After Ever After

Chapter Five

Jasmine and Aladdin's Apartment

Saturday morning

Aladdin rolled his eyes for the fifth time that morning—and it wasn't even eight yet. He had every intention of having a decent start to his day: a nice hot shower, a fresh shave, some comfortable clothes, and a big bowl of blueberry oatmeal. That's all he asked for this morning.

Apparently, his girlfriend had thought otherwise.

"Would it kill you to clean up after yourself? For Christ's sake Al, a damn child is cleaner than you," Jasmine continued with her nagging, entering the kitchen cradling Aladdin's pajama pants, t-shirt, boxer shorts, and socks in her arms.

Aladdin replied, "We don't worship Christ." 

He glanced up from his half empty bowl to see Jasmine glaring at him, her gorgeous hazel-brown eyes full of irritation and twitching just a bit. Her lips, her beautiful full lips, sat in a thin line across her face. Dainty, feminine hands curled into tight fists. He snickered; she was so cute when she was mad.

Jasmine exhaled deeply out of her nose in order to keep herself from cursing Aladdin out from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. "When you get back from practice today, you need to do your laundry," she demanded through gritted teeth.

Aladdin offered her a salute. "Aye aye, captain!"

"Aladdin I'm not joking! I'm sick of having to clean up after your mess—"

"Then don't," he interrupted her. "Leave my messes where they are and I'll clean them up myself."

"I can't do that! If I did the whole house would be a sty...Jafar never made me clean up after him"

Aladdin took that as his cue to leave. He was not about to ruin his day before it even got fully started by delving into what would be a very heated argument. As usual, he bit his tongue, swallowing his pride with the rest of his breakfast. He rinsed out the bowl and placed it in the dishwasher. "See? I can clean up after myself," he kissed the top of her hair on his way to the door. "See you later"

"Don't forget what I said!" she yelled after him.

He ignored her. "Love you!"

"Love you too," she muttered; he didn't hear her. He was already outside.

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Prince Ali Dance Studio

"Run it again, guys! This needs to be tight!" Aladdin ordered to the twelve other men in the room who were bent over at the waist, gripping their knees with their sweaty hands, taking a moment to catch their breath. Aladdin clapped his hands in a manner that was meant to get their attention.

"Come on guys. If we can get this right, we'll be done for the day. Let's do this."

The men in the room slowly rolled their bodies upright, wandering back to their starting positions. Once in place, Al rewound the track he had momentarily paused on the stereo system and pressed play.

"Watch your timing with the stunts and keep your lines straight. Everyone needs to be together," he reminded them. "Five. Six. Five, six, seven, go!"

Aladdin watched the group with intense eyes, scanning for any flaws, mishaps, or mistakes. He bobbed his head in tune with the music counting the steps in his mind, faintly mimicking the moves with his body. A smile played at the corners of his mouth as he watched the young men dance. They all had such passion in their eyes, such determination, and such hunger. He remembered that look.

He had that very same look when he would battle on the street corners in his neighborhood, wanting so bad to win the respect from those around him. To make them realize that he was more than a trouble-making, thieving, worthless street rat. Aladdin may not have had much growing up, but he always had dance.

He took it and ran with it, created a name for himself; especially after learning that his own father was the legendary Cassim. He made his own crew—the Ababwian Barbarians—and dominated any and every crew that dared to challenge him, earning more respect (and more money) than he ever imagined.

Over the years, he built an empire. He was one of the best choreographers in the country, a breakdance icon, and he wanted to keep it that way.

The music stopped. The boys all dropped into their b-boy pose with precision and perfection. Aladdin felt a swell of pride within his chest. These young men were the second generation, so to speak, of the Ababwian Barbarians. He expected a lot from them. They were a representation of everything he had worked for. All the blood, sweat, tears, and sacrifices he pushed himself through. They were to portray nothing below greatness, excellence, and perfection.

And they never failed to do so.

Aladdin stood by the stereo, arms crossed over his chest, a large grin taking up much of the bottom half of his face. "Much better," he stated with a hint of amusement lacing his tone. "You just might win the competition next month"

"Might?" one of the guys spoke. "Man, we gonna murder that competition. There'll be blood everywhere!" he stretched his arms wide, up, and over his head motioning in all directions of the room, indicating where this so-called blood would be.

Aladdin laughed. "Yeah, well, try to contain your murderous ways until then, okay? See you guys next week."

Once the gym was empty, Al turned the stereo back on. He went into simple stretching exercises before breaking into a freestyle in the middle of the floor, watching his reflection in the mirror. He was like a furious wind; fast and quick and steady and sharp, yet he was still light as a feather.

He may not have been Jafar, but he was something.

He was somebody.

He was him, and he was just fine with that.

He just wished Jasmine felt the same way.