Page 2 of Behind the Bars

Ray had been Mama’s boyfriend for as long as I could remember. There wasn’t a memory I had that didn’t include his face. For a long time, I’d thought he was my father, but one night when they both came home hammered, I listened to them fighting over how I was being raised, and Mama shouted about how Ray didn’t get a say in my life since I wasn’t hisdaughter.

But still, he loved me like I was hisown.

He was the reason we moved around so much. He found decent success as a musician and was able to make a living touring around the world. Sure, he wasn’t a household name to a lot of people, but he did well enough to support himself, Mama, and me. We were Ray’s biggest groupies, and he made it his priority to take care ofus.

Mama never worked a real job. She bartended some nights, but not often. She said her job was making me a star, which included her homeschooling me so I wouldn’t lose focus. Being homeschooled was my only option, and I never complained. I was certain other kids had itworse.

Yet, for the first time, when we’d stopped traveling for a while, Ray and I had both convinced Mama to let me go to public school. When I learned we’d be in New Orleans for a bit of time due to a gig Ray had gotten offered, I begged Mama to let me start my junior year at an actual high school, with kids my age.God, what I wouldn’t give to be surrounded by kids my age who weren’t just auditioning for the same roles asme.

A chance to make realfriends...

I was shocked when she agreed to it, thanks to Ray and his way withwords.

It meant the world to me, but to Mama it meant time away from studying the craft of music. To her, high school was child’s play, and I was too old to still beplaying.

“I still don’t think public school was a good idea,” she said scornfully as we walked toward the city bus stop. “It’sdistracting.”

“I can do it all,” I promised, which was probably another lie, but I couldn’t give up being in school. It was the first time in such a long time that I felt like I belonged. “I’ll work even harder than everbefore.”

She cocked an eyebrow, unsure. “If you say so, but the minute I think it’s too much, I’m pulling youout.”

“Okay.”

It was six o’clock on Saturday evening when we stepped on the bus, and instead of going home, we headed to my ballet class. Mama handed me a bag of measured out raw nuts to eat beforehand, because otherwise I’d end up feeling faint. I wasn’t the best dancer in the class, but I wasn’t the worst. There was nothing about my body that read ‘ballerina’, though. My body was made like Mama’s: small waist, thick hips. I had curves in all the right places, except ballet class. In ballet class, I was theoddity.

“Have you been eating clean?” the instructor asked me as she fixed myposture.

“Yes. I had lemon water this morning then Greek yogurt withberries.”

“Andlunch?”

“Salad with nuts and thin chickenslices.”

She raised an eyebrow as if she didn’t believe me. “Andsnacks?”

“I just had nuts on the way overhere.”

“Ah…” She nodded and placed her hands on my waist to straighten me up. “You look bloated. Maybe skip the afternoonsnack.”

A few of the other dancers giggled at her comment, and my cheeks heated up. They all looked at me as if I were a fool for even being in the class. If it weren’t for Mama, I wouldn’t have been, but she thought dance lessons were a very important part of becomingfamous.

It just made me feel like afailure.

“Well, that was humiliating,” Mama barked after rehearsal, barging out of the studio. “You haven’t beenpracticing.”

“Ihave.”

She turned to face me and pointed a stern finger my way. “Jasmine Marie Greene, if you continue to lie, you’ll continue to fail, and your failure isn’t just yours. It reflects on me, too—remember that. Think of this as strike one of three. Three strikes means no more public school. Now come on, we must get to thestudio.”

Acme Studios was a tiny place on Frenchmen Street where I could get behind a microphone and record some of my songs. I always wanted to write my own lyrics, but Mama said I wasn’t skilled enough with the written word to ever do it on myown.

It was an amazing studio, and most people wouldn’t have been able to record there, but Ray had a way of making great connections. I sometimes wondered if that was the only reason Mama stayed withhim.

I couldn’t understand what they had in common other than lovingmusic.

We made it to Frenchmen Street, and the moment we stepped foot there, I smiled. There was something about the energy of it that made me feel alive. Bourbon Street was famous to many tourists, but Frenchmen Street was where the magic of the locals existed. The music you could stumble onto always shocked me. It was amazing how a street could be filled with so much talent, so muchsoul.

When Mama’s phone started ringing, she stepped aside to take the call, and that’s when ithappened.

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