BENEATH THE FLASHING LIGHTS

The music was deafening. Not the kind that played softly in the background but the kind that made the windows tremble, the kind that got into your bones and vibrated there long after the speakers stopped. Sasha lay sprawled on her bed, one leg resting on the other in the air, scrolling through her phone with an almost lazy smirk on her face. Her room smelled faintly of hair cream, body mist, and last night’s perfume the scent of reckless youth. Photos from the previous night’s party were flooding her i********:. One in particular was racking up likes, a boomerang of her mid-twirl, hair flying, hips moving to the beat in a shimmering silver dress that barely touched her thighs. “You looked HOT last night!” “Omggg! Party queen!” “Vibes on VIBES.” Sasha grinned. She tilted her phone screen, watching the glossy version of herself reflect back. That glittery girl on the dance floor felt like the real her. Not the one stuck in this cramped room with peeling blue walls and a tired ceiling fan that groaned every time it rotated. Then the gate clanged outside. Sasha didn’t need to check to know who it was. Within seconds, the front door opened and shut with a force that made the frame creak. She heard the shuffle of tired slippers against the cement floor. Her heartbeat slowed, but the bass kept thumping. She made no move to turn it down. “Sasha!” The voice was unmistakably worn out but sharp as a knife. She sighed, bracing. Her bedroom door swung open, and there stood Mama Grace head wrapped in a tired scarf, face glistening with sweat, a plastic bag dangling from one hand. “Is this how you live now?” Mama Grace’s eyes scanned the mess in the room—half-opened makeup bags, crumpled dresses, a half-eaten box of chicken wings on the dresser. “Coming home at 3 a.m.? Music shaking the whole house? Is this what I raised you for?” Sasha pulled the blanket over her legs. “It wasn’t even that late. Tiwa’s birthday ran long. We were vibing.” “You said you’d be home by eleven,” her mother snapped. “Don’t lie to me.” “I’m not a kid anymore, Mom. It’s just a party—what’s the big deal?” Mama Grace dropped the bag on the floor. “It’s the way you live, Sasha. No school, no job, no plans. You keep throwing money around like you pluck it from trees.” Sasha shrugged. “I’m enjoying my life. What’s wrong with that? At least I’m not miserable and stuck behind a sewing machine all day.” Mama Grace flinched, just a little. Her lips parted like she was going to shout, but then she didn’t. Instead, she walked across the room and turned off the speaker with a sharp click. The silence that followed was louder than the music. “You think I’m miserable?” she asked softly. Sasha turned her face away, immediately regretting her words. “That’s not what I meant.” “You think making sacrifices for you is misery?” Her voice was calm now. Dangerous. “You think feeding you, clothing you, praying for you, working late into the night to pay rent and keep your brother in school… is misery?” Sasha looked down, suddenly interested in her bedsheet. Mama Grace stepped back. “Fun won’t feed you, Sasha. When those parties end—when the music dies down and your phone stops ringing—what will be left?” Sasha didn’t answer. Not because she didn’t have one, but because the words curled up in her throat and refused to come out. Somewhere in the deepest corner of her, a part of her knew her mother was right. But that part was small and quiet, Sasha had spent the last few years learning how to silence it. Mama Grace exhaled deeply. “You have one more month to figure your life out. One more. Then I’m done begging.” She left the room without another word. Sasha stared at the ceiling, her chest tight. Her phone vibrated. A message from Chika: “Another party Friday! Lekki rooftop. We in???” Sasha smiled. She tapped out a quick reply. “Yesss!! VIP or nothing!” She glanced toward the door Mama Grace had just walked through, then looked back at her screen. “Life’s short,” she whispered to no one. “Let me live mine.”