Dance Into Destiny Page 4

  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.”

  “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?

  Chapter Five

  Keeva 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.

  Chapter Six

  Shara 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-som
ethings 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.”