scratches on my vinyl... the melody is love

1996. Chicago. The Red Mill. Hot. Sticky. Sunday.

That night, I fell in love with Daniella Rae. Or maybe I’d always been. I remember the sun was long gone, but the heat wouldn’t leave. All the hours I spent pressing the kinks out of my hair had gone to waste. My roots reverted from the sweat. My heart was pounding against my ribcage as my feet slammed against the pavement. Malcolm was up ahead, his tiny head bobbing. The mill was still blocks away, but music was spilling onto the streets. It was so loud that in a different neighborhood, they’d call the cops. The trumpets screamed, the guitars wept, and Daniella’s voice was shaking the ground beneath me. My feet couldn’t move fast enough.

As I turned the block, the Mill was finally in sight. The building looked like it was jumping. Dust leapt out of the tiny cracks in the bricks. “THE RED MILL CAFE” was written in pink cursive letters on the awning, and hundreds of tiny dancing gold lights adorned every inch of the building, making it stand out against the boring buildings glued to it.

My breath caught in my throat as I finally made it in line. There must have been about 30 people waiting to get in. The tiny café was bursting at the seams. Today seemed like the right day for a low-cut tank top, but white wasn’t the right color.

“Still good.” I whispered, sniffing my armpit, relieved by the lingering floral scent and no stains.

“It’s about five to midnight. You think we're gonna miss her last number?”

I was so close to the people ahead of me that even over the music, I could hear their conversation. The antsy guy was wearing a long black leather jacket, inappropriate for the weather but appropriately cool. He tugged on his girl’s baggy tee-shirt sleeve. She rolled her eyes.

Suddenly, there was a strong scent of alcohol in the air. “Ain’t you too old to be carrying all that anyway?” Malcolm’s voice startled me. I had assumed he was inside already. I whipped my head around and saw him with Henrietta, surrounded by broken bourbon bottles. A stream of precious brown liquid flowed down the street toward a manhole.

I debated pretending I didn’t know that fool, but anyone could see we were related. Hazel eyes, wide noses, and full lips. Identical. With a deep sigh, I left the line to try to fix his mess.

“He meant that as a worry, not as an insult,” I said, slapping the back of his head.

“Well, your ass is better off worrying about how you're gonna pay for this spilled liquor.” I hoped Henrietta was joking.

I only had enough cash to get inside. I wished I could’ve given Henrietta more than that. She created a space for all of us to pour art into, and we owed her a lot for that. She must have seen the way I kept glancing at the entrance.

“How does this sound, Joyce?” She spoke slowly. “You don’t gotta pay right now, but you owe me. And tonight, you’re going on.”

I swallowed hard. “Hell no.” I didn’t even break the bottles.

“You really gonna spend the rest of your life in the back of the room scribbling in your notebook, or are you gonna finally stand up and say something?” Her voice cut right through me, though it wasn’t supposed to sting.

Every third Sunday of the month, the Mill hosted the Uptown Poetry Slam. And for the past twenty-something Sundays, I’d just watched. I never thought Henrietta or anyone else noticed me. I should’ve thanked her. I just shook my head silently. My heart plummeted all the way into my shoes. I could already feel the hook yanking me off of the stage as the audience booed, but it was Malcolm pulling my notebook out of my back pocket.

“Her deeply bronzed skin glistened even in the moonlight. The sun and moon in a continuous battle for who could show her off best,” he read the pages aloud dramatically.

“She wore all the colors, none of which failed to compliment her skin. Red tempted me the most. Her plump lips sang,” he slowly stopped reading.

I was frozen. I would’ve chased him up the block, but hearing my words spoken out loud paralyzed me. My face burned. Despite my melanin, I knew my cheeks were noticeably flushed. A lump formed in my throat.

“Stop it.” I tried to sound calm, but my voice cracked. Malcolm’s eyes softened.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the regret in his tone clear. He handed my notebook back to me.

“Hurry inside before you miss her whole set,” Henrietta yelled over her shoulder, pretending she didn’t hear anything. “Oscar, come help me with these bottles.”

Malcolm and I stood in line, our silence loud between us. For about five minutes, we couldn’t talk to each other.

“You gotta talk to her,” he insisted, nudging me in the rib.

“I ain’t got nothing to say.” My voice cracked despite my best effort to sound dismissive.

“Joyce, come on. The poem? I see you eyeing her.”

