What happen', mon? I have had a spiritual awakenin'. I have found the true city of brotherly love! Can't wait for you to see I, mon. I connected with I roots now. Also, I find a new talent. Mosiah say it always in I. Babylon just suppressed it.
Later, mon!
Jessi
I was having a hard time adjusting to Jamaican slang. It wasn't easy omitting "me", "us", and "we" from my vocabulary. But, I wanted to belong, to prove to Mosiah and his friends that I was just as much a Rastafarian as any of them.
Mosiah and I had yet to make a luv connection. I really liked him. He seemed to really like me. But...we just weren't heading outside the friend zone. Actually, I was spending most of my time with Heather, which was odd. She wasn't really black (like me). She just sort of pretended to be. Mostly failing in that endeavor. She still talked like a girl from Iowa. At least I picked up the Rasta-speak pretty quickly. (Perhaps, I am as gifted with dialects as I am with dance and sign language).
I hadn't spent much time with my old friends. That didn't bother me though. They weren't supportive at all of my newfound spirituality. In fact, they were hardly acknowledging my existence. Mallory spent all her time with that strange Gerhild Gegenhuber, Mary Anne and Tiffany had become very secretive, Kristy was obsessing over some dog, and who knows what everyone else was doing. I really wasn't keeping up with the daily goings on at Verbruggenhuis. At the moment, my life was much more important. Actually, I wasn't too thrilled about hanging around the house anyway. Every time Mrs. Kilbourne looked at me, she practically started hyperventilating. Maybe she didn't like black people. Maybe she didn't like Rastafarians. Whatever her problem, I didn't like it.
Late Sunday morning, I was walking back to Verbruggenhuis after meeting Heather for a light breakfast. I was looking totally chilly, mon, in a long tye-dye skirt (thanks Claud!) and a white Bob Marley t-shirt (thanks Teak!) The shirt was a bit big, so I tied it on my right side with a bright orange scrunchie. On my feet, I wore a pair of hemp sandals. I wrapped my dreads in a puce-colored silk scarf. (I took it from Stacey's suitcase. Greer, Tiffany, Mallory, and Alan were taking her stuff. I might as well benefit, too). I did a battement tendu and a rond de jambe on the street corner before crossing. Several people looked at me funny. Probably racists, I thought. I ignored them.
As I neared Verbruggenhuis, I thought I saw Tiffany Kilbourne making out with some guy up against a lamppost. That was crazy, I knew. Like me, Tiffany was only eleven. I'd only ever peck-kissed a boy. No way would Tiffany do more than that. Not giving the lip locked couple a second glance, I kept walking.
Verbruggenhuis was quiet when I walked in. I went to the kitchen to check the dry-erase board Mrs. Kilbourne set up to monitor our comings and goings. Everyone appeared to be out. That was strange. It was only a quarter after eleven. Almost everyone else had been out late the night before. Mallory slipped in from the Holland trip around midnight, Tiffany from wherever around two, and Anna from the super secret Swiss trip around three. Madame Noelle taught me that a good night's rest is essential for success and beauty. You wouldn't catch me staying up all night, then galavanting around town all day.
Since I'd only come back for a quick shower, I didn't bother erasing "Out wit Heather, mon" from beside my name. As I was crossing the foyer, the door swung open. In walked Kristy, Abby, and Alan. Kristy grinned. There were dark circles under her eyes. My own eyes fell on her t-shirt. Peter Pan! Yep, a picture of Peter, Wendy, John, and Michael flying over London. The sting of Kristy being cast as Peter in the Stoneybrook Middle School production had not yet faded. I wanted that part. I deserved that part. I regarded Kristy coolly.
"Nice shirt," I said.
"Oh, thanks. My cousin, Robin, bought it at Paris Disney over Easter," replied Kristy. "We're on our way to this Portuguese restaurant Abby and Alan found yesterday. We just came back to see if the Swiss Embassy called,"
"No, mon. No messages," I told her. "Aren't you tired?"
"Nope! The adrenaline's pumping after yesterday. It was the most -"
"Not the dog again," moaned Alan.
"Yeah, no more, please. Come on, let's go. It'll get crowded," said Abby, tugging on Kristy's arm.
They left and I headed up the stairs. I really needed a shower. Mosiah and Judah wouldn't stop smoking ganja around me. Did I ever stink, mon. Shocking that Mrs. Kilbourne hadn't said anything, narrow-minded as she turned out to be. When I reached the top of the stairs my ears perked up. I heard a faint...creaking. Odd. Was someone home? What were they doing? The creaking sounded like it came from Shannon, Greer, and Mary Anne's room. (Stacey's room, too, if she'd been around to use it). I paused in front of the door, listening. More creaking and a loud moan. Was someone ill? As an experienced and professional baby-sitter, I knew I had to act. I flung open the bedroom door.
And screamed.
In my eleven years as a black baby-sitting ballerina, I'd never seen such a sight. My mouth gaped in horror. There on her bed was shy, sensitive Mary Anne Spier in nothing but a plaid skirt and knee socks, straddling the waist of some guy, who appeared to be naked. In response to my bloodcurdling scream, Mary Anne's head whipped around. She screamed, too. Only, her scream was muffled by the gray kitten mask she had over her face. The guy (most likely not Logan Bruno) tried sitting up, but the silk scarves (probably Stacey's) binding him to the headboard prevented it. He wore a black kitten mask, so I couldn't see his face.
"I'm so sorry!" I shrieked, slamming the door.
