Camryn Garrett - Off the Record

@JosieTheJournalist: help i forgot how to write

Ive rewritten the same sentence five different times. No matter how I rearrange the words, they dont sound good enough to be published.

Clearly, Black films only receive critical acclaim when they heavily feature Black suffering. Where are our happy movies? They exist, but you dont see them winning Oscars.

I smack my keyboard. Nothing changes. Im still on the living room couch, an episode of Real Housewives playing on the TV. My Word document stares back at me, cursor blinking as if daring me to rewrite the sentence for a sixth time. How am I supposed to end an op-ed like this? In conclusion, Im sure most of the people reading this are white and dont want to hear about race, but please dont cancel your subscription.

I minimize the Word document, flipping to my email. No new messages. Still the same emails: one from Target, one from Spelman College confirming that I sent my application, a few from Instagram. Nothing from the contest. Nothing telling me whether I won or lost.

Ugh. I rub my forehead, staring up at the Deep Focus magazine covers hanging above our TV. The Obamas, Serena Williams, and Jimi Hendrix. Theyve been hanging there forever, some of the best covers of my favorite magazine ever. Normally, they inspire me.

Theyre a little too in my face right nowwhile Im waiting to hear back from the talent competition. If I win, Ill get the chance to write an actual cover story for the magazine. Me writing a cover story for Deep Focus.

I take a shaky breath. Its almost too much to think about.

I should be focusing on this op-ed I owe Monique. She enjoyed my last piece, and the one before it. That should make me feel better. But my anxiety doesnt pay attention to how I should feel. According to my sisters, I worry about everything, even the pointless, but especially the very important.

I glance at the inbox again. Still no change. The winners are supposed to hear back by the end of today. But why are they taking so long? What if they didnt like the samples I sent, or they thought my writing was too immature, or they got turned off by how much I write about race

Well, look here. Josies right where we left her.

My head snaps up. Dad lumbers through the door, rolling a purple suitcase with one hand and holding his backpack strap with the other. I dont know why Alice is bringing so much stuff when shes just an hour away. She could come home every weekend, if she wanted.

Dads still in his accountant uniformwhite shirt, black tiethe air of math and numbers swirling around him. He glances at the muted TV. Blond women in sparkly dresses lunge for each other across a gigantic table. I shrug.

I leave it on for background noise, I say.

Alice appears with an eye roll. She looks the same as she did when we dropped her off in August: ripped jeans, edges of her box braids tinged purple, her signature bored face. Looks like her first few months of college didnt change a thing.

What are you writing now? she asks, swinging her backpack to the floor. Another review of Real Housewives?

Shut up. I only wrote those recaps to get my foot in the door and she knows it. Its a serious piece.

Thats what you said last time.

I scowl, opening my email and sending the piece before closing my laptop. This piece is fine. If Monique doesnt like it, shell send me edits, same as usual. At least its better than a Real Housewives recap.

Come on, girls, Dad says. Wheres Maggie?

Shes at work, I say. And the library is having a pre-Thanksgiving playtime or something, so Mom took Cash with her. Shell probably have to stay to clean everything up.

They work her too hard. Dad shakes his head, but theres no bite in his voice. Always have.

I stand up to hug him, but he pulls me in first. He always gives the best hugs. Eventually, I draw back to hug Alice, but she just scoffs and steps away. I dont know why I even try.

By the time she and Dad have put away their stuff, Mom is back from work, and so is my oldest sister, Maggie. Shes still dressed in her apron and khakis. I hold up my phone.

Its the rare employee Maggie, I say, opening my camera app. Take a picture for good luck.

Maggies eyes widen as she lunges for me. Josie, I swear

Mama, Cash says, worming between the two of us. No swearing.

Youre right, baby, Maggie says, glancing down at him. No swearing.

When he heads into the kitchen, she sticks her tongue out at me. I snort.

We havent had a family dinner since the day before Alice left for school. Its not that we dont like each other. Our schedules just never line up. Dad works late, Maggie is always doing overtime, and Alice is usually at school. That leaves Mom, Cash, and me eating in front of the TV most nights. Cash looks a little startled to be sitting at the dinner table right now.