On the Line (21 page)

Tunde had a giant heart. She used to call me her kid. There was such a big age difference between us—almost nine years—that
she did kind of take on that role. She even took us back-to-school shopping when we were little. With her own money. That’s
pretty unusual, don’t you think? This was when she was still in high school. She used to work at Mervyns, the department store
chain, and I guess she had some type of employee discount, but she knew how important it was to us to have new clothes to
start out the school year. Just a couple nice outfits, nothing crazy.

One of the running jokes between us was that my hair would never grow. As a little kid of four or five, I was in the bad habit
of pulling my hair out in the back, so my hair was always long in the front and short in the back, and Tunde probably knew
full well that I was pulling on it but she made a joke out of it. She said there was something wrong with my hair because
it never grew back there, so I finally decided to break that bad habit and let my hair grow. I thought,
I’m tired of looking like this. I’m tired of getting teased by my sisters.
So for weeks and weeks, probably months and months, I was very careful to keep from pulling on it, and gradually I could
see my hair start to grow back there.

I was so proud of my new head of hair. I wanted everyone to notice, and soon everybody did. Even Tunde took special note.
I felt like such a princess with my beautiful long hair, and finally Tunde said, “Meeka, we’re gonna have to cut it soon,
to even everything out.” She said it was getting all wild, and I guess it was, so one day she said she would cut my hair.
This alone wasn’t so unusual, because she always cut my hair. I was like a little doll to my big sisters. They used to dress
me up and set my hair and put makeup on me, and of course I loved all the fuss and attention. I loved that they tried all
their new looks out on me.

This one time, though, Tunde’s teasing pushed the wrong button. She took out her scissors while I was sleeping in her bed
and started snipping, snipping, snipping, all the time telling me how nice I was going to look. I didn’t really know what
she was doing back there, but she was my big sister and I trusted her completely. Then she pretended to be surprised and really
apologetic. She really poured it on. She said, “Oh my God, Meek. I think I’ve cut off all your hair in back.” Of course, she
hadn’t
cut
anything; she was just playing with me, trying to get me going. She was laughing when she said this. My other sisters were
up in their beds and laughing, too. But I wasn’t laughing. I thought,
My hair! My precious hair!
I was too little to know that I could hold a hand mirror behind my head, to see for myself what my hair looked like back
there. I just heard my sisters laughing and laughing, and I thought I must look a mess! I was so upset! And angry!

I didn’t say anything, though, because I didn’t want my sisters to know I was so mad. As close as we were, I wasn’t above
retaliating, in my own little-kid way. Oh my goodness, I was so vindictive! I waited until Tunde and all the others fell asleep,
and then I reached for Tunde’s scissors and cut her hair…
for real!
Tunde must have been fifteen or sixteen, and at that age your hair is all-important. It’s all about the look, right? She
had this nice ponytail, and I just snipped it right off. It was a lot of hair, and I guess I was pulling on it some because
she woke up, and when she figured out what I’d done she started laughing. That made me feel so bad, because she was such a
kind soul that she could laugh about something like this. Remember, in our sisterly dynamic, Tunde was the forgiver, and here
she earned her role. If it was me, I would have been crazy mad. Actually, I’d thought it
was
me, and I
was
crazy mad, which was why I went back at Tunde like this. But Tunde just laughed and gave me a hug and went back to sleep.
She didn’t even reach for a mirror to see how bad I’d butchered her hair. She just shrugged it off like nothing at all.

That night with the scissors is one of my favorite memories of Tunde, because it characterized our relationship so perfectly.
She looked after me. She teased me. She let me get away with everything. I felt so awful about what I’d done, because she
was such a forgiving soul. I don’t think I was able to sleep for the rest of the night, that’s how upset I was over what I’d
done to my wonderful teenage sister.

