The Meltdown

by L. Divine

  “Here comes the bride,” Mama says from the audience. Netta and Mr. Adewale are also present, seated on either side of my grandmother. Not another dream where I’m getting married. And much like my last nuptial escapade, in which I was a young mother marrying Rah, this one is sure to end in disaster.

  “Pray to our mother, Oshune, that she’s always by your side,” Netta says, gently blowing the air in front of her, dissipating the rest of the ivory haze around me. “Pray for her continued love and protection.”

  A silent Mr. Adewale begins pounding the ancient drum in his lap while Mama and Netta join in with songs to the orisha. Their melodic voices put me into a trance, and I sing along in the ancient tongue. I don’t know what the words mean, but I can certainly feel their power.

  “It’s time,” Mama says, now onstage behind me. She lifts the veil covering my face and urges me to walk forward. Mr. A’s drumming grows more intense and Netta’s singing louder with each beat. I reach the edge of the stage where I notice a thin gap between the audiences’ seats and the stage steps. At the bottom of the long, narrow fall is the ocean crashing violently against the shore.

  “I’ve got you, girl,” Netta says, standing in front of her seat with her arms extended toward me. Oh, hell no. Dream or not, this is by far the craziest thing they’ve ever asked me to do.

  “It’s okay, baby,” Mama says into my left ear, gently pushing me to keep going despite the looming danger below. She touches the five jade bracelets on my left arm, causing tiny bumps to form from the cool material against my skin. “Have faith that you will make it and you will.” This isn’t the Matrix and I’m not Neo. If I fall, I already know I’m not bouncing back up.

  “Trust in your mothers, Jayd. We’ve always got your back, even when you don’t know it.” I look into Netta’s eyes, and she smiles wide, stretching her arms out even farther. Mama touches the top of my shoulders, singing softly to the drumbeat taking over the vast theater. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and jump.

  “Mama!” I yell, waking out of my sleep drenched in sweat. Some of the salty liquid escapes through my fingers as I wipe my forehead. The perspiration trickles down to my lips, tasting like seawater. If I taste ocean water, then I must’ve landed in the sea and not into Netta’s arms. What does that mean? Damn, that was a strange dream and I would know.

  “Did the alarm go off?” Jeremy asks, rubbing his eyes open. I know he’ll be glad when we don’t have to wake up early for school anymore. However, if he continues spending the night at my mom’s place, my crazy dreams will sometimes wake him up without warning.

  “Not yet,” I say, kicking the thin sheet off my body.

  Jeremy looks at his cell on the floor next to his pillow and checks the time. I can tell by the darkness in the room that it’s too early for most sane people to be up.

  “Another bad dream?” Jeremy asks. I love that we’re in sync. He touches my thigh, noticing the moist coating on my skin. “Damn, baby. Are you okay?”

  “Yes, Jeremy. I’m fine,” I say, rising from our self-made cot on the floor of my mother’s apartment to dry off. “It’s all a part of it.”

  Jeremy rises from his side and follows me toward the bathroom. “Isn’t there something you can do to make them more pleasant?”

  That’s actually not a bad idea, but I don’t think my gift of sight works like that. I take my towel off the rack on the wall and pat myself dry.

  “I wish there were,” I say, putting the towel back in its place and returning to the pile of blankets we use as a bed. The small couch can sleep only one. Jeremy joins me in the still room, readjusting himself to hold me in his arms.

  “Baby, I’ve been dreaming like this all my life. I’m used to it,” I say, only telling half the truth. Sometimes they scare the hell out of me, too.

  “I don’t see how you can ever get used to waking up from a dream screaming on a regular basis.”

  I grab Jeremy’s forearms and tighten his grip around my waist, reassuring him that everything’s okay. Jeremy’s more shaken up than I am, and he didn’t even have to risk his life.

  “I promise it’s not as bad as it seems.” I stroke Jeremy’s hands, feeling his breathing relax as we calm down. Before I can fully fall back to sleep, Jeremy turns me around and kisses my forehead. Face-to-face, he kisses me softly on the lips, bringing me back to life.

