EZRA
She slid into her car like she wasn’t just carved straight out of my next hundred poems.
That soft smile still lingered on her lips as her homegirls teased her loudly with, “Okaayy, bitch!” and “We saw that!” type of shit. She laughed with her head back, mouth wide and carefree. And then she glanced at me once more before the door shut and her taillights faded down the block.
I stood there for a second, then walked back to the lounge with the warm summer air brushing over my skin like her energy was still stuck to it. I hadn’t meant to say half the shit I said, but when she looked at me with her chin up and her curiosity wide open, it was like the words just flowed.
Yavanni.
Her name sounded like a song and left my ass standing on the sidewalk like a nigga with something to lose.
“Bro…” I looked up to see Mekai leaning halfway out the lounge door. He raised his eyebrows like a nosy nigga. “You get the number or nah?”
I smirked and held up my phone. “Locked in.”
He whistled. “Damn. Look at you. Lowe out here cuffin’ up.”
“Relax.”
“Nah, I’m proud of you. You ain’t gave a woman that much attention in a grip. She different, huh?”
I didn’t answer, but I didn’t have to. He saw it on me. I could feel it myself with how my chest had been tight ever since she walked away. How her scent was still in the air somehow all sweet and earthy, like coconut oil, incense, and a little bit of Black girl magic. My stomach was still doing laps. My throat was dry, but not from thirst.
I needed to sit down or write something. So, I went back inside, took one more shot, and left before the place got too loud again. I needed quiet to process what just happened.
Back at my spot, I tossed my keys on the counter and dropped my phone on the table with the screen face up. Her name was sitting there. Yavanni, with a little heart she’d added next to it all bold like she knew exactly what she was doing to me. I sat on the edge of my couch, leaned forward, and rubbed the back of my neck.
She asked about my eye. Nobody ever asked the first night or the second and definitely not the third. Most people stared or pretended they weren’t, then backed off entirely like the truth might bite them. But she just… looked. Then, asked softly and directly like she wasn’t scared of the answer, just interested in the man who had to carry it.
I got up and went to my bedroom and pulled out my notebook from under the bed. I flipped past half-filled pages of poems, loose thoughts, and old grief, and started fresh.
Locs like roots dug deep into knowing.
Laugh like wind chimes after rain.
The dress hugged her like it missed her yesterday.
Said my name like it meant something.
Said hers like it was gospel.
She shouldn’t even be here… but she was.
And now I’m ruined.
I stared at the lines and crossed one out then wrote it back before closing the book. It was too soon to be writing about her. It was too soon to be letting her live on my pages but it was already happening. I picked up my phone to hit her up and text her something chill.
You get home safe?
She responded fast like she already knew it was me.
Safe big bamboos that read Divine. When I stepped back, I saw her clearer than before. Not the girl I was painting, but her. Yavanni.
That curve in her walk. That patience in her stare. That damn laugh that sounded like freedom cracking through concrete. I wiped my hand off on a towel and leaned against the ladder, pulling my phone from my pocket. It was just after noon. I thought about texting her again. Something casual. But there wasn’t anything casual about how I felt. So I waited and let the air cool down. Let the sun shift. Let my hands stop shaking.
Later that night, I was back at the crib with my shirt off and the fan blowing. Blxst playing low. Something with bass and a slow drum line. My phone buzzed and I damn near knocked over my water grabbing it.
You thinking about me?
I let the smile take over my face this time as I read her text.
Can’t stop.
That good or bad?
Depends. You afraid of being seen?
The dots popped up immediately.
Sometimes. But with you… not really.
I read that twice. Nah, three times before sitting up.
Then meet me tomorrow 'round like 7.
The reply came quickly.
Where?
Florence Hill Park. I’ll bring the vibes.
She didn’t respond right away and I set my phone down, staring at the ceiling, wondering if I was doing too much. Then, my phone buzzed.
Deal.
I don’t know how long I sat there after that. I didn’t write. Shit, I didn’t even eat. I just laid there, imagining hearing her voice again.