‘It’s Not Right’… On Whitney Houston, Black Women, And Loss

At the same time that all of this was going on, Angie moved to California with her mom, sister, and brother. It felt like my whole world shifted and I couldn’t go back.  I did come back to Houston’s music, however, briefly, when “It’s Not Right…But It’s Okay” dominated the gay bars I was dancing in in the late 90s. And I was happy. She was back–with a solid, sweet hit.

You don’t stand no chance boy/That’s why you have to leave/So don’t you turn around/There’s no more tears/Left here/For you/To see/Was it really worth it?/Going out like that

But, it was brief for me. The rumors of drug use and a tumultuous marriage had already surfaced and, it was too painful to look at her. Even though the gorgeous smile was there and she was even flirty in the video, she looked different. Worked over. Not quite defeated, but struggling. Definitely not hopeful. She was too much like folks I knew (know). And it was different after that. She was different. The “crack is wack” comment came later and, by that time, I was already gone. That period signaled too much loss for me. But, it was that refrain, It’s not right/But it’s okay/I’m gonna make it anyway (pay my own rent/take care of my babies) that stuck in my head as I turned my back on her, like I had others. Not because they weren’t “acting right,” but because it was too much loss. Loss that I still haven’t wrapped my head around all these years later.

I lost Angie too. After she moved to California, we were barely in contact, too much distance for both of us. I really didn’t know much about her life, we talked on the phone a few times, but it wasn’t until I moved out here for graduate school that I saw her again. And for a minute, we were neighbors — her in Sacramento and me in Davis.

Within months, however, she moved to San Diego with a boyfriend and her son. We stayed in touch, I went down for Thanksgiving break routinely until I was hired at SF State. Then I lost her again, for reasons I can’t write about here, mainly because, again I can’t wrap my head around it. I wish I could because I miss her. I miss that friendship, that family, and that love. I miss that possibility, that hopefulness about each other and about our futures. What felt like a brief moment that I hadn’t thought about in decades rushed over me like a flood in the wake of Whitney Houston’s death. And I want to remember, always, the Black women that have disappeared, gotten lost, or that I have somehow forgotten. Even when it hurts.

So, I say thank you again, this time to Whitney Houston for giving us good love and for helping me remember.

RIP

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