  “I feel helpless when I see you uncomfortable,” Jeremy says in between kisses.

  How do I convey to him that his fear’s unwarranted. “You shouldn’t, baby,” I say, taking over the early morning make-out session with a few kisses of my own. “Your presence alone makes me feel safe.”

  Jeremy kisses me passionately—damn sleeping. As far as we’re concerned, this day has officially begun, and I for one am glad it’s starting on the right foot. I can’t predict how the rest of the school day will go, but if I can remember this feeling, nothing should be able to get under my skin.

  No matter how different our cliques, hairstyles, and cultures may be, it’s safe to say every student at South Bay High is glad the last two weeks of school are finally here. This year has been a whirlwind, and I’m ready to slow down for the next three months. I joined the summer reading circle for AP English, which includes studying for the SATs. That’s all the schoolwork I have to do until the fall. It may take me a while to catch up to my privileged counterparts who’ve been groomed for all standardized tests from the womb, but I’m holding my own.

  My mom and Mama agreeing that I need to get back on my spiritual game is enough for me to devote more time to my studies. They rarely agree on anything. And with my dreams and sight more off the chain than usual, I’m fully aware that I need to get on my spiritual p’s & q’s—not now, but right now. However, I have to make it through the rest of this short Tuesday before I can focus on anything else. I’m enjoying my part as the lead in the spring play and all the perks thereof, but it’s a lot of work.

  “Line,” I say to my freshman understudy, Brenda, who is offstage. Laura, the Associated Student Body’s queen bitch, was initially offered the spot but refused to work underneath me—her words, not mine. Brenda looks up from her script, irritated with my constant intrusion of her seeing how long she can stretch her Juicy Fruit gum before it snaps.

  “Jayd, haven’t you memorized the script yet?” Mrs. Sinclair asks, aggravated at my constant requests for help. I look to Brenda for my line, but she’s lost her place. Some understudy she’s turned out to be.

  “Yes. I just got a little confused for a moment.” My body may be in fifth-period drama class, but my mind is elsewhere. I’ve been thinking about Jeremy all day long. I’d rather be at the beach with him hugged up on a blanket than in this stuffy, dark room with Mrs. Sinclair on my ass any day.

  “The star’s confused. Fabulous. Just fabulous,” Mrs. Sinclair says, taking a pencil out of her bushy red ponytail and tapping the clipboard on her lap. “Opening night is creeping upon us, and the star’s confused.” Mrs. Sinclair dramatically waves her hands around in the air. Maybe I am off my game a little bit, but it’s not that serious. Mrs. Sinclair has never been so hard on me before.

  The afternoon school announcements blare through the speakers, interrupting Mrs. Sinclair’s rant. Usually I’m as annoyed by the rude interruption as our teacher visibly is, but I’m actually grateful for the save this afternoon. Reid’s so annoying. Hopefully next year he’ll be voted out of office as ASB president.

  “It’s okay, Jayd. She’s always hardest on the star,” Alia says, patting my shoulder. She’s on point with her lines and stage cues and has the good fortune of having a competent alternate. How did I get all mixed up? Alia’s attention is diverted to the door opening across the room. Nigel and Chance walk in from the main theater and smile our way. Alia’s eyes brighten every time she sees Chance.

  Every day there’s something different about the new Chance. First it was his name, then his teeth and wardrobe. Today Chance has three wooden strings of rosary beads h
anging around his neck. Unless something else has changed, I know he’s not Catholic, so what’s that all about?

  “My ladies,” Chance says, joining Alia and me in the center of the classroom. He hugs Alia, making her day even sweeter, and then me.

  “What up, my peoples?” Nigel says, quickly hugging me and nodding to Alia. Reid can go on for ten minutes if the front office lets him. We might as well join Nigel and sit down.

  “What’s up with the beads?” I ask Chance, gently touching the largest crucifix out of respect. Mama wears a rosary sometimes with her elekes—beads for the orishas—in honor of our ancestors who hid voodoo behind Catholicism so that it could survive. She also says that even though Jesus may not be our ancestor, he’s somebody’s and should be honored as such.

