Dance Into Destiny (5 page)

“Not me, I'm a sweet-aholic. Give me some chocolate and all is right with the world.” Keeva started to eat slowly. “Are you originally from Atlanta?”

“No, I'm from a small town south of Macon. My father was the overseer of a group of churches in that region.”

Keeva had to ask. “Are you one of those holy people?”

“Holy people?”

Keeva didn't mean to, but she found herself looking at Shara's hair and plain face.

“Oh, you thought my look . . . you mistook my style—or
lack
of style for . . . that's funny.” Shara laughed. “No I wish I could I could use that as an excuse. I'm just lazy. I figure if I have to choose between an extra hour of sleep and getting up earlier to look like you usually do, I'd rather sleep.”

“Like I usually do?”

“You know, all fly, dressed to the nines, full face of makeup, perfect hair. Don't get me wrong. I admire you. I wish I could always look like I stepped out of
Essence
. That never was my thing, I guess.”

Shara pushed her plate away from her and plunked her elbows on the table. “I never grew out of being a tomboy. I had a big brother I adored and the only way I could hang out with him was to do what he did. So I climbed trees, jumped off of bunk beds to see if I could fly, went fishing, you know, all the normal boy stuff. Then I was involved in sports from junior high through college, so I wasn't too worried about being pretty then, either.”

Now it made sense
.
A girl jock. One of those girls Keeva's mother would turn up her nose at and talk about how mannish they looked. She couldn't imagine how any mother would allow her daughter to get so wrapped up in sports that she didn't get to enjoy being a girl.

“Track was about all I could do for fun growing up,” Shara said.

“What do you mean?” Keeva had to restrain herself from telling Shara to take her elbows off the table.

“In the denomination I grew up in, anything having to do with ‘the world', so to speak, was off limits. That included movies, secular music, most television shows, bowling, playing cards, anything remotely related to having fun. Anyone who participated in such activities was surely going to hell.”

“Wow. How could you stand it?”

“I couldn't. Being the preacher's daughter, I practically
lived
in church. We had morning and evening service on Sunday, prayer meeting on Tuesday, Bible study on Wednesday, choir rehearsal on Friday night and of course Saturday night was spent getting ready for church on Sunday. I literally had no life.”

“I can't imagine.” Keeva shook her head.

“When I was a little girl, it didn't bother me much. I had a lot of little friends in church so it was like a big club. Of course, as I got older, it wasn't so much fun. My brother and I missed out on
everything
. At first, the kids in school made fun of us, but then they felt sorry for us. They brought their tape players to school and let us listen to the latest music and tried to show us how to dance. They told us about all the latest movies in vivid detail. We saw all our movies ‘secondhand.' ” Shara laughed bitterly. “My father tried to console us by telling us all our friends were going to hell. Of course, that didn't make us feel any better.

“That's how I got into track in the first place. It was the only way I could wear pants or shorts. Even then, my mom had to beg my dad to let me. He was concerned about me running in shorts because there were boys at my meets, but I was so shy I guess he figured he didn't have anything to worry about.”

“You were shy?”

“Just around boys. I was convinced every male, except my father and brother, was the devil incarnate. I was terrified of them.”

Keeva laughed. “That must have been difficult to get over.”

Shara's smile faded. “Yeah. Pretty difficult.”

The waitress came by and noticed Shara's empty plate. She raised an eyebrow. “All done already?” She reached for the plate. “Can I take this?”

“Sure.” Shara held up the empty bread basket. “Can we get a fresh loaf?”

She seemed not to notice both Keeva's and the waitress' reactions. “So how about you? Did you grow up in church?”

“Yeah, but not nearly as much as you did. To be honest, I think church was more of a political thing for my parents,” Keeva said.

“Political?”

“Have you heard of David Banks?”

“The state senator?”

“Yeah, well that's my dad.”

“Your dad is a state senator?” Shara looked surprised.

Keeva nodded.

“What was that like?”

Normally Keeva would have enjoyed bragging about being a senator's daughter. Somehow she knew it wouldn't impress Shara the way it impressed her other friends. She wasn't a part of that world where it mattered. She decided to be honest. “It was pretty horrible.”

“Horrible?”

“We had to live the perfect life. Think about it—the best way to discredit a politician is to bring up some scandalous thing he did in his past or some dirt about his family.

