Security

“Be secure. As a black man, you’ve always got to be secure.” Those words echoed in Brandon’s head as he paced back and forth.

He was frantic, anxious, and hungrier than he ever thought he could be. But, he wouldn’t eat. Just 2 days before he was a paradigm of security. He brimmed with a confidence that was brought to its absolute peak when he smiled his wide grin. Two days ago he put on the biggest event of his young career as an artist-his first event. He left plenty of benefits and a marketing career behind to give himself a good old try as an artist. This event was significant to him beyond it being his first because it was the only way he could feel confident about being an artist. “Until I can host an event, and show my work”, he thought, “I’m only just playing at it”.

He managed to fool everyone that night. He convinced them all he was a young assured creative. In the months leading up to his gallery he went over his vision time after time in vendor meetings, convincing other artists to add their work to the displays, and of course explaining to his family and friends what he was up to. Looking back, he thought about how he fooled himself long before he fooled anyone else. He was forced to convince people of his vision so many times he started to believe it.

Despite the struggles to find a venue, despite his failure to get too many major artists on board, despite the flaws he still saw in his work, despite the series of emergencies that inevitably occur before any event, he believed he had successfully put together something people would love. That night, He smiled and people smiled back. He told a story for every piece and people looked affirmed as he went through his process. Even when other artists spoke on their creations, they all made sure to give Brandon credit for orchestrating the night. They even went as far as calling it one of the best events they had ever been a part of. It was a far cry from the present.

To look at him now, pacing back and forth in his studio apartment, breathing heavy, muttering to himself, small beads of sweat fixed in place at the top of his forehead, it was as if nothing had ever happened. He thought this must have been the real him coming back to the surface. A paradigm of security came undone at a URL Khadijah, of the other artists, had sent him. He still hadn’t brought himself to actually open the link. The moment he received the link, realities of his failure, something he didn’t allow himself to think about before his display, became real. What if the critic hated it? What if this was the beginning of the end of a career that never really started? What if no one would work with him afterward? How would he manage? What if the other critics hated it!? What would Roger think? These thoughts were interrupted by a combination of his phone’s text tone sounding and Brandon jumping like a frightened dog at the noise. Looking down at his phone, he saw it was another text from Khadijah.

“Did you read it?”, the text read.

Brandon thought about breaking down. He thought about confessing his insecurities to Khadijah. Maybe she would know what to say or give Brandon the right piece of advice he needed. Then it dawned on him. He didn’t have to respond. He didn’t have to indulge criticisms- at least not today. He could preserve himself. He could wait and build up his fortitude before he broached whether or not he made something good. He created an event and saw it through until the end. “That should be enough for me right now”, he thought. The more he thought about it, the satisfaction of completing something was nirvana for him. The happiness of fulfilling a vision was blissful. He sat in his chair and exhaled. He was free. He would have to confront the world soon, but for now he was free to smile and enjoy the rest of his day. He might have retained a reluctant sense of well-being if not for the knock at his door.

After answering the door, his heart sank. After half-heartedly conceding he didn’t care what a review said, here Brandon was with his own worst critic at his doorstep, his grandfather Roger. “Can I come in?”, Roger said dryly without picking his eyes up from the ground. Still in shock, Brandon nodded his head yes, and he ushered Roger to the living chair in the tiny apartment.

Brandon sat on his bed across from Roger and also fixated his eyes on the ground. For a while, they sat there in silence. Until Roger picked his head up and finally looked at his grandson. “I…I…”, he started, “I wanted to drop by for a while now”. Brandon cautiously looked up. “I had so many things I wanted to say to you. I never wanted to end our last conversation like that. I never wanted to go so long without speaking. But, I was frustrated. So sure that I was right.”, Roger said assuredly. Brandon looked back down and folded his hands, bracing himself for what Roger would say. “I read a review of your show today. Have you seen it yet?”, he said sternly.

Brandon looked up, his face now warped into a look of awe and defeat. “Well, in any case, it wasn’t very positive. They said some of the collection was too predictable. They said your layout was too uninspired. They gave some marginal praise to other people’s work, but that was the height of their praise here. The basement is when they wonder how you got a career in art, and how you hope to continue it.”

He wasn’t sure if Roger could see it at the moment, but Brandon was mortified. He felt tears begin to pool in his eyes.

“After I read this review, I was once again sure I was right.” That’s when Brandon had enough.

He stood up from the bed firmly. Tears now streaming down his face and his arms shaking. He snapped at Roger “Why did you come here!? To rub it in? To tell me you were right all along?”

Roger shook his head, “No, I was wrong. I was wrong all those months ago. I was wrong not speaking to you. And this critic was wrong about you today. I was right two days ago when I saw your displays.”

“You saw my- “

“I did”, Roger started “I waited until the crowd was big enough and snuck in to see all you had done. I was so proud.”

Roger stood up now looking at his grandson eye to eye. Brandon noticed tears forming in Roger’s eyes and he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Your work was inspired. It was beautiful.”, Roger said, his tears now halfway down his cheeks. Brandon began crying more as he felt a wave of joy fall over him. Roger hugged him and held him close.

“Do you remember what I said to you before you started college? About a black man needing to be secure?”

Still on his grandfather’s shoulder, Brandon nodded his head and said “of course. I’ve never forgotten.”

“When you said you wanted to get out of marketing and pursue art, I was angry. Angry about your future. I was concerned if you would be okay. If you could make a living. I didn’t want you to suffer like I had to. I didn’t want you to be a suffering black man. But I see now. I see you’ll be okay.”

Roger and Brandon broke their hug and sat on the bed next to one another.

“Brandon, at that time- to me- that job, the money it would bring in, the stability, I thought you’d never have that as an artist. But, I know that you’ll be fine. I know you’re great after what I saw. And you helped me realize that being secure can be as simple as being true to yourself. After all, how can you feel safe if you don’t live in your truth? Thank you for waking me up”.

“Thank you”, Brandon said. “I’ve been worried all morning. I needed to hear that from someone. But, to hear it from you- I couldn’t ask for more.”

“You won’t need to”, Roger said. “I want you to have this. It’s every cent I could gather for you. I want you to have this. But, only on the condition that you keep going. You keep growing. You keep creating.”

Roger presented him with a little black book. After opening it Brandon’s eyes grew wide, and then they lowered. They lowered with the realization that his grandfather believed in him. This was truly enough for him. This time he meant it. Now he really was content. Knowing Roger finally saw his vision was his real nirvana. He could go forward now and continue to express himself to the world and disregard any criticism that may come his way. He was free to explore his creative processes without his confidence leaving him anymore.

“As a black man you’ve always got to be secure”. With his grandfather behind him, Brandon always would be.