“And one, and two, and three, and four, turn, turn, seven, and eight,” I counted, going over a dance routine with Shanika, one of the girls at Kids In Motion. An adorable eleven-year-old with big brown eyes, Shanika was what I would have to call a “challenged” dancer. I swear the girl didn’t know right from left, and that was probably because she had two left feet. Basically, Ms. Shanika had the grace of a chimpanzee in water. I’d had to move her to the back of the studio the first week of class for fear she’d harm someone or herself. Most days she had to stay after class to catch up to the other girls. And that was no problem for me, because while the other students made fun of Shanika, I really enjoyed having her in the class. She worked harder than anyone else did and she took two buses to get to the center from the housing project in the Bronx where she lived.
“No, it’s up with the right and down with the left on the next count,” I said, correcting Shanika’s flailing arms. “Up and down with your right arm on four and then turn.” Bewildered and praying Ms. Shanika would get the move sometime during this lifetime, I looked up at the clock to see that it was twenty minutes after class time.
“Like this, Ms. Smith?” Shanika asked, doing everything I’d said in reverse. She smiled sweetly and did it wrong again. Sometimes the child surprised me with how she could change and rearrange every single dance step I taught her within seconds of me teaching it. But she had determination—I couldn’t deny that.
“Relax, Shanika,” I said, stopping her. “You know it. I know you do. Just think about every step and then let it all out.”
“I just can’t get it. I’m stupid.” She looked at herself in the mirror.
“You’re not stupid and you can get it.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You already got it,” she said, looking toward my reflection in the mirror behind her. “And you’re pretty. Not me.”
“What do you mean, Shanika? You don’t think you’re pretty? I think you’re pretty.”
“You ain’t gotta lie, Ms. Smith. I know I’m ugly. Everybody says it. I’m too dark, I got big lips, and I’m ugly. Even my mother says it.”
“What did she say?” I asked, surprised and angry with what I was hearing. It was hard for me to imagine any mother telling her child she was ugly. But really, it was closer to home than I wanted to admit, and I was sure Shanika’s mother was no match for the color whipping Grandma Lucy had put on my mother. “What did she say?” I asked again. Shanika was silent. She just shook her head. “Well, you don’t have to answer that, then,” I said, stooping next to her. She was wearing a pink leotard and matching jazz shoes she’d had to sell God knows how many chocolate bars to buy last year at our fund-raiser. “But tell me, do you think moms can be wrong sometimes?”
“Yes,” she said softly.
“Then maybe your mommy is wrong this time. You know why I believe that?” Shanika shook her head no and looked at me with her eyes wide. “Because I think you’re beautiful and I don’t think you’re too dark either.” I turned her back toward the mirror so she could see herself. “I think you’re just right.” It was one of those moments at the settlement that made me understand why I was there and doing exactly what I was doing. I had to hold back my tears because I wanted Shanika to know that I was serious about what I was saying. I wanted her to know that and I wanted my mother to know it, too.
“Now, I need you to believe in yourself, Shanika. Not what anyone else says about you, but what you know you’re capable of. Right?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Exactly. Just relax and let it flow. Breathe. I told you that’s what dance is all about—breathe and let it flow from within your center.” I pulled her to the middle of the floor. “Now take a deep breath and take it from one.” I turned on the music and stood behind Shanika in the mirror. “Watch yourself.” The music started and Shanika froze at first, but she caught on at the second count and did the rest of the dance as if she’d choreographed it herself. “Wonderful, Shanika,” I said, turning off the CD when she was done. I bent down and gave her one of the big old bear hugs my father always gave me when he picked me up from dance class. “You looked beautiful,” I whispered in her ear, just as he would have. “Beautiful.”
I heard clapping coming from the back of the room and turned to see Christian Kyle standing in the doorway.
“Wonderful,” Kyle said, still clapping. He stepped into the studio.
“Thank you.” Shanika smiled nervously.
“Shanika, this is my friend, Reverend Hall,” I said, trying to hide my confusion and wondering what in the heck he was doing at the studio. I was supposed to meet him in front of the park at 6 P.M. for the jazz concert. It was only 5:15 P.M. and the last time I checked, the park was over ten blocks away from settlement.
“Hi, Reverend Hall,” Shanika said, flirting with Kyle in her innocent eleven-year-old way. It wasn’t every day that handsome black men could be found walking around the settlement.
“And Reverend Hall, this is Shanika Lewis, one of my best dancers,” I said. Shanika looked at me like I was crazy as Kyle bowed to her. She was smiling from ear to ear and to my surprise, she crossed her legs and did a perfect curtsy for him. Now, I sure don’t remember seeing her do that before.