“My dad knew early in his law career he wanted to run for public office, so he started planning then. He married the perfect wife who would be good for his public image—someone who could throw parties, say all the right things and know all the right people. His only child had to be a perfect angel and go to all the right schools and participate in all the right activities.

Keeva pushed around the remaining food on her plate, remembering the few extra pounds she had to lose. “Everything had to be proper and perfect. I couldn't do anything that might ‘affect Daddy's career.' Church was like everything else—the right thing to do. My parents didn't really get into it though. We didn't pray or read the Bible or anything like that.”

“Do you still go now?”

“Occasionally . . . to be perfectly honest, and no offense, I guess I don't see the point.”

Keeva's cell phone rang again. She looked at the caller ID and rolled her eyes. “What!” she hissed at the phone before answering. When she did answer it, her voice was saccharin sweet. “Hi honey, what's going on? I'm still in my meeting. It's running a little later than I thought.”

“Keeva, honey, I miss you so much. We haven't had any time together. Are you coming home soon?” Mark sounded anxious.

She sighed. “Yes, dear. I'll be there in a little bit okay?”

“I'll be waiting for you.” He had a slight mischievous tone in his voice that let her know what he was waiting for. Keeva jabbed the “off” button on her cell phone and jammed it into her purse.

“I'm sorry. If I don't go, he'll call every five minutes and drive us both crazy.” She signaled the waitress to bring the check. “We'll have to get together again some time soon. I really enjoyed this,” Keeva said it as if it surprised her.

Shara nodded and smiled like she was surprised too. “I enjoyed it, too. And we do have to get together soon, although maybe not under such pleasant circumstances.”

Keeva looked confused.

“The project? Remember? Graduate school, professors, grades, all that stuff?”

“Oh yeah.” Keeva groaned.

The waitress brought the check. Shara picked it up and her eyes bugged out.

“My treat, remember?” Keeva took the bill from her.

Shara didn't object. “Thanks so much for dinner. This was really nice.”

“No—thank you. I never would have made it through exams if it weren't for you.” Keeva pulled out her credit card and motioned for the waitress to take it.

“So when are you available to start the project?” Keeva was actually looking forward to hanging out with Shara again. She was so different from her other friends. With them, everyone was always trying to outdo someone else. With Shara, she could just relax and didn't feel like she had anything to prove.

They made plans to meet on Saturday morning and got up to leave the restaurant.

 

The evening's conversation played in Keeva's mind as she drove home. In spite of the way she dressed and wore her hair, Shara was a nice person. Keeva reflected on what Shara said about her kids and her school. She focused on what she said about giving them a sense of purpose. That phrase stuck with her.

Her cell phone rang, pulling her away from her thoughts. She knew it was Mark and decided not to answer it, knowing she'd be home in a few minutes. Undoubtedly, he had already let himself into her apartment and was tapping his foot, checking his watch and looking out the window for her car to drive up.

Sure enough, when she put her key in the door, Mark opened it before she could even turn the knob and pulled her into his arms, holding her too tightly. “Hey, baby.”

She peeled herself away from him.

“I missed you, honey. Come here.” Mark kissed her almost fiercely, as if he was a starving man and she was a T-bone steak. She tried to pull away, but the more she resisted, the more intense he became.

“Baby, it's been too long.” He whined like a little kid.

Keeva decided to give in. She didn't feel creative enough to come up with an excuse and if she just went along with it, it would be over soon anyway. She allowed him to lead her into the bedroom and take off her clothes. Her mind drifted.

She wished he had greeted her at the door, asking her about her day and her exams. She wished he would talk to her about his day and how he was feeling. She wished he would caress her hair and look into her eyes. She wished he would ask her what was bothering her lately and listen like he really cared.

She pushed those thoughts away and pretended to be there like always. Soon he was snoring heavily beside her, his arm draped over her waist like a restraint.

If she had trouble sleeping when she was by herself, it was worse when Mark spent the night. He snored like a bear. And he always put an arm over her waist or threw a leg over her thighs. He slept so heavily his body felt like a dead man and she got trapped in whatever position she was in when he fell asleep. If she tried to pry herself loose, it would partially awaken him and make him hold on tighter.

She stared at the ceiling. Would he stop snoring if she kicked him?

