She stopped walking and spun around to face me with fire shooting from her eyes. “Destiny, you’re the one who said you needed to relax and clear your mind. That’s what we’re going to do, so stop putting the place down.” Just as quickly as she faced me she turned and stalked across the street.
“Well, I tell you I’m suspicious of Jacob and Justine, and you bring me here to get mugged? I can see how this is what I need,” I stated sarcastically, smacking my teeth like I used to as a little girl, while continuing to follow her. Our heels clacking against the gritty pavement only reiterated my discomfort with the dingy, broken down venue.
There were probably fifty cars in the parking lot and a few parked alongside the road. The streets were dark, except for one dim lamppost. Jacob’s security detail was nowhere in sight, which meant I successfully ditched them on the drive to Tasha’s house earlier. I had intentionally zigzagged through traffic and made sudden turns to lose them. Thankfully, it worked. I needed a breather from Jacob’s protective watch.
“I’m getting tired of your bitching, Destiny!” Tasha said, bringing my attention back to her. “You need to come down a notch. You may live in The Hills with Jacob now and have forgotten where you came from, but I haven’t forgot your lil’ snotty nose trotting around following me everywhere I went on Benson Ave. So please, miss me with that highfalutin mess. It won’t work with me, because I know you,” she said as she slowed down to walk by my side.
“Where I live has nothing to do with this bummy place, Tasha. I’m just saying, why did we have to come here?” I hopped over a puddle of water in the walkway…well, at least I hoped it was water. It could’ve been—hell, no. I just hoped it was water. “Really Tasha?”
“Wait until I tell Moneefa that you act like you haven’t seen a water puddle before. I remember when we used to pray for rain so we could play in it, and in the water puddles. Now you’re too bougie to step over a puddle,” Tasha said as we reached the door where a big, burly man started running a metal detector over her purse.
“I am not bougie!” I said, as the man took his wand and started waving it over my bag. I snatched my purse from his reach, and he humped his shoulders. “This is just a sleazy place,” I added.
“Hold up lady. I have to pat you down, too,” Mr. Burly said, and I was one hundred percent sure he was harassing me as retribution for my harsh words about the death trap of a building he guarded.
After nearly every orifice of my body was touched by a man I didn’t care to ever see again, I walked into the smoky club with my stomach churning with revolt over the dank mixed with cigarette smoke that filled the air. Women barely had clothes on and dread heads were everywhere, including posted up against the walls.
“This is your idea of what I need right now?” I mumbled loud enough for Tasha to hear as I stomped behind her like a petulant child. “I’m starting to think you don’t know me that well, Tasha.”
Tasha stared at me with a dead look. She pursed her lips together as if she were willing herself not to respond. Just like she knew me well, I knew Tasha. She was ready to strike with venom.
“We’re not going to be out here, Destiny,” she finally said. “I’m taking your uptight ass to the poetry lounge in the back, but if you keep bitching and moaning about it, I’ll take you back to my house, so you can get your car and go home. I’m tired of hearing about it.”
“Whatever.” I looked around at the collard green colored walls that had more paint chipping away than remained.
Maybe I am acting a little bougie. Maybe I have forgotten where I came from.
Those thoughts made me pull about ten stairs quietly behind my bestie cousin who never led me astray before. I was met by an entirely different vibe once we entered the poetry lounge. A lady with a long, curly afro stood at the mic in front of a vibrant crowd in a rustic, culturally decorated small room. Everyone was laughing, talking, sipping drinks and enjoying the vibe.
“Oh damn, help me welcome back one of Miami’s finest adopted poets, Poetically Tash!” the emcee shouted in our direction and the crowd roared with applause and whistles. Tasha halted to blow the emcee a kiss. “We need her to grace the mic tonight, so y’all gotta do a little better than that,” she said and the crowd roared with cheers and clapped even louder.
Well, I’ll be damned.
Tasha didn’t tell me she was a spoken word artist. There’s a lot of mystery about my favorite cousin. When I figured my own life out, I planned to take the time to spend more time with Tasha, peeling back her layers. Maybe even find out why she had no trace of a man.
We found a table in the center of the room and sat down, after purchasing much-needed relaxation in a glass. I ordered a margarita, and Tasha ordered a mojito.
“So, you come here a lot?” I asked as we got comfortable in our seats. My interest raised, wanting to know more about the type of woman my first female role model that was close to my age had grown into.
“Yeah, I do actually.”
The people in that room knew and loved her. She nodded in the direction of a man sitting across the room waving at her. A girl stopped by our table wearing a dashiki shirt, fitted jeans and African designer shoes and hugged Tasha’s neck. They briefly caught up and the colorfully dressed woman left our table.
“I didn’t know you were into the spoken word,” I said.
“Yeah, and stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like me spitting poetry is something insane. I like writing and getting shit off my chest. This is a good outlet for both,” Tasha said.
“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it. I’m just astounded by the fact that you are into the arts like that,” I said, taking another sip from my glass.
“Whoa, little cuzzo is astounded…”
“Yes, I am,” I giggled, “…and I’m even more ecstatic that I’ll get to see you perform tonight. In that case, I thank you for bringing me here, and I take back every other thing I said about this…place,” I said. For the first time, I felt good about being at that club.
“Uh, not going to happen. I brought you here so you can listen to some of the other uplifting, righteous poets in Miami. I’m not gracing the mic though,” she said, shaking her head as if to shake the thought far away from her.