Dance Into Destiny (4 page)

“I'm talking about being with people your own age. And how are you gonna find a man hanging around a bunch of kids? That'll scare a man away.”

“What makes you think I'm looking for a man?”

“Because you're a twenty-six-year-old woman who's not married. That's how I know.”

Shara rolled her eyes
. Not this again
. “Look, I'm not here to talk about that. I need your help.”

Shara told Mother Hobbs about Tangee's pregnancy. “I don't know what to tell her. It's like she's looking to me for an answer. It's scary to have that much influence in somebody's life.”

Mother Hobbs shook her head. “Poor child. I really feel for her.” Her tone changed. “But that's precisely what I'm talking about. As much as you love these kids, they are not your responsibility. That child has a mother who should be agonizing over this right now—not you. I understand your being upset, but it's not your job to come up with the solution.”

Mother Hobbs rose and came around her desk to stand by Shara's chair. She ran a gentle hand over Shara's hair. She was constantly smoothing it down. Her habit annoyed Shara at first, especially since it was accompanied by scolding about how unkempt Shara looked. Mother Hobbs fussed about her fixing her hair or wearing makeup or dressing like a young woman instead of a tomboy who never grew up. Over time, Shara had grown to appreciate the motherly affection.

“So what am I supposed to do? Turn her away without any hope or direction?” Shara asked.

“It's not your place to tell her what to do. That's for Tangee and her mother to decide. You can offer prayer and God's mind for the situation if asked, but otherwise you need to pray and leave it at that.

Mother Hobbs walked back around to sit at her desk. “And don't spend all day and night worrying about it. Pray and give it to God. Carrying other people's burdens is the fastest way to spiritual fatigue I know. You'll be all burnt out and won't be any good to anyone—not your kids, not yourself, not even God.”

Shara nodded slowly.

“I'm not saying not to help people. I'm just saying make sure you get the mind of God for the situation. Some people you're meant to pray for and release. Others, He'll lead you to almost carry in the spirit, to ‘labor until Christ be formed in them.' ” Mother Hobbs quoted one of Shara's favorite scriptures from the book of Galatians.

“Is that what God told you to do with me?”

Mother Hobbs smiled. “You know what you need? Go out and have some fun tomorrow night. Why don't you ever hang out with some of the young women from the church?”

“I do sometimes, but . . .” Shara shrugged. She got up and moved over to her own small desk in the corner. She pulled out her stats notebook to jot down the number of kids at track practice. She then pulled out the financial record to log the expenses for the pizza party. Maybe if she looked busy, Mother Hobbs wouldn't push her about her nonexistent social life.

“But what?”

“I don't know.” Shara rolled her eyes. “They're all right, but . . . the married women talk about their husbands and tell story after story about their kids. All the single women talk about is their man, getting a man, or the latest fine man who joined the church.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Some of them even talk about sleeping with their boyfriends. Can you believe that?”

Mother Hobbs chuckled. “Have mercy on them, Shara. They still need to grow in God some.”

“I'm not judging them or anything. I just don't want to talk about that. Or clothes or who's having a sale or who broke up with who or who's dating who or any of the other silly stuff they talk about.”

“What do you want to talk about then?”

“The stuff we talk about. The Word and how to get closer to God and how to change these kids and this community. How to take over the world for the Kingdom of God.”

“You can't be serious all the time. Those things are important, but you have to balance it out by relaxing and having fun.” Mother Hobbs smirked. “Maybe if you found you a nice young man, you'd understand why women your age talk about them so much.”

Shara put both notebooks back in her desk drawer. She didn't have much faith in her ability to find a “nice young man.” Not that she was looking. She hardly ever thought about men or dating, let alone getting married. She knew she was supposed to be like her contemporaries, pining away for a man to fulfill her dreams, but she could care less.

Shara spent her childhood hearing from her father about the evils of the male species. To let him tell it, they were all devils, waiting to catch some young girl off guard so he could “have his way with her.” When Antonia got pregnant, it confirmed her father's fears and seemed to validate his refusal to even let her near boys. She wasn't allowed to date until she was eighteen and in college, away from her father's control.

What happened when she finally could date and “fell in love” for the first time also contributed to her feelings about men. Her six-month relationship with Keith ended disastrously, leaving her heartbroken and bitter. It also left her wondering if her father's beliefs about men were true. That was years ago, and she hadn't been interested in being interested in any man since.