If she had any hope of getting some sleep tonight, she had to escape. She rolled over and over until she reached the end of his arm. He tightened his grasp, but she rolled out of his reach and onto the floor. He reached for her and mumbled something, then turned over without waking up.

She slipped into the living room and turned the television on. If she was lucky, she would find a good movie to drown out her thoughts. One of her favorites was on HBO. She watched
Sleepless in Seattle
until she fell asleep on the couch.

S
hara stretched lazily in the bed. Since midterm exams were over, she had Friday off.

“Good morning, Daddy God.” She could feel God's presence in her bedroom. She felt so close to Him first thing in the morning. It was so still and quiet, it was easy to feel Him and hear Him.

She started talking to God as if He were physically sitting in the room with her. She talked to Him about her kids, especially Tangee, and prayed for each one of them; that He would take care of them, save them, and make happen whatever needed to happen in their lives for them to reach their destiny. She prayed the church would continue to grow and meet the needs of the community. She prayed she would continue to grow and become all that He made her to be.

Her mind drifted to Keeva. She thought of the panicked look on her face in the library. She thought of the emptiness in her eyes when she talked about her career plans during dinner. She didn't quite know how to pray for her. On the one hand, Keeva seemed to have it all together. Beneath the surface though, she seemed like she was going to crack at any moment.

Shara found herself praying,
God, please help Keeva. She needs to know You. She needs a sense of direction she can only find in You. Bring her to a place of relationship and intimacy with You. Show her who You really are and how much You love her. Change her life. Cause her to live the life You planned for her when You created her. Give her that sense of purpose she needs to make life worth living. In Jesus' name.

Shara's thoughts drifted back to Tangee. She didn't know why, but she sensed something was wrong. She prayed for a while, but still didn't get any peace. She'd make sure everything was okay when she saw Tangee later at track practice.

When Shara was growing up, she thought of prayer in terms of what her father did in the pulpit on Sunday. Until she met Mother Hobbs, she never realized prayer was simply talking to God. She remembered one of the first times they prayed together. They had just finished having some deep biblical discussion at the kitchen table and Mother Hobbs asked Shara to pray before they went to sleep that night.

Shara, of course, knew she knew how to pray. Her father taught her. Halfway through her recitation, Mother Hobbs stopped her. “What are you doing?”

“I'm praying.”

“Well, why are you talking to God like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like He's the King of England or something with all those thee's and thou's—like He's far away sitting on a big, golden throne and staring down at you with a rod of iron in His hand.”

Shara wrinkled her nose. That
was
sort of how she saw God. “How am I supposed to pray, then?”

“Honey, God is not impressed with big words or catchy phrases. He doesn't want to hear your religious clichés. You know what He really wants?”

Shara shook her head. She wanted to know more than anything. “What?”

“He wants to be your friend. Talk to him naturally like you would your best friend. Tell Him what you're feeling—what's bothering you. Ask Him questions. Have a normal conversation with Him. Most importantly, be real with Him. What's the point of a relationship if you can't be yourself?”

Shara took those words to heart. From that night on, her prayer life and relationship with God had radically changed. Her “friendship” with God had grown over the years to the point where Shara now did consider Him her best friend.

As she pulled on her sneakers, she looked around her bedroom. Her apartment building was old, but they had kept things up nice. She still had most of the same furniture she'd brought from home when she left for college. Her old wooden twin bed and matching dresser were scratched but still sturdy. She still had her childhood bookcases, now buckling under the weight of her college and grad school books. Everything was old and country, but it gave her apartment a cozy feel.

Shara headed outside for a quick run. She loved jogging in her midtown Atlanta neighborhood. Even though her rent cost more than it would have if she lived in an Atlanta suburb, she needed the cosmopolitan pulse of the city around her. It served as a constant reminder that she'd succeeded in escaping South Georgia and that with God's help, she could accomplish anything else she put her mind to.

Tangee flashed across her mind again. The sense of foreboding she'd felt in prayer that morning was growing stronger.

Shara turned onto Ponce De Leon street and sped her pace, as if she was trying to outrun the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. A late evening discussion at Mother Hobbs kitchen table came to mind. Mother Hobbs was teaching her about intercession and related that sometimes, God would put someone in her spirit with such a sense of urgency that she'd feel spiritually “sick” unless she prayed for them. During those times she'd literally have to groan and travail for them in the spirit until God did something, or at least brought peace about the situation.

