AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Men are cool. Money is okay. Wine is all right. Louis V will do…. But what’s the sense having any of these things if, as Billy Dee said in Mahogany, “you don’t have someone you love to share it with”? Well, Billy was talking about the comforts of the opposite sex, but most women know that a cool sisterfriend will also sweeten the ride. There’s no sense having it if you can’t chat about it and she’s always there to lend an ear. While the rules of engaging a good girlfriend are established on the playground, it doesn’t hurt to remember the top dos and don’ts to maintaining a strong relationship with your best gal pal.
Dos:
Support her goals and dreams.
Give her advice, but know she will follow her heart.
Know that sometimes it is all about her and play second.
If you know what she needs, don’t ask—just do it.
Good or bad, tell her about herself when she needs to hear it.
Don’ts:
Judge her or give up on her.
Tell her secrets to others or talk about her behind her back.
Date her ex—even if she says it’s okay.
Support self-destructive behavior—drinking, smoking, sex, etc.
Allow her to lie to you or herself.
?
/>
“Are you sure this is what you want to do?” Malik asked, walking down a street in the lovely 10013 zip code of New York City, known to the world as TriBeCa and to the 3Ts as Tasha’s new home.
“What do you mean, am I sure?” Tamia said, walking beside him. “I wouldn’t have asked you for the number if I wasn’t sure. You came all the way down here to meet me just to ask me that?”
That morning, after turning and tossing through the night with everything that happened with her at work and with Ava at the party and what she’d actually considered doing with Malik’s case, Tamia had finally decided she wanted to join Baba’s circle on the path to spiritual enlightenment. She’d jumped out of bed and ran to her phone to tell her client the news and ask how she could get in contact with Baba. Looking at the golden powder still sticking to the tips of her gray shoes, she thought she was ready for a change.
“Look, I know people say this all of the time and it’s become cliché, but this is serious. You can’t go to Babatunde if you aren’t sure,” Malik said. As usual, he was wearing one of his T-shirts from the Freedom Project. This one had a picture of Malcolm X on it. It had been raining that morning, so he also had on his military jacket and for the first time since Tamia had met him, he had his hair pulled back off of his face and into a headband. She’d always thought he was a beautiful man, but now, with his entire black face and sharp eyes looking at her, she saw that maybe he was more than beautiful and there was no word for that.
“The journey he’s going to take you on will only work if you’re open,” he went on, “if you’re completely open to changing.”
“I’ve got this,” Tamia assured him, thinking he seemed awfully concerned about her decision to join Baba’s path. His eyes were pleasant, smiling at her in a way that made hers smile back. “I’ve got me. I can handle change.”
“He’s going to make you cut your hair off.”
“Say what?” Tamia felt something tingle at the nape of her neck. Suddenly change seemed crazy. She’d invested a lot of time, energy, money, and then more money into her hair. Not to mention the hundreds of Indians who’d also contributed to her weft.
“Your hair,” Malik said. “It will have to go.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not conscious. It’s a shackle. A symbol that you’ve bought into the white man’s image of beauty. That you believe your own nappy hair isn’t good enough, or pretty enough, to wear just the way it is. The way it was when you were born.”
“I wasn’t born with nappy hair,” Tamia said, stopping in front of Tasha’s new/old abode. “You know it takes some time for those naps to show up.”
Malik couldn’t help but laugh with her.
“Why don’t you cut your hair?” Tamia asked. “It’s all long…. Isn’t a man’s hair supposed to be short?”
“That’s the white man too,” Malik said. “Dreads are the hair of the original black man. He only cuts his hair if there is great turmoil in his life. If he needs to leave something from his past behind that has been locked into his hair.”
