Track 04: If You Know, You Know
Welcome to In Rotation: The Love Series presented by Honey Blossom Press.
If You Know, You Know is about finding familiar joy in an unfamiliar place. It’s about red soda, backyard music, and meeting someone who just gets it. A simple afternoon that turns into something you didn’t know you needed.
Maybe it starts with a song. Maybe it starts with someone handing you a plate.
However you found your way to this corner of the celebration, know there’s always room for you here. The music’s still playing. Your seat’s still saved.
Side A: Press Play & Listen
Side B: Curl Up & Read
Track 04: If You Know, You Know
I knew it was Juneteenth before I even opened my eyes.
Not because of the sun coming in soft through my blinds or the stretch of quiet outside my window.
I knew because of the ache. The kind that starts in your chest and moves behind your eyes.
Where I’m from, Juneteenth doesn’t tiptoe in. It rolls up with fanfare. The group texts start early with who’s bringing what. Somebody’s uncle sends a flyer made on Microsoft Word, and you know he’ll still be showing up in head-to-toe linen like he invented the holiday. People pull their speakers out, let gospel and G-funk meet in the street, and every corner has the smell of BBQ and shea butter and hair grease.
But this morning in Portland?
Nothing. No celebration. Not even a mention. Just Thursday.
I asked for the day off a week ago.
My supervisor blinked at me.
"Oh. I didn’t realize people celebrated that out here too," she said.
I didn’t respond. Just looked at her until she got uncomfortable. Later that afternoon, HR replied to my request. Declined. Probationary period.
New city. New job. New rules.
So I showed up. Not happily. Not quietly. But present.
I wore red on purpose. A full outfit. Cropped red tee and linen pants. I took my time that morning, even smoothing my edges into something soft and deliberate. Not a single person commented.
At lunch, I sat in the break room, scrolling through photos from home. Back in Houston, the celebration was in full swing. My cousin went live from a park, panning over tables full of foil-wrapped plates, kids in bounce houses, a banner that read “FREEDOM DAY” in glittery letters. The camera tilted to my granddad just as "Boots on the Ground" came on, and he hit every step like he was still in his thirties.
I blinked hard. Closed the app.
The ache behind my eyes had settled low by then, just behind my sternum.
I left early. Told them I had a migraine. It wasn’t a lie.
The streets of Portland looked untouched by history. Couples walked their dogs in matching sandals. Patio diners sipped turmeric lattes under pride flags. Nobody played music. Nobody lit a grill.
I almost went straight home. Almost let the weight pull me under.
Then I heard it. Faint, but familiar. Before I Let Go.
I turned toward the sound and followed it down a quiet side street. It led me to a storefront with painted windows and a chalkboard that read “Stacks and Snacks.”
Inside, vinyl records lined the walls. There was a deep fryer behind the counter, its scent mixing with old wood and hot grease. A tall man in a black tee and cap moved behind the counter, sliding records into crates.
He didn’t look up right away.
When he did, he gave me a nod.
"You look like you needed the song," he said.
I smiled. "It found me."
I found out his name was Vaughn. He ran the shop with his sister, who was currently across town “tracking down the last red velvet cake in the county.”
He moved with ease. Not rushed. Not slow. Like he understood time differently.
I told him I was new. From Houston. Started a new job last month. He nodded, then asked if I was off today.
"Wasn’t supposed to be. They declined my request. Said probation period."
He made a face. "That don’t sit right."
"Doesn’t feel right either."
Vaughn paused, then motioned toward the back of the shop. "We’re doing something small out back. Nothing major. Just some music. A few people. You should come through."
I hesitated. "I didn’t bring anything."
"You brought yourself. That counts."
He disappeared behind the counter and reemerged with a bottle of red soda and a stack of paper plates.
The back patio was narrow, but full of life. There were string lights overhead, clipped up with clothespins. A folding table sagged in the middle under the weight of aluminum pans and Tupperware. There was no theme, no coordinated setup. Just real food and real people. One woman was setting out a tray of deviled eggs while a toddler tried to braid her locs. A DJ stood near the corner, adjusting knobs on a speaker. Someone passed me a fan with “Greater Ebenezer” printed across it in gold foil.
Vaughn handed me a plate.
"Eat."
I did. Smoked chicken, green beans, mac and cheese, potato salad that had clearly been prayed over.
Nobody asked who I was. Nobody asked me to explain. They just made room.
We danced after the sun dipped. Not performative. Just joy. Someone yelled, “Candy,” and the line formed fast giving me Best Man feels all over again. Vaughn didn’t dance, just nodded his head, keeping time with his heel.
"You don’t dance?" I asked.
"I do. When it matters."
I looked at him. "This doesn’t?"
He tilted his head toward me. "You do."
That shut me up.
Later, we sat on the back steps watching the light fade.
"You ever feel like you’re the only one carrying the memory?" I asked.
He was quiet for a moment, then nodded. "Most days. That’s why I opened the shop and started this. Because if we don’t hold it down, who will?"
I swallowed. "Today felt heavy."
He looked at me. "Does it still?"
"Not as much."
He walked me home. We didn’t talk. We didn’t have to.
At my door, he paused.
"You’re not alone here," he said.
I nodded.
He smiled. "If you know, you know."
I did.
-
This one’s for the folks who hold the memory when nobody else does. For red outfits, red drinks, and red velvet cake hunted down at the last minute. For the beat that sneaks up on a quiet street and turns it into home.
Filed under… pop-up cookouts, vinyl walls, and joy that refuses to stay quiet.
-
“Walking” – Mary Mary
“Lift Every Voice and Sing” – Bebe Winans
“Encourage Yourself” – Donald Lawrence & The Tri-City Singers
“Imagine Me” – Kirk Franklin
“Blessed” – Daniel Caesar
“Golden” – Jill Scott
“Optimistic” – Sounds of Blackness
“You Brought the Sunshine” – The Clark Sisters
“I Wanna Thank You” – Alicia Myers
“Family Reunion” – The O’Jays
“Alright” – Ledisi
“Freedom” – Beyoncé featuring Kendrick Lamar
“Home” – Stephanie Mills
“A Song for You” – Donny Hathaway
“Shine” – John Legend
“Before I Let Go” – Maze featuring Frankie Beverly -
Watch: Miss Juneteenth (2020)
Miss Juneteenth is the soul of If You Know, You Know. Centered on legacy, dreams, and the quiet strength passed down through generations, the film captures the weight and beauty of what it means to hold history close—especially when the world doesn’t make room for it.
Like Vaughn’s backyard gathering and the quiet connection sparked there, both the story and the film honor the importance of showing up, even when no one else is watching. They remind us that freedom isn’t a moment. It’s a memory we carry. A future we build. A love we keep returning to.
-
This week, stay open.
To the unexpected invite. To the unfamiliar song. To the new connection that doesn’t need explanation.
To creating space where none existed. To honoring what matters, even when no one else sees it.Let yourself say yes before you overthink it. Let something unfamiliar turn into something beautiful.
Wear the red. Play the music. Show up fully.Because sometimes, joy shows up dressed like a stranger. And healing begins the moment you let it in.
You’re allowed to begin again—right in the middle of everything.
And that, too, is freedom.
If you felt held in these pages, if something stirred while the music played, just know it wasn’t by accident.
You’re seen. You’re home.
All love, all ways,
Your fam at Honey Blossom Press
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