Concrete Island

by Anita Davis

  I had come armed with a messenger bag full of pamphlets briefly outlining my plight and the ways in which we could end the exodus.

  Because I believed I was built and equipped and so passionate about the lives of African Americans, I knew that once we stopped and reversed the exodus, unfortunately, another pressing issue for my community would steer me in its direction. I was okay with that.

  “My brother—” My greeting to the man next to me was cut off by the dismissive wave of his hand before he ushered the crowd he was talking to away from me.

  Used to people brushing me off before I even shared why I had approached them, I turned my attention to the woman heading in my direction. “Excuse me, can I talk to you for a second?”

  “Sure.” I could see her flirtiness dancing in her eyes.

  “Are you aware of how many black Chicagoans have left the city within the last couple of years?”

  “No, I’m not.” She smiled at me in the salacious way most women did when I approached them. I knew I was handsome and that my muscular and lean frame unintentionally lulled them into feeling comfortable with talking to me. And while I let my exterior comfort them, I never flirted with them and gave them the false hope that I was coming on to them.

  Well, that was until Starr. Even though she didn’t rally behind my cause the way I wanted her to, everything about her still called out to me in a way no other woman ever had. Which is why I guess I could no longer focus on the woman in front of me since I had spotted Starr on ground level.

  “I’m sorry, but I need to go.” I handed her a pamphlet and barely looked at her as I made my way over to the gate that separated the parade participants from spectators.

  I walked towards her the same way I made my way over to her that night in the club, except this time she didn’t beckon me over with a crooked finger. This time, I knew it was my proper position to approach her. I just didn’t know exactly how the conversation would pan out given how things went between us the last time I had seen her.

  And as the morning sun hit my exposed legs and arms since I had a Black Panther tank top and cargo shorts on, I found myself being that guy. The one that studied a woman’s curves to a fault. But damn, how could I not be that guy? How could I not admire, ogle the way her deep rich melanin popped against the big feathers and shiny material of her orange and yellow costume. A black woman in orange or yellow was my weakness, but the combo against her skin? It, she was a sight to behold and I had to shift my messenger bag in front of me. I didn’t want to approach her with a visible hard-on, a telling sign of one of the effects she had on me.

  Our eyes remained locked with one another and my stride slowed down as I made my way across the grass and over to her.

  The longer I stared at her, standing there and allowing me to take her in, the more I realized she was a total package, a dream woman of sorts. Every encounter I had with her showcased how educated and woke she was.

  Her standing in her career told the bold tale of how ambitious she was, a top trait that had to be evident in a woman I wanted to pursue. And sexy? That went without saying, but it wasn’t because she was in front of me with barely any clothes on since the feathers sprouting out like wings on her back were far bigger than the small, triangular patches of fabric covering her beautiful breasts and crotch. My eyes traveled down to those thick thighs of hers that I loved. But even they didn’t tip her scales for me. She was sexy because of the confidence she exuded and the passion she spoke with every time she opened her mouth.

  I made it up to the short, makeshift gate and stopped in front of her. “Starr.”

  “Christopher.”

  “Oh, so this is him.” A full-figured, medium brown-skinned woman in a similar costume as Starr’s drew closer to Starr. The woman turned her full attention to me. “Christopher, why do you keep giving my girl a hard time?”

  “Hunh?” My forehead scrunched as I stared at the stranger and then at Starr, who was shaking her head and mumbling something to the stranger who seemed to be her friend.

  “I’m just saying, I don’t know you, but from the way Starr describes her encounters with you and the way I saw you grinding on her that night at the club, you like her. You’re obviously just too stubborn, too prideful to admit it. This is a good one here.” She pointed at Starr. “Get out your little feelings because my girl is driving in her own lane and is not willing to jump out her car, get into yours and let you drive her to your destination.”

  “Rikia, would you please take her over there somewhere?” Starr sighed and pointed in the direction of a crowd of men and women dressed in the same colored costumes as her and her two friends.

  “Gladly,” Rikia said and pushed the other resistant and giggling friend away from us.

  Starr waited until they were out of earshot and then turned back to face me. “I am so sorry for that.”

  “No need to be. They say a drunk mouth speaks a sober mind.”

  “But she wasn’t drunk, that’s how she is on the regular.”

  I could only laugh at that and soon, the beautiful sound of Starr’s laughter met my ears.

  “Duly noted. And her sober mind and mouth were right.” I couldn’t help but smile at her raised eyebrows and slightly gaped mouth.

  “Is that an apology?”

  “No, that’s the intro to one,” I said.

  “Oh,” she said, somewhat still shocked. The unassuming expression on her face endeared her to me all the more.

  “Your friend was right. I was wrong for suggesting that my interests were greater than yours and that you should abandon your cause to help push mine. For that, I apologize.”

  “Well Christopher, how becoming of you. I accept your apology.”

  “Thank you. I’m happy to hear that because truth is, had I listened to you more so than what I had, I would have gotten your plight beyond the superficial level I made it out to be.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Not sure if you remember since I was talking sideways when I came to your class that day—”

  “Indeed, you were.” She smiled and her seemingly forgiveness of how big of a jerk I had been to her at times confirmed to me just how awesome of a woman she was.

