Along the whole left wall were crates of records. Mina touched them tenderly because they belonged to him. The Cure’s Disintegration, Funkadelic’s Cosmic Slop, Sam Rivers’ Contours, Blue Mitchell’s Bantu Village, Freddie Hubbard’s Breaking Point, EPMD’s Strictly Business, Joe Henderson’s Page One, Curtis Mayfield’s Roots, Just Ice’s Kool & Deadly, David Bowie’s Hunky Dory, Ohio Players’ Observations in Time, Del Tha Funky Homosapien’s I Wish My Brother George Was Here, Joni Mitchell’s Court and Spark, The Heptones’ On the Run, a 45 of LL Cool J’s “Going back to Cali,” with “Jack the Ripper” on the B-side.
They smoked a joint and, to Mina’s surprise, quiet Octavian, man of little words Octavian, began to talk. For every song he played, he had a story to tell. About the time he and Francis got caught sneaking in to Mississippi Nights to see Yellowman, or the first time he heard Billie Holliday at his grandmother’s house. He put on song after song, never letting one finish before he put on another. Mina loved them all, leaned her head back onto his tightly made bed and listened, watched the circles of smoke dance in the sunlight coming through the slats of the wooden blinds.
When the shadows outside began to shift, Mina said, “Will you put on some Prince?”
Octavian lowered his eyes as he lowered the needle and Mina reached over and pulled him next to her on the bed.
“You wrong, Mina girl,” Octavian said. “Coming over to my house and making me put on Prince so you can seduce me.” But as he spoke, Octavian lay Mina down onto the bed.
In the background Prince sang about rescuing a woman from where she was trapped on stage, and the ache between Mina’s legs caught her by surprise. It expanded down into her knees and up and out the top of her head. She tasted the long angle of Octavian’s neck. It had never been like this before, she thought. Before, she was more aware of what her actions looked like than how they felt—as if she were watching herself pretending to make love. But as Octavian pulled her jeans off her feet and knelt over her, he smiled and she didn’t worry about whether she was doing what she was supposed to do.
Octavian’s fingertips traced her body. He ran them from her mouth, across her breasts, over her abdomen and in and around her thighs before he undressed himself and lay down, the length of his body covering hers. The room faded around her, and she let her new, pulsing and electric self disappear inside him.
Later, when Mina stood in the bathroom wearing nothing but Octavian’s t-shirt, she touched her face like it belonged to someone else. Sex had always left her unfulfilled and wondering, but now she smiled thinking about the way she trembled, how her toes curled, how she’d called out his name and dug her nails into his back. She opened the door of the bathroom, her vision clouded by her love-filled daze, and nearly walked squarely into a man, who was not Octavian, standing in the hallway.
“Oh shit,” she said softly.
“Hello,” he said and hesitated.
“Hi,” Mina said. Mina knew it was Octavian’s father. He was older, but she recognized him from the record store. Silently she thanked God that the length of Octavian’s t-shirt covered her upper thighs, but she was afraid to move in case moving revealed more. The door to Octavian’s room opened and Octavian stood there, fully clothed, making Mina’s state of undress even more odd.
“Pop,” he said. “You’re home early.”
“Son,” Cyrus said looking at his wristwatch. “No earlier than usual.”
Octavian opened his mouth to protest, but Cyrus stopped him. “How about you let this young lady get dressed so we can be introduced properly?”
Mina hoped not to look too grateful, and ducked into Octavian’s room. She listened as their footsteps disappeared and quickly pulled on her clothes. She was lacing up her Chuck Taylors when Octavian opened the door. His face broke into a crooked smile.
“Dang, girl,” he said. “It’s not that bad.”
“That’s not funny,” she said. “Your father basically saw me naked and you’re telling me I should chill?”
“He could have come home sooner and heard you hollering like you were.”
“I was not hollering.”
“Okay,” he said and motioned her toward the door. “C’mon, he wants to meet you.”
Cyrus Munroe sat in an orange chair in the corner of the front room, a book open on his lap, glasses at the end of his nose. Mina walked in, and he slowly placed the bookmark on the open pages and closed the book. He placed it on the table next to him and removed his glasses. He did it so slowly that Mina was sure it was his way of letting her know he didn’t tolerate this kind of behavior in his house. He’s a philosopher, Octavian would later explain. He thinks about everything before he does it.
