Dance Into Destiny (2 page)

Keeva closed and locked the door behind him. She went to her dining table, sat down and flipped open a textbook. She had to make herself read at least two chapters before she went to bed. For the past few weeks, whenever she tried to study, she somehow ended up on the couch watching television.
Lifetime
always had a good movie on, one after another.

Later, as she undressed to get into bed, she stood in her full-length mirror and turned from side to side, trying to find the extra pounds Mark mentioned. She studied her twenty-five year-old, well-toned body, but didn't see any difference.

She pulled her favorite pair of jeans out of the closet. They were a size four and usually fit her perfectly. She pulled up the zipper. They fit the same way they always did. Mark probably noticed something she didn't.
Gotta start going to the gym.

Keeva sat on the edge of the bed and opened her nightstand drawer to pull out a bottle of Ambien tablets. She didn't like having to depend on pills, but she had to get a good night's sleep. If she did her usual tossing and turning for hours, she'd never be able to study tomorrow.

She slipped between her satin sheets and started her deep breathing and meditation techniques, hoping for sleep to come. The pill would soon chase away images of her flunking out of school and losing everything she held dear.

Shara Anderson stared at the television camera as if it were her archenemy. She had worked hard to get her hair slicked back into a ponytail that morning. All day, she'd made a special effort not to run her fingers through it like she usually did when she was nervous or upset. Otherwise, it'd be sticking up in some places with deep furrows in others. The only make-up she'd been able to find that morning was cracked and discolored. No telling how long it had been in her bathroom drawer. She'd ended up barefaced as usual.

“Do you really need to interview me? Isn't this supposed to be about the kids?” Shara almost pleaded with Cheryl Hanes, the Fox 5 News community focus reporter. She looked down at her jeans and sweatshirt, wondering if she should have dressed up.

“It is about the kids, but we need someone to tell the story.” Cheryl looked down at her clipboard and back up at Shara. “Here's how it goes. I'll ask some questions and you answer as clearly and succinctly as possible. Make sure you talk in complete sentences as if the viewers haven't heard my question. If you don't like what you say or mess up, we can go back and fix it. Just act natural and talk normal, like we're friends.”

A sympathetic smile peeked through Cheryl's professional demeanor. “Don't be nervous, you'll do fine. Pretend the camera's not even there.”

Cheryl held the microphone toward her. “So tell us about your program.”

Shara cleared her throat. “‘Run For Your Life' is a track program we started here at Kingdom Builder's Christian Church to reach out to the kids in the surrounding community. Teens from the neighborhood come here after school three days a week to run track or work out in the gym, and on alternating days we have a tutoring program. They have to make passing grades to stay in the program.”

Shara knew she sounded robotic and staged, but how was she supposed to relax and act natural with that camera in her face? Cheryl coached her a bit and made her answer again. It came out better the second time and they moved on to the next question.

“When did you start the program?”

Shara paused to think about her answer so she wouldn't have to do it over. “I started the program as a class project almost a year ago. I'm in the Master's program for Education at Georgia State. Things went so well, we just continued it. It's turned out better than I expected. Across the board, the kids' grades are better. They get in fewer fights in school and in the neighborhood. Most importantly, their confidence and self-esteem have improved as well as their overall outlook on life.” Shara started to feel more comfortable talking about her kids.

She pointed toward the track. “Davon there was having difficulty passing most of his classes and now he's maintaining a C average. He's convinced he can bring it up to a B average by next year.”

The cameraman swung around to film the young teen as he rounded the track. Shara laughed to herself when she saw Davon glance at the camera, then pump his arms harder and pick up his stride, his jaw set with a determined look on his face.

Shara pointed to a tall, lanky youth with thick cornrows. “And that's Jamil. Before, he got into trouble in school all the time for fighting or acting out in class. In the last six months, he hasn't been in one fight. Now he's in competition with Davon to see who can make the best grades.”

Jamil obviously didn't know the camera was fixed on him; otherwise he would have done something silly like make a face or perform his running man dance.

