Giiiiirrrllll
To my girl Beverly,
If I were to write your biography, the title would be “Giiiiirl”. Give or take an “i” or two. It is the perfect moniker for what is sure to be a whirlwind of a story. I, myself, can piecemeal the juicy tidbits with a few memories of my own making. The search for good Malbec at hotel bars overlaps with stories of playing cards with your girlfriends down the block from your man. I remember frequent side eyes will debating kinks and other sexual proclivities, many shared calamari appetizers, and scrambling to put out enough chairs for one of our joint programs. Interwoven in these memories are soft exclamations of “Giiiiirl” before you wrap me in a hug and ask me how I am. It is now five years of friendship, but they feel like forever; so, I’m sure I could produce some strong pieces on the woman I’ve come to love. Truth be told, I think we’d need multiple volumes to encompass a life as rich as yours. How does one begin to pen the adventures of Beverly Guy-Sheftall? Describe the way your sense of style mirrors the uniqueness of your spirit, how your friendship is more like a sisterhood, or how hours spent gossiping end up feeling like just a few moments?
(This picture is from 2018 but I look like a thumb in recent selfies, so let's just focus on how cute we look with this mood lighting)
I’m not quite sure how I’d start this herculean task, nor if I am even the right person to do it. You see, I don’t know Dr. Beverly Guy-Sheftall, esteemed and leading Black feminist of the twenty-first century. I mean I know her, but my good sis Beverly isn’t the woman discussed in graduate seminars and analyzed in dissertations. I know a sister-comrade who is funny as hell and knows all the best spots in Atlanta. My friend always makes time for me – no matter how many conference calls and meetings dominate her schedule – and gives the warmest embrace in the Western Hemisphere. (An exaggeration? Perhaps, but I’ve hugged my fair share of people, so that’s that on that). I am unfamiliar with the glamorized and deified Dr. Guy-Sheftall – whose work is dissected as if your message is stagnant and of a different generation. I clap for the woman on stage giving prophetic speeches on Black feminisms and politely hold your bags as fellow young women of color ask for selfies after your remarks. I hold my tongue as classmates lovingly hold their copies of Words of Fire, because the Beverly they talk about sounds like an idol, or just a mind – someone who doesn’t lose her phone or text me back with heart emojis. My Beverly is a regular person who will always find a way to make space for women of color and lift as she climbs (shout out to you Mary Church Terrell). I only know a fierce champion for equity who moonlights as my personal cheerleader when graduate school makes me lose my baby hairs. I know a brilliant feminist who taught me that women like me are Still Brave despite figurative roadblocks and afforded me grace when I tripped up or drove recklessly whenever I miss the right exit.
My friend does not just live in annotated bibliographies or library copies of edited anthologies. Her influence on my life is not reserved for conferences or classroom debates. My good sis Beverly lives a feminist life and is gracious enough to allow me in it. You are both/and.
When I imagine thumbing through pages of your biography, I know the words will be as rich as your laugh and as scandalous as your wit; there won’t be thick chapters of interviews on what the imagined Dr. Guy-Sheftall accomplished, or testimonials of how gifted her *mind* is – well… maybe a few pages). I like to imagine anecdotes of misplacing your valet ticket and your innate ability to find the best deals at any and every TJ Maxx. I envision chapters on how many Black and Brown women you’ve connected, and how those introductions turned into decades-long sisterhoods. I expect colorful stories of being the only outspoken person in a committee meeting, a pioneering President of NWSA, an architect of solidarity for excluded students at Spelman, exuberant shopping trips, and conversations where you hold your friends accountable that start with an all-knowing “Giiiiirl”. I imagine stories that weave together a whole person - someone I am lucky to know.
Our friendship involves fun and laughter, mentorship of course, and many impromptu adventures. Yet, that’s not all; our friendship is always more. More love, more belly laughs, more care, more affirmation, more cocktails, and more joy. Girl, girl, girl, this imagined biography could never encompass all that you bring – the Beverly I love deeply and the respected luminary who helped shape my lens and that of other feminists across the globe.
I suppose I have the title wrong – “giiiirl” doesn’t do both Beverlys justice, nor does it encompass the endless adventures of the woman I love and admire. The more I take pause to reflect on this imagined biography, I can only think of what you give me, and this is simply "Joy".