“Whatever, Mother Hobbs.” Shara came back over to Mother Hobbs' desk and picked up her gym bag. “Tell you what. When you get a man, I'll get one.”

“I told you 'bout that mouth of yours, getting smart with me. You know I had the best husband a woman could ever have, and even though he's gone, I still have enough of his love to last me the rest of my life.” Mother Hobbs sighed. “I guess that's why I pester you so much. Love like that is the most beautiful thing in the world and everyone should get a chance to experience it.”

“Maybe everybody's not meant to experience that kind of love.” She gave the older woman a hug. “I gotta go, old lady. Don't stay here too late.”

“Maybe I should be calling you Mother instead of the other way around.”

Shara laughed as she walked to her car. For just a second, she allowed her heart to feel a pang. Would she ever experience love like that? She shook the thought out of her head. She didn't have time to long for some Mr. Wonderful who didn't exist. No, Shara was content with her relationship with God, her friendship with Mother Hobbs, her church and her kids.

Wasn't she?

K
eeva flipped through the pages of her exam and smiled. She walked to the professor's desk and laid it down, feeling like a weight had been lifted. It was her last exam and she'd done well on the others, too. It wasn't enough to keep her in the program yet, but at least it was a start. Now, if she could just finish her Methods project and do well on the Foundations project with Shara.

She felt like celebrating. She thought about calling Mark to go out for drinks, but didn't want to chance spoiling her post-exam high. She thought of calling a couple of her girlfriends, but didn't feel like hanging out with them either. Maybe she'd just celebrate by herself.

She walked out the door and found Shara waiting in the hallway.

“You're still here. You finished so long ago, I thought you'd be gone by now. Thank God it's over.” Keeva gave her a genuine smile. “Shara, thanks for everything. I would have never made it without you.”

“No problem. Glad I could help.”

Shara had met Keeva every day in the library for the past week. In addition to letting her use her notes, her calm presence somehow helped Keeva concentrate. They took long chat breaks and had started to get to know each other. Keeva couldn't put her finger on it, but there was something about Shara she liked. She exuded this energy that made Keeva feel peaceful. And Shara kept her laughing by constantly pulling food out of her book bag and eating when the librarians weren't looking.

“You want to go out and celebrate? Drinks or dinner or something? My treat—I owe you big.”

Shara looked at her watch. “I have to go to work for a couple of hours, but I'll be finished by six-thirty—seven at the latest.”

“Perfect. I could take a little nap. I haven't slept in a week.”

“Puleeze.” Shara studied Keeva's face. “You don't look it. When I don't sleep for a week, it's obvious.”

“Puleeze. When do you not sleep for a week? I've never met anyone so ridiculously organized and prepared.”

They both laughed.

“What are you in the mood for? Drinks or dinner?” Keeva asked.

“I don't drink, but you know I love to eat, so dinner sounds good. It would also give us time to start talking about the project.”

Keeva's eyes widened. “What are you, a machine? I'm not trying to talk about any project or anything that has to do with school tonight. I need to clear my head and relax.”

“Okay, I promise, no school.” Shara said. “I don't eat out a lot, so if you have any suggestions on where to go . . .”

“We could do Thai, or Japanese—I could do some sushi right now—or there's a cute little French Bistro . . .” Keeva stopped when she saw the expression on Shara's face. “What?”

Shara wrinkled her nose. “You eat raw fish? Blecchhh! I've never had Thai, don't eat sushi and the only thing French I want is fries. What about some good ol' American food?”

Now Keeva wrinkled her nose. “Eeeuuw! No way. There is this restaurant in Midtown I've been meaning to try.”

They made arrangements to meet at 7:00.

 

Shara pulled into the church parking lot and headed around back to the track. As she turned the corner, she was dismayed to see the kids gathered in a circle jeering and screaming. She knew them well enough to know there were two people in the middle of that circle either cussing at each other and getting ready to fight, or already rolling around on the ground trying to kill each other. Who was it this time?

When the first few kids noticed her, they got quiet and stepped back. As they cleared away, she could see Lakita with her hands on her hips, neck winding in a circle, braids swinging and eyes rolling as she told off whoever her victim of the day was. As Shara got closer, she noticed today's prey was an equally troublesome teenager who had also been a thorn in her side. Shanique had her hands on her hips and was rolling her eyes and popping her gum with every curse word flying out of Lakita's mouth.

Lakita stopped mouthing off when the circle broke up and some of the kids whispered, “Miss Shara, Miss Shara.”