Was that what she was supposed to do about Tangee right now?

Shara turned onto Moreland Avenue. On days she didn't have class, she ended her run in Inman Park and then stopped at the Starbucks in Little Five Points for tea and a muffin. She hoped the tea would settle her stomach. She would talk to Mother Hobbs later and they could pray for Tangee together.

 

Shara stood at the edge of the track, watching the kids do their laps. Jamil was rounding the corner, making a silly face as he ran by. Tangee came around holding her stomach. She stopped long enough to tell Shara, “I'm sick. I gotta go to the bathroom.”

Shara figured she had to throw up again. Maybe God had been telling her that morning that Tangee was experiencing a lot of sickness with the pregnancy. When she came back from the bathroom, Shara would tell her she needed to see a doctor soon.

A few minutes later, Danae came running up with a frantic look on her face. “Miss Shara, come quick!”

Normally Shara would have ignored her. Most of her girls were drama queens and overreacted about everything. Seeing the fear in Danae's eyes though, she knew to take her seriously.

“What is it?” Shara asked.

“It's Tangee. She in the bathroom screaming and crying—and there's blood everywhere!”

Shara's heart froze. “Go into the church and tell Mother Watkins to call an ambulance.” Mother Hobbs had to pick today to be out of the office.

Danae stood there, wringing her hands with a panicked look on her face.

“Now, Danae!” Shara screamed, bringing her out of her trance.

As Shara ran into the bathroom, she heard Tangee wailing. She found her sitting on the floor, rocking and holding her belly. Lakita was with her, trying to comfort her. Tangee had bloody streaks down her legs and a small pool gathered at her ankles. Shara ran over to them.

“Tangee?” She turned toward Lakita. “Wet some paper towels with hot water.”

Shara cradled Tangee in her arms and whispered into her ear. “You're okay, sweetie. The ambulance is going to be here in a few minutes. You're going to be just fine. Nothing is going to happen to you.” Internally she prayed every healing scripture she could think of. Her hands shook as she wiped away the blood, which seemed to be flowing faster by the minute.

“Lakita, go find out what's going on with the ambulance.”

“Please, Miss Shara—in this neighborhood? It'll be tomorrow before they get here.”

“Lakita, just do what I said. Go to the church office, NOW!”

Lakita sucked her teeth, rolled her eyes, and stomped out the door.

Even though she didn't appreciate Lakita's attitude, Shara knew she was right. “Tangee, sweetie, can you walk? We need to get you to the van so we can get you to the hospital.”

Tangee kept crying and rocking.

Danae came rushing in the door. “Miss Shara, the am-balamps is going to be a while getting here. They said unless she unconscious, having a seizure or chest pain, she's low priority.”

“I know, Danae, go get Jaquell so he can take Tangee to the van.

Tangee stopped rocking. “No, Miss Shara, I don't want him carrying me. I got blood all over me.” Danae stood there.

“Danae, did you hear me?” Shara tried not to scream at her.

Jaquell's six-foot tall frame lumbered through the doorway a few minutes later. He stopped when he saw Tangee. “What's wrong with her?”

“Don't worry about it, Jacquell. Just pick her up and take her to the van.”

He backed towards the door. “Unh, uh Miss Shara, she got blood all over her. I ain't touching no blood. I ain't trying to catch no AIDS.”

Shara took a deep breath, but it didn't keep her from yelling at him. “Boy, get your behind over here and pick Tangee up and put her in the van. I don't want to hear another word. Just
do
it!” Her voice echoed off the bathroom walls.

By the time they got to the van, Lakita had spread newspaper and towels over the first bench. Shara smiled at her with appreciation but Lakita looked away, obviously still angry with Shara for yelling at her.

“You should go to Atlanta Medical Center.” Lakita sucked her teeth. “She could bleed to death waiting at County Hospital.”

“Thanks, Lakita, good thinking.” Shara paused. “Can you come with me? I may need your help.”

Lakita looked up at her and halfway smiled. “Yeah, Miss Shara. I'll sit in the back with Tangee while you drive.”

Shara prayed the whole way to the hospital, trusting God that Tangee and the baby would be okay.