Dance Into Destiny

by Sherri L. Lewis

Genres: African American; African American Christian

Synopsis

An unlikely friendship between a purposeless socialite and a purpose-driven church mouse leads them on a passionate pursuit of God's destiny and balance for their lives.?Keeva Banks is in danger of flunking out of grad school – again. She can't seem to get it together because, honestly, she doesn't really know why she's in school. She's desperately in need of a sense of purpose to give meaning to her life. Shara Anderson has that sense of purpose through her intimate relationship with the Lord, but needs some balance in her Christian walk. Through divine orchestration, the two women meet, and their lives are forever changed.?Dance Into Destiny is a story of friendship, love, and overcoming issues from the past.  It illustrates how pursuing an intimate relationship with the Lord is the key to reaching one's true potential and fulfilling one's God-ordained destiny and purpose.

Release date: February 1, 2010

Publisher: Urban Christian

Print pages: 448

Sample

“Quite honestly, Ms. Banks, if you’re not able to bring your course grades up to a B average by the end of the semester, I’m afraid you’re going to have to withdraw from the Master’s program.”

Keeva Banks stared at her counselor, watching her cheap, red lipstick bleed into the fine wrinkle lines around her lips. It was almost as if she were mesmerized by the words coming out of her mouth.

She wasn’t.

She knew this was coming. Had been expecting it. Even still, hearing it out loud . . .

Keeva grabbed a lock of hair and twisted it around her finger.

Ms. Parker pulled a green file folder from her desk with Keeva’s name printed on the front and began flipping through the papers in it. “I’ve received progress reports from each of your professors and I have to tell you, things don’t look good.” In a droning monotone voice, Ms. Parker delineated Keeva’s impending failure.

Keeva felt her heart beat faster and her chest got tight. She tried to inconspicuously take a few deep breaths. Her therapist had taught her to practice relaxation techniques when she got emotionally overwhelmed. Keeva tuned out Ms. Parker’s voice and fastened her eyes on her clothes. She had to focus on something—anything—to make it through this meeting without falling apart.

Ms. Parker’s blouse was made of some cheapy, chintzy fabric with wide, horizontal brown and beige stripes. How could she have thought it matched the completely different shade of brown of her shapeless skirt? And didn’t she know someone with her figure, or lack thereof, should never wear horizontal stripes? Not to mention that her skin was too sallow to wear brown anyway. Keeva tried to imagine her in a fitted pantsuit in maybe a nice peach color with makeup that actually matched her skin color. She shook her head. Even with a makeover, Ms. Parker was one of those women who just couldn’t look much better.

Keeva glanced down at her own Donna Karan pantsuit. The rich, burgundy color accented her cocoa brown skin perfectly and the suit seemed cut to fit her petite, curvy figure. She had dressed carefully that morning, knowing she’d need to look good in light of the news she was about to receive.

She made her eyes go back to Ms. Parker’s face, not wanting to appear rude.

“From what I understand, so far this semester you’ve made, at best, C’s on your exams and you still haven’t completed the project for your Research Methods class.”

Ms. Parker paused as if waiting for Keeva to speak.

No way could she answer without her voice shaking. Or worse still, her bursting into tears. She nodded slowly, hoping that would be a sufficient response.

Ms. Parker’s closet of an office seemed to be shrinking. And did they have the heat turned up in this part of the building? Keeva pressed her hand down on her knee to stop her leg from bouncing. She rubbed her sweaty palms on her pantsuit.

“I have to ask, Ms. Banks, do you really want this degree?”

What difference does it make what I want? Keeva sat up straight and pasted on a camera-pleasing smile. “Of course I want this degree. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” She hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt.

For the first time, and only for a minute, she thought about it. Did she want a master’s in professional counseling?

How could she help anyone when she didn’t have the answers? Keeva imagined herself counseling people, passing them tissue when they cried, patting their arms and giving them understanding looks in that annoying, empathetic way; bandaging them up to send them back into life to be bruised all over again. What was the point? Would she ever really change anyone’s life?

Ms. Parker stood, came around to the front of her desk and leaned against it.

Keeva watched her hips spread out wide across the wooden edge. She sat back a little. Oh dear. Here comes the heart to heart.

“Ms. Banks, is there something going on that you need to talk about? A problem affecting your academic performance?”

Keeva mustered her last bit of emotional stability to paste on another smile. “No, Ms. Parker. Everything’s fine. Thank you for your concern, though.”