“God bless you.” Kyle smiled. “You’re indeed a great dancer.”
“Thank you,” Shanika said, running to the back of the room to get her things.
“Don’t run,” I called to her. She grabbed her things and raced back to the door. “I’ll see you next week.”
“Bye,” she said, waving past me at Kyle as she headed out the door.
“Cute,” Kyle said when she was gone.
“‘Cute’? What are you doing here? I thought you were meeting me at the park at six.”
“I wanted to see you.” Kyle looked almost as bad as Shanika with a grade-school crush. His face was sporting a permanent smile and he kept winking at me. The man’s nose was wide open and anyone passing by could see it. I was quite embarrassed for him, but it just the ego boost I needed. But I couldn’t just let it go on.
“Look, Kyle, we said we’re just going to be friends.” I stuffed my radio into a locker at the back of the studio. “I told you I was trying to work things out with someone.”
“Calm down, Troy,” Kyle said, taking my bag from me. “I know about Mr. Tight Suit from the play reception. I just had some extra time before the concert and I wanted to see you teach. So I came down here to try to catch your class.” He looked at me innocently. “That’s it. No strings. I just wanted to see your class.”
I looked Kyle up and down. He had on sneakers and a navy blue sweat suit. He looked so cute and so not like a pastor. I had to confess, if he was mine, I might’ve had to pull a Tamia Library Move in the basement of the settlement. But…then again, I guessed I wouldn’t be doing any of that with the pastor.
“You sure?” I asked, squinting my eyes jokingly.
“I’m sure, Detective Troy.”
“You’re good with her,” Kyle said, walking with me down the street toward the park. I’d told him to meet me at the park after I had a shower at the center, but he’d insisted on waiting for me in the lobby. I swear, it was like my father created this man with his own hands or something. He was every father’s dream. Now, whether he was the daughter’s dream was still up for grabs.
“You think I’m good?” I asked. I loved working with the children, but sometimes I wondered if I was making a difference. Many of the girls were living close to poverty. I knew for a fact that some of my students were in foster homes because their parents were drug addicts, and one girl said her mother used to make her steal food from the grocery store. The oldest girl in my class, Nala, was fifteen and she already had a two-year-old of her own. Some of the girls said they thought her father had gotten her pregnant. Knowing all this, I worried if my little dance class was doing anything for them. Even I knew learning a pirouette wasn’t going to save them from the crap that was waiting for them outside their doors.
“Yeah, you were really patient with her. You seemed to really be listening to what she had to say. That’s worth a million bucks to a kid.”
“Thanks.” I smiled, walking into the park beside Kyle. “I really just try to get them to work hard in the class so they can see what it’s like to work hard at something and finish it.” I pointed to a small canvas bag Kyle had on his other shoulder. “So what’s in the bag?”
“Just a small blanket, fruit and a bottle of grape juice,” he said. “I figured we could sit on the blanket during the concert. Is that okay with you, big head?”
“My head is not big,” I said, laughing although I’d heard that before from different people.
“Please, it’s bigger than all outside. I’m just trying not to get hit.” He ducked playfully.
“Whatever.” I grinned. I mean, my head was a bit larger than others but I liked to call it shapely—that’s how my mother put it when she used to get mad when I couldn’t fit any of the hats she’d bought for me as a kid.
“No, but really,” Kyle continued, “how did you get into the whole service thing? I mean, how does a lady as privileged as yourself get into working in the community?”
“I’m not privileged,” I said. Kyle looked at me like I was speaking French. “Okay, maybe I am a bit more privileged than your average girl in New York.” I laughed. “I can’t say when I started doing service work. I was always involved in little projects when I was in Jack and Jill growing up. In fact, one park clean-up initiative we did was even in Up the Hill.”
“Oh, that stupid newsletter Jack & Jill does?” Kyle grimaced.
“Yeah,” I said. “How do you know about that?”
“Oh, my parents made me do all that J&J stuff, too,” Kyle replied. “I hated it.”
“Well, I started doing service with them when I was young, but I didn’t really start working with kids until I went to Howard and pledged.”
“Oh, no,” he said. “Don’t even tell me,”—he backed up and looked me up and down—“Pink and Green all the way.”
“Stop playing, buster. You know I’m a Delta,” I laughed.
“Okay, yeah, I figured that much,” Kyle said, laughing. “I pledged Omega at Morehouse.”
“Really?” I was surprised. Kyle just didn’t strike me as the Greek type. He was just too solitary. “I should’ve known there was a reason you were hanging with my father…one of his fraternity brothers.”
“Yeah, it’s a tradition in my family. Three generations of Omega preachers.”
“It’s funny how that happens,” I said.
