Dance Into Destiny (3 page)

K
eeva closed her notebook as the professor finished her last class of the day. She decided to study in the library, knowing if she went home, she'd end up on the couch watching TV.

As she opened the door, the musty, dusty smell of old books and the quiet calm in the air beckoned her in. She sat down at a table in the corner facing the wall and opened her
Foundations
book. She sat forward in her chair so she wouldn't be too relaxed. The quiet hum of the heater and steady ticking of the clock were hypnotic enough to lull her to sleep.

Half an hour later, she'd barely finished the first paragraph and had no idea what she'd read.
Pay attention, Keeva! Stop daydreaming and get your head out of the clouds.
She could see her mother's face, stern and unyielding, one hand on her hip, the other held out with a finger pointing at her. That finger was the only rod of discipline Keeva had ever needed.

She rubbed her temples. The familiar band of a tension headache squeezed its vice grip around her head. She decided to take an inventory of exactly what she needed to do. As she turned through the pages of her syllabus, her stomach sank as she realized how far behind she was. What had she been doing?

Stupid
Lifetime
movies . . .

Was it possible to cover all the material in the small amount of time she had left? What if she couldn't? There was no way she could make a B in the course if she failed this test. Keeva imagined Ms. Parker's face, accentuated by her bleeding red lipstick, pointing a menacing finger in her face. What would she tell her parents if she flunked out? What would she tell Mark? What would she do with her life if she didn't get this degree?

Keeva pulled her hair. A few too many strands came out. She'd noticed more strands on her brush lately, too. She was so emotionally overwhelmed, she was losing her beautiful hair. Maybe she should increase her therapy sessions to twice a week.

The room was closing in on her. Her heart beat faster and faster as if it were going to leap out of her chest. She breathed deeply, trying to get enough air to her brain to get rid of the dizziness swelling in her spinning head. What was wrong with her?

“Hey, Keeva.”

Keeva's eyes trailed upward, finally reaching Shara Anderson's smiling face.

“I'm not sure if you got my message or not. I called you on Friday,” Shara said.

“Really?” Keeva frowned. “My answering machine must be acting up again.”

“I wanted to set up a time to start working on the research project. I know it's early, but I want to get a head start on it. Waiting to the last minute to get stuff done makes me crazy.” Shara smiled brightly.

What was she so happy about? Did she not have midterms right now? Keeva put on one of her most convincing fake smiles but her voice was tight. “I'd like to wait until exams are over. I wouldn't be able to give it much time now because I need to focus on studying.”

Shara remained disgustingly cheerful. “Sure, well, my number is in the class roster. Give me a call when you're ready.”

Instead of walking away like she should have, Shara stood there, looking at her a little too hard. “Are you okay?”

“Sure, I'm fine. Just, you know, studying for midterms.” Keeva averted her eyes, hoping Shara wouldn't see the panicky look in them.

“Maybe you should take a little break. You don't look so hot.”

Shara pulled up a chair, uninvited. Keeva flashed her a look, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. In spite of herself, she had inherited her mother's evil glares and sharp tongue. Her eyes swept across Shara's unkempt hair and bulky sweatshirt. She was about to tell her she didn't look so hot either, and not because she was studying too hard. She bit her tongue when she saw the genuine concern in Shara's eyes.

“I'm a little behind and need to catch up.” Keeva hoped Shara would take the hint and leave.

She didn't. She looked at Keeva's book. It was from the class they shared. “Hey, I have my notes with me. Would you like to borrow them?”

“I took notes in class.” Keeva tried not to sound defensive. Her notes were scant and full of doodles from daydreaming. She could use any help she could get right now, but didn't want to admit it to this girl. Who did she think she was anyway?

“Oh, I'm sure you have notes, but mine might be helpful. I'm real obsessive-compulsive when I study, so I redo my notes from class combining them with notes from the book. I highlight things the professor concentrated on that I think may be on the exam.”

Keeva stared at Shara. Was she for real? Talk about anal-retentive. She had to admit she needed help. She forced a smile. “Sounds great. I'd love to borrow your notes. Don't you need them, though?”

Shara shook her head. “I'm finished studying for that class.” She took out a notebook and laid it on the table. “I'll be on the second floor studying for a few hours. I'll come back down for it before I go. If you find it helpful and don't get done in time, you can take it with you. Just let me know.” She smiled one last cheerful smile and walked off with a little wave.

Keeva couldn't imagine having to work closely the rest of the semester with someone so aggravating. Was it too late to be reassigned to a new partner?

