EZRA
I s t o o d i n front of my closet like something brand new was about to come out the shit. Like maybe a version of myself that gave a damn about outfit pics and color schemes was hiding behind the hoodies and dark clothes. I could dress; that wasn’t the issue. I just never gave a fuck about labels and shit. I was fly but simple.
I ended up pulling one shirt out, stared at it, then tossed it on the bed. I did the same thing with another and another. Most of my wardrobe was in grayscale anyway. All black, charcoal and the occasional deep green or tan when I was feeling wild. Comfort. That’s how I moved. But now I was staring at the rack like this was prom and I needed a miracle stylist.
Get a grip, E.
Finally, I grabbed something. It was a black tee, army fatigue cargo shorts and a pair of New Balances. I put on my Cuban and other chains and sprayed some cologne. Sauvage. Label or not, that was my shit. From the couch, I pulled the gray throw blanket then grabbed some red plastic cups from the kitchen and stared at everything in my hands.
“Bro, you really tryna impress this woman,” I muttered, half-laughing at myself.
Then I did the most and hit the corner store for a bottle of red wine and a small-ass cheese board they sold in the fridge section. I didn’t even eat cheese like that but it looked like a date move. Yavanni had me acting like I hadn’t been heartless since a youngin’.
The Uber ride was quiet. My driver didn’t say shit, just the way I liked it. I didn't drive and it wasn't that I couldn't. After everything went down with my eye and shit, I chose not to. Maybe that would change over time. Maybe it wouldn't.
I went to pull up my playlist just as my phone buzzed with a text from this nigga Mekai.
You link with Afro beauty queen yet?
I shook my head, smiling.
Omw to meet her now.
Two seconds later, my phone rang. This nigga was calling me. I answered on the second ring. “What up?”
“Bruh,” he laughed. “You really out here goin’ on dates and shit.”
“Relax.”
“Nah. She got you movin' different already. That's what's up.”
I couldn’t help the laugh. “It’s just a vibe, bro. Chill.”
“I’m hatin’ but lowkey proud.”
I looked down at my phone as a text came through from Yavanni.
Should be there in 15.
My stomach did that thing again. “Aight, I’m gone,” I said. “She on the way.”
Mekai paused. Then, real quiet, he said, “Don’t fuck it up, E.”
I didn’t answer that. I just hung up and sat back, letting that sentence hang in the air.
Florence Hill Park was peaceful by the time I got there. The waterfall by the stairs was running soft while kids still played in the distance, and old heads playing chess under the trees. East Hollis in the summer had this peace to it if you caught it at the right hour.
I found a shady spot under a tree near the top terrace. Then, I laid out the blanket, set the bottle and cups down and cracked the seal on the cheese. After, I took a minute just to breathe but I kept my eye on the hill though. And when I saw Yavanni?
Fuck.
She floated like some shit out of a dream. She wore a brown halter top that hugged her just right with a cream skirt brushing her ankles. Anklets catching the sun. She had her locs styled differently, earrings swaying. Her skin was damn near glowing like she walked through honey before she got there.
I stood up, slowly. Heart doing too much. Eyes locked. She smiled when she spotted me. That soft one. “Hey,” she said, walking into my space like she belonged there.
“Damn,” I murmured, stepping back just enough to look at her fully. “You look… unreal.”
She laughed low. “You trying to out-romance me?”
“I ain’t even started yet.” I held her gaze, then motioned to the blanket. “This cool?”
“It’s perfect,” she said. We sat, legs brushing slightly. I poured the wine and handed her a cup. “You really brought wine and cheese,” she teased.
“I know. I hate myself too.”
She laughed. “It’s cute. Unexpected.”
“You nervous?”
She took a sip. “A little. What am I walking into with you?”
I didn’t answer right away. Just let her watch me. “I’m not easy,” I said finally. “But I’m real and I won’t lie to you.”
Her face softened. “I like real.”
We sat like that, sipping, talking about the city, the sounds and the art around us. She asked about my poetry and murals. I asked about her clinical work.
“You ever think about quittin’?” I asked.
“All the time,” she said. “But it’s not just about me. There’s pressure. My family’s name is heavy.”
I looked at her then. “You ever get tired of carryin’ it?”
She nodded. “I’m always tired.”
“Then let it down,” I said. “Just for now.”
