2:00 AM TEXTS
Talib:
You are a beautiful woman
Queen:
Lol thank you
Talib:
You’re welcome your name suites you 
Queen:
Why thank you, you’re too kind
Talib:
Can I see you again while I’m out here?
Queen:
Yea, for sure, when do you leave?
Talib:
I’ll be out here for a week
Queen:
Cool
Talib:
Cool talk with you soon gn Queen
Queen:
Gn
That next morning, Song called me excitedly telling me that Talib would not stop talking about me to Armon. In the midst of our girl talk rundown, I got a text.
Talib
10:00 AM – Good morning
Queen
10:05 AM – Hey Good morning, how are you?
Talib
10:06 AM – You hungry? Let’s go to brunch
Queen:
10:06 AM – I’m always hungry lol let’s go!
I spent that week showing Talib around the city and sharing stories about my involvement in community organizing. I shared my journal entries with him as well as some of my poems.
“Queen, these are awesome. You are a brilliant writer.”
I was actually pretty flattered to hear that from him. He let me read some of his printed articles and they were on an extremely professional level. Up until this point, I had only shared my writing locally and at open mic nights.
“Have you ever thought about compiling your pieces into a book, or script, or something?”
That’s all I had ever dreamed and prayed about for the past ten years. I just never knew how that could or would happen.
“Let me help you. I’d love to work with you on a range of different things. I think the music, the community work, the writings—we could tie all these together.”
As he spoke, I prayed silently.
“God, all I’ve ever wanted is to please you. To know you. I’ve been fighting for so long I never imagined what it would feel like to not fight. I have told my story to so many people that I have crossed paths with. I have tried to build with people who never believed in me. Who is this man sitting across from me? Can he be trusted? Is this true? Don’t let me be so jaded by my past that I can’t recognize the truth any longer. I am ready to work. I believe in the dreams and visions that you have placed inside of me. Please give me confirmation that this is the correct way to go. Don’t leave me, Jesus. Amen.”
That night, Talib and Frank flew back to Chicago, and Song and I got back to recording and putting the finishing touches on our project. I decided to let the meeting with Talib go and trust that if our collaboration was within God’s will, we would meet again and it would be clear. I looked back over my life. At all the players that were in my story up until that point. I was grateful for everyone—all of it was necessary. About three days later, my pastor called me about an opportunity for writers within the connectional church. It was a conference being held within the month in Chicago that worked with youth and mentoring through storytelling.
The flight and airfare would be paid for—all I had to do was accept. I thought this may have been my confirmation but still wasn’t sure. I accepted the invitation but didn’t mention anything to Talib. About a week later, Kenya and I hopped on the plane to Chicago and went to the conference. There were writers from across the nation from all different backgrounds. The third day of the conference, I heard a familiar voice at the podium. Talib and Frank led the seminar that day, and spoke about how they were transforming an entire neighborhood by encouraging community members to tell their stories.
“Queen.”
Frank greeted me with that same warm smile and we hugged.
“This your little man?” he asked, looking down at Kenya.
“Yes, sir, this is my little man,” I responded proudly.
“Righteous Queen.” Frank kneeled down, smile still on his face as he greeted Kenya.
“Oh, who is this?” Talib’s excitement made me smile.
“This is my son, Kenya.”
“What’s up, man?” Talib joined Frank on his knee and he greeted baby Kenya.
“So you wasn’t gone tell me you was out here?” Talib looked up at me, one eyebrow raised.
I started laughing.
“I was scared, okay?” I honestly admitted it.
“Scared of what, girl?”
“I don’t know … .scared of succeeding, I guess? Of possibilities? Of what could happen….”
Talib stood up and looked me directly in my eyes. I loved that.
“Don’t be. Tell me your story.”
***