She looked at the perfectly neat handwriting on the front of the notebook, “Social and Cultural Foundations of Education—Shara Anderson.” She turned the first few pages and was amazed at what she saw.

Shara had succinctly organized the material into outlines, and then expanded the outlines with brief text. As Keeva read over the notes, she began to feel as if she could get a handle on the information.

 

Two hours passed quickly. Instead of being disgusted that she hadn't accomplished anything, Keeva felt a glimmer of hope that she might actually pass.

Shara suddenly appeared. “Well?”

Keeva smiled a genuine smile. “Your notes are great. I feel like I understand what's going on now. It must take you hours to do that.”

“I do a little bit everyday after class, while the information is still fresh in my head. I know I'm anal, but it works for me. Are you done or do you need to keep them?”

“If you don't mind, I'd like to keep them to go over them a few more times.”

“No problem, just give them back to me in class when you're done.” Shara headed toward the door.

Before she reached it, Keeva bit her lip, swallowed her pride and called out, “Shara?”

A few other students studying nearby gave her a dirty look for breaking their precious silence. Keeva gave them one of her nice-nasty smiles.

Shara turned and came back.

“Do you, uh, happen to have notes for any other classes? I was thinking, ummm, it would help me out a lot in my Family Systems and Research Methods classes,” Keeva said.

Shara smiled. For some reason, her smile wasn't so annoying now.

“Well, actually I'm in the M.Ed program so I don't have any counseling classes. I did take the Research Methods course last semester and have my notebook at home.” Even though they were in completely different programs, they still had some core courses in common.

They made plans to meet the next day so Keeva could get the notes and Shara left.

Relief flooded Keeva as she read through the notebook again. Must be some good karma she'd sent out coming back to her. She knew she'd be able to at least pass the tests, and if she focused hard enough, she might even eke out B's.

But was it enough to keep her in the program?

O
n Friday afternoon, Shara stood at the edge of the track and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Time to hit the showers.” One by one, the kids jogged toward her.

“Aw, Miss Shara, why we gotta take a shower?” Davon sniffed under his arms, as if to prove he didn't need to wash.

Shara shook her head and laughed. The boy acted like he was allergic to water. She swatted him. “Boy, you ain't going nowhere with me funky. We're going out for pizza tonight, remember?”

“Aw, yeah.” The thirteen-year-old's eyes lit up and his pace quickened as he followed the other kids to the locker rooms.

She called after them, “And hurry up. We need to leave here in twenty minutes.”

Shara frowned as Tangee jogged off the track last. “What's wrong with you? You're dragging today.”

“I'm a'ight, Miss Shara. I caught a little leg cramp so I had to slow down some.” Tangee rubbed her thigh.

“You sure that's all it is?” She studied Tangee's sunken eyes and pale cheeks. She wanted to believe her slower running times over the past weeks were due to leg cramps, headaches, or any of the other excuses Tangee had been giving.

Tangee nodded and looked away.

“Okay then, go ahead and get ready.” As Shara watched Tangee limp to the locker room, she decided to talk to her after the pizza party.

Shara pulled the church van around to the back parking lot to wait for the kids to come out of the locker rooms. The heavy gym doors slammed open and she heard the loud arguments coming toward the van before she saw any of the teens.

“I get to sit in the front.”

“You sat in the front last time—it's my turn.”

“Unh uh, Tangee sat in the front last time and before that it was Deon.”

“Tangee sit in the front all the time cuz' she Miss Shara's favorite.”

“Well, I know it's my turn. I ain't sat in the front since we went to Six Flags last summer.”

“Yeah, man and that was a long ride, so you don't get to sit in the front for a while.”

“Whatever, man.”

Eleven kids piled into the van. Jamil obviously won the argument, because he climbed into the front and flipped through Shara's CD case. The front seat argument was really about who got to control the music.

“Man, put on Tonex or Kirk Franklin.”

Jamil turned around. “Yo, man, I'm the DJ and I play what I wanna play. When you sit in the front, you can run things, but for now—” he patted his chest, “I got this.” He popped in a CD and started his signature head-bopping dance as the neo-soul gospel sounds of Lisa Mc-Clendon filled the van. The kid's choices in music had changed a lot since they'd been hanging out with Shara. They still listened to their favorite hip-hop artists, but also enjoyed Shara's contemporary gospel favorites.

“Aw, yeah.” The head-bop dance was duplicated on every row of the van except the last. Tangee sat still in the corner, looking out the window. Shara thought she saw her wipe a tear from her eye.

