"Do you notice with all these religions and cults, the God changes but the Devil stays the same?"
Aesthetic ~ 3
It wasn't until a couple of weeks pass that Afrika sees Jonathan again at the park. Her legs were crossed and her hands were formed in the okay sign, resting against her knees in a prim fashion. She had just got done stretching, bending her arms and legs in an almost uncomfortable position to conform to the difficult teachings of her dance instructor. It was her least favorite thing to do but it had to be done.
Eyes closed, she was breathing a little heavier than usual as she counts silently in her head to the thrum of her heartbeat. One two three, three two one.
"Hey." At this sudden new voice she starts, opening her eyes.
At seeing Jonathan's now familiar face, Afrika politely smiles. "Hi."
Jonathan pushes a hand in his pants pocket, eyes hiding behind a pair of black shades. "What are you up to?"
"I just got done stretching." She gives. He wasn't bothering her but why was here?
She assumes he was taking a moment to check out her attire, as he pauses before speaking again. "So do you dance recreationally or for a career?"
She blinks up at him, head a hot helmet with her hair out and flowing and thinks about his question. She was still figuring that one out for herself.
"I don't know." She finally says. "I'm still deciding. Right now it's a bit of both."
He nods silently, looking like he was thinking before he shrugs his shoulders. "Have you been here all day? You've worked up quite a sweat."
She hasn't, it's been about a couple hours now, but she laughs sarcastically at his question. The irony. "You're asking me? How are you not hot in that get up?" She gestures to his body, the thick pants that he was wearing and the baggy long sleeved shirt that was hanging off of him a large contradiction to the weather. On his feet were a pair of beat up shoes and he has the same ball cap that she's seen him on last pushed tightly on his head.
He was a step up from looking like a crack head.
Jonathan tugs at the neck of his shirt but looks unconcerned with her words. "I don't get hot easily. I'm okay."
Afrika raises her brows and says nothing, uncrossing her legs and putting them straight out in front of her. Her hands goes to her ankles as she stretches out her spine. Her hamstrings burn.
"Are you okay?" Jonathan asks, making her brows furrow.
"Why wouldn't I be?" She asks.
Jonathan licks his lips, eyes unreadable behind the shades. "Our last encounter wasn't exactly pleasant. You didn't suffer any long lasting damages did you?"
Oh that.
Mood immediately souring, she looks away towards the trees that were scattered everywhere, not wanting to talk about that horrible day.
"Yeah." She mutters.
Jonathan frowns, taking a step closer. "Are you sure?"
"I said I was didn't I?" She snaps. His mouth shuts and it was quiet for a moment.
"I just wanted to know if you were alright." Jonathan says quietly after a few seconds.
"I've said I was fine and I don't need you breathing down my neck about it okay?" She was now irritated and jumps up, balling the small blanket she was sitting on and stuffs it in her shoulder bag harshly.
"--What are you doing?--"
Afrika ignores him and turns around to leave, walking past him and his attempt at talking. She doesn't look back and he doesn't follow her.
~
Her eyes tingle painfully as she walks past the water fountains, one adorned with the word COLORED in blocky letters and the other WHITES, in curly script. There was a white man holding up a small pit bull in front of the colored fountain, allowing the animal to drink from the water that was flowing out, dripping it's slobber everywhere.
Instead of speaking up, she silently takes out the half full bottle of water that was in her bag and hands it to the two little black children that were waiting their turn a good amount of steps away from the white man.
The little boy and girl lights up, taking it from her and giving her a quick hug before running away, giggling ecstatically. Their coarse black hair shines in the sunlight and she watches them, praying they make it to their mother safely.
Her eyes darts towards the white man and he was watching her, the dog now on the ground. She holds her head up high and holds his gaze, not dropping it. Only once the man looks away first and only then, does she turn on her heels and walks away, shuddering in discomfort, shoulders prickling.
~
"Oh!!" Roxxanne yells from the other room.
Afrika drops everything she was doing and rushes to the living room, fear crawling up her throat. Turning the corner she finds her friend seemingly unharmed, looking down at her hands.
"What happened?" She asks, calming down a bit.
Roxxanne looks up at her and opens her mouth. "What? Oh, nothing."
"Then why did you scream?" She comes more into the room, looking curiously at the sheets in her hands.
Roxxanne grins, shaking the news paper excitedly. "Look what's in here." She thrusts the paper in her face.
Afrika doesn't see anything noteworthy until her gaze moves down.
Oh.
Roxxanne takes the paper back. "You see it? Michael Jackson's looking for new background dancers. You should do it!" She spins around in a circle, expecting her to join in.
"I don't know." She says.
Roxxanne stops and looks at her in astonishment, body stilling. "What? What don't you know? I thought you loved him."
"I love his music you mean." She corrects, taking a seat on the sofa.
Roxxanne waves her off. "Same difference. He's looking for dancers, you're a dancer. Go."
She rubs her palm up and down her leg slowly, laying her back against the cushion. "I don't think it'd be good to leave now Rox."
Roxxanne takes a seat next to her, handing her the paper. "Why wouldn't it be. Look, do you see how much the starting rate is? That's enough to pay the bills for the next six months! We need this, our jobs are barely covering the rent."
Afrika takes the paper and reads the little information that was given. She was right. "What about the movement? If I spend all my time dancing, who's gonna help you organize the events, make the signs? Write the speeches and get the permits--"
Roxxanne covers her hand with her dark one. "--You will because you'll still be here. And everything you can't do, our brothas and sistas will."
She couldn't argue.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. You love dancing or has that changed since I saw you last?"
Afrika shakes her head, quirking a small smile. "No."
