Write In The Middle of It

The Basement was exactly what its name described. It was the basement of a bar that was turned into a dark gathering spot for poets from all over the local and not so local area for a weekly poetry slam. Since the bar made an adequate amount of money on liquor sales, the host provided the slam winners a cash prize that was split from the door cover. Some weeks, the prize money could buy groceries.

Other times the money just bought more drinks.

Erik and Mekayla, when their schedules and pockets allowed, were regulars at the venue, and most of the time they would leave with pocket money.

Mekayla was so lifted she had her face pressed against the cold green vinyl backing of the booth the pair would always share. They liked it because was off to the side of the stage so they were hidden from the general audience but still had an excellent view.

The crowd because was focused on the poet on the stage at the moment. Dottie had to be close to fifty with a very bad orange-crush dye job on puffy poodle hair. Dottie’s poem went on and on about a relationship that she probably fabricated in her own imagination.

Erik sat across form Mekayla fiddling with a straw wrapper while mumbling to himself with his eyes closed. Mekayla slowly lifted her face off of the vinyl and it made that pseudo-ripping noise, which caught Erik’s attention, and his eyes sprung open.

“What?”

Mekayla head moved towards the stage so slowly that Erik’s gaze had no choice but to follow hers. Then she moved her head back just as slow and lowered it onto the table.

From that position she hissed, “When is this fucking poem going to end?!”

He chuckled so loud that some of the audience actually turned to find the source of the interruption. But he hid himself successfully behind one of the beams in the bar.

Then he whispered, “Meek you ain’t right. Don’t get me started laughin when I’m high because I won’t stop.”

Mekayla looked up mad as hell and hissed through clenched teeth “I ain’t jokin. She gets on my fucking nerves! Why do they let her compete? Why week after week do we have to hear that same poem?”

Erik trying not to succumb to his laughter said, “Oh c’mon she’s harmless, and she makes you look even better than you are.”

“I don’t need her help.” She said as she then propped herself across the booth so her feet stuck out. Dottie finished up her poem and the crowd gave her more than adequate applause.

Then the host came to the stage.

Ervin was a tall wiry man in his mid-thirties with long raven hair and a goatee. He grabbed the mic as if he were well acquainted with it.

“Let’s give Dottie another hand!” Ervin spoke with a calm enthusiasm that Mekayla always admired. The crowd didn’t applaud as loudly as the first time.

Ervin responded with, “or not.”

There were slight giggles from the crowd. “Ok judges, your scores please.”

As Ervin rattled off some average sounding numbers, Erik kicked Mekayla from under the booth. “You’re next.”

“I know that shit.”

Erik frowned, “Ugh I don’t like the mean Meek. You’re gonna have to smoke some more outside.”

At that comment Mekayla smiled slightly “After that poem I’ma need to smoke the rest of it outside.”

Erik chuckled as Ervin totaled up the scores for Dottie and grabbed the mic to introduce Mekayla.

“And now our next competitor, makes every microphone a phallic symbol, the magical Mekayla.” Ervin then leaned to the side and waved his arm as if he was a magician acknowledging his assistant.

“I hate when he does that shit,” Mekayla muttered through a smile.

Erik laughed and sat on the edge of the seat of the booth so he could get a closer look at Mekayla as she made her way to the stage.

Although he said he hated the mean Meek, he loved to see her perform that way. Most nights she blew all of the competition away in the first phrase. Mekayla reached the stage and gave Ervin a big hug and then she pretended to jerk the mic, which made everyone laugh.

“Don’t let this affect my score judges.” She said in a phone sex operator voice,

which caused the crowd to laugh like hell, again. “I’m really not in that kind of mood anyway.”

“Since when!” shouted Erik to heckle her

“Since now,” Mekayla spat back smiling. Someone from the crowd let out a “wooooooo” of approval and she giggled, closed her eyes, took a deep breath and began her piece:

ask me why i don’t trust a man’s smile

kind words or subtle flirting

coercing me to let my guard down

it’s not that i don’t believe in forevers

decorated with happily ever afters

sprinkled with commitments

like every little girl groomed for rescue

i too waited in towers and straddled the balcony

between common sense and reality

my prince looked up amazed

said he had traveled a ways

and never seen a beauty like mine

smile like mine

spirit like mine

lips like mine

he begged for just one kiss

to tuck under his robe

to treasure…forever

he beckoned me to think with

my heartbeats and butterflies tween my thighs

and leap…so i did

into his arms

into his charms

with no fear in my heart no sense of alarm

until with my very first kiss

he bit my lips

ripped my blouse,

my skirt, then my innocence

repeatedly

until the pain became a numb throb

when his pretty, pretty princess fell limp

he threatened to slice a royal smile

into my throat unless i kissed him

like i loved him

needless to say i am still alive

i was reminded of shaniya davis

who had no fear in her eyes

as she was sold and carried over her threshold

and for her i cried

for me i cried

for you

i cried

i never meant to fight you with my tongue

beat you with my shield

you never gave me

any reason to feel defensive

except you were amazed by me

never seen a smile like mine

spirit like mine

wondered what it would be like to kiss

lips like mine

it’s not that i don’t love to see a man’s smile

hear his kind words or succumb to his flirting

my inner princess is just afraid to fall limp and let her guard down

she is still throbbing

still hurting

She gave a slight nod and darted off stage to thunderous applause. She headed right to Erik, who hugged her and handed her the half blunt in her cupped fist.

She darted past the still clapping crowd, up the steps, and down the alley. Mekayla never stuck around to hear her scores because it made her nervous. She leaned against the wall, lit the blunt and hit on it hard. Upon exhaling, she heard Ervin’s muffled voice along with the crowds applause, and she smiled to herself with her eyes closed. She didn’t hear the footsteps coming towards her, but when she looked up a man was standing in front of her and startled her.