“And then there's Tangela Madison. She's the one I told you about.”

Cheryl had asked if there was one teen they could do a special focus on with a follow-up segment later on in the year. She had explained that with all the negativity in the news, the station wanted to connect with the community and do “people stories.” She wanted the teen most positively affected by the program.

Tangee was the obvious choice. She was Shara's fastest runner and most dedicated participant. She had gone from almost failing 8th grade last year to maintaining a B average in 9th grade this year. In her last two high school track meets, she was placed first in the 100-meter dash.

Cheryl turned toward the cameraman. “Get some footage of that girl over there.”

Shara couldn't help but notice that Tangee's form was a little off as it had been the past few times she'd watched her run. She waved Tangee over. The young teen frowned. She wasn't any more excited about being in front of the camera than Shara was.

Cheryl gave Tangee similar instructions, and then started asking questions. Shara's pastor walked up as Tangee stammered out her answer. His interview was next.

Tangee pulled on the bottoms of her shorts and rocked back and forth on her heels. Shara made signs for her to stand still and put her hands at her sides.

“. . . I never thought about going to college before, but now I'm definitely going. And if I keep doing so well in track, I should be able to get a full scholarship. This program has definitely changed my life,” Tangee said.

That's my girl.
Shara smiled and gave her a thumbs-up from beside the cameraman. Tangee returned only a half-hearted smile and looked at the ground.

When Cheryl finished, Shara walked over and put an arm around Tangee. “You did great. I'm proud of you.” She studied Tangee's eyes. “You seem a little tired. Wanna call it quits for today?”

“I'm cool, Miss Shara. I'ma finish.”

“All right then, go ahead.” Shara watched her drag back onto the track.

When she turned back, Cheryl had started interviewing her pastor. “Pastor Kendrick, it's so inspiring to see the work you're doing here in the community. How did you get started?”

Pastor Kendrick was only 5'8, but seemed larger than life in front of the camera with his confident stance and strong smile. He gestured toward the church building behind the track. “We started off ten years ago with nine people in a classroom when this was still a Fulton County high school on the verge of closing. The Lord has blessed us with tremendous growth and we've been able to purchase the building from the city with a vision to completely revitalize this community. So far we've started a GED program and have received funding for a welfare-to-work program. Our next undertaking is an entrepreneurial development center for members of the church who want to start businesses. Hopefully, we can pump some finances into the community. One of our greatest focuses will be capturing the hearts of the young people. Shara's track program is just the start.”

Cheryl asked a few more questions about Pastor Kendrick's motivation and the church and then motioned to the cameraman that they were finished. She turned to Shara. “We'd like to get some footage of the neighborhood. Care to ride with us? It'll only take a few minutes.”

“Sure.” Shara turned to Pastor Kendrick. “Keep an eye on the kids for me. You know how they can get.”

“Yeah, I'll stay around. And Shara, thanks for doing this,” Pastor Kendrick said. “I know it's not exactly your thing. I'm hoping the exposure will be good for us. Maybe the people in the community will watch and will want to come check us out. And you never know what rich philanthropist may watch and want to give a donation to our cause.”

“No problem, Pastor. Anything to help.”

Shara hopped into the front seat of the television station's SUV next to Cheryl while the cameraman sat in the back with the camera hoisted over his shoulder. She directed Cheryl to turn onto Martin Luther King, Jr. Drive.

They cruised the area slowly. The dilapidated buildings, debris in the streets, and grown men hanging on every corner drinking and talking trash looked worse to Shara as she watched it through Cheryl's eyes. It usually didn't bother her. Maybe in her seven years of attending the church, she had gotten used to it.

Shara pointed for Cheryl to turn at the stop sign. “You know it's funny. Even though this is in the middle of the inner city, it reminds me of home.”

Cheryl turned onto Memorial Drive. “Where are you from?”

“A little town you've never heard of deep in the heart of South Georgia.”

“That explains the hint of Southern twang you've got.”

Shara laughed. “Yeah, when I first moved here for college, I worked real hard to get rid of it. The tiny bit left reminds me of where I'm from.”

