To Our Own Beat (Urban)

To My Own Beat?

Reagan

“Ant, breakfast is ready!” I yelled up the stairs to him. I fixed him a plate and sat it down on the table before returning to the stove to fix my own.

“Good looking out, ma.” He said before sitting down to devour his food.

“So what’s on the schedule today? You seem excited.” I said to him.

“Well as usual we’re going to the Ailey. This week you start the hip-hop class. I’m a little happy because one of my good homies is going to be in town today and he’s stopping by the Ailey. This dude can dance his butt off. Now that I think of it, ya’ll share this certain flava. I think ya’ll would work well together.” He added thoughtfully.

“Hmmm…well I’m looking forward to meeting him.” I said.

                We finished our breakfast with a little small talk. He handled the dishes while I went upstairs to finish getting dressed and FaceTime Ricky.

“Good Morning, Schmoopie!” I said with a bright smile.

“Good Morning, baby.” He said. From the looks of it, he was still in bed and by the sound of it, he had a sick.

“What’s wrong, Schmoopie?” I asked, instantly going into mommy mode.

“I don’t feel good. My throat is sore, my nose is stuffy and my head is throbbing. But it ain’t nothing a little cold medicine can’t fix. Don’t worry yourself, baby.” He assured me. Its times like this where I wish I was at home with my baby.

“Are you sure, Schmoopie? I can call mom and tell her to fix you some soup or something.” I offered with a pouty face.

“Don’t worry about it baby. I got this.” He said with a smile. “You look pretty this morning.” He complimented me.

“Thanks babe. I start hip-hop today!” I told him excitedly. Contemporary dance was my top favorite but hip-hop comes in an extremely close second.

“Ahhhhh man! Look at you! I know you gon’ walk in the room and kill it! You got this baby.” He rooted for me. Hearing him cheer me on made me smile uncontrollably.

“I love you, Schmoopie.” I said with a smile.

“I love you too, Rae-Rae. Now give me a kiss.” He said, puckering up his lips.

“Ewww! No, you’re sick.” I giggled. I giggled even more when I saw his stale face. “I’m just playing baby.” I said, blowing a kiss at the camera.

“I gotta go now, Schmoopie. I’ll check on you around lunchtime.” I told him.

“Alright, Reagan. Be safe.” He said before we disconnected.

                I grabbed my Nike gym bag, stuffed it with the things that I needed and headed downstairs to wait for Anthony.