  “I hadn’t even watched your full segment on Windy City Live, because had I, I would’ve learned how you recently found out about your Jamaican roots and how it was the catalyst to send you on your journey to bring the Carnivale to Chicago.”

  She nodded.

  “I know I don’t even deserve for you to hear me out, but when I watched the clip, I could hear the passion in your voice for your newly found ancestry. And if I can be completely honest without being judged?”

  “Oh, please do.” She pursed her lips and stared at me with a glint of humor in her eyes.

  “But, but—’ I held my hands up to provide additional support for me. “In my defense, this is the day and age of social media, so if a person puts their life on the different platforms, they shouldn’t expect privacy and in fact, welcome people into their business.”

  “True.” She nodded her head.

  “Well, I came across your article or maybe it was a journal entry, since it seemed so intimate and raw, where you recounted your trip to Jamaica, how you met your aunt, found out who your father was, and your journey into the dig thereafter. It was moving. You are moving. When you speak about your passions and lecture your class, you remind me of me.”

  She cocked her head and I could only laugh. “Okay, a better me.”

  “You’re not all that bad.” She stepped closer to the gate and it seemed like an invite for me to do so as well, so I closed more of the space between us.

  “Thanks. I’m not sure what inspired you to be a black studies professor, something I’d like to get to know if you’d let me, but whether I know the reason or not yet, I see your passion for it and it takes me back to why I became so passionate about the African American plight in our communities.”

  She smiled that pretty, high
wattage smile of hers and said, “Since you at least know what motivated me to spearhead getting the Carnivale here, what has you so on go for us?”

  “In short, my dad was a Black Panther.”

  Her eyes lit up with a pride and a sense of awe that I always imagined my future wife’s face would have when I told her about my origins. I wanted a wife with pride like hers to be by my side when I shared with our future kids the stories my father told me of all he’d gone through as a Panther.

  I simply appreciated the attention she was giving me and my story. I enjoyed looking into her eyes and taking in the peaceful space we existed in at the moment. So much so that I didn’t want to cut through the energy with words, but I equally wanted to share more of my past with her as a means to bind us closer together. “Given what you do for a living, I’m certain you know all about the Party and what they stood for.”

  “That is correct.”

  “So there’s no need to give you their background and what they did for us back then and for generations to come, but seeing my dad take pride in what he stood for as a member, it always made me want to be just like him. Continue his legacy of uplifting and protecting the black community in Chicago. It’s what drives me to physically train as many clients as I can early in the day and then get over to the alderman’s office to educate and host the meetings that I do for the rest of my day.”

  “And all that you do is very admirable. So am I right to assume that the ‘beef’ between us has been cooked?”

  “Funny spin on that cliché.” I laughed as I pointed at her. “And yes, I can’t be beefing with the woman I want to get to know more. You down for that?”

  “Good, because since I’m down to get to know you more, I’mma need you to see that this Carnivale was necessary, is a beautiful thing, and does not take away or diminish your fight.”

  I bit my bottom lip and didn’t bother to hide the wide smile covering most of my face as I stared at her. “I can’t argue with that. Especially since there are some faces here I haven’t seen before. Just means there are new people here to pass my pamphlets out to.” I shook the stack I had been holding in my hand the entire time I had been talking to her.

  She giggled. “You can look at it that way, but I’d rather you just try and enjoy the weekend with me.” She shimmied and my eyes traveled up and down a body that I knew smelled good and felt so good against mine. “I was suggesting that you enjoy the Carnivale festivities and play mas’, participate in it, and not just enjoy looking at me.” She giggled and pulled me out of the vivid and suddenly dirty thoughts of us together.

  “I’m sorry for just staring at you and I hope that it didn’t creep you out, but do you know how fine you are? Not just because you barely have anything on, but everything about you screams, ‘I’m the ish’.”

  “My looks say that, hunh?” The cute lilt in her voice and the soft grin on her face made me laugh.

  “Yes…can I?” I reached out just short of her wild hair.

  “Sure.” She tilted her head towards my hand and twisted the ends of a tight coil around my finger as she brought her eyes back up to look into mine. “So you like my hair as much as I like yours?”

  Her voice was dipped in just enough sugar to hit the spot. She had a subtle way of flirting with me that I couldn’t wait to get more of.

  “Yeah, I do. It makes me think you’re a free spirit and in touch with and not ashamed of your roots.”

  “Yeah, yours makes me think that you don’t conform to societal norms that suggest how we should look, but enough about hair. How about you come on this side of the fence and enjoy the band and parades with me since we’re allies now?”

  “Allies?” I laughed.

  “Yes, or is that not what the apology was for?” She feigned being offended.

  “Nah, you’re right. We’re allies, but I’m hoping to make us be more than just allies. And with the little I know about participating in these kinds of things, I can’t just be over there with y’all in my black tank and cargo shorts.”

  She put her pointer finger up to her mouth as if she were seriously contemplating something, but I knew she was being dramatic when a smile cracked her pretty face and she said, “Well, you have the body to ditch the shirt and your cargo shorts do kind of blend in with our orange and yellow.”

