You can write the author at: brownluver@yahoo.com or
Chris Carr at: andy_dick35@hotmail.com
Thanks!
Chapter XIX
Longbranch Coffeehouse sat on a corner lot in the U City loop, one of those old brick
buildings erected in the early part of the century with a blue awning covering two huge
display windows in front. The rich aroma of roasting coffee beans and cinnamon-sweet brews
filled the air around the coffeehouse and drew Akil and I toward it. Inside, we found
ourselves among a mix of genders, nationalities and personalities all crowded around
six-seaters round tables, talking, laughing and having a good tiime.
Everyone seemed to know and love Akil, and he got many an offer to join someone's table,
but he chose to find a separate table for the two of us. "These are good folks, you
know, but a little on the wild and crazy side," he explained. "I don't want them
to scare you off or nothing."
While we waited for the poetry slam to begin, we sipped double espressos and shared
shifting glances and grins. "So tell me about this poem of yours. What's it
called?"
Akil broke into a smile so wide, his mouth seemed to pull back to his ears. "Me and
You," he said. "And that should say it all."
Me and You? Hmmm. "Sounds interesting," I replied.
Akil shrugged, kept smiling. "I would think so."
Our convo was interrupted by the beginning of the poetry slam. I noted that some of the
aspiring poets were onto something; others kept me twiddling my thumbs. Akil took the
makeshift stage toward the middle of the program. His physical presence commanded
attention, but his disarming smile just seconds before he began really made people sit up.
Wrapping his hands around the mic, Akil bowed his head
and commenced with "Me and You."
"I peeped you hiking up the road, Head hanging low.
Saw bits and pieces of myself,
Not long ago.
Running, running from that calling,
Deep in your heart.
To embrace those closet desires,
Tearing you apart.
When your path collided with mine,
Our eyes said hello.
I wanted to touch, hold, hug you,
Just to let you know.
You don't have to run from your heart,
March to its beat.
Let me inside, accept my gifts
Taste love so sweet.
The applause flooded the stage before Akil uttered the last stanza. His poem was a
success. I looked among the other patrons and found myself filling up with pride, respect
and admiration for Akil and his obvious talent. The boy had skills! Inside, I was
screaming, trying to calm myself because a part of me just couldn't believe that I was the
"you" in Akil's poem. I'd been in lust with him for awhile, but the way he
carried on in the poem, Akil was sounding like he was in love. It was hard to grasp him
being in love with me, but when he came back to the table, his eyes told no lies. I didn't
dare ask the obvious. Instead, I sild my hand across the table and reached for his. Both
our palms wet with sweat. Both our fingers trembling.
We locked fingers and stayed together that way the rest of the evening. After Akil
accepted his praise and answered a few questions, he and I left the coffeehouse and
prepared for our walks home. Usually, we went in separate directions, but that night, Akil
walked my way with me.
It was a silent walk. I had no words. Akil's lyrical skills put anything I could say to
shame. It seemed that the way we related to each other was lost in the time it took for
Akil to recite that poem. We were almost like strangers again.
Before I knew it, we were two blocks away from my house and Akil was still at my side.
"So this is where you live," he said finally. He stood on the sidewalk, hands in
pockets, appraising the house. "This is nice, Trace. A lot nicer than where I'm
from."
I knew Akil lived in South County because of where he went to school, but I'd never been
in that area of the city long enough to understand what Akil said.
"So you want to come inside?" I asked.
Akil smiled. His smile made me blush. Without a second thought, I threw my arm over Akil's
shoulder and said, "Come on."
CHAPTER XX
When I walked into the house, my arm draped over Akil's shoulder, the first person I saw
was dad. He was reclining in his Lay-Z-Boy in front of the TV. He'd obviously been
reading, because he had on the tortoise shell glasses that my grandfather had worn for
"reading," even though everyone knew that Pa-Pa couldn't see farther than his
outstretched leg. Like Pa-Pa, Dad's vanity refused to let him get prescription glasses.