If the man had eyes any less gentle, Mina would have run, but as it was, she stood mute, smiling weakly at Cyrus. Octavian started to laugh and Mina felt like turning around and punching him, but then Cyrus let out a low chuckle.
“I imagine this is about as terrible as it can get,” he said.
Mina nodded, even though he was wrong. If she started crying it would be worse.
“Mina, this is my father, Dr. Munroe,” Octavian said. “Pop, this is Mina.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Dr.—”
“Please call me Cyrus,” he said. “Mina. Like the poet, Mina Loy?”
The cinderblocks fell from Mina’s shoulders. “Yes,” she said. “I was named after her.”
“You’re named after a poet?” Octavian asked.
Mina nodded, glad to have a reason to turn her head and look at Octavian, “She’s my mother’s favorite. Some kind of crazy, bohemian French woman.”
“Very ahead of her time politically,” Cyrus said. “A radical really.”
Mina turned back to Cyrus. “You’re the first person that’s ever recognized her name when I introduce myself,” she said.
“Octavian’s mother was a poet,” Cyrus said. “She liked Mina Loy too. I must still have a copy of Cordelia’s Mina Loy book somewhere.” He stood up and walked over to one of the many bookshelves that lined the room. Mina looked at Octavian again and he smiled. She had never before been so grateful for her name.
“Pop, I’m going to walk Mina out, okay?” Octavian said.
Cyrus, still scanning the bookcase, looked up and smiled. “Okay. How about you ask Mina to come over sometime soon, maybe for dinner, sometime when you two don’t have to skip school?” And he raised his eyebrows at Octavian.
“Yes,” Mina said. “I’d like that.”
TRACK 6
You Must Learn
MINA DIDN’T SKIP SCHOOL again, but she did start leaving early from her last period study hall to meet Octavian at U. City High before going to work. They sat in her Volvo in the parking lot behind the bank and listened to music and kissed until the windows were fogged and their breath became heavy. Or they went to Mina’s, where they would close the door and listen to music, lying naked on her bed while they smoked weed. Or they went to Octavian’s, where they listened to music sitting upright on his floor, with the door open. For weeks they went back and forth about whether or not they should tell anyone at Rahsaan’s that things had changed.
On a Saturday morning while they lay in her bed before they both had to go into work, Mina ran her finger down the side of Octavian’s bare arm. “It feels weird,” she said, “to keep acting like I don’t know what you look like naked.”
Octavian rolled over and faced her. “I know. I’m just worried Bones’ll start tripping,” he said. “Change the schedule so we can’t work together or something.”
That afternoon was slow in the store and Mina walked over to where Octavian stood behind the counter. She was wearing a Jungle Brothers t-shirt over a short-striped dress. She had on tights and cowboy boots.
“You look cute today,” Octavian whispered.
“Thanks,” she said. “It felt like a good day to wear a dress.”
He was about to say that he knew how much cuter she l
ooked without the dress, when Ivy came up to the counter.
“Yo, Tave,” he said, “your girl just walked in.” They looked into the R&B section where Ivy pointed, and saw a small, light-skinned girl. She was also wearing a dress. Hers was aqua, knitted and tight against her curves.
“That’s Keisha Putnam,” Mina said.
“You know Keisha?” Octavian asked.
Mina nodded. Keisha was captain of the Clayton cheerleading squad and the president of the Black Student Caucus. At the beginning of the school year, Clarissa had convinced Mina to come with her to a BSC meeting, pointing out that Mina was friends with everyone in the club. Everyone except Keisha, who didn’t acknowledge Mina at first and when she did, simply asked, “What are you doing here, again?”
Mina looked at Octavian and said, “You know Keisha?”
“Does he know her?” Ivy said, still watching her. “Tave’s been trying to get with her forever.”
