And suddenly, I wasn't sitting in a garden anymore.
I was eight years old again, running through Fort Greene Park.
I could smell cut grass.
Hear basketballs hitting pavement.
Hear music coming from somebody's radio.
See my mother standing on the edge of the field with her arms crossed, yelling my name because it was time to go home.
"I grew up in Fort Greene. Brooklyn." I said.
Ms. Langston smiled faintly, and I rested my elbows on my knees.
"Black neighborhood. Beautiful neighborhood… There was this barbershop that had been there forever. Jessy's House of Styles."
Her smile widened.
"I got my first haircut there." I smiled at the memory. "My father got his first haircut there too. And I always figured if I ever had a son, he'd get his first haircut there."
My next words came out quieter.
"I'll never get the chance. Jessy's is gone. So is damn near every trace of the Fort Greene I knew."
Ms. Langston’s expression softened, but she didn't interrupt.
"The fight's still going. Fort Greene lost it." I looked around her garden. "But I intend to help Langston Park win."
She smiled. Not politely or cautiously… Like she'd finally heard the answer she'd been waiting for.
"You aren't the same young man I met at that meeting, Mr. Sterling."
I frowned slightly, but she continued.
"You were passionate about what you were trying to do. Maybe even passionate about Langston Park."
She leaned back in her chair.
"But I didn't see the connection to the people. To the history. To the hands who built this place and survived what came before you."
She shook her head. "You didn't have a strong enough why for me to trust you with my family's legacy."
I nodded. "I understand."
A beat, then she said, "But I've heard things."
I looked at her. She smiled.
"People talk to me. Everybody talks to me."
That sounded right.
"They tell me you've been showing up. Helping people. Being a resource. Solving problems that had nothing to do with money."
I said nothing.
"And you weren't even getting paid."