And that was the worst part about it. There was nothing she could blame this on. She was healthy, all her needs were met; she had supportive parents, plenty of friends and a wonderful boyfriend.

Her life was . . . perfect.

All she had to do was get this stupid degree, start her career, get married, have 2.5 children, buy a Volvo and a home in an exclusive neighborhood and live out the rest of her years in Suburban Utopia.

What more could she ask for?

She reached down to pick up her Coach briefcase and stood. She had to get out of the office before she erupted. “I really appreciate you taking the time to speak with me.”

That much was true. The last graduate program she flunked out of just sent a “warning” letter in the mail. It pretty much said get it together or else. Else had landed her here at Georgia State University.

Keeva flipped her shoulder-length hair and smoothed out her suit. “I assure you I’ll do everything I can to pull it together. Things will be better by the end of the semester.”

At least I hope.

Midtown Atlanta was a blur as Keeva drove to her apartment building. She couldn’t wait to get to the haven she had created for herself. She loved her one-bedroom loft. The airy openness of it gave her room to breathe. The large floor-to-ceiling windows let in abundant sunlight that kept her numerous plants flourishing. The designer yellow paint gave the room a happy feeling and was further brightened by the red, leather couch and large modern art pieces on the exposed brick walls. Her place had an interior design magazine, art-deco feel to it.

Keeva winced as she imagined losing her apartment. She’d been there since her senior year at Spelman College. She and her boyfriend, Mark, then a senior at Morehouse, had picked it out together for her. If she flunked out again, her parents would withdraw their financial support and her penthouse loft, luxury car, and generous allowance would all be gone. There was no way her dad would call in another favor to get her into another graduate program.

Keeva dropped her briefcase off at the dining room table, ignoring the books begging to be read. She had to study, but needed to get rid of the heaviness that had been riding her since she stepped into Ms. Parker’s office.

Keeva went to her bedroom and exchanged her pantsuit for some comfortable leggings and a T-shirt, and walked barefoot back into the living room. She pushed the furniture towards the kitchen, careful not to scratch her hardwood floors. They had been a must when she was looking for an apartment. Even though she had given up hope of a professional dancing career, she still loved to dance.

She flicked on the stereo and pushed the “skip disc” button until she got to her African drumming CD. The pulsing tribal rhythms connected with something deep within her.

Keeva inhaled slowly, breathing the music into her body. She began to sway back and forth until the music got into her feet, her body, and her soul. She moved around the room, slowly at first. Her movements grew bigger and stronger as she allowed herself to become enraptured in the music. As she leaped and twirled, the tension streamed out of every pore of her body. She danced herself into a frenzy until she reached a climatic point of release, and then lay in the middle of the floor.

She missed dancing.

Her mother enrolled her in her first dance class at the age of six so she could develop grace and good posture. Her father took her to see the Alvin Ailey dance troupe when she was ten. After that, all she dreamed of was being a professional dancer. She planned to audition for the troupe when she was seventeen, but her mother refused to let her. Neither of her parents thought a dance career was appropriate for Keeva. They thought she needed a professional career to support herself, and that she could dance in her spare time, as a hobby. After they canceled her audition, dancing became bittersweet for Keeva and she quit taking classes.

Keeva jumped when the phone rang. She stretched back out and stared at the ceiling. The hardwood floor felt cold against her hot, sweaty skin.

The answering machine beeped. “Keeva, this is Shara Anderson from your foundations class. I know you’re probably bogged down with studying for your other classes, but we need to get this project started soon. Please give me a call when you get a chance so we can set up a time to meet.”

Keeva rolled her eyes. In the midst of her midterm exams, her stupid professor assigned a research project. He randomly grouped the class into teams of two and she ended up with Shara. Why was she calling her now? The project wasn’t due until the end of the semester.

Keeva didn’t know Shara too well. The most notable thing about her was how plain Jane she was. Her hair was always pulled back in a ponytail and she wore no earrings, no makeup, no nothing. She had a pretty face and would probably be nice looking if she fixed herself up a little. If she didn’t wear jeans everyday, Keeva would think she was one of those fanatical religious people who thought it was a sin to wear pants or look good. Like God would send someone to hell over a tube of lipstick and a pair of earrings. Shara definitely wasn’t the kind of person Keeva associated with and she wasn’t looking forward to the project.

