She took in a calming breath and then slowly let it out. She put the drops in her eyes and gazed at herself in the mirror. “The show must go on,” she said, giving herself one last look. She looked good, even with the bags; she was a good-looking woman. Her dark-brown skin was beautiful, blemish-free. The only mark on her face was a tiny scar right below her left eye. But her eyes were the main attraction on her face. They were big, hazel, and expressive.
Her mouth, her full lips, her round face, everything worked together to create a uniqueness that could never be manufactured. But she rarely gave her looks any thought beyond how she was projecting herself to the world. She was a professional and tried to convey that in her physical presentation. She worked really hard to be perfect in everything, hoping that if she achieved perfection, she would have happiness.
Sierra patted a strand of her short, dark brown hair back into place so her bob cut was as sleek as it was meant to be and then shrugged her shoulders. She turned from the mirror and walked out of the bathroom into the kitchen.
She was very thankful that she’d decided to buy coffee last night, because she desperately needed a boost right now. Actually, that was an understatement; she didn’t need a boost, she needed a miracle.
As she began to make the coffee, she made a conscious effort to put last night’s dream on the back burner. Today was a day full of things she needed to do, and obsessing about dreams wasn’t on her list. That would have to wait.
The day was a gorgeous—and rare—sunny Saturday in early February. The sun had actually warmed the air to a very tolerable level. The weekend was finally here, and Sierra had a million things that she needed to do. She had some clients to show houses to early this morning, as she did on most Saturdays, and then she was supposed to meet her family for lunch. She even had a date set for later that night.
It had been a while since Sierra had agreed to go out with anyone, as she never really met anyone she liked and anyone she was interested in always turned out to be wrong in some way. She had always figured that when the right man came along, she would just somehow know. Unfortunately, that “knowing” feeling continued to elude her. Still, she remained hopeful.
She had to get going; time, she knew, waited for no man or woman. She took her coffee to go.
Sierra soldiered through another showing, this time in Mequon, a suburb of Milwaukee. She left the showing confident that she had convinced these last clients to buy—a fact that made her ecstatic, as the commission would be impressive. She jumped in her car and headed toward her parents’ house, where she was sure that either comedy or mayhem would ensue.
“Either way, I’m ready,” she said, out loud and encouragingly, to herself.
She knew her family was crazy—but no more than everybody else’s, she assumed. By this point in her life she had created a coping mechanism to get through the crazy. She willed her mind to be prepared not to take offense to comments that were meant to be helpful, no matter how insanely inappropriate and hurtful they might be. And she, in turn, would try not to be judgmental and lecture her family on how they could and should handle their own issues.
She was still meditating on her mechanism when she pulled up in front of her parents’ house, a two-story brick home that was originally built in the 1920s, like most of the houses in that area of Milwaukee. The block was near an area that had once been known for its stunning homes and immaculate landscaping but over the years had gone down in property value. Now, the neighborhood was experiencing new interest. Homes that had long been on the market with no bites were now being bought and renovated by natives of the city.
The revitalization here was something that warmed Sierra’s heart as she got out of the car. Because it was February and Valentine’s Day season, she spotted red and pink hearts decorating the front window as she walked up to the house. All the families in this neighborhood traditionally decorated their homes according to the holiday season. Her parents were no different.
As soon as she hit the door, she could smell the fried chicken. The open kitchen windows allowed that familiar scent to waft through the air to the front porch. She knew she would smell like chicken for the rest of the afternoon, but she was also convinced that the taste of that chicken as it hit her tongue would be totally worth it.
This house, always filled with enticing aromas and crowded with relatives, never changed. A cake or pie was always sitting on the table, and gospel or the blues was always pouring through the living room, telling stories of hope or despair. And, of course, there was always Pearl.
“Hey, baby,” she said. “Come on in.”
“Hey, Ma,” Sierra said.
“What’s been going on?”
Sierra’s mom was very short, about five feet and one inch, but no one ever noticed that because her personality was so big. Although Sierra’s dad had died almost ten years ago now, she could still remember her mother being the dominant force in their marriage.
Her dad had been a tall, dark, and quiet man who loved to work. He had worked for Harley-Davidson for thirty years. He’d started off on the factory floor and worked his way up to a managerial position. He had loved to have fun.
Pearl was thin, with the exception of her bust and waist. Her skin was like caramel and almost wrinkle-free, mocking her almost sixty years on this earth. But it was her mesmerizing smile and talkative, friendly nature that got most people to love her. Sierra’s mother was known for getting people to open up and share their problems and secrets by using her soothing smile and the warmth that flowed through her being. That smile reached into her eyes and put everyone at ease. She had worked for the Public School System for over thirty-five years as an administrative assistant before she retired, and she’d never lost her ability to care for others—or to multitask.
Sierra realized her mother was still waiting for a response. “Nothing,” she said, “just life.”
“Well, that’s something. Life is precious,” her mother reminded her firmly.
“Mama, I know. I just meant nothing exciting is going on.”
