by Candice Iloh
to get humped
Both of us
have forgotten the so-called reason
why we left somewhat floating
down the sidewalk just moments
after our waistlines worked up a real appetite
I catch a faint whiff of the jumbo slice spot
just down the street where I know
is tonight’s afterparty let-out
the greasy cheese and yeast circles my nose
still not enough to convince me to go in there
where we’d have to deal with the long line
of twisted freshmen leaned up against drunken seniors
fiending to extend their good time
none of it could convince me that all that
would be better than talking to her a little longer
not even the promise of eventual cheap pizza
sounded better than hanging out just us right here for a while
We stop at the corner
of Florida and Rhode Island Aves
to wait for the light
Kendra pushes
the crosswalk button
DC has at intersections
as we watch the number
on the light post
across the street
count down
I saw you swattin the flies away too
don’t act like I’m weird
for dancing by myself
I just
do my own thing
I see
you like to too
she smiles with a brief
flick of her eyes down my body
the thought of her
watching me
makes my face hot
glad I went to the party
like it was something
I needed
this whole time
but didn’t know
Kendra knows the way
back to my dorm by now
without my instructions
walks with me
the whole way home
when she lives
in the opposite direction
makes no big deal
of the time it adds on
to her commute
back to her side of the city
says freshmen
from other states
are safer walking
the streets
with locals by their side
says I should
come to dance class with her
tomorrow morning
to pick up
where we left off
SEVENTH GRADE
Aunty bends over
a full ninety degrees
pokes her lips out
raises an eyebrow
shakes her butt
side to side faster
than any of the other
black girls I’ve seen
at school when she dances
to the sounds of “Sweet Mother”
the song I’ve heard at least
one thousand times
at these Nigerian parties
we go to every other month
blares from the speakers
like clockwork all the women
responsible for the massive spreads of
jollof rice stews and fufu
emerge from the kitchen
marching clapping
shaking their shoulders
winding their hips
move from all sides of this
rented church hall flexing
skills they’d learned as children
grown up in the village
elaborate geles adorn glossy weaves
matched long fabrics tied to waists swinging
this native dress gleams
under bright party lights
all the women dancing
toward and around each other
rhythm of their bodies
moving as one
Aunty extends a hand
stretched with a wave in my direction
an invitation to join her and the other women
in this dance that I always decline
this pride I see spread across their faces
their bodies all familiar with what to do
their eyes scanning themselves in admiration
as if they all know who and what
they come from beyond names and roles
they’ve been given
witness something bigger
course through their veins
sense a confidence I don’t yet think
I can call mine
Tonight is Aunty’s last few hours
in America now that it’s time to go back home
where her house in Nigeria no longer needs to be
watched by Uncle who has been there
with it alone while she lived with us for a year
I’d begun to hear her on the phone with him
talking more often, saying his name
with a tone that sounded more like love
than what she used months before when
she and I warred over what I was allowed
to do under the new set of rules she’d created
for her Fat American Niece
I liked seeing her smile more like that
tell me stories of when she was a girl
how she wasn’t looking good for no man
listened as her voice began softening the more
time we spent together alone after the first time
I discovered blood in my panties
a time when she was the only person around
who I could tell
Aunty
always
with attitude
always
pointing with her lips
always
the family gossip
always
a pidgin wordsmith
always
in my things
always
in my face
always
in my heart
always
in my mirror
always
was teaching
me about
my feelings
and moving
me to say
what was
on my mind
Aunty
always a reminder
of fight
of pride
COLLEGE
My phone buzzes early
with Kendra’s instructions
to meet her on the corner
of H Street and Thirteenth
tells me I should wear
whatever I want
as long as I can move
tells me not to worry
about paying for class
that she’s got me
tells me to be on time
which means
I need to leave
soon
Getting off the bus
I can’t ignore all the windows
facing the street where
dancers fill the other side
of the glass
a crowd of them barefoot
gliding across a black floor
cannot make out any faces
glad to know
it’ll be hard to be seen
Kendra’s favorite dance teacher
talks so much shit that I forget
people pay to take his class willingly
he uses all the names and faces
> he knows in the room
happy that I’m not one of them
I learn early to do whatever he says
follow his body if I want
answers to the questions
that pop into my brain
like what comes after this or
what count is next or
what to do with my hands
the few times I scan the room
searching for the one person
I know here and snapped back
into the movements for fear
I’ll be called out
despite the fact that he drags
us like dogs unworthy
of his presence or his time
I feel myself find the rhythm
feel myself get lost in the moves
feel my back bend into itself
proud to meet every challenge
see all that I can do
when forced to show up
and get my body in line
His name is Torion
he stands like you could
draw a straight line
from ceiling to floor
along his back
everything about him
sharp bulging curve and upright
always prepared to dance
circles around us
oh and he does
beside our unworthy behinds
his body looks statuesque
like years of hard work
draped in fashionably loose fabric
that keeps catching the air for effect
After leading us through the long warm-up
that everyone in the studio
seems to know but me
we’re all damp bodies and
Torion tells us
I need four lines
facing the windows
I’d just walked by outside
tells us
look
to your right and your left
memorize who you’ve got
to stick with every time
you go across this floor, honey
tells us
no duets and no solos
to listen
to watch
to breathe
Watching Kendra
float across the floor
in unison with her line
of dancers who’ve
been here before is like
watching a family of free birds
who’ve created
their own way to fly
glide across a sky
they each use their
arms and legs to slice through
no air no body no steps
too tough to get past
no demands barked loudly
too much for their fierce bodies
to match
no beat too fast
for wings to dive into
I’ve gotten lost in the beat
when I realize
it’s my line’s turn
to cross the floor
using the sixteen counts
given to the class
just fifteen minutes ago
my brain tells me
I can’t remember
anything I just saw
the lines before us do
over and over
again
I look
to my left
and look
to my right
to see who
I dance with
and see
their bodies
in ready position
then feel the memory
of the steps
return
We go on like this for twenty minutes
going back and forth across the floor
doing things it seems like just popped
into the instructor’s head right in front of us
he keeps telling us you ain’t in here by yourself!