I pressed my hands over his mouth, desperate for him to stop. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, don’t let anyone hear you talking that mess.” I hated the way I said that.

“I’m down to see you perform. Rietta’s wisdom strikes again.”

“Don’t you ever shut up.” Malcolm didn’t see me ripping the pages from my notebook. It felt tainted. The door guy coughed loudly. I hadn’t realized we were holding up the line. I placed the cash in his hands, and we were finally inside.

I couldn't even see the stage. The tiny café was turned into a concert venue with all the tables and chairs pushed to the side. The lights were dim but inviting, casting an amber glow over everything. It brought out new colors in the paintings of poets like Nikki Giovanni and Sonia Sanchez that hung on the walls. The night was alive with creativity and desire.

Between the drummer’s solo and the cheering, my ears were throbbing with delight. The floor was slick from spilled drinks; the bite of rum spiked the air. The humidity outside was nothing compared to the good heat of too many bodies bumping into each other. The wall was hot to the touch as couples swayed their hips. As I pushed my way through, my feet let the rhythm overtake me. There was an undeniable heartbeat as all these beautiful shades of brown danced together.

Old wood, worn leather chairs, earthy Egyptian musk that feels like history passed down through generations. Through it all, I caught a whiff of Daniella’s perfume: floral jasmine with a hint of vanilla. I was so close, I could hear her breath, soft against the mic, as the music faded. But I still couldn’t see her. Malcolm suddenly grabbed my hand and pulled me closer to her. 

Daniella was sitting on a black stool in the center of the stage. A solo spotlight shined on her which reflected off of her glossy lips. She put tiny flowers in her fro like Minnie Riperton would. I suddenly felt silly that I put so much heat on my hair to force it down.

“She’s wearing red,” Malcolm said, but I could barely focus. All other noise faded when Daniella picked up the guitar from the stand. She smiled at her drummer so sweetly. She played a riff that echoed through the entire café. Every pluck her fingers made on the strings, I felt in my chest. The way her fingers slid up and down the frets was intimate.

I’ve seen her perform so many times, but it’s like each note pulls at me more than the last. That night, her voice felt like it might tear me open. My palms were wet from sweat, but I couldn’t stop looking at her, even as I told myself I wasn’t ready for whatever it was I was feeling. Maybe it’s the way she looks at the crowd, or maybe it’s just me. I could catch something in her gaze I’m not supposed to. Her eyes scanned up and down my body. For a split second, I sucked in my stomach in fear of criticism. Her wink drew breath from my parted lips. Then her lips parted.

"You’re hiding, stuck in a lie.

If you weren't coddled by light, would you even fear the dark?

Love could be like velvet, sweet as pie.

You were taught to misunderstand

my curves so deep, this body's in high demand.

So if you wanna stay in touch, at least speak up, show me that much.”

Her voice is airy but has a distinct warmth to it. The band crescendoed until the music suddenly stopped, leaving the audience longing for more. The crowd erupted in applause, but all I heard was her last note. Her eyes lingered on me for too long.

“Where are you going?” Malcolm grabbed my shoulder. My feet were moving before the thoughts even came. I needed to get out of there.

“Isn’t my grandbaby amazing?” Henrietta had made her way to the stage and kissed Daniella’s cheek. “I want to thank you all for coming out tonight. The poetry we heard today, the way y’all put your hearts on this stage, brings tears to my eyes.”

“We love you, Rietta!” someone yelled over the crowd.

“Don’t think all that love is gonna get you outta paying for your drinks tonight. I know y’all want to get to grinding, but we got one more poem tonight. She is new, so be kind to her. Joyce, get on up here.”

I felt the eyes on me before I even stepped onto the stage. Each glance my way was a needle, pressing into my skin. Henrietta’s words echoed in my ears: “You owe me.” The room felt too small, too hot. It happened so fast. Malcolm pushed me on stage; my body was too stupid to fight back. The amount of people was a comfort before, but now every face blurred into an unblinking gaze. The clinking of glasses and the laughter from the crowd faded into silence. They were all waiting.

Just as I opened my mouth to speak, I felt her. Daniella was right next to me. I choked on her sweet scent. She stepped even closer, her fingertips brushing mine as she placed the mic in my hands. It looked like there were specks of gold in her black eyes from the lights. She smiled.

Time froze. Everyone was holding their breath with me. I kept blinking at her, saying nothing.

Daniella’s voice broke through my panic. “Just breathe. These are your people, Joyce."

