Aminah winked at me and assiduously ignored my mouthing of “What the fuck?” She nodded at Simi, who had somehow situated herself behind the tech desk without me knowing. Simi nodded professionally and the lights dimmed further as the screen behind us blinked, changing from Zack’s exposure to . . .
My heart flipped and my stomach dipped.
Untitled appeared in stark white letters across a black backdrop. I already knew it was a clip from Malakai’s film before it started rolling. It was even more stunning than what I had seen in the edit suite. Gorgeous vignettes of tessellating-toned, brown-skinned people, kaleidoscopic sizes and shapes that formed a deep, rich, bright texture, their voices overlapping and then separating to tell their stories. Blackwell denizens at parties, in the push and pull of attraction, swelling up with it till it made their skin glow with it. In campus cafés, at the libraries, on the quad. People in the audience laughed and cooed as they recognized themselves.
And then, there was my voice, speaking on a neo-soul instrumental that Kofi composed. “You know from the songs I’ve listened to . . . I feel like relationships are in the seeing. I think everyone just wants to be seen and to find someone who they enjoy seeing. Like . . . seeing them brings them joy.” And then, Malakai’s camera was on me, laughing at one of our dinners at Sweetest Ting, me sticking my tongue out at him across a lecture hall after he surreptitiously brought out his camera, me slicking lip gloss on my lips in my mirror, the reflection showing him mouthing a “damn” that I rolled my eyes at, my smile repressed. My chest felt tight, in a good way, like my heart had expanded, filled all the way up. “And isn’t it a trip,” I said, “when you find someone who you like seeing and who sees you?”
Now, I had taken the camera from Malakai, filmed him putting his durag on, swiped it to film him while he was watching Boyz n the Hood, by his hero, John Singleton, the focus on his face, his mouth shaping his favorite lines, his eyes lighting up with inspiration, the bright in the deep. I’d focused on his lips.
“It’s such a miracle that people write songs about it. People pine for it. People get scared and sabotage it. People plead for it back, fists clenched, breaking it down in the middle-eight. Man, I just feel like the whole thing . . . the love thing . . . demands that you’re brave. Seeing people for what they are can be scary, that’s like . . . full investment. Responsibility. You have to care and be committed to the care. And you gotta care even while preparing for the fact that they’re not going to fit into your idea of perfection. Is it worth the risk? I don’t know. Only you can know.” A pause and then I say while laughing, “Shit, that was deep. Now here’s ‘Thong Song,’ one of the greatest love songs of all time.”
Malakai had filmed during Brown Sugar. I’d got up and mouthed the lyrics to “Thong Song” with passion, eyes squeezed, fists closed, looking completely goofy and completely happy.
I bit my lip now and laughed. I liked seeing myself like that. I liked seeing Malakai see me like that. Then, there was Malakai sitting in a booth at what I recognized as Sweetest Ting. It looked like he was filming himself. He rubbed his neck and leaned forward.
“So, uh, when I started making this documentary, I really thought relationships weren’t for me. I almost approached it like . . . a wildlife documentary, right? I wanted to observe and understand why people would put themselves at risk of hurt like that. Why they would want to be tied to another person. Why anyone would even try. But then I met this girl.” Malakai smiled to the camera, his eyes full of something so warm and heavy and precious, my own started to fill too. “I met this girl with the sharpest, sweetest mouth and the biggest heart. Soft and tough and shy and bold. Beautiful man, so beautiful. And . . . she made me want it. Really want it. And I figured . . . that’s why people do it right? Be vulnerable and shit. Because they want to be close to the person who makes it worth it. It’s about connecting with someone who makes you want to try. And she made—makes me want to try.
“And me and this girl had an argument. It was rough. We both said really harsh things to each other, I dunno. I . . . my skin was inside out for her and that was the first time I really clocked it. I got scared and I backed her into a corner. She was going through something, and I didn’t give her space to feel that. I was thinking about myself. I’m always saying that I got her. But when she needed me . . . I didn’t have her in the way I promised myself I would always have her. And I’m shook I lost her because she is the best thing. The best fucking thing.