Shara put her hands on her hips and tried to keep her voice calm. “What is going on here?”

Lakita and Shanique tried to explain themselves. “Well, she said . . . well didn't nobody tell her to . . . she think she so special . . . all she do is talk about people . . . ain't nobody thinkin' 'bout her . . .”

Shara massaged her temples. “You know what, I don't even care. I'm not in the mood for this today. I just finished a week of exams and don't have the time or energy for any foolishness.” She looked around at all the kids. “You should be almost done with a mile by now. Instead I find you fighting?”

They protested, but she held up her hand. “I would think by now I could trust you all to do what you know you're supposed to do. Why does an adult have to be around for you to act like you got some sense?”

They all got quiet, shuffled their feet and looked at the ground.

“Sorry, Miss Shara.” Davon was the first to speak up. He turned and started a slow jog around the track. After a series of mumbled, “Sorry Miss Shara's,” they all headed off to do their laps.

Shara heard Lakita say under her breath, “Run, run, run. All we do is run. Don't nobody feel like running around no boring track all the time. I'm quittin' this stupid program.” She headed toward the track, but defiantly walked around instead of jogging like the others.

Tangee walked up to Shara. Her complexion had a yellow-green tinge to it. “Sorry I'm late, Miss Shara. Can I still run today?”

“Yeah, we're just getting started. You okay?”

“I'm fine, Miss Shara.” Tangee walked toward the track.

“Tangee?” Shara called after her.

She came back. “Yes?”

“Did you tell your mother?”

Tangee looked at the ground. “Yes, Miss Shara. I did what you said.”

“What did she say?”

Tangee kept her eyes on her shoes. “You were right. She was mad at first, but then she say we gon' work it out.”

Shara patted Tangee on the shoulder. “You see? I told you it would be all right. Now don't you feel better that you told her?”

Tangee nodded and started off toward the track again. Shara watched her struggling to lift her feet. She'd have to make sure Tangee saw a doctor soon.

S
hara pulled into the parking lot at the restaurant Keeva gave her directions to. She looked at the sign—
Spice
. It looked really posh from the outside. Shara knew any Midtown restaurant was going to be pricey. She hoped this wasn't one of those fancy spots where they charged twenty dollars for a plate nicely decorated with pretty food that didn't fill you up.

Keeva drove up beside her in a black BMW convertible. She took off some expensive looking sunglasses, put them in a black, leather case and tucked it into the glove compartment. She refreshed her lipstick, fluffed her hair and smiled at her reflection in the mirror. Shara rolled her eyes.

Keeva got out of the car. She looked Shara up and down and gave one of her strained smiles that made Shara wonder what she was really thinking.

“Just coming from work?” Keeva asked.

“Yeah, I just got here.” Shara looked down at her clothes and back at Keeva. She followed Keeva into the restaurant.

Shara looked around at the modern, upscale decorum. The place was filled with twenty and thirty-somethings dressed in business suits, sipping fancy looking drinks, talking on cell phones, schmoozing and looking polished and cosmopolitan. She pulled up her baggy jeans and pulled her jean jacket tighter around her to cover up her wrinkled sweat shirt.

The hostess gave Shara a similar strained smile when she greeted them, but led them to their booth and put their menus down in front of them. “Your server will be here in a few.”

Shara scanned the menu. She didn't see anything she would want to eat. She giggled at the thought of embarrassing Keeva by asking if the chef could make her a hamburger and fries.

The waitress walked up. “Good evening, ladies. Welcome to Spice. Can I take your drink order?”

“I'll have a glass of white wine,” Keeva said.

“I'll have some cranberry juice,” Shara said.

The waitress scribbled down the orders. “Let me tell you about the specials tonight. We have a . . .” She described the food as if she was describing art.

They both ordered the special. Shara hoped it wouldn't take long. “Could we get some bread or something? I'm starving.”

The waitress nodded. “Of course.”

Keeva sipped her water. “So, where do you work?”

“I run an after-school program for inner city kids at my church,” Shara said.

Keeva looked impressed. “I don't see how you do it. Work and go to school? I'd never make it. I can't believe I decided to get a graduate degree. Undergrad almost killed me.”

“What made you decide to go to grad school?”

“There was never really a question of whether I would. It was just a matter of what I'd be going for.”

Shara looked at her curiously.

“My parents,” Keeva explained. “It was just one of those expectations all my life.”