One of the reasons the move to Florida was so upsetting and unsettling to me was because Tunde stayed behind. She had a life
of her own by that point. She was in college studying to be a nurse, just like my mom. She was the least athletic of all of
us, but she was our role model just the same. I missed her desperately, and because we didn’t really have any money she never
made it to Florida to visit. That was what we all promised each other, when we packed up to move, that she’d be back and forth
for visits, but it didn’t really work out like that. It wasn’t just the money, of course. Tunde was working, and going to
school, and dating some guy, and all of a sudden we looked up and realized all this time had passed and everyone had moved
on.

Years later, when things started to happen for us on the tour, we’d see each other more often, but all through my middle school
years we were apart, and it was like a piece of me was missing. I don’t mean to overstate, but that’s how the separation left
me feeling. A couple years later, when Tunde started a family of her own, I felt it all the more. Her oldest, Jeffrey, was
born when we were still in Haines City, and I remember looking at pictures and thinking,
When did
that
happen?
Oh, I was so excited to be an auntie, but underneath that excitement, I guess, I was also mourning the end of our special
sisterly dynamic. It hadn’t been the five of us all together in one bedroom for quite some time, but at ten or twelve years
old you tell yourself that things will get back to how they were before too terribly long. You have this snapshot in your
mind that shows how things really are in your family—not quite realizing it’s a picture of how things
were
instead of how things
are
.

Now I look back and it feels to me like my nephew Jeffrey has always been a part of my life, but it wasn’t like that at the
time. Not for me, anyway. For me, it meant that Tunde had moved on. I was overjoyed for Tunde, really and truly, and I loved
my little nephew before I even had a chance to hold him in my arms, also really and truly, but for the first time I realized
in my selfish adolescent head that Tunde had moved on.

O
ver the years, Tunde and I developed a more adult relationship, which was a great and welcome thing. When she left the house,
I was just nine years old, so we only talked about certain subjects. As I got older, though, we talked about everything. Boys.
Careers. Faith. All that good stuff. She’d give me advice on whatever it was that was weighing on me at the time, and she’d
even ask me for advice, which always made me feel like I’d arrived in our little sisterhood. Me, the baby sister, giving advice
to my picture-perfect role model.

After Jeffrey, Tunde had my niece Justus, and then my nephew Jair, who was born soon after I started having some real success
on the tour. One of the things I looked forward to early on in my career was being out in Los Angeles and going with Tunde
and her kids to Magic Mountain, because it reminded me of some of the special adventures we used to have as a family. That
was one of our big treats, when we were little—going to Magic Mountain on Saturdays. For a time, it felt to me like we went
every week, although I talk to my parents and sisters about it now and they tell me it wasn’t that often. Still, it was a
constant, until I got lost one Saturday and ruined it for everyone. I was too little to go on some of the rides. I wasn’t
scared or timid or anything like that, but I just wasn’t tall enough.

Tunde and Isha were tall enough to go on every ride. The biggest was Free Fall. Oh, I was desperate to go on Free Fall with
them, but of course I couldn’t. I was so jealous! Invariably, we’d split up, because some of us wanted to go in one direction
and some of us in another, and I was supposed to stay where I was, with one or two of my sisters, until everyone got back
together. That was the deal, only I didn’t pay attention to such things. I saw my parents wander off in one direction and
decided I would follow them. I think I even called after them—“Wait up, I’m gonna come too!”—but it turned out they didn’t
hear me. Anyway, it wouldn’t have mattered if they had, because I was immediately distracted by a waterfall, and I stopped
to play in the water.

That place could get so crowded on a Saturday afternoon, there’s no way my parents could have found me in such a sea of people.
That is, if they were even looking, but at first they didn’t know I’d gone missing. My sisters didn’t know I was alone, either,
because they’d seen me take off after my parents. So there I was, splashing around in the water for a while, happy as could
be, until at one point I looked up and realized I was lost. So what did I do? I refocused and decided I’d try to find everyone,
so I ran off in a direction that seemed to make sense, but after I ran around for a while I started to cry. I was about five
years old, so of course I cried. It’s amazing to me now that I didn’t burst into tears straightaway, but I was a tough kid—even
though
tough
only took me so far on this one.

