Jaya tipped back her head and allowed the sunshine to wash over her as she moved her hips in slow, tight circles to the Soca tune pounding in her eardrums. She spent 363 days every year waiting for the two days when she could break free on the road in a cacophony of colors, feathers and rhythm.
Those who knew her best often teased that they had no idea she hid a free spirit under her plain clothes, muted makeup, austere ponytail and very, very sensible shoes. She seemed, they said, to strip away her inhibitions much in the same way she stripped away her clothes for her bright, glittering mas costume.
She accepted their criticism with the same steady grace she swayed her hips to the music. Music was her addiction; whining and wukking her freedom. Carnival Monday and Tuesday gave her enough to recharge for the rest of the year. It was cheaper than therapy and a better hit than cocaine.
Jaya chipped and shimmied down the road with Soca pulsing through her veins until she felt that, like Destra, she could really fly. She closed her eyes as she danced until there was nothing left in the world but her rhythm and the music beats. When her eyes finally fluttered open she found him leaning up against a concrete fence watching her. The movements stopped with an erratic jerk as she tried to catch her breath. Trey, predictably, wasn’t playing with a band. But Jaya wished he was. It would finally give her an excuse to push herself against his body and chase the rhythm with him. Her shock at seeing him lasted for only a few seconds before the music called to her hips and feet and demanded she took her whining elsewhere. Without much of a second thought she danced and sang along to Ricardo Drue proclaiming himself a vagabond. She was a couple of feet away from Trey before she turned around, walked slowly towards the sidewalk and smiled at him. Before he could greet her, Jaya turned around and planted her ass firmly against his body. Then, she got on just like the vagabond the artist proclaimed himself to be. It didn’t take long before Trey’s body moved along to the song. They danced together until her rhythm became his and his breath tickled the side of her neck.
Jaya pulled herself away when the song switched to Drue boasting about his alcohol tolerance. Her body protested as she made her way back to her band but she paid it no mind. Carnival waited on no man. Not even six-feet, two inches of sex on legs. Nope. On those two days she answered to only one thing: the music.
© Rilzy Adams, 2015