keeps telling us dance like you know who the fuck you are!
keeps telling us y’all better forget about these damn mirrors and feel something!
tells us to listen to our bodies and I don’t
know how I’m supposed to do it all at once
but it feels so good to try
The clothes we all came in with
are all now darker versions of themselves
soaked in the salty wetness of the last hour
when I think it’s just about over this is when
he tells us that it’s time to put it all together
something in me panics wondering what
that means if I didn’t sign up to perform
I just showed up to a class to learn
and I know I’m not ready for a test
he teaches some counts that look familiar
the moves we’d done over and over again
across this black floor whose dirt now
thickly coats the bottoms of my worn feet
shows us how the moves are supposed to be done
knowing that none of us can do it like him
my eyes study every inch of his skin
his face his hands his legs his feet
do my best to commit it all to memory
do my best to avoid making a fool
of myself
I don’t recognize myself
in this small group he’s put me in
with only four of us and me in the middle
all I know is when he turns the music on
I become a slice of someone I’d always wished
I could be
all I know is that I wanted to see
the girl in my reflection keep up for once
see her do the steps like they came
from somewhere
inside
We all thank him
as our soaked bodies
pour out of the studio turned
steam room and I feel
his eyes follow me making
my way up the line
a hint of a smile
he’d fought to force down
during class now
spreads lightly across
his face when he asks me
where I’m from
then tells me chile,
you need to be
back in this class
tells me
I know
I better see you
next week
He likes you
if he thought you were trash
he wouldn’t have said anything
he would have just shook
your hand and said ‘thanks for coming’
Kendra explains
he told me that I NEED to be in class
he basically said I’m terrible
I didn’t see him telling you
and your little dancer friends that
I reply
that’s because he already
got on my ass years ago
I work and practically live here, remember?
you want that dude to leave you alone?
show up and work
We both reach
for our toes sitting on the ground
outside the studio as the next class
moves through the warm-up
Kendra’s advice plays over and over
again in my mind while I exhale
face down across my knees the way she showed me
If I want the instructor off my back
I need to show up
If I wan
t to be good at this
I have to do the work
and the words sound a lot
like my dad’s advice
about school
My head spins listening
to the professor talking about credits and debits
cause I still don’t know the difference
between its meaning in accounting
and the cards you use to buy things
one of them Dad always taught me
to use if I got the money
the other I use if I’ll have it soon
enough to pay it back
before I came here Dad took me
to the bank for my first credit card
seeing my eyes grow big when it finally arrived
warned me to use it only for emergencies
warned me if I must use it to pay it back quick
warned me of the evils of spending money
that I don’t have on things
that don’t matter
told me
hold tight
to the little
I have
told me
spend only
on things
that matter
I look down again
at this ancient five-hundred-page book
cracked open only on occasion
out of fear of failing
wonder what I’m supposed
to do with it
how I’m supposed to learn
something I hate
what matters?
Maybe you’d know a little something
if you paid attention sometimes
the professor says on my way out
I was, Professor Gray, I’m always listening
I schmooze the way Dad taught me
if you weren’t busy daydreaming you’d know the class laughed
at your question because the girl who raised her hand
right before you already asked the same thing
scholarship students always think
they can just skate their way through
if you want to keep that scholarship money, miss lady
you better get your head in those books
I don’t care what those silly high school teachers told you:
stupid questions do exist
you better not keep showing up to my class