Queenie B, or Queen Barnes was one of my favorite parts about Joy and Glee. She stood at 5'2 and had the clearest skin known to man. She'd been working at the studio for years before I was hired. I looked up to her like the big sister I never had, and I could tell she always took pride in it.
She was coming up on her thirtieth birthday in the next few months, and she hadn't stopped mentioning it for weeks on end. "When I turn elderly," "Big thirty," and "I don't know nothing about that, young blood" were all starting to ring in my ears like some type of spell. I was ready for her to just be thirty so she could talk about something else, like turning thirty-one. Anything else.
Queenie had a degree in digital media, so unlike me, she wasn't a talent just whipped off the streets and into Joy and Glee. She had credentials and unbelievable talent. I always looked at her like some type of art superhero, someone who could overcome any boundaries set in place. She'd found her way into art school without a ton of loans, and she'd landed this job.
Me on the other hand, I like to say my run-in with the Glees was a stroke of pure fate.
My high school had an art program that was only funded for a year, yet was also mandatory for freshmen to participate in. It wasn't just an art program; it was a bunch of "career pathways" that they said were intended for us to figure out what trades we might be passionate in.
The whole thing was a trainwreck if I was honest. The classes constantly had teacher shortages, it lost funding halfway through the second semester, and none of the students were invested, including me. It was typical public school life.
They made us submit entries for a portrait contest that showed "extreme emotion." We had to find subjects, find a way to make them into actors and actresses overnight, and take a picture worthy of competing. I'd asked my friend Emily to model for me, another neighborhood friend, and it had been going horribly. Neither of us knew what to do and I barely knew how to work the loaner digital camera they'd given me.
The best thing I had going was Emily. She was one of those neighborhood girls that made the unleashed dogs sit on their butts and wag their tails. She had braces that I couldn't ever remember seeing her without that just added onto her swoon factor. And she was a sweetheart, so she agreed to model for me.
We'd been going at it for at least 30 minutes, trying to get a decent shot, and it was just awkward. I didn't know anything about cameras and Emily only knew how to pose for Instagram. It eventually got so stupid and comical that we both burst out laughing.
As her mouth opened and she reached up to cover her mouth with her hand, something clicked in my brain. Then I clicked the camera. And the picture was decent.
It wasn't the best picture I've ever taken, or even close, especially now. However, it was good enough for me to get a passing grade and I thought that would be enough.
The Glees Family was one of the sponsors for the competition, I came to find out. And Mr. Glees saw my picture and tracked me down.
I had no idea, and never really figured out, why he singled me out. I hadn't won the competition. I hadn't even placed in the top three. But he offered me a temporary position that had become my long-term stay at Joy and Glee.
Queenie, on the other hand, had always been focused. She'd always been driven. She'd always had direction. She was the embodiment of everything people should aspire to be not for society or just their work, but for themselves.
I'd learned enough of her upbringing to know why she never went back home to Texas. I'd learned enough about her circumstances to know that she shouldn't by any means be in Atlanta, assistant manager of Joy and Glee. She was a person who saw the world not as it was, but as what it could be. I felt compelled to tell her that now.
"You know I admire you a lot, Queenie," I said as I rolled the seamless paper back into its holster for the day. I was getting ready to clock out and we made sure to leave our areas clean before we did.
"And why is that?" she asked, sipping on her coffee and leaning against the bartop. The studio was surprisingly empty for a Friday night. Her face was smug, as she already knew why I admired her.
"You just get things done. You don't let the world tell you what you can and can't do," I said simply, my voice straining as I reached up to finish rolling the paper that was attached to the stand. "I wish I could be more like that sometimes."
"Chile," she started, moving her butterfly locs out of her face. Her dark, clear skin seemed to radiate even more at the praise. "Thank you. But I'm starting to feel like I'm running out of time. You know, being damn near thirty and all," she waved her hand as I rolled my eyes. "Here we go again," I jested. "Running out of time to do what?"
"I don't know," she shrugged as she set her drink down and crossed her arms across her chest. "Dream? I feel like you only get to do that for so long until reality and mortality kick in. I did a lot of dreaming then I got tired. Which is why I'm here still, now that I think about it."
I did a double-take at this. "I thought you loved it here?"
She shook her head vehemently. "Oh no, I do. This place is the best thing that ever happened to me. I spent 22 years straight grinding and got this job straight out of my Bachelor's, but I think by then, I was tired. And this was a soft spot for me to land. It's comfortable and beautiful and everything a job should be," she sighed.
"But?"
"Buuuut," she stretched the word out as she stepped a little closer to me. "I've been here for damn near eight years. This ain't the work of a dreamer no more. It's the work of someone who's tired and afraid after being unafraid for so long. The Glees Fam? They some dreamers. They dreamed this place up. It's theirs. They had the confidence to make something theirs and the perseverance to keep it. I don't have that yet, and I feel like I'm running out of time."
"You've definitely done enough," I said, unironically.
"Enough doesn't exist my brother," she put a hand on my shoulder.
"You are one of the most outstanding people to ever exist, Queenie B," I smiled at her.
She removed her hand. "Who's got you being all nice?"
"I'm always nice."
"Nicer than normal?"
My toothy smile became a tight-lipped, shy one at the mention of Dalia. "There's a girl."