“So go on with the teaching. How did that start?”
“Anyway, my Delta chapter volunteered at a community center in D.C. and one day the director said they needed someone to teach a dance class. I took up the reins since I had been in ballet classes for most of my life, and I’ve been volunteer teaching in different places ever since.”
“That’s great,” Kyle said. “I’ve always said it’s a true measure of a person’s heart when they give even when they do not have to…when no one expects it. That’s like Christ’s love.”
“You’re right,” I agreed with Kyle. It felt odd to have someone bring that up in a conversation on the way to a jazz concert, but he was right. That was one of the things I loved about the church. Free love. Unconditional love. All of us could use that sometimes. Even the fly girls.
Kyle led me toward the area in the park where they usually held the concerts. Even though we were thirty minutes early, people were already crowding around everywhere. Folks had blankets and lawn chairs set up like we were at the beach. There were almost no spaces left.
“So tell me, are you a spiritual person?” Kyle asked, padding through the crowd. “I mean, I know you go to church and that you were raised in the church, but would you consider yourself spiritual?”
“Hmm…” I took a deep breath. That was another odd topic for a jazz concert. No one had ever asked me that, not that I could remember. “You know, sometimes I wonder about that. Like, I do believe. I believe in God, but I don’t think I’m as holy as some of the people I know. I don’t carry my faith on my sleeve, so to speak. I pray every night before I fall asleep and I try my best to see the good in the world…to see the good in people. I truly believe that if more people did the same thing, if more people believed in God, and lived faith-filled lives, the world would be a better place.”
Kyle stopped walking and stepped back to look at me.
“Wow, that was really well put,” he said. “We’re going to have to get you a pulpit…Reverend Smith.”
“Whatever, silly.” I nudged him. “Since you’re such a smarty-pants, where do you propose we sit, Moses?” We’d been walking for a few minutes and I couldn’t see a clear space anywhere.
Kyle walked straight into the maze of people. After stepping over about ten blankets and saying “excuse me” at least a dozen times, Kyle stopped. “Here,” he said. He put the canvas bag down and handed over my gym bag. “This is a great spot,” he said, pulling out his blanket. I looked around and it was the only spot…
“I guess we got lucky,” I said.
“Well, you know, I don’t need luck.” Kyle pointed up to the sky. “I have my friend. If he can part the Red Sea, surely he can get us seats in the park.”
“Oh, no…no pastor jokes. Please.” I laughed.
“Okay, but don’t ask me to help you out if it starts raining out here.” Kyle opened the bottle of juice. “Then you’re going to want to be my friend.” Kyle and I laughed so hard, I almost dropped the glass he handed me.
“You’re so crazy,” I said. Kyle poured juice into my glass and held his up.
“A toast,” he said. “A toast to good times and great friends.”
“Cheers.”
“Looks like they’re getting started.” Kyle looked up at the stage. The members of the band walked onstage and took their places. The bassist walked up to the microphone and looked out at the audience.
“Greetings, good people,” the bass player said in a thick English accent. “Greetings,” he repeated, attempting to catch the attention of a few people who were still talking. “I hope you guys don’t mind if we warm up a bit onstage before we get things started.”
People in the crowd began to cheer. A man sitting next to me and Kyle whistled so loud, I thought my ears were about to pop.
“Great,” said the man on the stage. “I’m glad to see everyone’s in a good mood this fine evening in the Big Apple.” Loud whistling came from around the audience. Kyle bent over and covered my ears.
“I’m especially glad to announce that we have a special couple in the audience here tonight,” he added. “And I’d like to invite that special couple up onstage, because I hear that one of them has something very special they’d like to say.” The band began to play music softly in the background. Everyone looked around the crowd to find the special couple.
“Oh, this is so sweet,” I whispered in Kyle’s ear. “I wonder who it is.”
“Okay, where are you? Don’t be shy,” the bass player said, shielding the last bit of sunlight from his eyes. “Audience, maybe the couple will come up here if you all give them a big round of applause,” he added. Everyone began to clap.
“It sure is taking them a long time,” I said. I looked at Kyle and noticed he’d been dead silent since the man had walked onto the stage. He hadn’t even looked at me. In fact, he looked kind of nervous. Suddenly, it dawned on me. Were we the couple they were waiting on? “Kyle? Are they talking about us?” I asked, almost afraid to hear his answer.
“What?” Kyle replied, turning toward me. “What are you talking about? We’re not a couple. Why would you think that?”
Just then a black man and an Asian woman walked onstage.