After a while, these two really nice guys came over and asked me what was wrong. I remember thinking they would take me away,
but they were so nice, so I went with them to Lost and Found. There were a couple kids in there when I arrived, coloring with
crayons off in the corner, but I just kept crying and crying. Eventually, I stopped crying and started coloring, but I was
still so frightened. Someone gave me an ice cream cone, I think, but that didn’t stop the tears. Finally, my parents turned
up, and we left the park right after that, and on the ride home my sisters were angry with me for getting lost and cutting
our adventure short. For the longest time, they were mad, because we stopped going to Magic Mountain after that—probably because
tennis was becoming more and more of a priority and Daddy didn’t think we could afford to take so much time away from our
game, but I always felt like it was because of me.

Tunde wasn’t mad, though. Or maybe she was for a beat or two, but she forgave me soon enough. She always forgave me soon enough.
And she’d tease me about it for years and years. Even as adults, on these visits to Magic Mountain with her own children,
she’d say, “You tall enough to go on Free Fall yet, Meek?” Or, if we went off in different directions: “You sure you won’t
get lost?”

I cherished the time we got to spend together in California, although I hated that she lived so far out of Los Angeles, all
the way out in Corona. I used to complain every time I came to town. She’d try to get me to come out to the house for a proper
visit, but I’d whine and fuss and usually get my baby-sister way. Sometimes, she’d bring all three kids with her into town,
and we’d make a day of it. One visit stands out, for a conversation we shared during some quiet moment or another. The kids
were down for a nap, and we got to talking about tennis, about what Venus and I were accomplishing on the tour. It was such
a powerful conversation. Tunde started telling me how proud she was of us. Actually, she wasn’t just proud, she said; she
was “honored.” That was the word she used. How great is that? To hear from your big, big, big, big sister that she’s
honored
by the life you’re living? That you’ve lived up to whatever impossibly high expectations and hopes and dreams she’d set out
for you when you were little?

Curiously, we’d never talked this way before—not about tennis. But here it all came out. She said she was jealous that Venus
and I had this special talent, and also that we had the focus and determination to see it through. She remembered all the
times we would go out to the tennis court and practice, practice, practice. And train, train, train. “I really respected you
for that,” she said.

“It was all of us, Tunde,” I said, not feeling like Venus and I should be set apart simply because we kept it up the longest.
“You were out there, too.”

“Yes,” she said, “but we were out there for you. Couldn’t you tell?”

No, in fact, I couldn’t. But then, when I considered Tunde’s perspective, I guessed I could. We were all there for each other
in the beginning. And then, I guess it did become about me and Venus. It was still about us as a family, but on top of that,
or maybe alongside, it was now about me and V as powerful, purposeful young women.

I got that from Tunde. Her take on life and love and tennis became so important to me as a young adult that it was one of
the main reasons I eventually took an apartment in Los Angeles. Another big reason was the tug and pull of Hollywood, because
I really wanted to be an actress, and I thought if I was stationed in town I’d be better positioned for auditions and classes.
But being closer to Tunde was right up there in the plus column. Tunde even worked as my personal assistant for a while, helping
to coordinate my schedule and track my appearances and correspondence, so while that was going on we spent
a lot
of time together. We talked pretty much every day. This alone wasn’t so unusual, because I pretty much talk to everyone in
my family at least once each day, but when Tunde was working with me we knew each other’s schedules, each other’s habits;
we were a part of each other’s life once more.

I still hated going all the way out to Corona, but I liked being around Tunde. She had this really massive house, with a whole
bunch of bedrooms. When she decorated, she pushed another wrong button, because her decorating style didn’t exactly mesh with
my tastes. She painted one room yellow, one room red, one room green. All these different colors, sometimes even in the same
room! I said, “Tunde, you can’t do that!” I told her she needed to reach for more neutral colors, like brown and beige, but
she just laughed me off. She didn’t care what I thought. She liked all the colors. She
really
liked orange. There was orange everywhere. And in her closet! It was like walking into an orange grove in there.