  “You’re reaching.” I laughed and she joined in with me.

  “I am. I’m reaching out for you to hop the fence and play mas’ with me. I know for a fact that the costume designers for my band made a few extras for men and women. She’s under that tent.” She pointed to a big white tent to the right of her. “Although fairly expensive, I wholeheartedly believe that you would enjoy yourself with us, with me.”

  “Well, when you put it like that, how can I say no?” I hopped the fence, bought one of the additional costumes, and rushed into one of the porta potties to change my clothes.

  In no time, I was in orange shorts, a yellow and orange shoulder harness of some sort that draped a string down the middle of my chest and a big, feathered headpiece of all things on my head. “So, how do I look?” I spread my arms wide as I walked towards a smiling Starr.

  “I don’t think it’d be proper to put into words how you really look to me at this time.” She winked and I chuckled, learning that she was just as pleased with how I looked in my costume as I thought she was in hers. “Simply put, you look…scrumptious. That shea butter with SPF she handed you before you went into that stall really highlights your muscle definition. You look like a god of some sort.”

  I closed the distance between us and the heat from the high sun beating on my bare back had nothing on the heat from the fire burning between us.

  When a long string of quiet yet engaging and telling silence passed between us, her sweet voice rose above our muted conversation. “Come on.” She locked her hand in mine and began to sway her body in tandem with the soca music booming around us and said, “Let’s go play mas together on this concrete island you and I love so much. Chicago.”

  Epilogue

  Starr

  4 Months Later

  “Insert the card into the machine. And congratulations for voting for your first time ever.” I pointed to the machine in front of me.

  The eighteen-year-old nodded his head at me with a dumbfounded look on his face.

  “He had no choice. I told him that it was his civic duty. He had to help this country crawl out of the hell hole morons put it in four years ago when they voted that fool in office.” The young man’s father spoke up for his son.

  The father’s words were like an echo of most of the people who had come in to vote that day and once again, I had to keep my lips pressed tightly and not laugh as loud and as hard as I had wanted to. I was a volunteer and was supposed to be impartial as I helped the voters at the polls.

  The father and son combo left, and Chris began speaking to us all. “Well, that was the last voters for the night. You all showed up and helped tremendously for our local elections last year and you definitely showed up for our presidential election today.

  “Be proud of the work you do to make your voices, our voices heard. We’re gaining ground with making people aware of the black exodus from Chicago and we’ve even gotten City Hall to take us more seriously on the matter.

  “We’re working with them to begin to implement some of the things I outlined in my plan. Things are not moving as fast as I’d like them to, but they’re moving. We can make change when we work together.” Chris looked at me with the last of his words and I swear I couldn’t wait until we got back to his place or mine to show him just how much he turned me on when he was on his whole “community activist, I’mma save my people” ish.

  But in the meantime, I was left to simply admire the man who had easily become my man once we got past our sordid moments and embraced the fact that we can accomplish more together than apart.

  I smiled as I watched him shake a few hands before he turned to me and helped me put my coat on sin
ce it was November and rather chilly outside. When my peacoat was buttoned up, I looked up at him and said, “You know, a lot of people wrote you in on the ballot. Maybe you should consider running to hold an office and affect change that way.”

  One of his thick brows lifted as his hand raised and he laid the back of it on my forehead.

  I giggled and pushed his hand away from me. “I don’t have a fever, silly.”

  “You must be feverish to suggest something like that to me. What have we been talking about these past four months we’ve been together if you think that I would ever want a career in politics?”

  “We know each other quite well, wouldn’t you agree?” My voice lowered as I leaned in and pressed my lips against his.

  “Mmmhh.” He held me tightly in his arms but pulled back from my kiss and said, “If only Mrs. Rutledge wasn’t around that corner with DeMarcus, I would take you in the back and remind you of just how much we’re acquainted with each other. Have you screaming out all the patois words you know.” He bit my earlobe and squeezed my butt, causing me to giggle and squirm in his arms.

  “You are so silly, but I can’t wait to get back to your place so you can make good on your promise.” I winked and bit my bottom lip as I pulled away from his embrace that I had come to enjoy being in.

  “Bet. And just so we’re clear, Chicago politics are so corrupt that I would never try to be a politician.” He sighed. “I know being one would change me and not for the better.”

  “Why, you think it would question your integrity to the point that you’d lose it?”

  “Nah, I would never let it make me less of a man. That’s why I wouldn’t become one. They all end up compromising in ways that are unhealthily foreign to them. But being one would make me grumpier than I was when I first met you.”

  “And we definitely can’t have that.” I laughed as I dodged his grasp that I knew would’ve led to him tickling my sides until I begged him for mercy to let up on me.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll touch you all over when we get back to my place.” He warned me with a look of mischief in his eyes. “And I’m fine with the position that I have now. I like the pressure I can apply as an activist. Besides, I know I wouldn’t be able to enjoy this concrete island of ours as a politician. Come on, let’s go so I can explore the lush island that is your body.”