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( CHAPTER EIGHT: UP, UP AND AWAY ) February, 1990
❝I'm going on a plane! ❞
◯
Devon's brown, caramel arms hurriedly dragged his suitcase along the slippery airport floor, his anxious coco eyes darting across the sea of people that crammed every inch of the building. "Slow down Dev!" he heard his uncle's breathless call, but the young man never slowed down his pace, but rather picked it up as the possibility of being late dawned on his racing heart. Months of preparation had went into play the minute the 'Rhythm Nation Tour' was announced, and even after all that time of oozing into his new reality, Devon still couldn't fathom that he was given this special chance. A kid from Harlem; set to travel the world with the world's biggest pop diva – it was entirely unbelievable.
"Hurry up y'all!" Devon shouted, his sneakers squeaking against the tiles as his mother, brother and uncle struggled to match his speed. The twenty-one-year-old's furrowed brows were damp with cold sweat, dreading his inability to wake up just a little bit earlier that same morning. However, he couldn't help it, he just loved his bed. Thankfully, as Devon continued to sprint passed various terminals and border patrols, he finally saw a casual group of dancers waiting by one of the private gates.
"Finally made it, huh?" Tina asked, her chestnut mane framing the approachable expression that sat on her face. Devon's rounded pair of lips sighed in relief as he skidded to a stop, "Better late than never," Devon responded, sheepishly shrugging. The young man then turned towards his family, who stood behind him in a huffing and puffing mess.
Devon clutched the handle of his suitcase, gradually approaching the three with his pearly whites plastered in a wide grin. "Well, this is it," the black male said, watching as sadness overtook their sweat-gland faces. Devon's uncle was the first one to step forward, his big-boned arms smothering the younger man in a painful, tight hug. "Make us proud," he whispered, although Devon was too breathless to respond. Devon let out painful wheezes as his uncle's sausage-like arms let go of his torso, causing for his body to flop out of his embrace like a gutted fish.
Next, he turned towards his little brother, Arkell, and crouched down towards his smaller height. His nose mischievously twitched as Devon stared at his tired eyes, knowing deep down that there was some love floating in that little brain of his. "I'm gonna miss you, ya little rascal," Devon said, rubbing Arkell's curly moss of hair.
"And I'm gonna enjoy having your room," the eight-year-old cynically said, swatting his older brother's hand away. Devon rolled his pair of russet eyes before diverting his attention to his petite mother, expecting to see flickers of disappointment staring at him dead in the eye. However, through the hysteria of the airport, he was not sure what to make of his mother's expression. Her deep, sharp eyes were drowned in pools of tears and her shaking hands were reaching out to pull him in a hug.