Shara laughed to herself. Her parents had never pushed her to go to college because they were convinced that at any moment, the rapture was going to come. “So why counseling?”

Keeva paused for a minute, as if she wanted to know the answer to that question herself. “I always wanted to help people, I guess. Especially young people.”

Shara had to hide her surprise. She had taken Keeva to be one of those self-absorbed people who didn't think about helping others.

“At first, I wanted to be a pediatrician, but then I volunteered at South Fulton Hospital after my freshman year in college and was totally grossed out by all the sights, sounds, and smells.” Keeva shuddered. “By the end of my first day, the nurse I was working with pulled me aside and told me she didn't think medicine was for me. I was glad because I felt like she gave me permission not to be a doctor.”

Shara wondered why she needed permission not to do something she didn't want to, but decided not to ask.

“So I switched my major to English. I love writing, but my parents were concerned about me being able to get a good job with an English degree, so I switched to psychology.”

“Why psych?”

The waitress stopped by to drop off a basket of steaming bread. Shara ignored her burning fingertips and smoothed butter over a large slice.

Keeva once again looked like she was trying to come up with an answer. She finally smiled, as if remembering something pleasant. “Well, when I was thirteen, my mom got real exasperated with me and took me to a shrink.”

Shara's eyes widened. “Why?”

“Please.” Keeva waved her hand flippantly. “I can't think of any of the kids I grew up with who didn't have therapy at some point in their lives.

“I felt like my mom wouldn't let me do anything I wanted to, and wouldn't listen to anything I had to say. She always wanted me to do things her way and think the way she thought. I felt stifled and controlled. I guess I got depressed. I slept all the time and stopped eating and lost a ton of weight. My dad got worried, so they took me to a psychologist.”

Growing up as a preacher's daughter, Shara could identify with being stifled and controlled by her parents. She had never gone to a psychologist for it, though.

“My psychologist was the most incredible person I'd ever met. She listened to me and cared what I thought about and felt. Nobody had done that for me before. She made me feel that all my dreams were okay—that
I
was okay.” Keeva had a faraway look in her eyes.

“She gave me what my mother never could—acceptance for who I was. With my parents, there was always this pressure—like I had to live up to something—like I would never be enough. The psychologist had this magical presence about her that made it okay to be me. The impression she made on me, I guess, is what made me want to be a therapist. I guess I felt that if I could do that for somebody . . .”

Keeva stopped suddenly, her face red. The waitress appeared again and set their drinks down in front of them. Keeva drained half of her glass of wine in one swallow. She tossed her hair and pasted on a smile.

Shara sensed her discomfort and could almost see her putting her mask back on.

“Could you excuse me for a minute?” Keeva said. “I need to make a quick run to the bathroom.”

“Sure.” Shara picked up another piece of bread as Keeva hurried away.

Keeva lingered in the bathroom for a few minutes, hoping Shara wouldn't expect her to continue the same line of conversation. Why had she told all that stuff to a casual acquaintance? She straightened her Dana Buchman suit, gave her hair and lipstick one last glance in the mirror and exited the bathroom. When she got back to the table and sat down across from Shara, she looked at Shara's hair and clothes.
Why should I care what she thinks anyway?

Keeva finished off the rest of her wine. She looked around for the waitress. When she caught her eyes, she raised her glass to indicate to bring her another. She turned back to Shara. “So—what made you go into education?”

Shara sipped her cranberry juice. “I always wanted to be a teacher. When I finished undergrad, I taught seventh grade for a year and then eighth grade for two years.”

“That must have been interesting. Where did you teach?”

“Bunche Middle School.”

“Wow.” Keeva's eyes widened. “Weren't the kids bad? Don't they carry guns and beat up the teachers there?”

“They aren't bad kids. A lot of them come from broken homes and live in not-so-great neighborhoods, so the way they act is a reflection of what they see everyday. When you get down to the core of them, they're regular kids just like in suburbia. They have feelings and dreams like any other teenager. I don't think it's fair to judge them because they don't grow up privileged with all their needs met.”

Keeva couldn't help but feel that last comment was directed at her. “I wasn't judging them. You hear on the news all the time about, you know—”

“I'm sorry,” Shara said. “I didn't mean it that way. I guess I hear that all the time and it frustrates me. They just need a lot of love and guidance. If people have preconceived notions about them, they won't give them a chance.”

“So why did you leave teaching?”

“At first, I really enjoyed teaching, but eventually it became frustrating and depressing.”