"Wait!" Queenie screamed grabbing me again and shaking me this time. "A girl?!"
"Hold up, man, it's not like that. At, least for her. She said I like words of affirmation and she's always complimenting me, so I've been like why not lately?"
"Well tell her I said thanks for the compliments," she went back over to the counter and picked her drink up.
"I will not. But I dunno. I want to express interest but she just seems so uninterested in me that way. And that art contest? I'm letting her use the fuck out of me just so I can look at her face. It's so sad honestly," I collapsed against my stool, running my time clock up.
"Have you tried reciprocating her energy?" she asked in between sips.
"You mean by acting uninterested?" I asked, incredulously.
"No, stupid. Being nice to her. Complimenting her. Showing interest in a way that she'll understand."
"I kind of just get clammy. She's all confident and outgoing and my body shuts down when she gets going."
"If you can't beat 'em, join 'em, is all I got to say. She cute?"
"Gorgeous. And her hair is mad healthy. Like Rapunzel, you can lift a dude into a tower, type healthy. She showed me her hair products," I rambled.
She sniffed to be dramatic. "Oh that's what I been smelling. I see you, playa."
"More like loser. But thanks for the tip. I'll try that."
"And get off John's clock before he gets on me for your negligence," she shooed me out of the studio.
Just as I was exiting the doors and making my way to my cousin's car parked in the employee lot, my phone chimed with a calendar notification. It was Trent's rival classic game. Perfect timing.
I latched onto Dean's side as he led me through Trent's massive stadium. Despite them being a private school, they were apparently so good at football that they played in a league with the public schools in the area. The stadium was split in half with blue and red, the red being for what I assumed was the other team.
I craned my neck "Where are they?"
"Texting Wendy now," he responded.
"Cool, cool," I wrung my hands, preparing for what I was about to have to do. I was going to start on Queenie's advice before I lost my nerve, and if my heartbeat was any tell, that would be happening soon.
"She said they're in the bleachers all the way on the other side."
We trekked past kids in face paint, the fan section, and the marching band before finally reaching the other end. When I saw her my heart began moving even faster.
The game was set to start in about five minutes. Dalia wasn't wearing any school paraphernalia, but at the very least, she wore her blue platform converses and some blue eyeliner.
I tried to think of a coherent compliment to give her, or something witty, but my mouth moved faster than my mind. "You look gorgeous," I said much more calmly than I felt.
"Thanks, handsome," she didn't bat an eyelash.
"Fuck," I muttered under my breath.
"What?" her eyes glimmered up at me and I noticed she was wearing fake lashes that made her doe eyes look even more so.
My breath caught in my throat as I tried to respond, but thankfully, Wendy came to my rescue with a "Nice to see you again, Lawrence."
She brought up that she'd heard about our entry to the Young Art competition and asked some questions about it. We were getting into a good conversation when the game started and it was time for us to focus up. Dean and Wendy, neither being interested in football, went to the concession stand together. Dalia and I weren't big into football either, but somehow, we all ended up there.
"I don't usually spend my Fridays at high school football games," I joked.
"I would hope not, grown man," we were sitting now, but she kept blinking her eyes at me as if she knew she could choke me up that way.
"We're a year apart."
"You're still grown."
"Is that weird to you?" I asked, feeling insecure and uncomfortable all of a sudden.
"I'm just joking. Lighten up."
"Oh, okay. I've never seen these before. They're nice," I grabbed at my own eyelashes to indicate what I was talking about.
"I know right," she reached up for them, unaffected before she started talking about the rest of her makeup. I sighed a sigh of defeat. So the compliments were just friendly.
I tried to shake off my feelings of rejection and pay attention to the game, but it wasn't long before I felt antsy again.
"I barely understand what's going on."
"Don't ask me chile, I'm just here to be Wendy's wing woman."
I raised my eyebrows.
"You can't tell she's feeling him?" she rolled her eyes and slipped a piece of popcorn she'd confiscated into the stadium, into her mouth.
"I thought she talked to another dude."
"She ain't talking to him much now," she winked at me. My insides collapsed at the sight.
"I'm going insane," I said to her plainly, before returning my sight to the game.
I was able to focus on that for all of two minutes before Dean and Wendy came back eating sour straws and cackling. They wedged themselves in between me and Dalia, Dean next to me and Wendy next to Dalia. Part of me felt relief and the other part felt upset. The three of them talked to each other animatedly while I absentmindedly watched the field.
Me mulling over recent events in my head also lasted all of two minutes before another interruption came. This time, it was a hoard of dudes in baseball jerseys approaching... us?
One of them walked up to Dalia and smiled this flirty smile at her. My insides collapsed again. I was lucky I was sitting down.
"You're in my seat."
"This is a literal stadium," Dalia looked up at him, not giving him doe eyes, but scowling. I smiled a big smile I was glad she couldn't see from behind her.
"And this section of said stadium is reserved for the athletes. We just got out of practice," he pulled at his jersey. "My name's Cole."
"We apologize then, Cole, we'll get our shit and dip," Wendy got up and started pulling at me and Dean to get up and grab our stuff.
I got mine and moved the next bleacher over. I sat down, then Dean, then Wendy, then... Dalia?
She was still in the athlete section, sitting comfortably as ever, now beaming at the dude she'd just been scowling at.
And that was all I needed to know.
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