Dad adjusted the glasses, peered over at Akil and I. His eyes narrowed in on my arm,
hanging off Akil's shoulder. The scrutiny made me pull my arm away.
"Dad, this is Akil Anderson. He's a friend I met this summer down at the Aquatic
Center."
Dad snorted, hacked up some sputum in a napkin. "You a swimmer, too, are you?"
he asked, looking at Akil.
"Yes, sir. But your son, he's better at it than me."
Akil and I smiled at each other. When we looked at dad again, his attention was focused
completely on the TV. Akil followed me into the kitchen, where mom was putting dishes in
the dishwasher. When I introduced Akil to her, she nodded. "I remember you, young
man. You and Tracy were swimming together at the pool party last month with Tracy's little
girlfriend. What's her name? Mia? Mariah?"
Confusion colored Akil's eyes as he turned his eyes on me. "Maya, mom. Her name is
Maya, and we're just friends."
She pursed her lips. "Tell mom anything, Tracy," she said. "But I was 16
once. And mommy knows, baby. Somebody's got you hooked. As often as Miss Maya calls, she's
got to be the one."
I scavenged through the cupboard, trying to avoid Akil's eyes. I pulled out a bag of
Doritos and busied myself pouring some into a bowl. "Really, mom. Maya is my friend.
We're real close." I looked directly at Akil as I spoke.
"Uh-huh. That's why you're taking her to the Homecoming Dance?" Mom asked,
smiling.
I wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere. How would I explain this to Akil, who I knew was
probably very confused right about now. I grabbed us two Pepsi's from the fridge and
kissed mom on the cheek without replying. Akil and I went upstairs to my bedroom.
I flicked on the TV and flopped on the bed. Akil hesitated at the door. I heard myself
speaking the same the very same words Craig had spoken to me two months ago, when he lured
me into his bedroom. "You gonna just stand there, or are you gonna come over
here?"
Akil grinned before joining me on the bed. We busied ourselves watching TV, but when I
thought Akil wasn't paying attention, I stole glances at him.
He caught me. "If you keep staring at me like that, your eyes are gonna get
stuck," Akil said. He looked at me, his smile wide and bright.
"I liked the poem, Akil."
He shrugged. "It wasn't nothing deep. Just a few little thoughts that's been in my
head for a while now."
Yeah, I thought, you've been thinking about me for a while now, just like I've been
thinking about you. I was overwhelmed by an urge to touch him.
Akil's shoulders tensed the second my fingertips burrowed into them. "Akil,
relax," I said.
Instead, his hands covered mine, held them still. He turned so that we were face to face.
It couldn't have lasted more than two minutes, but the eye contact seemed to go on an
eternity. I finally understood what writers meant by reading someone's eyes; in Akil's
eyes, I had no problem seeing his feelings for me.
"Tracy." My name sounded like a prayer on his lips. He leaned closer.
"Akil." I pulled nearer to him.
His warm breath heated my lips as they pressed into his.
He moaned, and when his mouth opened, my tongue slid easily inside. I cupped the back of
his head and moved onto his lap, never breaking the kiss. There was a nervous eagerness to
our kisses; our tongues fumbled at first. As we found the right rhythm, everything slowed.
Each lick, each smack became urgent; our lips expressed a mutual desire to express
passion.
Boldly, I slipped a hand into Akil's pants. His hot and hard flesh rose to meet my
fingertips, smearing them with his warm fluid. I broke away from his smothering kisses and
dropped to my knees between his legs. As I began to pull at his pants, I felt his hands on
mine again, holding them prisoner. I looked up and found him smiling down at me.
"Not now. Not here," he almost whispered.
My heart sank...along with the excitement raging in my pants. It seemed like the milk had
already been spilt; now Akil wanted to put it back in jar? I sighed and hopped onto the
bed next to him, again.
"I'm sorry, Tracy. I shouldn't have let things get out of control. But there's no
way--I mean, your parents are here. This isn't right. But the right time will come,
believe me, it will. And there won't be nothing to stop me form loving you down,
boy."
I smiled.
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