“Why?” Keeva couldn't imagine “Miss Smiley-face” ever being depressed.

“Most of the kids have really bad home situations. After they got to know me and trust me, they would share things with me. Like their parents being strung out on crack, or working multiple jobs and never being home, or beating them, or neglecting them. Some of the kids were practically raising their younger siblings and they were just thirteen or fourteen. Too many young girls confessed that their father, uncle, or mom's boyfriend had molested them. Their situations were so depressing. I couldn't imagine how they could ever have a chance in life. No child should have to grow up the way some of them do.”

Keeva looked around to see where the waitress was with her second glass of wine. She was almost sorry she had asked Shara about teaching.

Shara continued, “It seemed like I wasn't making any difference in their lives. I felt like I had so much to give—not just math and science, but love and a sense of self. The system isn't designed for all that, though. It got frustrating.”

Shara reached across the table and took yet another piece of bread. Keeva was sure she wouldn't have an appetite when the food came. She smoothed a whole pat of butter on it, making Keeva wonder how she maintained her tight figure.

“So I decided to get my master's so I could start my own school. I want to be able to create a place where kids can come and get their needs met on many levels. I want to help them understand they have a purpose for being here and then equip them with the personal skills they need to reach their God-ordained destiny.”

Keeva couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy as she noticed the glow in Shara's eyes. “That sounds great. I wish I could have been in that kind of program when I was a kid. Probably would have saved my parents a pretty penny in shrink bills.” Keeva fidgeted with her silverware. “Sounds like you really know what you want to do and are really passionate about it. That must be a good feeling.”

“Well, you too, right?”

“Oh yeah, I definitely want to help people. I'd love to help little girls know who they are and get on the right track.” She knew her half-hearted answer sounded nothing like Shara's impassioned decisiveness.

“But?”

Keeva shrugged. She didn't dare answer for fear that she'd start spilling her guts again.

The waitress brought their food. Shara stared at her plate and then at Keeva.

“What's wrong?” Keeva asked.

Shara whispered loudly, “How can they charge you $22 for this little bit of food? This ain't gonna do nothing but make my stomach mad.”

Keeva looked at her own plate. It was a perfect sized portion of salmon, garlic mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables. She appreciated the chef's elegant presentation with the bright yellow, lemon butter sauce drizzled delicately around the edge of the plate. “Try it. It's more than it looks.”

Keeva was soon embarrassed as Shara tore into her food, almost violently. Keeva looked around the restaurant, hoping she didn't see anyone she knew. She was glad when Shara stopped eating and looked up at her.

“Sorry, I haven't eaten anything since lunch.”

She went back to inhaling her food. Keeva forced a smile. Her cell phone rang. She recognized Mark's number and frowned. She was supposed to call him after her exam, but forgot.

“Hi, honey.”

“Where are you? I thought you were going to call me when you finished your exams today. I had planned to come over tonight. Why aren't you answering your cell?” Mark's voice cut through the phone like a knife.

Keeva held the phone away from her ear to avoid the barrage of questions. “I didn't hear it ring, sweetie. I'm at a restaurant and it's kind of loud.”

“At a restaurant?”

Keeva grimaced.
Oops.

“Who are you out with? I thought we were going to be together tonight. Keeva, this is very inconsiderate of you. Did you even think of calling me?”

“My exams went well, sweetie, thanks for asking. Listen, I'm in the middle of a dinner meeting with a classmate. We're tossing around ideas so we can get started on a project we're doing together. This was the only time she could meet this week. I'll call you when I get home tonight, honey, I promise. We'll get together tomorrow. Love you baby, bye.” She hung up before he could say anything.

She knew he was seething at her practically hanging up on him, but she didn't feel like dealing with him right now. She was actually enjoying her dinner with Shara, in spite of the hungry horse act she was putting on across the table. Shara stopped eating for a second to give her a questioning look.

“That was my boyfriend. I guess I forgot we were supposed to be getting together tonight.”

“Gee, I thought we were having a celebratory dinner. I didn't realize we were working on our project.”

“It's just a little white lie. You won't tell on me will you?”

Shara made a zipping motion across her lips. “Your secret's safe with me.” She scraped the last bit of sauce off her plate with a piece of bread. “I have to admit, the food was good, but I'm still hungry. That'll be enough to last me until I get home, though.” She rubbed her stomach.

Keeva looked down at her own full plate. “Want some dessert?”

“No, I'm not much of a sweets person. I'm more of a meat and potatoes girl.”