Salsa Mixbowl Extravagancia

The day started just like any other. Quick, uncomfortably, and dull. I didn’t even have enough time to count all the sheep. My mother lets me know that after school today I will be going to a special place. Hmmm a special … place.


I spend all day in class wondering what she could possibly mean. While the incredibly swift meter stick comes crashing in front of my desk.
Are you with us now, Mr. Sheed? The class teacher barked.
Yes. I am now. I added.
Do you mind to tell us what has you in the days? She implied.
My mom tells me I have somewhere to be right after school. I haven’t the slightest clue as to where. I addressed
Well, think about it in school detention.. She exclaimed..


Four hours later. The school bell rings and I am released from the penitentiary. The car is waiting for me. I am scared. I am also calm.
Where we headin’ moms? I blurted.
Silence comes of her. I ask again.
Moms where are we headin’. I asked flustered.
You’ll see. She mumbled.


We come to this building. Resembling an old monastery. Its exterior is out of old cracked books. Like the creases of old pages in a book. Or those of tectonic plates. Always moving. Slowly. At their own pace. Recording time until there is no more left.

I enter the building and there is someone there. Hello?
Well hello. You don’t remember me do you? She asked.

Can’t say I do. Your name is? I replied.
Cherelle, but you still don’t remember me do you, Rashid? She continues.
Not really. I declared.
Perhaps this will help. She responded.


She walks away from me and proceeds to the table with a cd player on it along with speakers. Robin Thickes’ Everything I Can’t Have plays. She approaches me again.
You can still salsa right? She asked.
Yeah I can. I answered.



She twists and turns. Letting her motions and emotions flow. I proceed after the 32 count drops to join her. As she twirls and I dance with her. I notice she knows my natural flow pattern. Weirdly, I know hers. Then, a familiar scent grazes past my nose. Sweet cinnamon churros in a field of flowers.

The smell overtook me like the movie Butterfly Effect. I go back to an ancient dormant memory. Of my childhood. Before coming here into the states. Cherelle is the girl that was always on the playground alone. And would stay there and weep because she had no friends.


I would always play with her. Until our parents came to get us. We would dance and run around until the sun couldn’t smile anymore.



We twirl and twirl. Bodies swaying like liquid fire. This feeling took over me like she has been with me ever since I left Dominican Republic to come here to the EEUU. She stares at me and stare into the black holes of emotion that she displays.

Her cesspool of kindling flames, like fireworks dispersed into the night sky like the big bang theory. Explosive. Never ending. Those shooting stars. What was once the big bang has now been reversed, it is back to nothing. She is my Yin. And I her Yang.
Stuck there in a never ending embrace. The passion , the chemistry, just the two elements of artwork. That composes just enough contrast and negative space to emit balance.



Do you remember me now?
Wow, Cherelle. How long has it been?

Word Count: 585





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