WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE

CHAPTER 7: MOM'S PIANO LESSONS

CHAPTER 7

MOM'S PIANO LESSONS

PRACTICE TODAY WAS CANCELED. IT COULDN'T POSSIBLY BE TRUE. Venus had trained as if there was a reason to breathe air. In all the days of her life, Venus had never missed a practice, and her missing-in-action instructor, Godmother SABA, left her feeling incomplete for the first time in her life.

Is there a possibility she could be sick? Venus thought, although Godmother SABA had never been sick a day in her life. She had never had an illness or even a cold, as Venus could tell it. With eyes still puffy, Venus dragged her hand along the wall down to the basement with sluggish movements. Her ankles weighed more than gray river stones. Slumped, her shoulder blades pushed forward. The atmosphere chilled the stagnant air that caused the hairs on her arms to rise.

She landed on two feet, and the echo of her last step thumped loudly. The equipment that occupied the basement was now gone. None of the punching bags hung low from the ceiling. There were no fake play knives in the equipment container for when she sparred on Fridays. Everything, the memories of being strong and tough, her daily youth, was gone.

Venus grabbed the large pole nearby and hugged it. It filled a void of affection for now. Confusion filled the corners of her brain. Maybe lessons were over, and she was ready—more ready than she could imagine. But it didn't seem true. She still felt behind and hadn't learned all the skills and techniques needed to become the best version of herself. How would she be able to protect herself now? How would she know that all the lessons she'd learned really made her better, more skillful than she was yesterday? Was there even an end point to being the best version of herself? Was that even something she'd know at the end of all the training and hard work? Venus believed there was an underlying wake-up call or message beneath these unknowns she was not currently aware of. But she didn't know what message—not without Godmother SABA in her presence to remind her. Scold her. Guide her.

Venus took off running back up the staircase to the soulful sound of the piano. The Queen's back faced Venus in the piano room. Her spine had no curvature. The long royal-purple dress she wore clung tightly to her goddess-like pear figure. The colors bounced off the cream, coconut-milk-colored Victorian interior walls. Her head swayed and bobbed to the melodic ocean of sound washing away as her petite, gentle fingers caressed the keys with care. Each note strained against the soundboard. The mourning, sweet hollow sound of tranquility emerged from the Queen's imagination. The Queen of Omicron was hypnotized in her own mystic play. A melan‐ cholic lullaby.

"Mum." A faint mumble was all Venus could complete in her speech. "Mum, where is Godmother SABA?"

The Queen's hands never left the keys as her focus remained connected to her siren of symphony. "She left, my love."

"Left? Left where?" And she didn't even say goodbye? Didn't even tell me she was going to take off?

"Sometimes family is more important. What is the Omicron Manifesto? You remember it, don't you? I would hope so."

Knowing it was an understatement. Boy did she know it— front and back and could recite it upside down with her eyes closed at this point in her life. Her mother even made sure the maids had her recite it after prayer over and over again before she went to bed. Some of the uneasiness in her chest shrugged off, now knowing the truth.