She looked over at the clock. Mark would be dropping by in less than an hour to check on her. Keeva pulled the furniture back into place, then grabbed a quick shower. As she put on her makeup, she had to laugh at her new hair color. By some strange reasoning, probably a television commercial she had seen, she thought all she needed to fix her life was to spice up her hair color. She pulled her thick, brown hair, now with auburn highlights, up on top of her head and fastened it with a tortoise-shell clip. Mark liked her hair up.

As she poured a generous glass of wine, the buzzer rang, indicating that Mark was downstairs. A few minutes later, she heard him fumbling with his keys and went to open the door.

He pulled her into his arms. “Hey, how’s my Princess?”

Somehow Mark had adopted her father’s nickname for her. It was really a private joke between her and her dad. When she was growing up, he always thought Keeva’s mother was too hard on her and wanted her to be perfect, like a little princess. He thought she should get to enjoy herself more and not worry about what fork to use or how to enunciate perfect English.

Keeva inhaled the strong, masculine scent of Mark’s cologne and snuggled into his chest. “Fine, now. Do you want to come in or are we going to stand in the doorway all night?”

He kissed her on the nose. “You look beautiful as always. I love your hair like that.”

She beamed at his compliment.

Mark took her glass so she could twist the lock on the door he could never seem to work. He took a sip and frowned. “Wine? I thought you were studying.”

“I’m through for the evening. I was relaxing until you got here.”

“You know I don’t like it when you drink wine. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

Keeva clenched her teeth and turned to walk toward the couch.

He followed her. “All you had to do was wait until I got here. I know how to relax you.”

She closed her eyes. Oh, no—not tonight. She searched her mind for excuses but couldn’t think of anything. She took a deep breath and turned towards him, making herself smile. Demurely, she asked, “Really? How?”

“Come here, I’ll show you.”

Mark kissed her for what seemed like an hour. She knew him well enough to know what was next and wished she hadn’t said she was finished studying. She slowly pulled herself away. She dodged his searching lips every time he tried to reengage her in another kiss until he finally gave a frustrated groan and said, “What?”

She lowered her eyes. She couldn’t look in his face and lie. “I’m sorry, baby. It’s that time of the month.”

“Again? Wasn’t that two weeks ago?” He was paying more attention to when her cycles were, probably because she was using that excuse more and more.

Truth was, she’d barely had a period since she started getting Depo-Provera shots over a year ago. “You know that Depo has my cycles all crazy.” She turned her back to him.

He rubbed her shoulders. “You know I hate that stuff. It’s unnatural—all those extra hormones in your body. That’s probably the reason for the extra pounds you’ve gained and your constant moodiness.”

She whipped around. “What?”

“Don’t get upset. I’ve noticed you’ve picked up a few pounds. And you’re always irritable. I know school is difficult, baby, but you can’t just let yourself go.”

Keeva took a deep breath and pulled a strand of hair. “Mark, I’m really tired and I need to get some rest. I have to get up and study early in the morning. Thanks for coming by, but—”

He tried to smooth things over with a kiss. She stood there limp.

“Mark, I have a study group in the morning. I need to go to sleep.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. She did eventually have to set up a study date with Shara.

“You don’t have to be so sensitive. I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings. I’m sorry, Princess.” He slunk to the door like a sad puppy with his tail between his legs.

She walked over to kiss him. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired from all the studying. I’ll feel better after a good night’s rest. I’ll call you in the morning, okay? I promise we’ll spend some quality time together after midterms are over.”

Mark accepted her apology with a kiss on the forehead. “All right, we’ll make it a date.”

Keeva closed and locked the door behind him. She went to her dining table, sat down and flipped open a textbook. She had to make herself read at least two chapters before she went to bed. For the past few weeks, whenever she tried to study, she somehow ended up on the couch watching television. Lifetime always had a good movie on, one after another.

Later, as she undressed to get into bed, she stood in her full-length mirror and turned from side to side, trying to find the extra pounds Mark mentioned. She studied her twenty-five year-old, well-toned body, but didn’t see any difference.

She pulled her favorite pair of jeans out of the closet. They were a size four and usually fit her perfectly. She pulled up the zipper. They fit the same way they always did. Mark probably noticed something she didn’t. Gotta start going to the gym.

Keeva sat on the edge of the bed and opened her nightstand drawer to pull out a bottle of Ambien tablets. She didn’t like having to depend on pills, but she had to get a good night’s sleep. If she did her usual tossing and turning for hours, she’d never be able to study tomorrow.

She slipped between her satin sheets and started her deep breathing and meditation techniques, hoping for sleep to come. The pill would soon chase away images of her flunking out of school and losing everything she held dear.

Why in the world did I agree to do this interview?

