I Left My Back Door Open by April Sinclair Page A

daggone Ferris wheel.

six
    Belly dancing was harder than I expected. It involved a lot of concentration and muscle control. Although I was the only sista, I was relieved to see that the students came in a variety of shapes and sizes and ages. A few danced with their stomachs exposed but most wore leotards or shorts and T-shirts, like me. Everyone tied something shiny and shimmering around their waists. Jade had a basket of things for students like me, who hadn’t yet purchased veils and costumes. By the end of the first class, I’d learned that the most common movement was in the shape of a figure eight. We’d done it with our hips, chest and shoulders. My favorite thing so far was to shimmy, because you could just let your butt go like you didn’t have a care in the world. Jade said that some cultures, as well as some individuals, were better at controlled movements, and others were better at letting go. So far, I was better at letting go. Maybe it was cultural, I don’t know.
    There was so much to learn, like even how to walk, only Jade called it “traveling.” And how to make snake arms and do veil work and play with finger cymbals and how to undulate. Jade instructed us to pretend that our chests were dump trucks, scooping and dumping, scooping and dumping. I felt proud when Jade said, in front of the whole class, “Dee Dee, your undulations are beautiful.” My size-D cups had finally come in handy.
    After class, I bought a veil with a rose-colored background and shiny multicolored stripes. Now I could practice flipping it and throwing it in the air and catching it at home. I also bought a pair of finger cymbals called “zilts.” You put one on each thumb and middle finger. In class, we practiced playing, left, right, left. After class, I told Jade, “It’s a workout, but I think I’m gonna like belly dance.”
    Jade hugged me. “You’ve only just begun to experience the power of belly. If you learn to belly dance, you’ll learn to love yourself,” she assured me.
    Who says I don’t already love myself ? I thought defensively. “If you learn to belly dance, you’ll learn to love yourself,” I repeated cynically in my head. Sounded like advanced psychobabble. But a little voice inside me said, Let’s hope Jade’s right .
    I had faith that I would hear from Skylar soon. It had only been a few days. If he didn’t call after a whole week, I’d give him a call. The hell with The Rules . In the meantime, I was getting in shape for love. Tyeesha and I were walking along the Lake today. It would be a good opportunity for us to exercise as well as get current. This was the first time we’d really had a chance to talk since Sharon dropped the bomb on us.
    â€œI’m so glad it finally cooled off,” I said to Tyeesha as we power-walked along the water. “It’s perfect for walkers now.”
    â€œMe, too. I have to get used to this humidity again, after being in Seattle,” Tyeesha huffed, pushing her braids out of her face. “You can take ten showers and still not feel refreshed.”
    â€œYeah, but don’t you like the warm nights?”
    â€œYeah. Dee Dee, can I come live with you?”
    â€œWhy?” I asked, taken aback.
    â€œâ€™Cause you’re my godmother and I don’t want a lesbian mother.”
    â€œWhat is a lesbian mother?” I asked sarcastically.
    â€œYou know.”
    â€œNo, I don’t know,” I insisted, lowering my voice. “I mean, how does a lesbian mother act? What does a lesbian mother do? Does she have sex twenty-four-seven or does she put food on the table, pay bills, do laundry, schlepp her kid around—you know, ordinary stuff?”
    â€œI thought you would understand.” Tyeesha pouted.
    â€œI do understand. I know that you’re trippin’. And I understand that.”
    â€œThen how come you don’t act like