She was sweet like early Saturday morning by the California coast. Plump, content lips drawn to perfection and big pink eyes that could never see too much. They called her a number of things, but to herself, she had but one single name: Bee.
When she closed her eyes and channeled her focus, Bee could remind her mouth of the taste of fresh fruit and sweet romance. It wasn’t difficult imagining taste and fabricated memories because she was a dancer. Dancers can always imagine sweet energy because they create it. With their body, with their rhythm and with their grace, dancers always create the energy of their choice. And so Bee went about her bohemian, free-spirited Los Angeles lifestyle as an ambitious nineteen-year-old.
Sabor A Mi..Mi mi mi
Kali Uchis hummed in the background of Bee’s breakfast in her Chino Hills backyard. Bee’s favorite meal of the day was always breakfast, because it was filled with hope and aspirations for a new day. I can be whomever I want over breakfast, thought Bee. Anyone at all. It’s seven AM and the sky has barely met the sun, so how could the world and all its people have already met me?
Bee set to finishing up the last of her cheese omelet and drinking her favorite green tea. With a spoon of honey in her right hand and a jay in her left, Bee couldn’t be more at peace. She was in her element. She was the future. She was everything she’d loved and desired growing up. She was present. And she was Saturday.