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“I know you’re not chickening out because I’m here. If you’re scared, say you’re scared,” I said, chanting our old challenge song.
“You calling me scared? That’s funny, when I’m the one who’s been on that very stage in front of knowledge-hungry, woke people more than you have ever spoken publicly. How about you get up there and spit something?” Sh
e crooked her neck and tilted her head as she sneered at me.
She hadn’t asked me a question. She issued a threat.
I scanned the room, clearly intimidated by the group, some sporting afros and wearing dashikis, others wearing braids and the latest fashion trends. It’s a crowd of mixed backgrounds and mindsets, and I wasn’t afraid of them from where I sat. Getting up on that big stage and having them all look to me for something thought provoking was a different ball game. The thought sent shivers ricocheting through my chest.
What would I say?
My lips moved. A lie exited. “I’m not scared to speak in front of these people, girl. Are you serious?”
Tasha challenged my flippant response. “Prove it and go sign up for open mic.”
“So, the open mic is open?” I asked, almost babbling the words on top of each other. The last thing I wanted was get up there and make an utter fool of myself. I would sound like a gibbering idiot if I did. “I mean, is it open to anyone?” I corrected myself.
Tasha hit the table with the palm of her hand as she laughed uncontrollably. “Ha! You’re funny, and you’re scared as shit. Of course, the mic is open. That’s why they call it open mic,” she said, making air quotes with the two final words.
Laughing along with her to show I could take her joke, I took another sip from my drink. It was damn near empty now. I need another one…
“What are you gonna do, Mrs. Bougie?” Tasha said, breaking into my thoughts. “You gonna get up there and say what’s on your mind or are you going to back down after all of your big talk?”
I looked at the stage and took in a gulp of air. I had made the faux, bold assertion that I was braver than she thought, so I had to roll with it.
“I’m not backing down, smart ass,” I told Tasha. “I’ll speak my mind on the ‘open mic,’ no problem.”
What was I saying?
Of course, I was backing down. As in right now backing down…and leaving this place in my rearview, even if that meant calling a cab.
“Well, go sign up then,” Tasha urged, pointing to the sign-up table near the door. I overlooked the lady standing at the table by the door when we arrived minutes earlier.
“I think I will go sign up, just to show you that you’re not the only one who has talent.” I stood up and stalked little by little toward the lady standing by door. I didn’t write poetry, much less perform spoken word, so I had no valid reason to be chunking myself out into the void of the spoken word world. I suddenly felt like a kid again, back on the playground with Tasha and her friends being pressured to do something I had no desire to do. I could do anything if I pushed myself to do it. I always showed her I could do anything she could do.
By the time I finished my thoughts, my name was on the dotted line of the sign-up list, and I was about to make my debut as a spoken word artist.
Now that you’ve signed up, run for the hills…literally.
Ignoring the negative thought swirling around in my head, I walked back to the table thinking about what I would say once my name was called. A lot of drama was happening in my life that I could address—Montie arguing with me about Junior’s game and pressuring me to be a better co-parent, and Jacob keeping something secret that my gut told me had to do with Justine.
No matter how good it would feel to pour the woes out of my soul into the thirsty crowd, Jacob was well known in Miami as a real estate billionaire. I couldn’t very well get up there and talk about our marriage without one person in the audience recognizing me. If no one recognized me, at least one video recording would get out and reveal my identity later. Therefore, I had to be discreet in my messaging.
“There’s my shit-talking cousin,” Tasha said once I returned to the table and my chair went screeching across the floor, so I could sit down. She tilted her drink in my direction and asked, “Did you really sign up?”
“Of course, I did honey. I do what I say I’m going to do, which in this case should be lots of fun.” I tilted my glass in her direction with the fakest confidence I could muster. Forget spoken word, I should’ve gone into acting.
“Listen, Destiny, I talked my junk, but you don’t have to embarrass yourself by getting up there on stage. No one is forcing you to do anything you’re not comfortable doing, so right now is the perfect time to back out. I’ll get my girl to scratch your name,” Tasha was saying just as I settled in my seat across from her.
“Oh, don’t worry about me. I got this. I can back up anything that I say. I’m good,” I lied straight through my chattering teeth.
Jacob’s picture flashed across my phone screen. I sent his call to voicemail. Seeing his face usually gave me a vote of confidence, but his cream with just the right amount of cinnamon tone in the message didn’t envelop me and warm me to the core like a cup of hot coffee. His deep-set hazel eyes didn’t allure me into another realm of reality. We were off, and until he opened up about Justine we would remain this way. She mentioned too many details about our home the last time we had a run in with her at Jacob’s mother’s home. Yeah, my so-called loving mother-in-law just couldn’t bear to cut ties with her friend’s insane daughter, but that’s another story all in and of itself.
Jacob’s eyes caught mine that night we saw Justine. He could barely hold my gaze. My powerful man known for wearing a poker face broke down on the inside. His body language spoke to me and awakened a million insecurities I had in the beginning of our relationship about Justine.
Later that night, he assured me Justine only knew intimate details about the interior of our home because his mother told them to her. However, even his mother hadn’t been in or bedroom, or his study.
Damn you Jacob!
