Something She Can Feel

It was Dame. He shook his head at me and beamed.

Everyone began to open their eyes and then they all stood up and clapped.

Dame, who was now walking to the front of the room toward me, was clapping the loudest. He was wearing a black suit.

“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you all so much. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

Dame stood by my side, not saying a word as the faces surrounding us came over to welcome me to SonySOULjourn and expressed how happy they were to be working with me. One woman, who’d taped the whole thing with her cell phone, said, “I felt like I was back in my Mudeah’s church in Mississippi,” as she hugged me and headed out behind the rest.

When everyone, except for two people who were waving a bunch of papers in front of Kweku for his signature at the table, was gone, Dame turned to me. I wanted to say hello. Say I missed him. Say I was happy he’d turned himself in. Say I was okay and understood why he had to leave me.

“You did this?” I asked.

“I couldn’t let you get on that plane by yourself.”

“I should’ve known you sent Kweku. It was too much of a coincidence.”

“No, you earned this. You’re the most talented person I know,” he said earnestly, taking my hand, and I just let it dangle there in his, afraid to grasp or hold, but loving the familiar touch. “You put your feelings first and the art second. And if you don’t feel anything, you can’t create the art. That’s a million-dollar contract, baby.”

“You think Kweku’s going to sign me for a million dollars?” I laughed nervously and looked at Kweku.

“I know it,” he replied.

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’m backing the project. It’s time for the industry to put some of this big money behind the big art.”

“Break it up! Break it up,” Kweku said, pulling my hand from Dame’s. “This is no place for this sort of thing.”

“No love connection,” Dame said slyly. “That’s just my teacher.” He looked at me and winked.

“Well, that’s wonderful,” Kweku said. “And can I have a few moments with your teacher alone? After all, she is my artist.” Kweku laughed and hugged Dame. From the playful exchange, it was clear they knew each other well.

“Fine,” Dame said and he backed away toward the door. “But I get her next.”

“I never said you get anything,” I joked.

“We’ll see about that.”

“So, Journey,” Kweku began when Dame disappeared into the hallway, “what do you think about all of this?”

“I can hardly believe it. You could’ve told me something. Helped me get ready.”

“You can’t get someone ready for fate. You just have to know they’ll show up,” he said.

“What’s next?”

“Next, you take all of those contracts I hate looking at and find yourself a good entertainment lawyer. Atlanta’s full of them. They’ll let you know all is proper and then we’ll start working on your first release.”

“That’s it?” I said, feeling my eyes watering up again.

“That’s it.”

“I just can’t believe this is happening,” I said. “I guess I need to find a good attorney.”

“Yes, and then get ready to work,” he directed, pointing at me. “The sooner we get you writing songs like ‘Dying,’ the better.”

“I see,” I said, remembering my special place on the beach in Kumasi and the words just came to me.