Cheryl looked out at a young woman dragging a toddler down the street. Even with the windows up, she could be heard screeching and cursing at the child. “How is this anything like rural Georgia?”

Shara looked out at several young men with their pants hanging off their bottoms, huddled in a corner “shaking hands” and looking over their shoulders to see who was watching. “The poverty, despair, and that overwhelming, choking feeling that no matter what you do, you'll never be able to get out.”

“Get out?” Cheryl studied Shara's face as they stopped at a red light.

“Yeah. Get out. Make a better life for yourself. Live somewhere other than the little box of a neighborhood or town you seem to be stuck in. This neighborhood feels like that same depressing, stifling way home did.”

Cheryl turned left and they headed toward downtown Atlanta. It was amazing how close the cosmo-politan downtown area was located to the impoverished area the church was in.

“Atlanta isn't the black mecca for the people in this neighborhood. The ‘good life' is just as unreachable as it seemed to me when I was growing up.” Shara looked up at the skyscrapers and office buildings. “Even though it's just a few city blocks away, it might as well be as far away as South Georgia.”

Cheryl nodded and they turned onto Broad Street, back toward the church.

Shara wondered why the cameraman was pointing the camera toward her instead of out the window. “For me, getting an education and running track was my ticket to freedom. If I hadn't gotten a full scholarship to Georgia State University for undergrad, I probably would have never gotten out. I guess that's why my track and tutoring programs are so important. I want to help these kids escape. Tangee is me in high school all over again, just in urban Atlanta instead of rural south Georgia.”

Cheryl turned toward the back seat. “Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

The cameraman was still pointing the camera on Shara. “I'm way ahead of you.”

“What?” Shara smoothed her hair back.
Would you get that durn camera out my face?

Cheryl said, “I'm glad you rode with us. This is a great angle for the story. It'll make it deeper, richer. Do you have time to go back and do a few more questions and some shots with Tangee? I really want to focus on the two of you and use some of what you've told us.”

Shara cringed. “More camera time?”

“You never know what might happen. Like your pastor said, some rich person may be watching and offer Tangee a full scholarship to the college of her choice. This segment may be her way out.”

Shara let out a deep breath. “Okay. Let's do it.”

 

Shara stood with an arm around Tangee in front of the church, her face aching from smiling, her brain tired from thinking of articulate answers to questions.

Cheryl said, “This is gonna be great. Okay, I think we're done with you, Tangee. We'll be back to interview you again in a few months. Keep winning those meets and keep your grades up and we'll have a great follow-up story.”

“Yes ma'am.” Tangee gave Shara a quick hug and jetted away as if she needed to get as far from the camera as possible.

“One more question, Shara, and I promise we'll be done.”

Shara refreshed her smile. “Sure.”

“It seems like you do so much here at the church with the kids and we know you're in grad school full-time. What kinds of things do you for fun? How do you unwind and spend your free time?”

“I . . .” Shara's smile faded into a frown. “I . . .” She bit her lip and wrinkled her nose, trying to think of something to say. She gave a nervous laugh. “I guess not much of anything.”

Cheryl made a “cut” sign to the cameraman. “It's okay. We have more than enough to make a great story. Just trying to show you as well-rounded. I can't imagine you
would
have time for much else.”

Cheryl shook Shara's hand with a strong grip. “Thank you so much. I have to say I really enjoyed doing this story. You're one of those inspiring people who makes us all want to be better. Keep doing all you're doing and best of luck with the program.”

And best of luck with getting a social life too, huh?
Shara could imagine the thought in Cheryl's mind. They said their goodbyes and Shara turned to walk to her car.

As she rounded the corner to the parking lot, she spied Tangee sitting on the benches behind the church. At her feet sat a guy looking too old to be anywhere near her. Tangee was finishing off the end of a cornrow she was putting in his large Afro. This wasn't the first time Shara had seen him hanging around after track practice.

She made plans to talk to Tangee.

Poverty and lack of an education weren't the only things that could keep her from getting out of the neighborhood.