“I got it,” she said, beaming. “I invited you, I pay. You get the next one.”
The next one. Nice.
My mom would’ve loved her.
Mr. Renson turned around and gave me a pound, then opened his hand and gave Lovey a gentle handshake and a wink. It was the first time I actually saw his face. It was slim and sharp, but his wild beard covered most of it. All I could see were his eyes and his bottom lip. If he hit someone, all he’d have to do is shave and he’d look like a totally different person. No one would ever find him.
When we opened the door there was already another couple waiting to take the cab. They looked cold, and were clearly in the middle of a fight. Mr. Renson hit stop on the tape player. As me and Lovey climbed out and the new people climbed in, the fast-forwarding and rewinding started all over again. I guess it was time for a new song. A song for them.
I popped the collar up on my coat to keep the chill off my neck. I looked around. Where the hell were we? So I asked her, just as “I Shot the Sheriff,” a Bob Marley song I did know the name of, came blaring from the cab, pulling off.
Lovey wrapped a scarf around her neck. Then she smiled and reached for my hand.
“You promise to be open?”
“Of course.”
“Well, this is what I wanted to show you,” she said, turning around with a hand flourish. “The Botanic Garden.”
The Botanic Garden? What? I was stuck. I mean, flowers? Flowers? But I liked Lovey, so I had to go along with it. And she knew that, which is why she stood there giving me her cutest face, and held my hand—which, by the way, felt like . . . more than holding my hand.
I didn’t know what to say.
“Just come on,” Lovey demanded, dragging me toward the gate.
Inside was like being somewhere far away from Brooklyn. And I have to admit, that part of it I liked. I mean, you couldn’t even hear cars, like as soon as we walked through the gates, we entered some new dimension—some secret land where drama didn’t exist. Only flowers.
“My grandmother used to bring me here,” Lovey said as we walked around looking at what had to be millions of flowers. I looked at all the crazy names: Clematis, Chrysanthemum, Callicarpa. White, yellow, and purple.
“We’d come every week after my mom died,” she went on.
“Why?”
Lovey brushed her hand against a plant. “Because it was Grams’s favorite place in the whole city, other than the shelter. She just felt like it was good to keep living things around you, y’know, to remind you of the beauty of life. That was her whole thing. The beauty of life.” A sweet smile lit up Lovey’s face.
I looked at the name of the plant and tried to pronounce it in my head. Then I gave up. “I guess.”
“You guess?” There was an edge to Lovey’s voice. “Oh, I see. Too tough for flowers, right?”
“Naw, not even. I just don’t get the hype. I mean, let’s say I buy you some flowers tomorrow. You’ll be all happy about it, and then two days later you’ll be throwing them away. It’s like they’re these things that everybody waits to grow into something beautiful, and as soon as they do, they die. No disrespect to your grandma, but I don’t think there’s all that much beauty in that.”
Lovey didn’t respond. She just pulled out an old Polaroid camera, which I wasn’t expecting. I figured she’d have her fancy one. At first I was going to ask her where she found that retro camera, y’know, for small talk, but I figured it must’ve been her grandma’s and would pretty much come across as a stupid question. We looked at a few more plants before the silence just began to eat at me.
“So,” I started.
“So,” she replied.
“What do you think about my theory on flowers?”
“Oh. Actually, I agree.” She held her camera up to her face and clicked at a sunflower (one I could at least pronounce). The camera spit out a picture. Lovey pulled it free and started waving it around until the image started to appear.
“So then why do you like it here?” I asked, surprised that she agreed.
She snapped a few more and waved them all. I have to admit it made me curious.
“Look at these,” she said, holding the Polaroids up so I could see the images she had just taken slowly come into focus. They were dope, but no different from just looking at the real deal. I still didn’t see where this was going.
“Grams gave me this camera, and brought me here to take pictures of the flowers. I would walk around, and whenever I saw one I really, really liked, she would tell me to snap a picture of it so that I would always remember it in case it went away. I know it sounds kinda corny now, but it was her way of making sure I held on to things I loved—things that were living—since when my mom died we only had that one picture of her. At least as a grown-up. Grams had pictures of her as a little girl, but those aren’t the same—to me, at any rate.”
We kept walking and Lovey kept stopping to take flicks of other plants: Ivy, and something called Anemone. She would get right up on the flower and then snap the shot, again and again, pulling the pictures from the mouth of the camera and waving them around in the air. When she liked the way they came out, she’d show them to me.
“You wanna try?” she asked. At this point, she had probably shot about ten different flowers.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Of course not,” she said, changing the film cartridge. “Just aim and hit the button on the side”—she handed me the camera—“but only when you see something you really, really like.”
