Starstruck

11. Egypt

Wash day before therapy wasn't the best timing, but Egypt's curls had their own agenda. Standing in her bathroom, she sectioned her shoulder-length hair the way her mother had taught her, muscle memory making her smile.

"Always from the back forward, baby girl," she could hear her mom saying. "Gentle with those curls."

The team house was quiet this early, just the sound of water and Egypt humming as she worked conditioner through each section. Her reflection caught her eye – her mother's features looking back at her. Same brown eyes, same full lips, same warm brown complexion that looked golden in certain light. Osiris got their father's deep brown tone, his strong features. But Egypt? Egypt was her mama's mirror.

"You got my crown, baby," her mother used to say while doing her hair. "My curls, my smile, my heart."

Egypt's fingers trembled slightly as she applied leave-in conditioner. The house felt too quiet without jazz playing. Mom always had music on – couldn't play a note herself, but filled their home with Coltrane, Holiday, Parker. She'd dance around the kitchen, watch Egypt practice for hours, beam with pride at every recital.

Her phone buzzed – Osiris FaceTiming.

"Wash day?" He grinned when she answered, her hair in twists.

"Therapy day," she corrected, but smiled. "How's tour?"

"Good. Dad called. Says you've been dodging his calls."

Egypt focused on untwisting a section, letting her curls fall naturally. "Been busy."

"Been avoiding. You know he worries."

"Yeah." She watched her curls spring back, just like her mom's used to. "O? Did you... after Mom... did you ever feel guilty about being happy? About playing?"

Her brother's face softened. "All the time, sis. But you know what Mom always said..."

"Music feeds the soul," they finished together, remembering how she'd say it every Sunday morning as jazz filled their house.

An hour later, Egypt stood outside Dr. Sarah's office, her curls defined and bouncing with each nervous shift. The waiting room was warm, inviting. Photos of Black excellence lined the walls – musicians, artists, writers. Egypt's fingers tapped saxophone rhythms on her knee.

"Egypt," Dr. Sarah's smile was genuine as she opened her door. "Come in."

The office felt safe somehow. Plants thrived in sunny windows. More photos and art celebrated Black joy, Black healing, Black life.

"Your hair is beautiful," Dr. Sarah noted as Egypt settled on the comfortable couch. "You seem nervous today."

"First real therapy session in a while," Egypt admitted. "Lots to... unpack."

"Where would you like to start?"

Everything tumbled out – about her mom's endless support of her music even though she couldn't play herself. About Sunday mornings with jazz records playing. About her mom sitting for hours, watching her practice, saying "That's my girl" after every song.

"She loved music so much," Egypt's voice cracked. "Couldn't play a note, but she'd light up watching me and Osiris learn. Called us her little symphony."

"And now?" Dr. Sarah asked gently. "Where do you feel her spirit most?"

"When I play. When I cook with jazz on like she used to. When..." Egypt hesitated.

"When what?"

"When I play with Queen Safi," she whispered. "Mom would have loved her voice. Would have..." Egypt's hands twisted in her lap. "Would have loved how the music feels when we play together."

"You pause when you mention Queen Safi," Dr. Sarah observed. "There's something there you're afraid to look at."

"I have someone. Someone good."

"But?"

"But sometimes when I play with Queen Safi, I feel..." Egypt struggled for words. "Mom always said music was a language of its own. And when we play together..."

"You're speaking that language?"

"Yeah." Egypt whispered. "And I'm scared of what we're saying."

They sat with that truth for a moment. Egypt's curls fell forward as she looked down, hiding tears.

"You know," Dr. Sarah said finally, "sometimes healing isn't linear. Sometimes it takes us places we didn't expect. Makes us feel things we're not ready for."

"What if I break everything? Everyone?"

"What if you're just growing? Evolution often feels like breaking at first."

After the session, Egypt stood in front of her practice room mirror. Her mother's features. Her mother's heart. Her own gift for music that her mom had nurtured so carefully. But something else too – something uniquely hers. Something growing, changing, evolving.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Safiya about rehearsal later. Egypt's heart did that thing it wasn't supposed to do.

Maybe Dr. Sarah was right. Maybe this was evolution, not breaking.

Maybe it was time to listen to what the music was trying to say.