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My phone rang, breaking my reverie. I pulled it from the pocket of my cropped sweats.
“Hey…”
“Hey, Shi-Shi,” Marsha’s voice was reserved, rather smaller than I’d known of her. “Everything’s cool?”
“Yeah.” I blinked, rubbing my forehead as I attempted to get my shit together. Always on, I was a leader. “I think our final rehearsal ran smoother than I anticipated. If Sam can keep in step with Kimmy and lay off that knee tonight—”
“Instead of going out with production tonight, drinking and dancing the night away,” she snickered.
Sighing in agreement, I replied, “Yeah. But I’m good. We’ve been working hard.”
“Yeah. I know. It’s just…” She hesitated. “You’ve been different this year. It’s like…you’re preoccupied…tense, maybe?”
My focus landed on my ugly again in the mirror.Damn. The shit was hard.
Shaking my head, I tried to explain. “I wanna win, Marsha. Last year we came so close. We’re über talented individually, and as a team, we’re unstoppable. I know it. I just need the world to.”
“Mmmhmm,” she sighed audibly into the phone. “I do, too. I just don’t want it at the risk of your happiness.” Marsha’s word flow began to slow, and I didn’t care to rush her for some odd reason. The conversation was turning awkward. And personal. I was fine! Stressed, anxious about the show tomorrow, yes. But the totality of my existence had been dedicated to this occasion. So, I resumed packing the toiletry bag, something I’d been doing before getting lost in the rabbit hole of my appearance in the mirror. “I hope you don’t get offended when I say this, but…” More silence. “I’ve never not seen you happy doing choreography until this time. Don’t get me wrong: you know your shit and are the best at it. It’s just…your light has been off. I feel your dedication to the art form but not your fulfillment from it.”
I exhaled, tossing shit into the bag. “Yeah. Maybe I’m getting old.” My shoulders leaped in a shrug she couldn’t see. “Maybe I’ve got shit to prove to those D.C. bitches.” Marsha didn’t find that funny. “But I’ve been so damn determined for us to get here and own it. No matter what happens tomorrow, I’m going to find something to help me unwind from it all.” I tossed the glass bottle of prime spritzer too hard.
“Oh, yeah?” Marsha asked. “Like what?”
I shrugged again, this time with my lips. “I’ve been looking into those popup gardens in urban cities. There’s this organization that uses donated goods to clear out abandoned, dilapidated properties and create beautiful oases for the residents to visit. Almost like a park or museum. They’ve done them in Philly, New York, and New Jersey. I heard about the one coming to Paterson this spring. I’ve been thinking about volunteering Chi-Chi and me to maybe help clear out the space—for sure plant flowers and things like…”
I held a round, plastic carton midair as my mind transported to yesteryear.
“When frustrated with life, you’d often say, ‘I need a dog,’ or ‘I need a plant,’ or ‘I need to volunteer at the senior home.’ And to those alleged needs, sometimes I’ve said, ‘You don’t need a dog or a plant or to volunteer.’ Then there were other occasions when I said, ‘Okay. Start with a plant, move on to life form, and eventually, you’ll get to what your heart truly wants.’” Peach. They were Peach’s spooky words at my baby shower. “Your journey as a mother will mature your spirit and expand your mind to widths and breadths that will allow you to feed a community. Then will you bask in your purpose on this earth.”
I glanced down to find my plastic birth control case in my hand. Turning it over, I viewed the essential companion with foreign eyes suddenly.
“You still there, Shi-Shi?” Concern was laced in Marsha’s question.
Closing my eyes, I cleared my throat, trying to snap out of the addlepated state I’d found myself in again.My ugly. “Yeah. I’m fine, Marsha.” Shaking my head, I tried to assure, “I’ll be just fine.”
Marsha wasn’t the only one I needed to convince.
My head began to roll deeply over my shoulders, chest, and blades on its own by now. The sounds of the backstage zoo had finally drowned out. I needed the quiet to slip into myself—to align with every bone, muscle, and limb in my body. Each one of them needed to be undoubtedly synchronized. I needed this. With the torrent of emotions I’d woken up with this morning, realizing no one would be here to support me, my mood began spiraling.
I’d offered to swing the expenses for anyone who’d come down to Costa Rica, but there were still no takers. Peach had a speaking engagement in Baltimore. Cecil’s class reunion was today. Noelle had hardly been speaking to me, so I didn’t bother to ask if she wanted to come instead of playing in her basketball tournament. And my mother…
Well…
Her adoring my child was as close as I’d get to support from her. TheIDCcompetition was near her in Brazil last year. Dancing had been the air my mother breathed for as long as I’d been alive. She was a choreographer herself and attended competitions all over the world. Yet she still declined the invitation toIDClast year…virtually in her backyard. It hurt. I hated it did, but it had. Up until that point in my life, I thought I’d adjusted well to her lack of interest for a connection to me. Damn. Was I wrong.
The announcement of my dance troupe could be recognized in my trance-like state. I needed to come out of my reality and get into the right zone for this performance. I wouldn’t blow it. No, none of my closest family and friends would be here to see me dance my heart out and pursue another goal, but the opportunity was still present nonetheless.
And I damn sure wouldn’t replay the lance of pain I felt last night when discovering Chi-Chi’s father’s new social life. I idly wandered toSpilling That Hot Teaon Instagram. They were always high energy with detailed gossip and good for a distraction. There was a picture of a group of people at what appeared to be a dinner party. At the festively decorated table were a handful of recognizable faces likeRagee, thehead coach of theConnecticut Kings,Trent Bailey,Lex, and a few others. The table reeked of mahogany wealth. They looked good…including Jas, who smirked against everyone’s beam.
Apparently, Ebonee Williams, a Black, popular nighttime television host in Canada commented, asking who was the brown-skinned guy with the sponge curls and low beard. She had to differentiate him by complexion because Coach Pierce of theKingsdonned the same hairstyle. There were a dozen sub-comments under Ebonee’s agreeing with her. Then she came back with, “I know a few of these people. I’ll find him and send out our save the dates.”
What a fucking irritant to have populating my head before a show!
“She fall!” Chivon gasped shakily while pointing to the stage.
As I held her on my arm so she could have the same vantage point, I nodded. The audience reacted to her fall, too. Theooh’s rang out in the air from the crowd when dude pushed Ashira into the air and stumbled while sending her. Ashira landed on her palms and one foot with her chest toward the air. The place was packed, and energy live. I’d heard whispers of Ashira’s crew being one of the most anticipated tonight. Humidity and the tightly drawn, hyped ass crowd worked against my preferred ventilation. I wouldn’t complain, and neither did Chivon, as our attention couldn’t leave the stage. We’d been waiting, too. This was the last act of the night. Highly awaited, this troupe couldn’t drop the ball.
Ashira skipped a beat…maybe two, but eventually, out of nowhere, rhythmically leaped into the air weightlessly using that one foot she’d landed on. She slapped dude who’d seemed stuck in the ass as she snapped back into the routine with pure ease. The crowd cheered, going crazy.