She stared at me like nobody had ever told her that before. The silence between us grew but it wasn't awkward and then her leg brushed mine again. “You really been writing about me?” she asked, quieter now.
I nodded. “A lil' bit.”
She looked down at her cup. “What if I’m not what you think?”
“I don’t need you to be perfect,” I said. “I just want you to be real.”
Her eyes lifted to mine. She leaned in slightly, her body soft, open. “You really are always this smooth huh?”
“I told you that.”
She grinned, that lazy beautiful smile, and leaned back, her head resting on the edge of my arm. I let it stay there and we sat like that as we watched the sun slide down behind the trees. We listened to the city exhale and then something hit that I couldn’t stop from flowing.
“I don’t know ya past or how heavy it sits. But I see in ya eyes that you carried some shit. You laugh like ya light, but you guard like a wall. Still, I’d stay in the silence if that’s where you fall. A vibe like a whisper, a name on the breeze. You don’t say too much, but ya got me at ease. And maybe I’m wrong, or maybe I’m right. But I felt you the moment you stepped into the light. So I ain’t saying love. Not yet. Not tonight. But you feel like the start… of a some shit worth the fight."
She didn’t say anything right away. Just looked at me, eyes shining under the low city glow, lips parted like maybe the words were there but she wasn’t sure if they’d come out right. Then she smiled, slowly and sideways and shook her head. “Did you just freestyle that?” she asked, her voice low and smooth.
I chuckled, rubbing the back of my neck. “Somethin’ like that. It’s been sittin’ wit’ me since earlier.”
She smiled again, softer this time as she leaned back into me, her wine glass cradled in one hand. A warm breeze waved passed up and I caught her scent. She smelled like honey and shea butter. No hesitation in her eyes. Just that honest curiosity again. It was the same look she gave me the first night on the sidewalk when she asked without flinching.
“So… what happened to your eye?”
I looked away for a second. Not out of shame but to collect the story. The real one. The one I didn’t sugarcoat. “There was a shootout,” I said. “Long time ago.”
Her lips parted, but she didn’t say anything. Just listened.
“I was twenty-one. My cousin got caught up in some beef wit’ some niggas we moved weight wit’. He wasn’t built for that life, but he tried to flex like he was. I went wit’ him to a party and was supposed to keep him safe, keep shit cool. But it wasn’t cool.”
I paused, sipped my wine, and let it sit on my tongue before swallowing.
“Niggas waited outside. We didn’t even see ‘em coming. Heard the first shots ring out when we got to the car. I pushed my cousin down behind a dumpster. Caught one in my shoulder and another clipped my face. Glass shattered in my eye from a mirror.”
Yavanni’s hand gently covered mine. She didn’t flinch or make a face like most people did. “What happened after?”
“I woke up in the hospital. My eye was gone. They saved the shape, but the vision? Done. Doctors said I was lucky to be alive and cops asked questions but I ain’t say shit. My cousin disappeared after that. Nigga couldn’t face me. And I left the drug shit alone. Put that shit down and picked up a pen instead.”
“Damn,” she whispered.
I met her eyes. “That night made me different. Not softer. Just… more alert. More careful. I stopped hangin' wit' certain people. Started writin' more. Started paintin'. I had to do somethin' wit' the rage.”
She rubbed my hand with her thumb. Slow. Thoughtful. “Do you still feel it?”
“Every day. Just not as loud.”
She nodded. “You’re strong for surviving it.”
“I’m tired of just survivin’,” I said. “I wanna live.”
She sat up a little straighter, her wine forgotten beside her. “Then do it. Let yourself.”
“You make that shit sound easy.”
“It’s not but I’m trying to do it too.”
Her eyes dropped to my mouth for a split second. Just enough to make my heart thump. I shifted and leaned a little closer. “You scared of me now?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Good,” I said, voice low. “’Cause you the first person I told that story to in years.”
Her fingers laced with mine. “Thank you for trusting me with it.”
I stared at her lips again, licking mine. “I wanna kiss you so fuckin’ bad right now.”
She smiled. “Then what’s stopping you?”
My hand cupped her jaw, thumb tracing the curve of her cheek and I kissed her.
I kissed her slowly and deeply like I was trying to tell her the rest of the story with my mouth. She tasted like red wine and strawberry gloss with her fingers curled into the front of my shirt as she kissed me back like she’d been waiting.