Imani #2
His right hand abandons my steering wheel and lands on the back of my neck.
He lightly caresses it. The small gesture has a huge ass effect on me and I break.
Tears start to fall and I let them. So many days and nights, I’ve fought them but not now.
With him, in this moment, with him driving my baby, I feel comfortable and safe enough to have the release that I’ve needed.
As my tears fall, he continues to caress my neck and drive.
He doesn’t interrupt with words. He does and gives me exactly what I need-silent comfort.
I have so many great memories of Imari and many of them have been centered by our mutual love of cars.
Although we were only sixteen minutes apart, he was my older brother.
He taught me how to drive, automatic and stick shift.
Thanks to him, I can change my own tires, do a full oil change, and even change spark plugs.
He taught me how to fight too. The racing scene can get crazy, obviously, so, he wanted to make sure I could handle myself. So, he would take me to the gym and he and I would box. When I fight, I don’t pull hair and scratch, I box and land hits thanks to Imari.
My first races were against him too and once I beat him a few times, we joined races together.
That’s how I met Breezy and became a Hellcat Barbie.
I hadn’t raced since he’d been gone. I missed it and didn’t know how much until we pulled up on the race.
Being there and actually racing brought back many of the good memories so my tears are a cocktail of happy thoughts and sadness from missing him and them.
“Imari got me into racing. NASCAR races were his shit and I fell in love with it too. When the first Black woman, Tia Norfleet, got licensed by NASCAR and ARCA, I knew I wanted to race. He taught me and after each win, he and I would go get breakfast. It was our thing. I hadn’t raced since he’s been gone. ”
“Shit, now I feel-” he begins but I stop him.
“No, you shouldn’t feel anything but good.
I truly needed that race,” I admit then grin, thinking about my brother.
“He would be mad at me for not racing. I can hear him cursing me out because I waited this long. So, in honor of him, we’re going to celebrate and eat breakfast. This place better be good. ”
“It is. Trust me.”
“I do,” I admit and I mean that in every possible way. He’s the first person in Crescent Falls that I’ve talked to about Imari. I hadn’t even shared that with anyone in the hospital.
About thirty minutes later, we are existing the highway, entering Diamond Falls.
He drives through the city and we end up at a cute little diner called The Pancake House.
The small parking lot is filled with cars and there’s a nice crowd inside.
We end up waiting about ten minutes before being seated in a small round booth.
Since I eat with my eyes, I peeped out each plate we pass on the way to the booth and the pancakes look perfect, thick, fluffy, and crispy on the edges like I like.
Imari would hate them though; he liked paper thin pancakes.
“What are you going to get?” I ask him as we look over the limited two-page menu.
“The victory meal, pancakes, eggs, bacon, and sausage,” he says and I simper.
This man is everything.
When our server comes to the table, we order the pancake meals and add a side of sausage to each.
He orders the three-pancake meal and I get the two.
We both order cokes to drink. While our food is being prepared, he sits and attentively listens as I talk about my brother.
I’m talking his ear off but he doesn’t mind at all.
Our food comes out about twenty minutes later and my perfect night only gets better.
“Both of these niggas are going to be talking mad shit, especially Dodge,” Daymir says as we pull up to the nice home at the end of the street.
The driveway is filled with cars and one of them catches my eye, a matte red Corvette Coupe, sitting on Hoosier racing tires not normal seasonal tires. Most people don’t ride on racing tires.
“It’s going to be fine. I’m a big girl; I can handle shit-talking men,” I assure him, again. “But who’s Corvette is that?”
“Hazel, Brick’s girl.”
“She races?”
“I don’t know. I never heard her say anything about it. Why?”
“Her ride and the tires.”
We are about to have Sunday dinner with his family.
When he asked, I didn’t hesitate to say yes.
After Friday night, the race, breakfast, and some fye ass sex, I’ll say yes to anything he asks, anything.
He brought back an important missing piece from my life and I adore him for that so dinner with his cousins is light work.
He kills the engine then we get out. He grabs the sweet potato pound cake from the backseat before we walk to the door.
I was raised to never go to someone’s house empty handed so I had him stop at this cute bakery in town, Seasonal Sweets.
It’s fall and they had so many autumn theme desserts.
I sampled the sweet potato pound cake and was instantly sold.
It’s so sweet, rich, delicious and moist. I’m pretty sure someone’s Big Momma has to be in that kitchen baking.
When he reaches to ring the doorbell, the door opens and a pretty sistah with long, sandy brown and black boho braids down to her waist is standing here smiling.
“You didn’t even let me ring the damn bell, Presha,” he says.
“Hush, I saw you on the camera,” she says to him dismissively before looking at me, all smiles. “Imani, I’m glad you came. I’m Presha, Dodge’s wife.”
“Let the people in, love,” a deep, husky voice booms from behind.
“And that loud but loving voice belongs to my husband. Come in.”
Her eyes playfully roll as she steps back to allow us into their beautiful home.
Daymir motions for me to walk in first so I do and he follows.
As he walks in, a man who I assume is Dodge approaches.
His height and size mirrors Daymir. They also have the same nose and eyes but Daymir’s complexion is a rich, deep chocolate and Dodge’s is more latte.
When we are both inside the foyer, Presha hugs me. Dodge does next then smiles. He turns to Daymir and his smile morphs into a smirk.