  “Everyone’s wearing them in Hotlanta, shawty. Want me to get you one?” Chance asks, fingering the trio like it’s platinum.

  “Nah, I’m good. I’ve got all the bling I need right here,” I say, stretching my arms out in front of me and shaking my wrists, allowing my bracelets to clink. My friends smile, but our teacher doesn’t find me amusing at all.

  “Jayd, what the hell is that noise?” Mrs. Sinclair asks over the speaker, eyeing my jade bracelets from her seat in front of the stage.

  “My bracelets?” I ask, touching the ancient jewelry. “I’ve always had these on.” I don’t know which is more annoying: Reid’s pompous ass or Mrs. Sinclair’s other personality creeping out.

  “You need to remove those cowbells at once. They’re very distracting. Everyone, take five and be back on the set ready to impress me—no clinking allowed,” she says, rolling her eyes. I guess she’s had it with me.

  “Mrs. Sinclair can be brutal when she wants to be,” Chance says, feeling my pain.

  “Damn, she didn’t have to call you out like that,” Nigel says, leading the way outside. It’s a clear, hot day in Redondo Beach. Even the birds are chilling on the bus bench across the street, enjoying the warm sea breeze. The sun’s shining brightly in the blue sky, again making me wish I were at the beach with Jeremy and his crew instead of stuck inside rehearsing. I asked for the lead role and got it, so I guess I shouldn’t complain no matter how miserable I am.

  “Ah, don’t take it personally, Jayd. She always gets like that before opening night. You know that,” Chance says, stepping off the sidewalk and out to the corner to light a cigarette. I noticed he changed from Marlboros to Newports. My uncles smoke Newports, and most of the white kids I know who smoke puff on Marlboros. I guess even Chance’s choice of poison has to reflect his newfound blackness.

  “Yeah, but I’ve never been in the lead before. I don’t know what the hell I’ve gotten myself into,” I say, gently fingering the five green bracelets dangling from my left arm. The bell sound the fragile jewelry makes is pleasant to my ears, but I know it can be loud, especially in a quiet room.

  “You all right, Jayd? Usually this shit doesn’t bother you so much,” Chance says, noticing the concerned look on my face. I look up at Nigel standing over me and know he feels there’s more behind what I’m saying.

  “Yeah. I’ve just got a lot going on.” And if I take these bracelets off, I have a feeling it’s only going to get worse. Maybe I can keep them in my pocket or something. As long as they’re on my body, I should be all right.

  “Tell me about it,” Chance says, tossing the lit butt into the gutter and rejoining us in front of our classroom. The rest of the students are inside enjoying the buffet the drama booster moms spread out for us during every production, and it’s not your typical coffee and doughnuts. There’s shrimp cocktail, several types of bread and butter, pasta, a large salad, and a fruit tray for the vegetarian cast and crew members. I wish I had some ziplock bags on me, because I would surely take some food to go. I haven’t been grocery shopping in a week, and the little bit my mom provided is just about gone.

  “What’s up with you, girl?” Nigel asks, rubbing my shoulders hard like he used to do back in the day when Rah, Nigel, and I were inseparable. I miss junior high. There was still plenty of bull to deal with but nothing like we have in high school. I hope college takes it down a notch, because a sistah is tired of all the heat. The whole reason I’m overextending myself with all of my newfound extracurricular activities is to make my college applications well rounded. It had better be worth it in the end.

  “Nothing new,” I say, enjoying the massage. But something in Chance’s pretty blue eyes tells me he’s the one who needs to talk. “What’s up with you, Chase?” I ask, finally remembering to respect my friend’s wishes to be referred to by his birth name. I think “Chance” is more fitting, but it’s not my choice to make.

  “Shit, as usual,” Chance says, shrugging his shoulders. “My dad’s tripping hard because I’m proud of my black heritage, man. He thinks I’m rubbing it in his face, but I’m just being me—you know what I’m saying?”

  Nigel and I look at Chance like the stranger he’s becoming. I want to tell him he can’t become black overnight, but he’s trying his hardest to disprove that theory. I’m all for honoring our ancestors, but Chance has been a rich white boy from Palos Verdes for seventeen years. He can’t become a brotha from the hood in a day no matter what he wears.