When they arrived at Fellini's Pizza, the thick aroma of tomatoes, cheese, and spices drew them in. The kids fought over their seats at a large table in the back the manager prepared for their rowdy group every other Friday. He made it seem like he was taking extra care of his special customers, reserving a special section for them, but Shara knew he did it to keep her loud bunch away from the other customers.

Tangee usually sat next to Shara, but tonight she sat at the far end of the table. She only nibbled at a small piece of pizza when she usually competed with the boys for who could eat the most. Halfway through the meal, a terrified look came across her face and she jumped up and ran to the bathroom.

Shara followed her and found her there retching over the toilet. When she finished, Shara placed a wet paper towel on her forehead and used another to clean her mouth. “You okay?”

Tangee nodded, but didn't look Shara in the eye as a single tear trickled down her face.

That said everything.

Shara's heart sank.
Oh, God no.

Shara wiped the tear from Tangee's cheek and pulled her chin upward to meet her gaze. Tangee averted her eyes and burst into loud sobs. Shara pulled her close and held her, tears of her own slipping down her cheeks.

When Tangee stopped crying, Shara wiped the tears from her face and handed her some tissue to blow her nose. She wanted to give Tangee time to talk, but knew better than to leave the rest of the group unattended for too long.

“I'm going back out to the table. You go ahead and fix your face and come on back out. We'll talk later tonight, okay?”

Tangee nodded and stared at her shoes until Shara left.

No one at the table seemed to have noticed their absence. They were too busy arguing about who was the best, Ja Rule, Nelly, Naz or Jay Z.

Davon was the loudest. “Man, Kanye West smoke all 'dem.”

After a few more minutes, Tangee slipped back into her seat next to Jamil.

He turned and stared at her. “Yo, Tangee man, wassup wit' your face? You look a mess. Your eyes all red and puffy and your nose is bigger than it usually is.” The rest of the kids laughed and Tangee looked like she was about to cry again. Shara was about to intervene when Lakita spoke up.

“Why don't you fools shut up? Always messing with somebody. You can see she upset. Come on, Tangee, let's go to the van.”

Lakita had stepped out of character to defend Tangee. At eighteen, she was the oldest of the group and usually pretended she didn't want to be around. She never missed a day of practice or any pizza parties though.

Lakita walked up to Shara and held her hand out. “Miss Shara, I need the van keys. Me and Tangee tired of these fools and we ready to go. I don't know why I came wit' y'all anyway.”

Shara was about to deal with her ever-present attitude, but the knowing look in the girl's eyes made her stop. She remembered Lakita's three-year-old son at home and handed her the keys. Lakita turned on her heels, rolled her eyes, and sucked her teeth, but put an arm around Tangee and led her to the van.

Shara rushed the rest of the kids through the remainder of their pizza and arguments and hurried them out to the van. She quickly squashed the squabble over the front seat and began dropping each of them off at their homes, leaving Tangee for last. When she pulled up in front of her apartment building, Shara turned the engine off and waited. Tangee sat there picking her fingernails.

Shara finally broke the silence. “Why didn't you tell me?”

Tangee put her head down.

Shara took a deep breath and smoothed her hair back.
Tell me what to do, God
.

Tangee sniffed. “I didn't mean to. It's just that . . . I know it was wrong . . . I know Jesus doesn't want me to . . .”

Shara put her hand on Tangee's arm. She had made a policy of never preaching to the kids, knowing it wouldn't help. Love said a lot more than “act right or go to hell” as she had heard so often growing up.

Tangee looked her in the eyes for the first time that evening. “I'm sorry, Miss Shara.”

“I know, Tangee. The most important thing is where you go from here. You can beat yourself up all day, but it won't change anything. Forgive yourself and move forward. Your life is about to change a lot and you have to get ready. A lot of girls have babies and are still successful.”

Tangee's mouth flew open. “Miss Shara, I can't keep this baby. I won't be able to finish high school or go to college. I meant what I told that TV lady. For the first time, I feel like I have a future—like I could end up somewhere different than this.” She gestured toward her project building.

“What should I do, Miss Shara?” With tears clinging to the long lashes of her big, brown eyes, Tangee looked like she was four instead of fourteen. “I don't want to end up like my momma. I want to be somebody . . . like you.”

The words cut Shara's heart like a knife. What could she say? Being a Christian, of course she didn't believe in abortion. But at the same time, could she tell this girl to have the baby and potentially ruin her future?

