fingers as he and Sabrina backed away.
* * *
Keysha and I made our way over to the main stage. There were large banners with the logos of the corporate sponsors, speakers, microphones and an assortment of musical equipment. Tan metal foldaway chairs were neatly organized in rows, ten seats across and ten seats deep. All the seats were nearly filled.
“Look. Two people are getting up from those front-row seats,” Keysha pointed out.
We picked up our pace to ensure that we got the prime spot. Once we got situated, I took a glance around in search of Misalo, but I did not see him.
“So, what’s this all about, Keysha?” I asked as we watched a musician sit down and begin slapping his palms against bongos.
“I have no idea. In fact, I was very surprised to see that Wesley was out of rehab,” Keysha confessed.
“How did he look?” I asked.
“Really good,” she answered.
“So, like, where is Lori? Why wasn’t she attached to him?” I asked.
Keysha chuckled. “I asked the same question. I was, like, ‘So, where is your shadow?’ Wesley grimaced when I mentioned Lori. He said that she went back to Indianapolis to visit her family.”
“So, he’s still dating her?” I asked.
“According to him, he dumped her,” Keysha said.
Before long, a man appeared onstage. He walked up to a microphone that was positioned center stage. He adjusted the height of the stand and gave the microphone a few taps with the pads of his fingers to make sure it was on.
“Thank you for coming out and spending your afternoon with us here at today’s festival. My name is Omar, and I’m one of the many organizers of this event. This year I wanted to do something different. I wanted to showcase some local spoken word artists. I hope you enjoy their work and what they have to say. First up is Candice. She’s a freshman at Illinois State University.”
“I used to see her around Thornwood when she was a senior. I never knew she was a poet, though,” said Keysha.
“Hello, everyone,” Candice said, greeting the audience. She was wearing a cute blue and white top with a matching miniskirt. She looked as if she was about to say something really interesting. “This piece is called ‘Standing There.’”
He’s standing with her now.
And I’m remembering the way he used to be when he was with me.
Tell me. While you’re standing there with her, are you thinking about me?
Do you remember slow dancing with me? Do you remember what you said to me?
You used to kiss the crevices of my tortured heart. You used to look into my eyes and tell me all the things I needed to hear but didn’t care to listen to.
Do you ever think about me when you’re with her?
Because I think about you. I think about you the way moonlight thinks about stars. I think about you the way hearts think about love. I think about you the way a soul thinks about finding a mate.
I’m going to tell you what I really think about her.
She’s the knockoff of Chanel.
The prototype for everything I was to you.
She is a copycat.
She will never fill the void in your soul the way that I did.
Neither of you will ever know the pain I felt as I listened to you tell her
“I Do.”
The audience clapped for her because it truly was a very good poem.
Keysha leaned in close to me and whispered, “She was all up on your street with that line about ‘I think about you the way a soul thinks about finding a mate.’”
“Well, it’s true. I can’t help the way my heart feels,” I stated.
Omar came back on the stage. “Okay, moving right along. Next, we have Wesley.”
“OMG,” Keysha said as a smile spread across her face.
Wesley walked up to the microphone.
“I’m a little nervous,” he said as he scanned the crowd. The moment his eyes found Keysha, he smiled. “The poem I’m about to read is called ‘Keysha’s Heart,’ and I’d like to dedicate it to a very special friend.” He nodded in Keysha’s direction to let her know that he was referring to her.
Keysha got all giddy. She sat upright and listened attentively. Omar sat down at the bongos and began playing, making light background sounds for Wesley’s piece.
“This is something I wrote the very first time that I saw you, but I only recently finished it,” Wesley said before he began.
I am fascinated and captivated by your mystery and secrets.
I want to know who you are and what part of heaven you come from.
I want the combination to your heart so that I can make your emotions my own.
Whenever I think about you, my heart and soul soar like an eagle.
Your smile is like warm sunshine on my face.
Whenever it rains, it reminds me of all the tears I’ve caused you to shed.
Your teardrops burst inside my soul and remind me of how much we’ve been through.
My heart wants to dance with your heart and tell it how sorry I am.
My soul sings for you and my mind is consumed with thoughts of us
being together as one once again.
I once read that the first step toward healing is learning to forgive.
I hope you can forgive me so that I can walk one more step closer to you.
I glanced at Keysha and noticed her eyes brimming with moisture. I opened my purse and handed her a tissue.
“That was so beautiful.” Keysha wiped away a teardrop. “Wasn’t that sweet?” she asked, glancing back at me.
“Yes, it was nice,” I acknowledged as the next poet came onto the stage. In the back of my mind, I was wishing Wesley was Misalo, apologizing to me. Keysha and I sat and listened to several more spoken word artists.
When that segment of the program concluded, Keysha said, “Come on. I want to go talk to Wesley about his performance.”
“You go ahead. I’m going to run to the bathroom. I’ll come back,” I said.
“Okay.” Keysha was on such an emotional high that she damn near levitated toward the rear of the stage, where the performers were.
“Oh, God,” I mumbled to myself. “I hope she isn’t planning on trying to hook back up with him. That would just be too crazy.” I asked one of the security guards where the portable bathroom was, and she pointed me in the right direction. As I walked across the field and maneuvered my way through the crowd, I thought I saw Misalo off in a distance, talking to someone. It was difficult to confirm whether or not it was him because of my position and the size of the crowd.
“Misalo,” I called, hoping he’d turn in the direction of my voice, but he couldn’t hear me over the noisy crowd. I was finally able to move to a better position and confirm that it was him. He was hugging some girl.
“Who in the hell is that?” I asked myself as I rushed toward them. As I got closer and saw who he was with, I blurted out, “Oh, hell no!” and quickened my pace.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” I asked, tugging on his arm.
“Uh,