woman to Woman, and I started this program because I believe in the power of sisterhood. We girls are often overlooked as if our needs are not important. And, well, I got tired of complaining, and wanted to do something about it,” Sabrina says. She has a small high-pitched voice. She’s tall and thin and the darkest shade of black. Her hair is braided in tiny singles and pinned up in a bun.
As Sabrina is talking, a woman walks in quietly, closing the heavy door behind her so it doesn’t make too much noise. She stops at the table to sign in and write her name on a name tag. She looks regal and carries herself in a way that makes me sit up in my seat. Our eyes meet and she smiles. The greeter at the table looks over my way too, and points. I can’t tell if she’s pointing at me or Jasmine. Once the woman gets closer, I see her name tag says, BRENDA. She whispers something to Jasmine and sits next to her.
Am I really going to be the loser girl whose mentor stood her up?
Sabrina continues her welcome speech. “There is an old adage that says, ‘You can give a man a fish and feed him for a day. You can teach a man to fish and feed him for a lifetime.’” She pauses and lets the meaning sink in. “Well, I like what Pedro Noguera had to add. He says, ‘Don’t stop there.’ He says, ‘Help her to understand why the river is polluted so that she and her friends can organize to get the river clean and make it possible for the entire community to eat too,’” Sabrina says. She pauses again for a moment, and then a wide compassionate smile stretches across her face. “Young women, this is what this mentorship program is about. We will have fun, yes. But we will also discuss some of the distractions and barriers to success and hopefully gain strategies for overcoming them.” Then she smiles. “But first, the fun.” Sabrina asks everyone to stand. “Let’s all make a big circle, please. Mentees, please stand next to your mentors.”
I look around the room one more time and watch each pair join together, laughing and talking and getting to know one another. Maxine still isn’t here. Some mentor.
Sabrina says, “First, we’ll have everyone go around and say their names. But to add a little twist to it, say your name with a word that describes you and that begins with the letter of your first name.” Sabrina steps forward. “Okay, I’ll go first—Silly Sabrina,” she announces.
Then the next person says, “Hilarious Hillary,” and the woman next to her, “Bookworm Brenda.”
I think of names for my mentor: Missing Maxine, Mediocre Maxine, Mean Maxine.
This is stupid.
I’m ready to go. I look back at the table—the greeter woman isn’t there anymore. I take my jacket off the back of the chair I was saving, grab my backpack, and sneak out before anyone notices that no one came for me.
I walk to the bus stop, thinking about the fish and the river Sabrina was telling us about. I don’t really want to learn about the polluted river. I want to move where the water is clean. And I don’t want to play childish getting-to-know-you games. If I’m going to do this program, I want to get something out of it.
As I wait for the bus, some man with holes in his jacket and a bottle in his hand comes up to me and says, “You got a number, Jade?”
How does he know my name?
The man’s eyes are looking at my breasts.
I look down. Great. I’m still wearing the stupid name tag. I pull it off, ball it up, and put it in my pocket.
“That’s not your name anymore?” He steps closer to me. “That’s fine. You don’t want to be Jade no more? I’ll call you whatever you want,” he says. He leans in as if he’s going to kiss me.
I step back. Tell him to stop. I walk away, leaving the drunk man yelling and cursing. There is no bus in sight, so I decide to walk a few blocks to the next stop.
By the time I get home, it is dark and raining. E.J. is already turning the sofa into his bed, and Mom is on her way to Ms. Louise’s house. She’s staying there for three nights while Ms. Louise’s daughter is out of town. Mom looks at me with her knowing eyes. She can tell I’m upset. She always knows how I’m feeling, even when I don’t know how to put it in words. She is good at reading minds, reading the room, at having a feeling that just won’t go away.
Like the night E.J.’s best friend, Alan, was killed. Mom kept saying she had this feeling, a feeling that something bad was going to happen. She kept calling E.J.’s cell, but he didn’t answer. I thought she was flipping out for no reason, but later that night we got the call that E.J. and his friends had been shot. E.J. was okay, barely grazed on his arm. Nate was wounded badly, and Alan died at the scene.
Nothing’s been the same since then. I think Mom only hears what she wants to hear, sees what she wants to see when it comes to her baby brother. Mom knows E.J. is not fine. He’s not working a full-time job, and that money he makes from deejaying and selling mixtapes isn’t going to sustain him. Mom asks him all the time, “Are you looking for a job?” He says yes and she believes him. She asks him, “Are you okay, E.J.? What happened to you was traumatic. Maybe you should talk to someone.” But E.J. says he is fine and Mom believes him. I wonder, how could she get that feeling that night and know her brother was in danger when he was miles away, and not know he’s in danger when he’s right in front of her face?
Mom looks me in my eyes. “What’s wrong?” she asks. “How did it go?”
“She didn’t show up,” I tell her.
“What do you mean she didn’t show up?” Mom grabs her umbrella from the bucket by the door.
I just stand there.
“Does anyone know your mentor didn’t come?”
“No. I left.”
“Well, Jade. You should have said something.”