Concrete Island

by Anita Davis

  “Or, you can make it apart of your students’ grades that they have to help you pass out flyers and share the weekend on their social media.”

  “You’re silly. Although an interesting idea, you know I can’t do that,” I said.

  “Excuse me, ladies.”

  I turned to see where the soft voice had come from and jumped a little at the sight of who it was. “OMG, you’re Val Warner, co-host of Windy City Live.”

  “I’m certain she knows who she is,” Rikia whispered.

  Val laughed. “Indeed, I am. Ladies, I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t help but overhear you alls conversation. Starr, is it?” She pointed towards me.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve heard about the Carnivale you mentioned and a little bit of how it came to be. I’d love for you to come on the show tomorrow and talk about it.”

  I could feel my eyes bulging out of their sockets and my heart racing fast. I couldn’t believe what she had just said.

  “You speak with such passion about the matter. I hate for you to feel defeated, so if you’re willing to, I’d love for you to share your journey in discovering your Jamaican roots. Although I don’t know the story in full, it seems like one worth broadcasting and getting wrapped up in. You can also use your time on there to promote the Carnivale. Hopefully, you being there would create more exposure for the event.”

  “I would definitely be open about my journey. Just tell me what time and where to be. And thank you so much for this opportunity.” I stood up and reached to shake her hand.

  She gave me a firm shake and said, “You’re welcome.” She reached in her purse, pulled out her phone, handed it to me and said, “Plug your number in there. A programmer from the show should be calling you within the hour. Take care, ladies. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Starr.”

  “Same here, Val. Thank you so much.” I sat back down so full of nervous excitement. She left the mellow café and I turned a bright smile back to Rikia.

  “See. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” Rikia smiled.

  “Yes, there is!” I shouted softly before delighting in my then room temperature tangerine tea.

  ***

  “Studio audience, let’s welcome our next guest, Professor of African and Black Diaspora Studies at DePaul University, Starr Night.”

  Prompted by a man running across the front of them, the audience clapped loudly and I thanked the heavens that I didn’t have to walk out into the palpable energy in the room. I wasn’t a klutz, but given how nervous I was to be live on a national show, there was no telling if I would’ve made it to my seat without having stumbled or my knees giving out from all of the giddy nerves racing through my body.

  “Thank you all for having me here.” I smiled wide, not being able not to show all of my teeth. I waved at the audience first and then nodded at Val and her co-host, Ryan Chiaverini.

  “Guys, I so happened to be in a café last night and overheard Starr speaking with so much passion about what she’s going to talk about with us today. I promise you all I was not trying to eavesdrop,” Val chippered.

  “Yeah, right,” Ryan chimed in.

  The audience was cued to laugh, and they followed suit.

  “Really. But I’m glad that I did catch the parts of their conversation that I did. It sounded like a plan for her endeavors had fallen through. She sounded defeated at one point and I knew I was in a position to help her, so I made a call to move some things around for today’s show and voila! We have this beauty here to share her story with us.”

  “I guess your eavesdropping benefitted the talker this time around,” Ryan said.

  “Yes, it did.” I felt the need to speak up.

  “So Starr, dive right in and tell us about your story and this magical Carnivale I can’t wait to go to.”

  “My pleasure. Again, thank you all for having me here. This opportunity is amazing. I’ll briefly share my recent history, which I feel helps to explain why I was so passionate about getting the Carnivale approved and recognized by the city and not just some random fest offered during the summer.

  “I didn’t grow up with my father. I didn’t even know who he was, but after an odd yet fulfilling girls’ trip to Jamaica, I found out who my father was from his twin sister at that.”

  Ryan’s eyes widened.

  “I know, right. I wish I could tell this story bit by bit, but I know that’s not possible at the moment. Once a DNA test confirmed William Brown was indeed my father, there I was with the newfound knowledge that I was half Jamaican. The revelation didn’t make me abandon my pride as a black woman, but rather doubled it to know that I had Afro-Caribbean roots as well. Many visits and time spent with my dad’s sister, Auntie Zeporah, in Jamaica afforded me a close-up, firsthand look at how rich and storied Jamaican culture and traditions are, is.”

  “I bet,” Val chimed in.

  “Missing Jamaica when I’m not there, I sought out the Jamaican community in Chicago. It’s beautiful and tight-knit. And so are other black islanders. Just being immersed in it all made me want to expose all of Chicago to it rather than people only ever so often going to a reggae themed party.”

  “I get it. You want to see that part of you represented as much as black women want to see themselves positively highlighted in mainstream media.”

  “Exactly.” I loved that Val, a black woman, was one of the co-hosts and got what I was saying without even saying it. “I took the idea of the Carnivale, because if you know anything about how they are celebrated in places like Trinidad and Tobago and Brazil—”

  “I certainly do.” Ryan smiled in a way that said he had an interesting story.

  “So, you’re sharing your carnival chronicle next?” Val asked, amusement dancing in her eyes.

  “And get fired? I think not,” Ryan answered quickly.

  We all laughed.

  “Sorry to cut you off. Continue, please.” Ryan directed his words at me.

