Chapter 2 #2
Chuckling, Saul nodded and gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter as he made an illegal U-turn in the middle of the street. Laughter erupted from my core as my smile threatened to split the corners of my lips.
“Hold on now,” he warned.
“I’m holding on,” I promised, unable to control the giggles that were piecing me back together after surviving the abyss I fell into on September 21st of every year.
The brownstone rested on a quiet street. Curiosity lined my forehead with wrinkles. Cars lined the curb. And as plentiful as they were, there wasn’t a single tune coming from the home in front of us.
We climbed the steps together. The potted plants on the porch were proof that summer would linger a little longer before the leaves began to fall from the trees and the soil hardened all over Huffington.
Rain and water would be scarce, and nature’s garden would suffer.
It was part of the process, preparing them for a brutal winter before turning them over to a nutrient-rich spring.
Ding.
Dong.
The doorbell was the loudest sound for at least three miles.
One could hear a pin drop in the dead of the evening in the neighborhood I was growing increasingly interested in.
Brownstones with large stoops lined the block.
There seemed to be a spoken rule about quiet hours or sleep hours of some kind.
Those rules were enforced by the community itself as respect claimed their hearts and their heads.
You’re making it all up, Summer. I reasoned. But the evidence was there.
“Saul! What’s up, my guy? I thought you said you wouldn’t make it this month!”
Hands collided. Shoulders pressed into one another. And then space was obtained again. A caramel-skinned man opened the door. He was a few inches shorter than Saul, but still taller than me.
“Plans changed again as quickly as they’d changed the first time.”
“It be like that sometimes.”
“Alan, Summer. Summer, Alan.”
“Nice to meet you, Summer.”
“Nice to meet you as well, Alan.”
“Now, come on in. A good time awaits you.”
Alan stepped aside, allowing us into the home that was the type of cozy I dreamt about during November and December. The space had a woman’s touch, though there were no signs of a woman’s presence.
I followed Saul into the kitchen, where he pressed six numbers on a keypad. The island split, revealing a staircase. Light filtered into the dark space we were in, leading the way to what felt like the beginning of something Black, somewhat spiritual, and incredibly awakening.
Bumps raised on my skin. Joy filled my body. Anticipation straightened my spine.
“You ready?”
I nodded, urgently. “Sounds like a good time.”
Saul wasted no time responding. “Because it is. Once a month, in The Basement, we have us a damn good time.”
Music met my ears as we began our descent. Double doors opened, welcoming us inside the speakeasy.
Soundproof. I concluded.
It explained why I didn’t hear a peep upstairs or on our way up to the home.
The electrifying sound of a guitar welcomed me inside.
Finding a Black player in the farthest corner, along with a Black pianist, a Black violinist, and a Black drummer, sent chills up my spine.
They matched the sounds behind Juvenile’s Back That Thang Up.
Hips gyrated.
Cheeks giggled.
Hands graced knees.
Fingers wrapped around waists.
The glorious sight in front of me led my hand in the air as I recalled every word. Saul’s body pressed into mine as I leaned forward, remembering life was worth living, even if the person who created it for you thought otherwise.
“Girl you working with some back yeah– you bad, yeah,” Saul rapped as I tried keeping up with the notorious beat.
Like that.
Pressed against one another.
Belting the words to old tunes we all loved.
In pure bliss and unaware of what was truly happening around us.
We celebrated for three hours.
Nonstop.
I got lost in the music. Lost in Saul’s presence. Lost in the beautiful people around us. Lost in the world we quickly created and retreated to.
Just him and I.
Just us.
It wasn’t until I reached the midnight air that I noticed so much time had passed and that the vintage Chanels were no longer comfortable.
“You alright?” Saul asked, squeezing my hand a bit tighter as we walked toward his truck.
I shook my head, still reeling from the night. “No.”
“What’s the matter?”
“My feet hurt.” I chuckled. “But, at the same time, I can’t feel them.”
My body was in the air, and my belly rested on Saul’s shoulder before I had time to comprehend what was happening. I dangled in the air as he continued to his vehicle.
“Are you serious?” I giggled, enjoying the feeling of being in his personal space.
In his hands.
In his arms.
“I’m dead serious, Summer.”
I quieted down, allowing Saul to exercise his masculinity while emphasizing my femininity. Darkness surrounded our hearts. The weather was a mixture of perfection and unpredictability.
There would be no rain, but still the chance of it made the clouds sag with uncertainty.
A slight wind whistled, stirring up swirling piles of fallen leaves and dust. And the summer silence lingered, waiting to kiss fall upon its entrance.
The warmth of its welcome would ruin and reunite me simultaneously.
The first day of fall was the first day of my motherless existence.
We reached the truck. Saul opened the door and placed me on the edge of the passenger seat. My feet were in his hands, avoiding my protests. A shake of his head let me know that we were far beyond the point of words, and regardless, he would continue chasing my comfort.
The shoes were neatly placed on the floor. It was my right foot that he began with, squeezing it tightly as he kneaded into my heel and along the top. Sighing, I closed my eyes.
He moved along, taking the left foot into his hand. He massaged it just as he had the other foot. I opened my eyes to find him gazing at me, trying to gauge things beyond his knowledge.
“Feel better?”
It was one of the things he was wondering.
I nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”
He freed my foot but kept other parts of me in his hand, holding on tight.
I didn’t think I’d ever get them back. In fact, I thought he’d acquire much more than he already had when it was all said and done.
Strangely, I didn’t bother trying to retrieve my things. He could have them. For now, at least.
“I should get you back to your car.”
“Yes. Yes you should.”