Roxxanne smiles. "Then go for it! Two of your dreams wrapped up in one. I'm excited for you."
She tries to get into the hype that she was emitting and fakes it for a moment before her smile drops. "I'm scared Rox."
Roxxanne looks at her and grabs onto her hand. "Don't be, you're going to make it. And on the off chance you don't, which you will, there'll be plenty other opportunities like this one."
She seriously doubts it but her words aids in calming her beating heart down a fraction.
"I'll try out." She says, making Roxxanne scream, squeezing her to her chest.
"Yes! I know you're gonna make it. I can feel it."
I'll make it. I will.
The words leaves a funny feeling in her chest.
~
July 29th, 1982 .
Afrika hefts her bag higher on her shoulder, taking a deep breath. Before opening the door to the nondescript building, she prays silently, begging everything to go smoothly and not the huge disaster she was picturing. When she was done she walks through, shutting the door behind her. The foyer was filled--completely filled with people around her age in various stages of comfortable clothing, ensuring they had enough movement to move without feeling weighted down. A few women throw her glances, checking out the new competition that walked through the door and starts whispering amongst themselves.
She pays them no mind and walks to the registry desk, taking a moment to get her number and fill out her information. After that she finds a corner to stand in as she waits for whatever happens next.
Hours pass by and half the room already had their audition, leaving down the hallway and coming back twenty minutes later, some happy while others were silent.
It was unnerving.
But then her group was called.
She follows about twenty other adults down the hallway, walking for a minute before they all stop in front of a wide door. They all file in with her being the last one through the door.
"Okay people, get your stretching done and sit tight till he gets back. Remember this is a professional setting so let's act like it. You are not exempt from getting kicked out." Here the man who escorted them rests his eyes on a group of fresh faced looking girls who were grinning ear to ear, toning it down as they get the warning.
No fanatics.
"Great! Get stretched and prepare for your audition. Good luck." The man turns and shuts the door behind him leaving them alone. The room flares up with movements and whispers, everyone hurrying to get their limbs relaxed.
Because this was a big room Afrika walks all the way to the back, setting her bag down besides a white table on the floor, a few people following her example. She removes her gray sweater and sweatpants, revealing her lilac leotard and black tights with a pair of gray leg warmers caressing her ankles. She tightens the huge puff ball on her head and adjusts the thin head band holding her hair back, making it tighter.
Looking around she sees that the majority of the room were in baggy shorts and sports bras, instead of ballet gear like she was. They also weren't wearing lightweight shoes like she was, instead donning bulky sneakers. She frowns, wondering if they knew something she doesn't. Of course she knows Michael wasn't going to be doing ballet but this looks like straight up hip hop attire.
She wasn't the best at hip hop.
Pushing her thoughts away, she finds herself a clear spot and starts stretching, crossing her arms over her chest and pulling until she feels a muscle pop and switching it to the other side. She stretches out her legs and spine, slipping down into forward splits, then reversing it. While doing the Chinese splits, she pushes her chest all the way to the floor, testing her limit.
She switches and does a few ballet warmups, everything her instructor taught her running through her mind. Stretch, stretch, stretch. Plié. Arabesque. Manèges.
That's all she does.
When she's done all she could think of in a timely matter, the door opens and closes. She was cooling down on the ground and stretching out her fibula. She waits to hear the man from earlier give the instructions on the next step, but when all she hears is a few muffled gasps, she looks up.
Michael Jackson was standing by the door along with a few white men, surveying the room quietly. A man was whispering into his ear and he was nodding, eyes moving around the room slowly. When they stop on her it seems like he pauses before he continues, looking at the person next to her.
The man besides him claps and it seems to break the spell the room was in. "Okay everyone. Michael here is gonna teach you a slow, medium and fast number. This will test your ability to comprehend instructions and your dance ability. My friends and I" here he points to the two white men besides him "will be sitting at that table back there watching. You get one chance."
The three men walk through the room and passes her by. She unconsciously moves away, looking at the ground. She clenches the silver necklace around her neck in her fists and centers herself, focusing her attention back to the man up front.
For some reason she never really gave thought of Michael Jackson being here. She thought she'd have to audition for the people in the company, not the superstar himself. It does nothing to calm her nerves, they spike heavily and wildly.
"The slow number is pretty simple." A smooth even voice resonates through the room, making a few of the girls jump. Michael Jackson smiles, dark brown eyes curving over chubby cheek bones.
"So the first step.."
~
Fifteen minutes later Afrika was sweating bullets. They went through the different numbers and now she was watching a group of five perform all three of them, dancing to the same beat that was modified to fit the various counts.
"Okay you guys are done. Last group, you're up." Michael Jackson stands in front of one of the long mirrors, holding onto a black remote.
She stands up, along with four other people and makes her way to the center of the room. They position themselves so that everyone could be seen equally and hold themselves in the starting stance. She takes a glance at her peers, then blocks them out, looking straight ahead. Not at Michael but in her thoughts.
The music starts and it was easy, her body flowing through the motions with ease. Only when it starts going faster and more difficult does she have any doubt. She doesn't let it show however, letting a sultry look settle on her face. The music was dark so it was a better fit than smiling wildly.
On behalf of Michael Jackson's request, her group does it over one more time and then they were done, exiting back out to the waiting room as they wait for the results.
Sitting in a black chair in the midst of hundreds of hopefuls, she prays long and hard that she didn't mess up too badly and wasn't being turned down.
Her throat clenches as someone clears their throat loudly, commanding everyone's attention.
Unwittingly her stomach pools with dread.
~
Not edited word count =2421
Her body type^^ and flexibility