  I smiled at him. “I wanted to bring that energy to our city with the city of Chicago officially putting their stamp of approval on it. Plans were made, people were talked to, permits were approved, and next weekend’s grandeur is possible because amazing and supportive people saw my vision and helped to execute it. I just fear that not everyone knows that it will be going on next week.”

  Val looked to the audience. “How many of you all heard about the Carnivale before today?”

  Literally, only five people raised their hands.

  “While there was only a handful of people that said yes to knowing about it, now the whole studio audience knows and everyone who tuned in live today knows. And for those of you at home watching, pay it forward and tell others about it,” Ryan admonished them.

  “Yes, I checked out the website and they have something to do for everyone. They’re giving you carnival and Carnivale vibes. You still have time to grab some feathers and dance your way down to Northerly Island next weekend. We’ll be back after this commercial,” Val said, and we all began to dance in our seats as soca music filled the studio speakers.

  *6*

  Chris

  “DuSable Building, where is the DuSable Building?” I mumbled the words to myself as I stood in the center of the campus. The information desk must’ve given me the wrong directions because I still hadn’t caught sight of the building.

  But maybe they weren’t to blame. My frustration that led me to go there may have muddled my sense of direction. But at any rate, I was dead set on finding the building and the room that she was in.

  Looking at my watch, I realized I couldn’t afford to lose any more time, so I grabbed the attention of the first person nearing me. “Excuse me. Do you know where the DuSable Building is?”

  “Ugh, right behind you,” the young woman answered me with a perturbed look on her face before she walked away from me as if my question where absurd given my proximity to the building I was looking for.

  “Thank you.” I ignored her dismissive tone of voice
and headed towards the DuSable Building.

  After that, it didn’t take me long to find the classroom since it was on a schedule at the front door.

  I slowly pulled the door open, hoping to quickly take a seat since I heard her talking to her students, but she looked up towards the door and her words faltered as we locked eyes. A bit of shock covered her face before she looked back at the projector behind her to seemingly regain focus on what she had been saying.

  I hesitantly pulled my eyes away from her beauty and scanned the lecture hall for a seat. I was somewhat surprised to see the room was packed. Not because she wasn’t captivating with both her looks and the way she exuded confidence and commanded attention with her words, but because it was a Tuesday night class during the summer, and it was full.

  In regards to some college courses, students don’t show up to class. They rely on the notes from their friends, but clearly, people wanted to be in her class. Not because she was administering a test, but I gathered it was because she knew her stuff. Her delivery was engaging and evoking.

  I temporarily forgot the outrage that had sent me there. I found myself nodding my head a little in agreement with her dissection of a point as I squeezed past people down a row to sit in the only empty seat available at the back of the lecture hall.

  “…I’ll end it with that note on Pan-Africanism.”

  Judging from the rustling bookbags, her telling the students what chapters to read for their next class, and the eager chattering of those nearby, things were coming to an end.

  I watched her pack her messenger bag as the lecture hall emptied and she talked to the few students who had approached her. I briefly reflected on how convicted she was about the subject matter she discussed that night and how she pushed her students’ critical thinking. Was I becoming a fan of hers?

  When the room was fully empty, she made her way towards me and stopped just short of the row I endcapped.

  “Christopher.”

  “Starr.”

  “What brings you here?” she asked with indifference coating her words.

  “You.”

  “Me? How did I do that?”

  “I received a call late last night saying that my segment on Windy City Live was being canceled and didn’t know when and if they would reschedule me to come on.”

  I stared at her and thought I read a look of knowingness, but she remained quiet, so I continued. “Of course, I was flustered by the idea that I wouldn’t get to talk about my cause on a platform like theirs, but imagine my frustration when I tuned into the show this morning to see that you had stolen my spot to talk about your Carnivale.”

  She chuckled a little and the fire in me that had doused itself after listening to how dope and magnetic she was during her lecture reignited. Unfortunately, it came out in a rather harsh tone of voice. “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing funny per se, just that it’s interesting that you could be so one-track minded to think that only your issues matter.”

  “What I’m focusing on is more pressing than your party. You know I was going to talk about voter registration and even how gentrification is spearheading the black exodus from Chicago – matters that deserve around the clock and national attention. But I was shut down from talking about them on the show because of feathers and music.” I couldn’t help but sound sarcastic at that point.

  Her eyes narrowed. “So, did you watch the entire segment? Get the why the ‘feathers and music’ are so important to me?”

  “No, I didn’t get past the host saying that you worked here. I couldn’t bear to watch you talk about the party when I should’ve been on there talking about my plight.” What I refused to add to my answer was that I couldn’t keep the TV on and look at her fine self up there on set glowing, much like she was in front of me at that moment.

  “Seeing as though you came to my alderman’s office to talk to me, I thought it was fair for me to come here and talk to you about what’s really important. Why don’t you use your thought-provoking prowess for real community activism rather than putting your energy and efforts on trivial things?”