“Well, say that then, but don’t say nothing’s going on, because God can make it so that nothing really is going on.” Pearl shook her head.
“Okay, Ma, I’m sorry.” Even as Sierra apologized aloud, silently she thought, And the foolishness begins.
“What’s up, ugly?”
Sierra’s little brother, Ron, entered the kitchen in a crisp white T-shirt and dark blue jeans that hung just a bit low, making a mockery of the wide, black belt with the large silver buckle fitted around his waist. He held a thick brush in his hand and was brushing his light brown hair as though his life depended on the neatness of the waves on his head.
Sierra smiled in spite of herself. “Hey, little brother, what’s up with you? Other than making me seasick with those waves.”
Ron smiled and gave Sierra a nod, choosing to take her ribbing as a compliment.
But Pearl replied, “I’ll tell you what’s up with him, laying his lazy tail around my house doing nothing.”
“Mama, please,” Ron said.
He was a handsome young man. He had smooth, very light skin with a red undertone, and that had also hardly ever seen an imperfection in the twenty-two years since his birth. Ron, Irene, and Sierra could all thank their mom for their flawless complexions. Ron’s hair was naturally wavy and light in color. When he was younger, people had often called him “Red” due to the color of his hair and bright skin tone.
Ron stood at six three and was that special kind of build of muscle and lean-without-ever-working-out that only comes with the metabolism of a twenty-something male. He was also unemployed and had dropped out of college a year previously. Since that time, he’d been living with their mother, “finding himself.” And to say that Pearl and Ron were starting to get on each other’s nerves was an under-statement.
“Don’t ‘Mama, please’ me. When you start paying some bills around here, then you can ask for me to get off your back. Until then I’m
gonna be on you. You hear me!?” Sierra’s mom turned and confronted her son as if she stood the same six feet he did. Pearl was usually mild mannered, but she had a temper that everyone, especially her children, knew not to be on the wrong side of.
“Yeah, I hear you. Can we eat?” Ron sighed with exasperation, but Sierra knew that “Life’s too short to not live it relaxed” was his motto. He wasn’t going to let a little nagging from his mother worry him too much. And besides, he knew just what to do to draw attention away from himself.
“Sierra looks thin, don’t she, Mama?” he said in an innocent, concerned voice that belied the smirk he was giving his sister. This strategy worked every single time.
“She does look a little thin,” Pearl said, concern written all over her face.
Sierra knew what was coming next, and she was pissed at her brother for drawing attention to her, because now she was in for an interrogation.
Sierra eyed her brother, pursed her lips, and gave him the finger behind her mother’s back.
“You been eatin’, baby?” Pearl asked.
Sierra sighed. “Yes, I’ve been eating. But I definitely wouldn’t mind ending this conversation and getting some of the macaroni you made.”
Ron, not intending to let the matter go, said, “When was the last time you had a meal?”
Sierra decided she’d had enough. “When was the last time you had a job, or even an interview? How about when was the last time you got a check that didn’t have Mama’s or Irene’s name and address at the top of it?”
Ron lost his cool. “You know you think you’re so smart, but don’t nobody care that you got a job,” he spat. “You got a job and no life. Oh no, I’m so jealous. I wish that I could work all the time and have no life beyond that.” He pointed a finger at her. “I hope I never get to be like you!”
“F . . . you!” Sierra responded, holding back the curse, remembering just in time that her mother was in the room.
“All right, stop it,” Pearl declared in a voice that demanded the argument be over. “That’s enough. I don’t want to hear y’all talk to each other like that. You guys are brother and sister. You should be loving each other.”
Truth be told, there was never a question in Sierra’s mind about whether or not she loved her brother; whether or not she liked him, however, remained to be seen. She apologized to her mother. Then, looking at the clock, she said, “Mom, I really have a full schedule today. I need to get going.” She could feel herself taking her emotions inward, as she usually did—sometimes for other people’s sake, but mostly really for herself. Being transparent was not in her comfort zone.
“You haven’t even eaten anything,” Pearl said, sounding really disappointed.
“I know,” she said apologetically. “It’s cool. Just make me a plate and I’ll take it to go.”
Now Ron jumped in. “You don’t have to leave. I’m sorry.”
Sierra looked at her brother. She could tell he really meant it. He liked to tease her, but he never wanted her to be really angry with him, and she could certainly hold a grudge.
He was usually sorry.
That’s the problem, Sierra thought. He is just too sorry.
After her mother finished making her plate, Sierra kissed her on the cheek. “Love you,” she said. “See you later.”
“Bye,” Ron said.
Sierra grunted in return.
She walked out to her car and placed the food on the passenger seat, willing the tears not to start. “Please, not now. You will not cry,” she told herself. And just the way she had a million times before, she swallowed her sorrow and let it settle inside of her chest. When she finally felt that familiar knot, she knew she had succeeded. She smiled, satisfied, and started the engine.