Mina felt her whole heart fill her throat and she swallowed. She looked at Octavian. His ears were bright red and his hands were shaking. Fred called to Ivy to help a customer in the hip-hop section and as Ivy passed Keisha, she looked up and smiled. That’s when she noticed Octavian and put down the CD she was holding. Mina watched Keisha’s hips swing wide, the same way she knew her own hips did, when she walked toward Octavian.
“Octavian Munroe, where have you been hiding?” Keisha sing-songed.
“Hey Keisha,” Octavian said.
“How you been?” she asked when she got to the counter.
“I’m cool,” he said. “You know Mina, right? Don’t y’all go to school together?”
Keisha looked at Mina as if to ask again what she was doing there. “We do,” she said and gave Mina a tightly sealed smile.
Mina mumbled awkwardly and then made an excuse about organizing the dollar cassettes. For the longest ten minutes of her life she tried to look busy. She was far enough away that she couldn’t hear them. Though, at one point, Keisha’s laugh filled the store and Mina looked up and saw Octavian’s smile.
After Keisha left, Octavian tracked Mina down in the employee bathroom. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he said.
“No,” she said without looking at him. “I’m acting like you. Like there’s nothing going on between us.”
“I don’t like Keisha.”
“I don’t see why not,” Mina said. “She’s super cute.”
“And she’s a cheerleader who likes Keith Sweat,” he said and tried to smile at her.
“I like Keith Sweat.”
“Mina,” he said and took her hand.
“What?”
“How about we don’t keep it a secret anymore? How about we let people know we’re together.”
Mina looked at him. She knew right then that she loved him. She knew she shouldn’t, that it was too soon, but she did. She wanted more than anything to tell that to everyone she knew. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. They were still kissing when Fred came to the back and cleared his throat.
“Alright now, that’s enough,” Fred said. “Back to work.”
A week before Thanksgiving, on a day when their after-school kissing had progressed to bare skin and unzipped jeans, Octavian arrived late to work, the taste of Mina still in his mouth. Brendon met him at the door, his It Takes a Nation of Millions t-shirt stretched tight across his wide body. Around his neck hung thick wooden beads of red, black, and green and a leather piece in the shape of Africa. On his head he wore a white crocheted kufi.
“Damn, B,” Octavian said. “You’re serious about the man today.”
“I’m serious about the man every day, and you’re late.”
“Yeah, I know,” Octavian said. The store was empty except for some Dead Head kids in the Reggae section and Mr. Nance in his constant brown leather cap, who stood in the back fingering a record. He caught Octavian’s eye and nodded.
“Afternoon, Mr. Nance,” Octavian said. “Find anything good?”
“Maybe,” he said. “Just maybe.”
Octavian scanned through the records on his hold shelf behind the counter and felt Brendon at his back. He was about to turn around and say something when Mr. Nance walked up and handed Brendon Jazzical Moods Volume 2.
Brendon turned the record over tenderly in his hands. “This come in on your watch?” he asked Octavian.
“Yeah. Came in with a big collection I bought off the estate dealer.”
“Musta been before you started getting lost with the devil,” Brendon said, still not looking at Octavian.
Mr. Nance’s confused milky eyes moved from Octavian to Brendon.
“What is your problem today, B?” Octavian said.
Brendon rang up Mr. Nance. “I’m not the one with the problem,” he said to Octavian. “You’re the one walking around with that ofay on your arm like you done forgot who you are.” Brendon handed Mr. Nance his bag, and Mr. Nance nodded, tipped his cap a little, opened his coat, and placed the bag up against his chest. He buttoned the coat over it before walking out.
“Oh, now Mina’s an ofay?” Octavian said. “Was she an ofay when y’all were up in here discussing French poetry or whatever other bullshit you two talk about? Or when y’all went to that book signing together last month?”
“I was just hanging with her,” Brendon said. “We’re friends. You’re out here taking it to another level and you know we can’t afford to do that shit. At least I thought you did.”
“Are you serious?” Octavian said.
“As a heart attack.”
An old white lady approached the counter and asked if one of them could help her find her favorite recording of Bach’s Art of the Fugue. Octavian glanced at Brendon, who set his jaw and trudged away from the counter. Octavian found the Emerson String Quartet recording the woman was looking for and led her back to the DJ booth. He put a pair of massive headphones carefully over her fine white hair. He watched as she listened and her eyes filled with tears. She squeezed Octavian’s hand inside her puckered fingers.