  Grinning, she shook her head at me. “Christopher, you don’t know how I use, as you say, ‘my thought-provoking prowess’. And it’s unfair and frankly rude for you to say that my efforts are trivial, especially when you don’t know the basis of them. Let me leave you with this, since you seem to be lost on the notion. As a people and given our history across the globe, we are more than capable of being passionate about and championing for more than one cause at the same time. Have a good evening, Christopher.”

  She walked out of the lecture hall and left me feeling some type of way again.

  I hated to admit that she was right about us being able to focus on more than one cause at a time, but dammit, I needed mine to rise above all others. And that wasn’t me being a narcissist or ego-trippin’, that was me being really concerned about the decline of blacks in Chicago

  .

  *7*

  Starr

  “It’s so dope that DJ Double Down just connected you with his DJ Red over at WGCI radio station. You get to go on air and promote Carnivale on his show tonight. But what I really wanna dig into is Chris coming to your class Tuesday night.” Rikia’s dark brown eyes widened with wonder.

  “Yes, that is so nice of Double Down. And yeah, girl, Chris brought his fine and pompous tail to my lecture.” I rolled my eyes. “Why does it seem like we’re most often attracted to assholes?” I said above the reggaeton as I swirled the straw in my drink and leaned into talk to Tamara.

  “Not sure about other quote, unquote ‘assholes’, but Christopher isn’t one. You’re just annoyed that he’s as passionate about his cause as you are yours,” Rikia chimed in.

  “Whatever. All I know is that he needs to keep his dismissive energy away from me.”

  “Is that the only energy he gives off?” Tamara leaned into me as she winded in her seat. She was loud and what she was hinting at was loud as well.

  “I can’t tell. The only energy he gives off is that I’m in his way.”

  “Nah, there’s more than that. Otherwise, you wouldn’t mention him being fine as often as you do, and he wouldn’t stir you the way he clearly does. When you’re turned off by a man, nothing can persuade you to look at him other than like a toad,” Rikia said and Tamara fell over laughing at her.

  Not one to hold back with my girls, I said, “Yeah, it seemed like a good, romantic energy between us when I caught him staring at me at his meeting, and when he sat in my lecture, but our face to face convos seem to overshadow the fizzle popping between us whenever we lock eyes.”

  “Ooo, girl, that’s my jam.” Tamara plopped her empty glass on the hard-top ottoman in front of us and rushed out to the dance floor to roll her plush hips to Red Rat’s “Tight Up Skirt”.

  I couldn’t lie, it was one of my favorites and had me gyrating in my seat as Rikia and I laughed at the short man trying to keep up with Tamara’s big booty bouncing to the song .

  “For real though Starr, would you give him a chance if he stepped to you like that?”

  “I would. I would be a fool not to. He’s fine.” I chuckled knowing how many times I already mentioned how gorgeous he was to me but then I got back to sharing my thoughts with Rikia. “But beyond that, he’s very smart, has a strong sense of community, motivated, and purpose-driven, but I don’t think he can handle being with someone who’s as passionate about her own goals as she would be about his. Not sure that he gets that he doesn’t have to have a follower in a woman. We both can lead and take each other’s leads as necessary.”

  “Lord, Momma Deep done came out of her bag.”

  I chuckled and sipped the last of my drink. “Whatever. Listen, we came to wine, grind, dutty wine and unwind tonight. Enough of talks of Christopher. This is my song and I’m about to get lost in it.” I winked at her and pulled on my bodycon dress as I got up from the plush bench we sat on and swayed to the song. Soon my whole bod
y was in sync with the midtempo, Skip Marley song.

  With the bass thick and heavy, the guitar strumming my mood just right, the song held me in such a trance that I bent over as my back dipped and my shoulders and hips rolled me right into a standing position and then I locked eyes with him.

  It was dark in the lounge, save the red, green, and yellow strings of light sparingly throughout the place, but still, I could see him. And clearly, he could see me because I seemed to keep his attention as much as he kept mine.

  Rather than play coy with him, since that wasn’t my style, I continued to wind to the music and crooked my pointer finger, beckoning him to come over to me.

  Apparently, he wasn’t shy either, because he forced his way through the sea of couples and singles slow winding on one another and came to stand in front of me.

  I could’ve said something at that point, ask him what he was doing there, seeing as though I was a regular at the place and had never seen him there before, but I decided to just let the music talk for us.

  Skip Marley and H.E.R.’s “Slow Down”, acoustic version of the song filled the place.

  The title of the song alone was necessary for him to hear. With his arms stiff at his sides, the tension I felt in his body was enough for me to play the teacher role and treat him like he was in need of a lesson.

  “Relax,” I leaned in and whispered in his ear as I gripped his wrists. I felt him shudder and appreciated the fact that I hadn’t imagined that I was affecting him. Still winding and swaying to the music, I stared deeper and deeper into his eyes until I spun and helped to guide his hands to my waist.

  Another slow winding song started that I absolutely loved to dance to. I continued to dutty wine on him and could tell he had relaxed and was giving into the experience between us since he was somewhat moving and was keeping a firm grip on my waist, keeping my butt in close contact with him.