11
Nikki
A flash of light came on me, burning my skin. The theater was empty, but I felt watched. Only one person, whose critical eyes were the equivalent to a full house, was watching from a box. "Sing," he commanded, not meaning to be terrifying. But he was.
I opened my mouth and nothing came out. I had nothing to sing. My muscles tightened against my bones. I needed a song, quick. I clenched my hands together in front of me and thought of my mother and a song she sung quietly over the sound of the TV. Twelve years before, but I remembered it like it was yesterday. I wish I could remember the rest of her that clearly.
"I don't know if you can hear me, or if you're even there" came out of my mouth. I sounded just like my mom. Maybe I was on that stage. But I knew it was me, and although I didn't know his name, I knew who was listening closely in the box. "I don't know if you would listen to a gypsy's prayer. Yes, I know I'm just an outcast…I shouldn't speak to you. Yet when I see your face, I wonder…were you once an outcast too?" My heart was pumping out if my chest but I kept on. "God help the outcasts. Hungry from birth. Show them the mercy they don't find on earth. The lost and forgotten. They look to you still. God help the outcasts…or nobody will." I think I was crying but I didn't stop until I was finished, then I realized the box was empty. He stood behind me, dressed in black, except for the mask covering half his face. Whiter than white. I slowly approached him and touched the part of his face that wasn't covered. He didn't flinch, maybe because I didn't feel anything. "Who are you?" I whispered because I didn't recognize anything but his voice, my hand wandering to his shoulder.
"I am your Angel of Music," he crooned. "Come to me, Angel of Music." Just before he could kiss me, I woke up.
Ezra was licking my face while Doris scratched at my boob. I sat up and rubbed my head. It was midnight. Auntie Tonya probably got home late and didn't have the energy to let them out. "Gotta go out, babies?"
They went running out my bedroom door. Yes, they did. Humming God Help The Outcasts, I stumbled down the stairs, turned off the house alarm and opened the back door for my dogs. I went out as well and sat on the concrete stair, staring at the cloudy night sky.
I'd never seen a sky full of stars. I've seen a few little white specks in the sky, like singular grains of salt on a black table in New Orleans when I was really young and New York, only some nights. I realized as I sat on the cold concrete that I had been to two states in my life. Louisiana and New York. My mom told me precisely a week before Katrina that she'd take me with her touring next summer, and she'd introduce me to all the biggest R&B folks and we'd eat fancy food and sleep at fancy hotels and get everything for free. We would have done this in many big cities. Later I learned about light pollution, and now I realized that the only stars I'd see there would be old black people. I cried.
Ezra and Doris could be therapy dogs if they learned to control themselves around human food. They can sense human emotions and know precisely how to handle them. They ran to me, jumped on my knees and attacked my face with their little tongues, licking away the tears, followed by the odd feeling of hopelessness that really wasn't like me. I laughed and petted their backs. "Good puppies, good dogs." They backed off and I wiped their slobber off my cheeks with the sleeve of my T-shirt. I sighed and said to my dogs, "Done with the toilet?"
They said yes and I knew it. I yawned. "Back to bed with ye." They scurried inside first, then I went in. I closed the door and turned on the alarm again. The dogs followed me to my room and made themselves comfortable at the foot of my bed after I tucked myself back in.
The man in the box seat kept singing, though.
I am your Angel of Music…come to me, Angel of Music…