Shara Anderson stared at the television camera as if it were her archenemy. She had worked hard to get her hair slicked back into a ponytail that morning. All day, she’d made a special effort not to run her fingers through it like she usually did when she was nervous or upset. Otherwise, it’d be sticking up in some places with deep furrows in others. The only make-up she’d been able to find that morning was cracked and discolored. No telling how long it had been in her bathroom drawer. She’d ended up barefaced as usual.

“Do you really need to interview me? Isn’t this supposed to be about the kids?” Shara almost pleaded with Cheryl Hanes, the Fox 5 News community focus reporter. She looked down at her jeans and sweatshirt, wondering if she should have dressed up.

“It is about the kids, but we need someone to tell the story.” Cheryl looked down at her clipboard and back up at Shara. “Here’s how it goes. I’ll ask some questions and you answer as clearly and succinctly as possible. Make sure you talk in complete sentences as if the viewers haven’t heard my question. If you don’t like what you say or mess up, we can go back and fix it. Just act natural and talk normal, like we’re friends.”

A sympathetic smile peeked through Cheryl’s professional demeanor. “Don’t be nervous, you’ll do fine. Pretend the camera’s not even there.”

Cheryl held the microphone toward her. “So tell us about your program.”

Shara cleared her throat. “‘Run For Your Life’ is a track program we started here at Kingdom Builder’s Christian Church to reach out to the kids in the surrounding community. Teens from the neighborhood come here after school three days a week to run track or work out in the gym, and on alternating days we have a tutoring program. They have to make passing grades to stay in the program.”

Shara knew she sounded robotic and staged, but how was she supposed to relax and act natural with that camera in her face? Cheryl coached her a bit and made her answer again. It came out better the second time and they moved on to the next question.

“When did you start the program?”

Shara paused to think about her answer so she wouldn’t have to do it over. “I started the program as a class project almost a year ago. I’m in the Master’s program for Education at Georgia State. Things went so well, we just continued it. It’s turned out better than I expected. Across the board, the kids’ grades are better. They get in fewer fights in school and in the neighborhood. Most importantly, their confidence and self-esteem have improved as well as their overall outlook on life.” Shara started to feel more comfortable talking about her kids.

She pointed toward the track. “Davon there was having difficulty passing most of his classes and now he’s maintaining a C average. He’s convinced he can bring it up to a B average by next year.”

The cameraman swung around to film the young teen as he rounded the track. Shara laughed to herself when she saw Davon glance at the camera, then pump his arms harder and pick up his stride, his jaw set with a determined look on his face.

Shara pointed to a tall, lanky youth with thick cornrows. “And that’s Jamil. Before, he got into trouble in school all the time for fighting or acting out in class. In the last six months, he hasn’t been in one fight. Now he’s in competition with Davon to see who can make the best grades.”

Jamil obviously didn’t know the camera was fixed on him; otherwise he would have done something silly like make a face or perform his running man dance.

“And then there’s Tangela Madison. She’s the one I told you about.”

Cheryl had asked if there was one teen they could do a special focus on with a follow-up segment later on in the year. She had explained that with all the negativity in the news, the station wanted to connect with the community and do “people stories.” She wanted the teen most positively affected by the program.

Tangee was the obvious choice. She was Shara’s fastest runner and most dedicated participant. She had gone from almost failing 8th grade last year to maintaining a B average in 9th grade this year. In her last two high school track meets, she was placed first in the 100-meter dash.

Cheryl turned toward the cameraman. “Get some footage of that girl over there.”

Shara couldn’t help but notice that Tangee’s form was a little off as it had been the past few times she’d watched her run. She waved Tangee over. The young teen frowned. She wasn’t any more excited about being in front of the camera than Shara was.

Cheryl gave Tangee similar instructions, and then started asking questions. Shara’s pastor walked up as Tangee stammered out her answer. His interview was next.

Tangee pulled on the bottoms of her shorts and rocked back and forth on her heels. Shara made signs for her to stand still and put her hands at her sides.

“. . . I never thought about going to college before, but now I’m definitely going. And if I keep doing so well in track, I should be able to get a full scholarship. This program has definitely changed my life,” Tangee said.

That’s my girl. Shara smiled and gave her a thumbs-up from beside the cameraman. Tangee returned only a half-hearted smile and looked at the ground.

When Cheryl finished, Shara walked over and put an arm around Tangee. “You did great. I’m proud of you.” She studied Tangee’s eyes. “You seem a little tired. Wanna call it quits for today?”