Chapter 3
After running around all day paying bills and shopping, Sierra was finally back home. She looked around her condo. She loved it here—loved every single inch. It was her sanctuary, and she had spent many hours placing pillows and rugs here and paintings and candles there so that the sights and sounds of her home would be as comforting as possible.
It was a two-bedroom, two-bathroom condo. She used the second bedroom as a guest room. Occasionally, her sister or brother or an out-of-town friend or cousin would stay the night, but mostly the room doubled as storage space.
The kitchen was custard yellow, and had the silver and black appliances and granite countertops that came standard with most of the condos in her building. The walls of the living room were a calming green, and the room was outfitted with a loveseat and sofa, both upholstered in a very plush red chenille. Vibrantly colored pillows were strategically placed on both pieces.
On her dark wood coffee table was an illuminated relaxation fountain that simulated a streaming brook with multicolored rocks throughout. The water in the fountain continuously flowed, recycling itself.
Two floral paintings shared the walls with family photos. One of the paintings was a beautifully abstract print of a red rose. The other was a popular print of a painting of white magnolia flowers. On the adjacent wall, a thirty-six-inch television was surrounded by an entertainment center. However, Sierra was most proud of her record player and the albums she had been collecting for years. Many of them she had gotten from her mom, sister, and older cousins; the rest she bought at various novelty music shops and online. She had everything from gospel to hip-hop to rock, and even a little country.
The floors of the condo were oak hardwood except in the bedroom; there, Sierra had installed cream-colored carpet, the softest she could find. The walls were a light blue, almost the color of the ocean. Floral paintings hung from the walls of the bedroom as well, prints from an impressionist painter known for capturing nature. And although the entire dwelling had a chill vibe, her bedroom was the most relaxing area in her space. The setup and color scheme made her think of the ocean and the beach. Every time she entered the room, she felt instantly relaxed and just wanted to lie down for hours.
Prior to the advent of her dreams, Sierra had loved coming home. Lately, though, she often wondered how she had gotten here—“here” being having a lovely home that she shared with no one and having a career that she had begun to question her reasons for pursuing, other than that it gave her the means to afford this condo, which was downtown, just off Water Street, and overlooked the Milwaukee River; her three-year-old Lexus; and having her hair and nails done weekly. These were all things that a couple of years ago had seemed vitally important. Lately, they made her feel like a fraud.
She remembered how, when she got her bachelor’s degree in business and marketing, she’d thought that along with owning her own business, she was going to open a community center offering all kinds of extracurricular activities for kids, including self-esteem classes for young girls. She had spent a lot of time volunteering as a Big Sister in college and had loved it. The volunteer work had left an indelible mark on her.
She had also loved the art classes she had taken in college— painting, drawing, photography, she took to them all. As a child, she had loved to draw and had a natural talent for it, but had always kept the talent hidden. She would draw all kinds of things and then hide the drawings under her bed, never telling anyone about them. By the time she was in high school, she had stopped drawing completely. But something made her pursue it again in college.
Sierra smiled as she remembered the realization she’d had in college after volunteering and taking the art classes that she wanted to be an artist and spend her days working with youth, helping young people to see their full potential, and her nights painting the injustices of the world. None of that had seemed practical, however, so all of these thoughts remained in the back of her mind.
Now, sitting on the couch, she made a conscious decision that she would start painting again. She wanted that feeling of accomplishment that she got when she put paint to canvas and conceived of a new creation. Painting was a way to express herself—her true self—and maybe the lack of that expressi
on was what had been hurting her lately. Her insides felt bulky, like that feeling one gets when one overeats.
She was carrying too much inside. She needed to relieve herself of some of her baggage. She curled up on the couch in her living room and watched the television watch her.
She had checked her voicemail when she got home from her errands and found a message from Dale, who was supposed to be her date for the evening. Apparently, he’d come down with some kind of sickness and wanted to reschedule.
Sierra was confused as to how she could have missed Dale’s call; she didn’t remember silencing her ringer—yet she must have. It was the only reasonable explanation. In any case, she didn’t bother to call him back right away. If she was being honest with herself, she hadn’t been really excited about the date from the start. He was one of her mom’s friend’s nephews, and the setup was the result of Pearl and her friend deciding to play matchmaker. According to the two of them, he was a physician who owned his own practice and came from a “good” family, whatever that meant. Pearl hadn’t been able to honestly comment on Dale’s looks because she had never met him.
I’ll call him back later on, Sierra decided. Right now, she would much rather lie on her couch and silently stare at the television. Slowly, she relaxed her thoughts as she switched from channel to channel, and eventually she managed to zone out altogether.
Chapter 4
“Are you awake? Dorothy, are you listening? We need to get ready. We’re almost there.”
“Who’s Dorothy?” Sierra sleepily replied.
“Dorothy, are you all right? Open your eyes, honey. It’s almost time to get off the bus.”
Sierra’s eyes flew open as she realized that she was no longer on her couch but on a bus with a group of people, all of whom looked at once scared, excited, and anxious.
“Where am I? Where are we going?”
The young woman’s expression changed as deep frown lines began to wrinkle her forehead.
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