  “How’s your mom coping?” I ask, truly concerned about Mrs. Carmichael. Chance is her baby no matter whose body he actually came out of. I know she must be hitting the liquor cabinet hard these days.

  “She’s not,” Chance says, and I know what that means. Escaping reality always seems easier when it’s too much to bear. Chance actually looks concerned for a moment, but it doesn’t last long.

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Chase,” I say, almost too relaxed from the massage to make the words audible. “Please be easy on her. She loves you, and y’all are so close. I’d hate to see that relationship ruined.” Nigel’s hands move from my shoulders up to my neck, damn near putting me to sleep. Whatever problems I had before are melting away.

  I hope Mickey enjoys her man’s kindness. When Rah and I were together, he never minded Nigel and I being close, because he knew it’s a brother / sister thing with us. I’ve never been attracted to Nigel, and I don’t think he’s ever felt that way about me, either. But Mickey wouldn’t be nearly as understanding if she saw us now. Luckily she’s at home for a couple of more weeks healing from having the baby. Hopefully she’ll be back for the last day of school. It won’t be the same if the crew’s incomplete.

  “Whatever, man. I’m not worried about Lindsay and David right now,” Chance says, calling his parents by their first names like they’re strangers. “I’ve got to get my own shit together, especially since the first seventeen years of my life have been a lie. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.” Chance can’t be serious. He’s taking this adoption thing really hard. If I’d never dreamed about his birth parents, none of this would be happening, at least not now. Sometimes I feel like my dreams are more of a curse than a blessing, but I know better. The truth had to come out one way or another. I just wish my friend was handling it better.

  “Did you just call your mom and dad by their first names?” Nigel asks, feeling my shock. If either of us tried that with our parents in a serious tone, we’d both be picking our faces up off the floor from having the sense slapped out of us.

  “They’re not my parents,” Chance says. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was about to break down and cry. “My mom’s name is Sylvia, and my dad’s name is Bret.”

  “Wow,” I say, unable to think of a proper response. What can I say? Chance has to process this new identity his way, and as his friend, I have to support him, even if I think he’s going about it the wrong way.

  “Your five minutes are up, people,” Mrs. Sinclair says, interrupting our powwow. She’s holding a large cup of coffee in one hand and her clipboard with the script in the other, ready to get back to business. Maybe if Mrs. Sinclair drank less coffee, she wouldn’t be such a spaz.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Chan
ce says, trying to make his favorite teacher laugh, which she does slightly.

  But it’s back to basics when she looks at me. Something about her eyes is a little off, and it’s not the excessive caffeine. The three of us head back into the room, ready to finish our final scene for the day. There’s no cheer practice after school for me today, because I have an optometrist appointment. Then it’s me time since Jeremy has a family dinner tonight: I’m sure as hell not attending another one of those.

  “And, Jayd, those bracelets have to go,” Mrs. Sinclair says to me as I pass her petite frame by the door. “This isn’t a night at the Apollo,” she says, insulting the black in me. If I could slap her, I would, but I’ll maintain my cool—for now. If she continues to push me, I’ll eventually have to push back, and I guarantee she won’t like the results.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Nigel asks, equally offended by the off-color comment.

  Chance looks at us both, completely baffled. See what I mean about not turning black overnight? It’s a lifetime of experiences, not just a change in cigarette choices and attire that makes us who we are.

  “It means that this is a professional production, and all cast members are required to get into full character,” Mrs. Sinclair says, defending her comment. She looks up at Nigel’s tall stature and softens her stance a bit. She’s never had to deal with another black student before, and I’m grateful for the support. “Suzy doesn’t wear loud bangles, and as Suzy, you need to lose the noise, Jayd.”

  “Okay, I get it,” I say, removing the jade bracelets one by one and sliding them into my jean pocket. Mama said I should never take them off, because they provide protection; this has to be a decent compromise. Patting the five delicate bracelets through my pants, I suddenly feel uncomfortable with my decision. There’s physical contact in this scene, and they could easily break—then I’d really be in trouble. My purse might be a safer option to store them for the time being.