“Ok. Corn bread with a little dressing,” he says and Daymir shakes his head while smiling.
“I know that pink box. Seasonal Sweets?” Presha asks.
“Yes, and it’s a delicious sweet potato pound cake,” I tell her.
“Oh, thank you, girl,” she says before looking at Dodge. “Baby, take him to the kitchen and put that on the counter.” She takes me by the hand then says, “Let’s leave them. Hazel is here, waiting to meet you.”
“You have a beautiful home,” I compliment as we walk through it.
“Thank you. We built it last year and just moved in six months ago. I still need to add a few more touches but I love it.”
She leads me pass a large living room furnished with those new cloth oversized sofas and loveseats. The colors are beige and a light, light blue. We pass a dining room, bedroom, and bath before bending the corner and walking into an entertainment room.
Just like the other spacious rooms in the home, this entertainment room is massive.
There are two brown leather sectionals, a bar, a pool table, two old school arcade games, a digital juke box, and theater size TV on the wall.
A tall beautiful sister is standing at the bar.
When we walk in, she turns and looks my way.
“Okay, Locs! I love your hair,” she says as she walks over to us. She has a cute, curly mohawk cut with one side shaved and I love it. “I’m Hazel and I work with Daymir. I’ve been wanting to meet the lady that has his mean ass smiling,” she says with a smirk.
“I don’t know about all of that but I’m Imani. Nice to meet you.”
“Well, I do. You cured our grumpy gansta,” she says and both her and Presha laugh. “You drink?” she asks.
“I do.”
“Good cause we do too,” Presha says. “Hazel is our self-proclaimed bartender. She’s a beast with it and heavy handed.”
“Bitch, I drink to feel tipsy not to look cute.”
“This drink looks cutesy,” I comment on the drink in her hand.
“Don’t let the fruit slices fool you. It’s my Sinful Sangria with bourbon, red wine, a little pomegranate juice, apple and orange slices, and star anise,” Hazel says.
“It’s good too,” Presha co-signs.
Hazel walks to the bar and we follow. After she pours me and Presha a drink, we journey to the sectional to talk.
Our conversation is comfortable, easy, and hilarious.
They both are a trip in their own way but they are both right about this Sangria.
It’s good with a helluva kick. I feel a buzz off this one glass.
“I saw your ride out there,” I tell Hazel.
“Oh, my girl Evette. That’s my baby,” she gushes.
“She’s nice. Do you race her?” I ask.
“I do but how did you know that,” she responds. Her perfectly arched eyebrows are raised high.
“The tires.”
“You know about cars? What do you drive?”
“Red eye Hellcat Challenger.”
“Oh shit. Do you race?”
“I do. Daymir took me to a street race Friday night and I competed.”
“Did you win?” Presha asks.
“I did,” I proudly admit.
“I race at the track. Where was the street race?”
“I don’t know. I followed Daymir’s directions there but it was way out in the middle of nowhere. I just remember two railroad tracks. We can ask him but I’m interested in the tracks. Street races are fun but they can get really wild. On the track, it’s just racing, less danger, and it’s legal.”
“That’s exactly why I stick to the track. I can’t do anything that puts me on the radar of the police.”
“Where is it?”
“Over by the mountain. We race every other Saturday.”
“We? Are you in a riding club?” I ask.
“No, no club. Just a group of people who like to race. Are you in a riding club?”
“Yes. The Hellcat Barbies. They are based back in my hometown.”
“I like the name,” Presha says, smiling.
“You should come next Saturday and race with us. It’ll be fun. There are two girlies with Hellcats that normally come too,” Hazel says before sipping from her glass. “And maybe I can finally get you to come too,” she says to Presha.
“I might actually come and watch. Not race.”
“Trust me. I know. You barely go the damn speed limit,” Hazel says then laughs.
“What do you drive?” I ask Presha.
“That white Infiniti QX50 in the driveway.”
“Love,” we hear and all look up.
It’s Dodge so Presha stands and walks over to him and his hand immediately palms her ass. It stays there as they talk and doesn’t leave until she walks back over to us.
“The pot is ready,” she exclaims, all smiles.
“Pot?” I ask.
“Daymir didn’t tell you? The crab pot. We’re having a seafood boil. I told Dodge to tell him. You’re not allergic to seafood, are you?” she asks with concern.
“Girl no! I would die if I was allergic to seafood. I love it too much. I’m more than fine with it.”
“Oh good. We’re eating out in the solarium. Hazel take her out there please. I need to grab the butter and ranch.”
“Ranch?” I question.
“Yes. I love ranch on my crab legs,” she says and I’m pretty sure my face contorts. I loathe ranch dressing, no matter who makes it or what brand. I don’t know why so many people like it.
“You can have that. I just need butter and lemons.”
“Me too, girl,” Hazel agrees.
“Haters,” Presha says before leaving us in the entertainment room.
“You want a refill before we go out?”
“No but I would love a beer. A Bud Light or Heineken. I swear I can’t eat crabs without a beer,” I tell her.
“Then, you are good. There’s plenty of Heineken’s in the fridge out there. All three of them big negros love Heinekens.”
“Is your husband here?” I ask.
“Not husband yet but he’s on his way. He should be pulling up in a minute. You ready to eat?”
“After I use the bathroom.”