I graduated high school with honors. Not bad for someone who ended tenth grade with a 1.7 overall GPA. I’ve always been smart, I just was always afraid to say it, to be it on the outside. I never believed in myself enough to truly pursue anything for me. I had a dream to go away to a historically black college. It was just something dope about that imagery to me. That had to be a part of my story. Plus, it was a way to get out of Oakland. Out of the madness, the sadness, the depression. I imagined I would be surrounded by strong minds who would push me toward greatness. God was finally giving me an opportunity after years of being lost, looked over, and forgotten.
I was accepted by a few colleges, but decided on attending Xavier University, in New Orleans, Louisiana. I had a part-time job at a coffee shop and saved up my money so I could buy supplies. I got a laptop and a mini fridge. I was a sneakerhead so I bought a bunch of J’s too. My church helped with registration fees and airfare. I packed all my pictures, my entire life, and hopped on the plane. I was determined not to look back. I was focused on rewriting my story.
I headed to New Orleans in the summer of 2005. Classes didn’t actually begin until August, but I flew down a few months early to get situated. The dorms reminded me of the fifties. They had checkered floors and bright orange paint. It didn’t matter to me—I was happy to be there. My roommate was named Blossom. Her skin was as deep and mysterious as the night. Her hair flowed down her back. She was beautiful. Her presence spoke of power, self-assurance. If you didn’t know her, you might assume she was stuck up. In reality, she was secure in her core. Grounded. God fearing. The first day we met, she looked me up and down and said, “I don’t play with the ‘bitch’ word. Don’t do that. I don’t allow anyone to call me a bitch.” I loved that.
She kept me balanced, focused. We had the same major, psychiatry. We were going to be doctors. We weren’t into partying on weekdays, or boys, we would be in the dorms studying and writing papers. We found a church that had young people on fire for God. We looked out for each other. The morning before Hurricane Katrina hit was a clear, beautiful day. I remember that Saturday morning people running around the dorm talking about the storm. Some people who weren’t from down South were crying, others who were from the city acted as if the warning was no big deal. I wasn’t extremely worried, but my roommate had a friend who was going to Texas until the storm passed over, and I figured I’d go, too. I remember looking into my closet at all my clothes for a long time. I didn’t know why, but I was in a trance. Unknowingly, I was parting ways with my “stuff.” That night as we made our way to Texas, we went against the storm, hail and lightning following our every track. By God’s grace, we made it to our destination safely. The next morning, we cut on the news to discover the school and the city were under water. Flooded. Dreams, aspirations, and opportunity washed away. Another dream lost.