ONE BODY TWO SOULS

T

he next morning I

woke up feeling absolutely great and excited, no more exhales, no more nightmares, not even sighs except a deep breath.

I could perceive the lovely smell of sweet pan cakes and chicken stew, I could feel the organisms in my stomach itching for some of the meal as I jumped off the bed, ran down the staircase and found mum who was seated on the couch and watching some news on the television, Brooklyn Broadcasting Station (B.B.S) to be precise. However, I wasn’t ready for that. I headed right for the Kitchen and grabbed a dish from the wooden shelf and got myself a meal, then I headed for the sitting room where mama was seating.

As I sat, starring at the screen, the next news that appeared was about the death of Christopher .M.Jackson, the guy who took dancing in Brooklyn to the next stage, an urban legend, but now the late Black Jackson. Victoria Fox, a popular white American news analyst in Brooklyn shed more lights about his death and the F.B.I investigations so far regarding the death of the great dance icon.

‘Latest forensic analysis proves that the late dance icon, Christopher Miles Jackson, was not just shot in the forehead by a closed ranged pistol, but was also strangled with lines of tightly tied ropes on his neck. As a result, he had bruises in some part of his body, including a bruced and swollen face and the loss of some parts of his teeth; three missing molars to be precise’ said Victoria Fox, ‘two from his right lower jaw and one from the upper left side of his jaw.’ ‘What surprises the citizens of Brooklyn is that no one has yet been arrested in connection with the murder of this dance icon,’ concluded Victoria Fox.

‘Right here standing next to me is F.B.I Agent Jessica Strauss... what do you have to say regarding the sad death of Christopher Jackson whom many young ones now view as a dance god?’ asked Victoria Fox.

Jessica Strauss speaks back in front of live T.V. saying , ‘Well, the F.B.I along with the New York Police Department is working earnestly to see that the criminals who committed this murder are brought to justice.’

‘Thank you very much,’ replied Victoria Fox as she switches attention to Sheriff Collins Woodgate of the N.Y.P.D. ‘What do you have to say about the death of  the urban legend, Christopher Miles Jackson?’ asked Victoria Fox.

The sheriff replied with so much enthusiasm and confidence saying, ‘Definitely no one is above the law, we will find this damn criminals and put them behind bars, and inside the cages is where such humans belong. And if you have got any information or whatsoever that can help us regarding this case, please contact the New York Police Department,’ putting his left hand into the pocket of his trousers, he made a blunt smiles and walks away.

Victoria Fox also tried interviewing another FBI agent, Mr. Carlton, but he made it clear that he wasn’t ready to say a thing until the murderers had been caught. Concluding the news,  the news reporter said ‘This is Victoria Fox reporting from Brooklyn Broadcasting Station,’ she said.  As the news ended, Mum dropped the remote on the couch and turned her attention to me in a very unpleasant manner, saying ‘You know what, Melina I don’t wonna see you go anywhere near that lighthouse.’

‘You know that ain’t gonna happen mama,’ I replied. ‘You don’t tell me what is gonna happen, I decide what’s gonna happen, I decide what’s gonna happen in this house,’ said mama, as she raises her voice higher at me.

I stood up from the couch at once, but mama really would not stop yelling. ‘I don’t know what is wrong with you Melina, but I work two damn shits just to give you the best positive life  there is and now you’re  gonna throw me away cause you wonna be a dancer, what do you want from me girl? ‘I wonna know who my father is, I replied. ‘What? Astounded mother, as I continued in a firm voice, ‘I wonna know who my real daddy is Taylor.’

Silence gripped the air, as the hot arguing noise went off into a hush, tears rolled down from mama’s eyes. I had never seen her in such a state of emotional turmoil for quite a long time, I could see so much frustration in her eyes and it seemed as if she was trying to flush out all her pains through her tears. Nevertheless, I also noticed something else apart from the fact that she was hiding the identity of my father; she was also hiding something else, a pain unrevealed yet, but gradually cutting deep through her. For so many years, I wondered who my real father was. At a point, I thought the Black Jackson was my biological dad, since he and the white Reverend Father St. Anthony and most lately the big white Mr. Hudson were the only three men in all of Arlington Avenue who ever referred to me as their daughter.

The Black Jackson would always come to our house with gifts and flowers for mama and me, sometimes he even had to pay the rents of the apartment and I could remember twice when he had to pay for my school fees. Though I have always had a great love and fondness for dancing, but the Black Jackson thought me my first dance moves and he remains a great motivator for many young dancers like myself in Brooklyn, he made me believe in myself.

Mum walked out on me and could no longer withstand staring at the huge pile of disappointment she called her child, ‘tough headed girl.’ I said to myself, ‘yeah, but I felt no sorrow for her, she never understood my feelings, sometimes my schoolmates mocked me and twice I had been called a bastard by good for nothing haters. But despite all my many tears and pleads, mum always cared less, she just expects you to deal with it like a tough queen, like it never matter.’ No wonder she is so tough herself, all hail Brooklyn’s queen pin, but I ain’t   gonna stop doing my thing on the dance floor and that’s where Melina’s toughness persists. Dancing is my dream, dancing ain’t just my first love, it defines me, it defines who I am and what I stand for, dancing is me. Moreover, I really am determined never to stop dancing no matter the cost.

I dropped the dish on the washbasin and headed for the bathroom as the whole team was awaiting me at the XA for our dance rehearsal, in preparation for the lighthouse show down against the Phoenix.

I stepped out of my mama’s house and caught sight of old Pa Williams, a long time neighbor, as he was reading the Brooklyn Times Newspaper, and boldly inscribed on the front page was caption ‘The Black Jackson, Shut, Tortured and Murdered.’

I took one last stare at the dance god of Brooklyn, a man whom for some time I thought was my biological father, ‘if only I had him for a father’ I said to myself, ‘damn it, I ain’t got any idea what’s wrong with my mama, she doesn’t even know who my real father is, was she that freaking loose.’ I said to myself in more anger, but really could not stop thinking about who my real Father could be.

While I was thinking about my father, and who he might probably be, I felt a sudden touch on my right shoulder. It was Lloyd Jackson, son of the legendary Black Jackson. ‘You startled me,’ I said to him.  ‘Yeah, I see you’ve been carried away by that, referring to the caption of the news paper with the old Pa William,  hey I just appreciate what you and your mama have been doing for me and my mum, ever since the death of my Father,  she still came over last night bringing some goodies.’ He said. ‘Ha! Ha!’ we laughed.I grabbed Lloyd close to me with a hug and kissed him on his forehead, ‘You know what L1oyd?’ I said to him, ‘What?’ he replied, ‘you are still my adopted cousin,’ I said to him with a huge rocky smile.