“I’m cool, Miss Shara. I’ma finish.”

“All right then, go ahead.” Shara watched her drag back onto the track.

When she turned back, Cheryl had started interviewing her pastor. “Pastor Kendrick, it’s so inspiring to see the work you’re doing here in the community. How did you get started?”

Pastor Kendrick was only 5’8, but seemed larger than life in front of the camera with his confident stance and strong smile. He gestured toward the church building behind the track. “We started off ten years ago with nine people in a classroom when this was still a Fulton County high school on the verge of closing. The Lord has blessed us with tremendous growth and we’ve been able to purchase the building from the city with a vision to completely revitalize this community. So far we’ve started a GED program and have received funding for a welfare-to-work program. Our next undertaking is an entrepreneurial development center for members of the church who want to start businesses. Hopefully, we can pump some finances into the community. One of our greatest focuses will be capturing the hearts of the young people. Shara’s track program is just the start.”

Cheryl asked a few more questions about Pastor Kendrick’s motivation and the church and then motioned to the cameraman that they were finished. She turned to Shara. “We’d like to get some footage of the neighborhood. Care to ride with us? It’ll only take a few minutes.”

“Sure.” Shara turned to Pastor Kendrick. “Keep an eye on the kids for me. You know how they can get.”

“Yeah, I’ll stay around. And Shara, thanks for doing this,” Pastor Kendrick said. “I know it’s not exactly your thing. I’m hoping the exposure will be good for us. Maybe the people in the community will watch and will want to come check us out. And you never know what rich philanthropist may watch and want to give a donation to our cause.”

“No problem, Pastor. Anything to help.”

Shara hopped into the front seat of the television station’s SUV next to Cheryl while the cameraman sat in the back with the camera hoisted over his shoulder. She directed Cheryl to turn onto Martin Luther King, Jr. Drive.

They cruised the area slowly. The dilapidated buildings, debris in the streets, and grown men hanging on every corner drinking and talking trash looked worse to Shara as she watched it through Cheryl’s eyes. It usually didn’t bother her. Maybe in her seven years of attending the church, she had gotten used to it.

Shara pointed for Cheryl to turn at the stop sign. “You know it’s funny. Even though this is in the middle of the inner city, it reminds me of home.”

Cheryl turned onto Memorial Drive. “Where are you from?”

“A little town you’ve never heard of deep in the heart of South Georgia.”

“That explains the hint of Southern twang you’ve got.”

Shara laughed. “Yeah, when I first moved here for college, I worked real hard to get rid of it. The tiny bit left reminds me of where I’m from.”

Cheryl looked out at a young woman dragging a toddler down the street. Even with the windows up, she could be heard screeching and cursing at the child. “How is this anything like rural Georgia?”

Shara looked out at several young men with their pants hanging off their bottoms, huddled in a corner “shaking hands” and looking over their shoulders to see who was watching. “The poverty, despair, and that overwhelming, choking feeling that no matter what you do, you’ll never be able to get out.”

“Get out?” Cheryl studied Shara’s face as they stopped at a red light.

“Yeah. Get out. Make a better life for yourself. Live somewhere other than the little box of a neighborhood or town you seem to be stuck in. This neighborhood feels like that same depressing, stifling way home did.”

Cheryl turned left and they headed toward downtown Atlanta. It was amazing how close the cosmo-politan downtown area was located to the impoverished area the church was in.

“Atlanta isn’t the black mecca for the people in this neighborhood. The ‘good life’ is just as unreachable as it seemed to me when I was growing up.” Shara looked up at the skyscrapers and office buildings. “Even though it’s just a few city blocks away, it might as well be as far away as South Georgia.”

Cheryl nodded and they turned onto Broad Street, back toward the church.

Shara wondered why the cameraman was pointing the camera toward her instead of out the window. “For me, getting an education and running track was my ticket to freedom. If I hadn’t gotten a full scholarship to Georgia State University for undergrad, I probably would have never gotten out. I guess that’s why my track and tutoring programs are so important. I want to help these kids escape. Tangee is me in high school all over again, just in urban Atlanta instead of rural south Georgia.”

Cheryl turned toward the back seat. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

The cameraman was still pointing the camera on Shara. “I’m way ahead of you.”

“What?” Shara smoothed her hair back. Would you get that durn camera out my face?

Cheryl said, “I’m glad you rode with us. This is a great angle for the story. It’ll make it deeper, richer. Do you have time to go back and do a few mo. . .