“Yes, yes,” she said loudly. “This is it!”
At closing, a couple of skinheads with Nine Inch Nails t-shirts, black-painted fingernails, and spikes through their ears sauntered into the store and hovered around the used cassettes. One had an SS tattoo on his neck and the other had a swastika patch on his blue jean vest. Over the speakers Hendrix sang about his house burning a hellfire red, and Octavian saw Freddy and Bones exchange a glance across the store.
“Hey there, boys,” Bones said as he approached them.
The one with the SS tattoo gave Bones a look and both moved away from the cassettes down the Hip Hop/Rap aisle, but Bones followed them.
“You know, I think y’all is in the wrong section of the store,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I think you in the wrong store altogether.”
“What are you talking about?” said the kid with the swastika.
Bones leaned a little into a shelf and said, “I don’t sell my records to racist punks like you.”
“It’s a free country,” the kid with the SS tattoo mumbled.
“Well then, I guess I’m free to kick you out of my store,” Bones said.
SS tattoo grabbed his friend and said, “Fuck this. Let’s go.”
They took off for the front door and Bones yelled after them, “And stay your KKK asses the fuck out.”
Octavian watched them go and then looked over at Brendon, who stood behind the counter staring at Octavian. “You got more to say to me, B? Cause I wish you’d stop eying me down like you trying to meet me after school or some shit.”
“I’m worried about you, Tave,” he said.
The store was empty now other than Bones organizing the poster section in the back.
“What are you so worried about me for? Please, enlighten a brother,” Octavian said.
“I don’t see no brother. Just another sellout,” Brendon said and walked out from behind the
counter. “Do I need to take your ass back downtown to the Old Courthouse so you can see, again, the exact spot where her ancestors enslaved and sold yours?”
“Brendon, Mina’s ancestors weren’t anywhere near downtown St. Louis during slavery and I am not fucking Dred Scott.”
“That’s where you are wrong, Octavian,” Brendon said. “We are all Dred Scott. And how do you know her ancestors weren’t near there?”
“Her mom’s family is from Russia. Last time I checked that’s pretty fucking far from downtown.”
“And her daddy?”
“Okay, you got me, I don’t know who her daddy is, but Jesus Christ, neither does she.”
Brendon took off his glasses, which had become clouded. His sad eyes met Octavian’s and he said, “I thought you understood. This is not about you or me. This is about our people. About black folks. Mina is white. I thought you loved being black.”
Octavian stopped short. He tried to laugh it off. “You have got to be kidding me. What kind of shit is that? I do love being black, and I don’t think I should have to be up in here saying that to you of all people.”
But Brendon didn’t laugh or smile. “Let me give you something to help you remember the difference,” he said. He went behind the counter and when he came back, he dropped something in Octavian’s hands.
Octavian looked down at the worn copy of The White Man Talk that he had loaned to Brendon a year ago. He turned the soft blue book over to see his mother’s face staring back at him. Her eyes in the black-and-white photo seemed to ask whomever held the book in their hands to please understand. Octavian felt the rage move out from under the rocks and stones inside him.
“Fuck you, Brendon,” he said. He turned and walked out of the store, holding the book in his hands like a prayer.
Out on the street, Octavian wiped his tear-filled eyes. His beeper buzzed in his pocket. He took it out. Code 007. Mina was at Clarissa’s house. He put the beeper back in his pocket and walked east. Octavian was glad the night hadn’t gotten too cold and he walked without really thinking. But as soon as he crossed Skinker and walked past Church’s Fried Chicken, he began to pay attention. The difference in the darkness between University City and St. Louis City was instantly palpable. Octavian wondered whether they used cheaper streetlights in the city, or maybe no one cared to fix them when they broke. The emptiness around him was spared only by the shadows he saw out of the corner of his eyes. He knew he should go home, or stop at a payphone and call Mina, meet her over at Clarissa’s house. But he didn’t. His mother’s book of poems in the back pocket of his jeans pushed him to keep walking.
There You Are Page 16