The heat from the lights burned through me, and I turned, trying to escape the spotlight. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t speak. The microphone was heavy in my hand. I felt the pressure crushing me. I needed to escape. I needed air. I ran.

I didn’t stop until I made it into the bathroom. Jumping the line definitely made people curse at me. I thought I would throw up, but I didn't. I splashed cold water on my face, trying to calm down. I couldn’t even bring myself to stare at my reflection.

“Excuse me, sorry.” Through the door, I could hear Malcolm getting closer. I took in a sharp breath. There was a faint knock on the door.

“I’m not going out there, Malcolm,” my voice was harsh.

“Then can I come in?” Her voice perked my ears. I opened the door, and Daniella was standing there. Malcolm was standing behind her with a smug expression. Silently, Daniella entered the tiny bathroom, closing the door behind her. I tried to make room for her, but she stepped closer to me every time I moved. I couldn't help but notice how her red dress clung to her body. Like it was made to wrap around my thoughts. I couldn’t move, but I couldn’t look away either.

“Sorry, I can’t,” My words came out in short bursts. I felt almost like I was drowning in her. The way she moved, the mole right above her upper lip, I never noticed her hair smelled like rosewater. Her eyes were magnets. She didn’t step back, and neither did I.

"I'm not... like you," I said, my voice shaking as I tried to pull away from her, but she only moved closer.

“And what am I like, Joyce?” She put an emphasis on my name.

“Free. My parents aren’t like Henrietta,” I realized I had started talking about something I wasn't ready to accept. The stolen glances. The rapid heartbeats. She was inches away from me.

“I was really looking forward to that poem,” she smiled coyly, sensing my hesitation toward the subject.

“I can’t do it.”

“Just do it for me. Right now. In here.”

I looked around the tiny bathroom. The graffiti on the walls bursting with colors and culture. All the Egyptian musk scent was coming from here. Even under the fluorescent light, Daniella’s dark skin was magnificent.

“Have you ever seen me sing anywhere but here? We are all scared, Joyce. But I think if you could let even just one person hear you, you’ll be surprised by how your voice can leave an impact.” It was weird talking with her like this. She wasn’t this untouchable force but a friend, Henrietta’s granddaughter, and a fellow artist. What felt like a jolt of electricity passed through me.

“It’s not ready.” I felt just the tiniest bit of confidence stir within me.

“Give me what you got.”

I cleared my throat, hoping some of the tightness would go away. I took several deep breaths and closed my eyes.

“Scratches on my Vinyl… the melody is love

Evocative, soulful, insanity, raw

You’re scratching my vinyl causing pops and skips

Interrupting it 

But we know breaking in a vinyl can make a new genre of music 

But they judge our hip hop

Trying  to put a stop 

to us, to this 

I’m not trying to miss it”

Slowly, my eyes opened to the most amazing smile. The room felt lighter, and I could breathe better than ever.

“Keep working on it. Don’t let that piece go to waste. Let’s get out of here.” She put out her hand. I wanted to grab it.

“Thanks, Daniella.” She frowned slightly as she let her hand fall back down to her side.

“Say my whole name so I can hear how it sounds outta your mouth.” A small gasp left my lips, which made her let out the most bubbly laugh.

“Thanks, Daniella Rae,” I said breathlessly. She opened the door to the bathroom, and instinctively, I followed.

“I like people who look at me like they really see me. Ain’t I pretty? The world pretends to not see it.” She was yelling over the music coming from the vinyl records the DJ was spinning. The café was alive again, pulsing with rhythm. I scanned the crowd for Malcolm. I also worried that Henrietta would be disappointed. The amount of people who had waited to hear my poem made me feel queasy again.

“Just look at me.” Daniella put her finger on my face to direct my gaze toward her. She lightly touched my lower lip. “Don’t look at them.” The scent of jasmine lingered on my skin where she touched it. Daniella stood there, her eyes somehow even softer. She could see me in a way I couldn’t see myself. I had expected her to always be out of reach but in that moment I realized I was the one who was being unreachable.

Until closing, we danced. I caught glimpses of Henrietta and Malcolm smiling. That night, there was no kissing, no hand-holding. Words did what our bodies couldn’t. The metaphors were more tantalizing than soft fingers trailing up thighs. I could feel her eyes on me when I said

 “Goodbye.”

I smiled, but only when I was no longer caught in her gaze. That was the day I knew: I’d fallen in love with Daniella Rae.