Number Twenty-Two — Jalon Nichols

Go Home.

(aka go back to where it started — and stay a while)

When I made this one of my 40 things, I thought I was talking about spending more time in North Carolina — where my Father’s Mother’s family has been since the beginning, where my parents are about to make home, where one day it will be my home. But one trip to South Carolina and my view of home changed forever.

I wrote this after one morning, on the coast of South Carolina.

I stood on the coast of South Carolina

It was my first time

After walking down the dune and seeing the blue-gray clear water, my Mother and I found a spot away from folks and set up camp

It was going to be hot that day, but at 10am, with the breeze coming off the Atlantic, it was perfect

We sat a few feet from the morning tide

I closed my eyes and took in the salted air

And then opened them to watch the tide go in and out

In and out, in and out, in…and out

My breathing automatically synced with the waves

In and out, in and out, in….and out

I strip down to my bathing suit and make my way to the endless open world

I can stay in the water for hours, I tell my mom she’ll have to call me back in

I anticipated the cold water, but am met with lukewarm perfect water

My blood starts to move in recognition

I’ve been here before

The morning waves are 7 feet tall and I can only get knee-deep before I’m taken down

I’m brought to my knees

I start to laugh but am stopped instantly

I’m not scared or worried that I will be carried out to sea…

I’ve been here before

My Mom and I switch places, with me holding down our spot, and my Mom wading in the water…

I watch her do what I just did, looking far out past the initial waves to the horizon

Upon joining me back on our towels we sat in complete silence

Our brown eyes stay fixed out to the far unknown

Breathing in sync with one another and the waves

Silence

Without a prompt, my Mom says, “Can you imagine this being the first thing you see after a long and dark journey? Months at sea chained up to strangers, and this is the first thing you see…”

And I remark the thought that pained me all morning, “it must have looked like heaven — at first…”

We have come full circle

We know if it’s not this beach it’s one close by — that is our entry point to this country

We know that the very coast we now use for recreation, was the beginning of 100s of years of forced labor, breeding, bleeding, and pain

It’s not lost on me that we’re one of a few Black people here today

Each dip into the ocean feels like a sacred baptism

I’m bathing in my ancestors’ tears

I want to tell them it works out — kind of

That we survived

We’re still here

We own land, fought in wars, protested, rioted, and voted

And found joy within the struggle

In spite of it

We’re educated, remembered, and our names, not just our ages, grace paperwork

Proving we were here…and thus so were they

My eyes are theirs

My brown eyes have stared out from this very place that I now freely sit here for refuge

I do not come from one place

The ocean is my home country

I can be in the water for hours if you let me

This time and this spot, was my first homecoming

The water is my home