I ran down the stairs and out of Verbruggenhuis. In fact, I ran all the way down the street, not stopping to do a plie or anything. I ran and ran, trying to escape the horrible mental image of Mary Anne - sweet. sweet Mary Anne - doing that with a strange boy. I was grateful Mama had talked to me about the Facts of Life at the start of the summer. Or else, I would have been as confused as Mallory was that time she walked in on Uncle Joe and the nurse doing things with a blood pressure cuff that ought not be done.
I ran until I reached Rasta Fantasy. That's the coffeeshop Heather's mom owns. They live above the shop. Even though minor's aren't allowed in coffeeshops, I walked through the front door. The back entrance was usually crowded with raucous Rastafarians trying to pee into the dumpsters across the alleyway. Heather's mom's lifemate, Egbert greeted me when I walked in.
"How's it, Jess? Heather wasn't expecting you so soon," he said, in a thickly accented voice. I liked Egbert. For a bald, white Dutchman he was pretty okay.
"Change of plans, mon," I replied. No way would I tell him what I'd just seen! "Go on upstairs. The gang's all there,"
Upstairs, I found Heather, Mosiah, Judah, and Teak crowded around the living room. Everyone greeted me with hugs, then I took a seat beside Mosiah on the couch. I didn't sit too close though. I might have collapsed into a giggling fit! As usual, Mosiah and Judah were smoking ganja. They'd never pressured me to take a hit or anything. Mosiah was so cool.
"Good ting Jessica came early," said Teak. "I and I can start now."
"All right!" said Heather, high fiving me. She did that a lot. It was weird.
Heather and Teak started setting up the equipment. Remember when I told Keisha about my new talent? Well, this was it. I was a musician! I never even knew it. Not until I met Mosiah and Heather. They brought it out in me. They even let me join their reggae band! Sure, the tambourine and cowbell may not seem as important as the bass guitar or drums, but the band would probably fall apart without me. Who doesn't love the tambourine?
Mosiah was the lead singer. He had a voice that could make the angels weep. Of course, I didn't really understand the stuff he sang about - something about colonialism, liberation, and Ethiopia. The words didn't matter. The beauty and power behind them were evident. I don't think Mosiah could have been any more perfect. (Well, maybe if he'd stop smoking so much). In addition to singing, Mosiah also played the bass. Teak played guitar, Judah the drums, and Heather the electric piano. I wish she'd had one of those distant keytairs. I suggested that, but she just looked at me funny.
We practiced for a couple hours. I shook the tambourine and cowbell with such flawless skill. I knew Mosiah was totally impressed. At one point, he turned to wink at me. Before then, I never understand why so many girls adore musicians. Suddenly, Stacey's love for U4ME and Mallory sleeping with that picture of Spider in her pants didn't seem so weird. I got it. Musicians are hot.
The last song we did was a duet. Heather left her electric piano and stood next to Mosiah. I noticed during the song that Heather kept touching his arm. As I shook my tambourine, my heart fell to my knees. Was Heather interested in Mosiah? Could she not see how I worshiped him with my eyes? Wasn't there a white Rastafarian boy for her somewhere? It was quite scandalous - a white girl and a black boy! That was simply unheard of in Stoneybrook.
For the first time, I cast a critical eye upon Heather. She didn't have my firm dancer body. One point for me. In fact, there was almost a roll of flab hanging over the band of her skirt. I know that not everyone can have the graceful figure of a black ballerina, but really, she should cover that up. I gave myself another point. Of course, Heather had a large chest. I didn't even have a small one. A point for Heather. I continued study ingHeather and comparing us until the duet ended. In the end, Heather was ahead by two points.
We stopped for lunch (fresh fruit and tea). Afterward, we sat around talking while Mosiah and Judah smoked some more. I knew I was uncharacteristically quiet. I just couldn't shake the feeling that there was something going on between Mosiah and Heather. I should have talked to Heather about it. We were pretty good friends, after all. But, the thing about me is when I have a problem with someone I don't tell them. I sulk and stop speaking to them. Sort of like I was doing with Mallory.
"How you lie dat, Jessica?" asked Mosiah.
"Huh?" I replied. I hadn't been listening.
"Judah tinks da band shud go on da road,"
"On the road? Where?" I asked, then as an afterthought added, "mon."
"Ethiopia! Da promised land!" cried Judah.
"Ethiopia?" I repeated. Ethiopia? That didn't sound appealing at all.
"Ya, mon! Ethiopia. Zion. Ah paradise. Da land all Rastas dream 'bout," said Mosiah.
"We can leave in a couple days. We can take the train down to Greece, then hop a boat into Egypt," explained Heather. "I'm sure we'd find a way down to Ethiopia eventually. We'd be gone several weeks, maybe a month. Or more. But, for sure, we'd be back before classes start in October. My mom doesn't like me to miss school."
"I start school in September," I reminded her, testily. I was still upset about the Mosiah thing. Plus, her plan was just dumb. I'd sing about Ethiopia, I'd talk about Ethiopia, but no way was I going there. Not even to play reggae music. They'd have to find someone else to shake the tambourine.
"Come on, Jessica," prodded Mosiah. "Ethiopia is ah paradise. All bredren and sistren belon' there. Please, say you'll come. Won' be da same wit'out you."
I felt myself starting to melt. How could I refuse Mosiah? This could be my last chance with him! An eleven year old black ballerina traveling across Europe and Africa with four teenagers sounded like a very bad idea. It would never work. But, I just couldn't control myself. I'd do anything Mosiah asked of me. Anything.
"Of course I'll go!"