Page 21 of Rome: The Ballerina

I gnawed on my bottom lip, trying my hardest to hold back the mouth-splitting smile. I straightened my posture, attempting to find something, anything to deflect. Sac was too good, and I was too invested because I knew how our story ended. He didn’t, and because of that, I had to let things progress naturally.

Allow him to do a man’s job. Allow him to hunt. To discover. To chase. To capture. To conquer. And, to care for. I wouldn’t interrupt the cycle of a man’s hunting season because I was privyto information he wasn’t. He needed these moments to stroke his ego and inflate his pride.

“A rapper?” I asked, curious of his occupation.

Chuckling, he shook his head. “I can’t rap for shit, Rome. Try again.”

“Singer?”

“I’d send everyone to the hospital with bleeding ears. Nah.”

“Sports.”

He nodded.

“Something like that.”

“They love you.” I told him, looking around at the people who had yet to take their eyes off us. “And, respect you.”

There wasn’t a camera in sight. No one had invaded his personal space. Respect was hard to gain with any amount of notoriety. He had plenty.

“I’ve made it clear over the years that I do not like cameras. Socials. Medias. All of that shit is irrelevant to me. I just want to play the game. Nothing more. The day it becomes more is the day I quit. It is on record.”

He understood.

“I feel the same way,” I explained, taking a sip from my cup. “Nothing more. I just want to perform.”

“Perform– poet?”

He squinted his eyes as if he was actually on to something. He wasn’t. I was amused, utterly.

“I look like a poet?” I sniggered in disbelief.

“You feel like one. You haven’t said much, but you give those vibes. Deep. Rooted. Soulful. In tune with nature. In tune with your body. In tune with your heart. Knowledgeable. Wise. Thoughtful. Probably love to garden or have sound bowls and shit at your crib. Not fond of the city life.”

I waited for his dissection of my life to begin before filling him in.

“Though some of those might be true, they’re not all true. I’m a privately educated kid. I have been sheltered my entire life.A late bloomer, as many would call it. For good reason. I’m in tune with things– not just my things. All things. Even yours. I do love gardening, but I don’t get to indulge as much as I’d like.

“I don’t own sound bowls but I’ve dreamt of the day that I will. The suburbs of Clarke are all I know. I don’t visit the city often. Not unless I’m going to the theater. But, never leisurely. It doesn’t interest me. Not much interests me.”

“An actress?”

“A ballerina. I’m a ballerina.”

Silently, Sac nodded.

“Fitting.”

“Fitting?” He was incredibly amusing.

“You’re poised. You’re in control of your body parts at all times. You’re agile. Your presence is fleeting. You don’t require much space although you take up much more than you imagine you do.

“Your ego seems to not exist, but your standards are clear without you clarifying them. You’re almost like a butterfly. A sight to see but impossible to touch. Even with you near enough, it feels incriminating to do so.”

It could end your life, Sac. One wrong touch. One wrong move. I’m sorry. I didn’t make the rules.

“A ballerina,” he whispered, exhaling.

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