Shara felt guilty for even considering the unthinkable, but she wanted Tangee to have a chance. She remembered when she was a teenager and her best friend got pregnant at the age of sixteen. They had been friends since they were five and grew up in church together. When they got to high school, Antonia bucked against the rules and restrictions drilled into them in church. She started sneaking around with boys, and the next thing Shara knew, she was crying on her shoulder much like Tangee was.

Two years after Antonia had the first baby, she got pregnant again, and then had another baby sixteen months after that one. She never got to go to college like they'd always planned. She was now twenty-five and had four kids, all by different fathers. She worked at the local discount store back home and could barely make ends meet. Shara wondered what would have happened if....

She shook the thought out of her head. She couldn't tell Tangee to kill her baby. “What about putting the baby up for adoption?”

Tangee scrunched her face as she looked down and smoothed her hands across her flat stomach. She shook her head.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Tangee fiddled with the lock on the van door.

Shara asked gently, “What did your mother say?”

Tangee bit her lip and looked down at her hands.

Shara groaned. “You didn't tell her? What are you thinking?”

Tangee's eyes flashed. “That I want to stay alive. You have no idea, Miss Shara. If I told my momma, she'd beat me so bad.” Her little body shook. “Then she'd put me out—she'd make me go live with my grandmother.” Tangee burst into tears again.

Shara put her arm around her shoulder. “But you have to tell her. She's going to find out eventually.”

Tangee clenched her fists. “That's why I didn't tell you. I knew you'd tell my momma. Promise me you won't tell her or I'll never come back to the program again.” She cried harder, and then started coughing.

“Tangee,
please
. You're going to make yourself sick again. Stop crying. We'll figure this out, okay?”

Shara took some tissue from her purse and mopped Tangee's face with it. “Go in the house and get some rest. I won't tell her, but you're going to have to tell her. I know you think she'd put you out, but your mother loves you. After she got over being mad, she'd help you through this.”

Tangee looked at Shara with fear and contempt in her eyes. “You don't know my momma.” She got out of the van and trudged into her apartment building.

Shara sat there for a minute but was jolted out of her thoughts by a tap on the window.

“Hey, Church Lady. Don't you think it's a little late to be hanging out in the ‘hood'?”

Shara started up the van as she nodded to Belial. He was the neighborhood's drug runner. He wasn't a big time dealer or anything. He ran packages for the little money thrown his way to buy sneakers or games for his PlayStation. The people in the neighborhood didn't bother her too much, probably because they always saw her with the kids.

When she got back to the church parking lot, Shara was glad to see a blue Volvo next to her aging Honda Civic. God knew she would need to talk to Mother Hobbs, her spiritual mentor.

They met not too long after Shara came to Atlanta. After her freshman year in the dorm at GSU, Shara rented a room from Mother Hobbs until she graduated and took her first job as a schoolteacher. Mother Hobbs had taught in the Atlanta Public School System for thirty-two years. Her husband finally insisted she retire after one of her students was caught with a gun in school. She was now the church administrator.

Shara found Mother Hobbs in the church office. It used to be the principal's office when the building was a school and Shara was instantly transported back to her high school days whenever she entered.

“What are you doing here so late? You know I don't like it when you're here after dark,” Shara said.

Mother Hobbs stood to give her a warm hug and then stepped back. “Chile, my mother is long gone, so don't even try it. What are
you
doing here so late?”

“I took the kids out for pizza and just finished dropping them off.” She plunked her gym bag down and parked herself in a chair in front of Mother Hobbs' desk. “Whatcha doing?”

“Shara, it's Friday night. Why are you hanging out with a bunch of kids and then coming back here to hang out with an old woman?”

“Old woman? Please.” She looked around the room. “Where?”

Shara could easily picture Mother Hobbs in one of those
Essence
magazine photo shoots of the older black women you'd swear were twenty years younger than their actual age. She'd stand tall and regal like a queen, eyes brimming with wisdom and mouth filled with laughter that she'd tackled life and conquered. Shara felt funny calling her “Mother” Hobbs at first. She definitely wasn't anything like the church mothers she had known growing up.

“Child, you need to get a life outside of this church. You're always here.”

“Well, you're always here.”

“I work here.” Mother Hobbs fingered her silvery gray hair that cascaded down to her shoulders in small, neat dread locks. “Spending a Friday night with a bunch of kids. You act like you're their mother, or like you're trying to make up for the things their mothers don't or can't do. When do you ever have fun?”

“I enjoy my kids. That is fun.”