“Kim, I have something I need to ask you,” the black man said, taking the microphone from the bass player. The girl’s face was as red as a radish and I could see her hands shaking. The man got down on his knees and the crowd started cheering. Even Kyle and I stood up and began to clap. The man pulled a little blue box (good taste!) from his pocket. “Kim, I wanted to ask you if you would do me the honor of being my wife?” he said, holding the ring up to her. The band stopped playing; the crowd fell silent. It felt as if time had stopped ticking. I could see tears on the woman’s face. And before she even said it, I knew her answer…
“Yes,” she said, pulling the man’s head to her chest. “Yes.” He slid the ring onto her finger, got up on his feet, and kissed her passionately.
“Go ahead, girl,” I heard myself say. I wrapped my arms around my waist and gave myself a big hug. It was nice to see two people in love, even if my own love life was turning out to be so tragic.
“What about me? I need a hug too,” Kyle said, holding out his arms. I giggled and gave him a hug. When I was about to let him go, the band began to play “Ribbon in the Sky” as the couple walked off the stage. “One dance?” Kyle asked, looking at me harmlessly.
“Okay.” I looked up at him. “I’m only doing this because I know you’re a man of the cloth and you can’t try anything freaky,” I said. “Plus, I don’t want you to make it rain on my head.”
As Kyle and I danced, I noticed how perfectly our bodies moved together. I mean, it’s not easy to find a good slow-dancing partner. Usually the guy is either too tall and bony or too short and fat. But I fit perfectly in Kyle’s arms and his chest seemed to curve in all the right places for my body to feel comfort. I closed my eyes and pretended he was somebody I loved, someone who had just proposed to me on the stage at a jazz concert.
“Troy?” Kyle said, interrupting my thoughts.
“Yes?”
“Do you love that guy…the one from the reception?” he whispered in my ear.
“Yes. Yes, I do, Kyle,” I said, wondering why he was asking about Julian.
“Okay.” He stopped moving and his arms fell to his side.
“Why are you asking about Julian, Kyle?” I asked, looking at him.
“Because he’s standing behind you.”
“What?”
“Hi, man,” Kyle said. I turned around so fast I almost knocked Kyle over.
“What? Hey. Oh, my God,” I blurted out. I stuck my hand out to shake Julian’s like I was just meeting him. I couldn’t believe it. There he was standing right there in front of me…me and Kyle…watching us dance. Had he seen that? “Julian…you know Kyle,” I said, trying to calm myself down.
“Yeah, we met before.” Julian looked right through me. His face was tight. I’d never seen him look like that. It was right there smack-dab in between disbelief and rage.
“Yeah, well, funny, we just came out here to hear some music.” I gave a giggle. I wasn’t handling the situation very well. What would Tasha do? I kept thinking, but all I could see was the green dancing in Julian’s eyes. That was it. He was jealous. Julian was jealous because I was with Kyle. But it was…Kyle.
“You want something to drink, brother?” Kyle asked, pulling another glass from his bag.
“No, man. I was just coming over here to say hello to Troy.” Julian looked at me. “I’m here with some people from the hospital,” he said, pointing to a group of people behind us. “I saw you stand up when the couple was onstage, so I figured I’d come over. I didn’t realize you were with someone.”
“Well, I’m not with someone,” I said. I heard the glass Kyle was holding drop. “Well, I am but, like, you know, not really with someone. Just here with Kyle.”
“Yeah. Well, I hope you remember the conversation we had the other night at your apartment,” Julian said just loud enough for Kyle to hear him. “I was hoping we could speak again soon.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” He glanced over my shoulder at Kyle, who had already sat back down on the blanket. “Well, I better be getting back to my people. It looks like the show’s about to finally get started,” Julian said, looking up at the musicians on the stage.
“Okay,” I said. Julian kissed me on my nose and walked away without saying goodbye to Kyle. Watching his back, all I could think of was all the times it was his blanket I had been sitting on under the Manhattan sky. We’d attended most of the shows together. Julian would bring the blanket and a Scrabble set we never seemed to open. I brought the wine and the food—Riesling, brie, and bread. Julian would sit me down between his legs in the middle of the blanket and feed me like I was a queen, kissing me on my neck between bites of dinner. By the time the show had begun we’d be so wrapped up into each other’s arms, we’d wish the blanket could suddenly grow walls and morph into a little outdoor hut. It’s a good thing that never happened, because then we’d been bumping and grinding in the bark.
Yes, I said to myself, watching him disappear into the crowd. Yes, yes, yes. I sat back down on the blanket and turned to Kyle. His face was long and he looked completely disgusted.
“Oh, Kyle. I hope I didn’t make you upset with what I said about being alone,” I said. I grabbed his hand and shook it playfully.
“No, it’s fine. Really, it’s fine,” Kyle replied. He slid his hand away and poured himself another glass of juice.