“Got it,” I said sarcastically, holding the camera down by my side. I wasn’t going to take pictures of plants. But I played along and pretended like I was looking for my “special” flower because, at the end of the day, I didn’t want to blow this date.
We kept on walking through the maze of green, brown, and orange, the weird shapes and smells, sprinklers misting over the flowers, people in green suits spraying and trimming. There were tons of old people, arms wrapped around each other for protection from the nippy wind, probably on their hundredth date. The women would lean over and sniff the flowers, and the men would smile and pretend they weren’t bored to death. I let myself imagine that that might end up being me and Lovey one day. Then there were a bunch of kids just running around, happy to be in a place where there were no cars or noise except for their own laughter. For them this was paradise. But there weren’t too many people our age there. And it dawned on me, the reason why—because people our age go on dates at the movies. Chris would’ve been right again.
After a bunch of walking and me pretending to look for a flower that I really, really liked, Lovey stopped. We were by the biggest heads of cabbage I’ve ever seen, but that didn’t really impress me, probably because, well, it was cabbage! I mean, seriously, cabbage isn’t a flower! Cabbage is . . . cabbage!
“You’re not even trying,” she said, frustrated now and, I could tell, a little disappointed in me.
“I am!” I yelped.
“No, you’re not,” she said, tucking her hair back behind her ears. She looked at me and just shook her head, and for a second it seemed like she regretted bringing me to the garden. Damn.
“Okay, okay,” I said, rubbing my hand along her arm. “You said the rule was to take a picture only when I saw a flower I really liked.”
“Exactly,” Lovey said, turning toward the massive cabbages.
“Well . . .” I spun her back toward me and held the camera to my face. “Smile.”
I hit the button once. Then again, and again, backing away, coming in closer, dropping to one knee, pretending I knew how to get good angles.
Lovey stood there obviously embarrassed as people walked by watching me act ridiculous. I knew it was working though, because she was laughing. I stood to my feet and checked the photos.
“Oh, God, this flower is unbelievable! Oh, I’m so moved!
The most beautiful flower I’ve ever seen! I mean, you should see this!” I fanned the photos out like a deck of cards, so she could see all the pictures of herself.
“Okay, okay,” she said, pushing the camera away. Her cheeks were lit up, red as roses. And then, the moment happened. You know the moment when everything fades to black and the soft music comes out of nowhere—violins and romantic instruments, and everything starts moving in slow motion, except for your hearts, which pound faster than ever, and each of you can somehow hear them thumping in your brain, and all you have to do is take one step and meet each other for that first awkward, electric kiss? That moment.
Lovey, still buzzing from the flower joke, stood there gazing at me like I wasn’t some screwed-up dude, but instead the coolest guy she knew. And for me, I looked at her as the only thing, as far as I could see, that could keep me from being more screwed up than I already was. I stepped forward. She leaned in closer, her eyes slowly opening and closing, and opening, and closing. My eyes were wide open, of course. I wanted to see this. And feel it. And taste it. And then:
A peck.
Record scratch.
Yep, just a peck, followed by, “I want to show you my all-time favorite flower,” and that sweet smile. Not exactly what I was expecting. But still, a peck was still technically considered a kiss, right? It was better than nothing.
Lovey held my hand tight now, weaving her fingers in between mine. We walked along a rock path of what she called succulents, a word that for some reason I couldn’t stop laughing at. Sometimes I feel like I’m so mature. Other times I know I’m as ridiculous as everyone else my age.
“Here it is,” Lovey said, pointing at her favorite plant, having her ta-da moment. “It’s called Sempervivum.”
The plant wasn’t like those pretty, dainty little flowers that we were looking at before, thank God. It was way better than those. It looked like a mix between a brussel sprout and some kind of weird star plant.
“Simple what?” I said, caught off guard by another crazy name.
Lovey sounded out the word like I was a little kid learning to read.
“Sim-per-VIV-um,” she said. “Means live forever.”
I squatted down. The plant’s petals looked more like pointy green fingers with red tips, different from the petals I was used to seeing.
“Does it?” I said, looking up at her. “Does it live forever?”
“Of course not.” She shrugged. “But it definitely survives longer than most plants. All through the winter and everything. You barely even have to water it. It’s like toughest of all the plants. The survivor.”
I looked back down at the Sempervivum, touching it, squeezing the layers of odd juicy finger-leaves. They felt sort of human, which was a little freaky, but I couldn’t front like I wasn’t fascinated by it. It was pretty cool for a plant. I can’t even believe I’m saying this, but it was. So I pulled the camera up, got in close, and snapped a photo.
The cab ride home was just as crazy as the cab ride to the garden was. Instead of the constant slamming on brakes, this cabbie was just speeding, whipping around corners, swerving in and out of traffic, doing his best not to hit the brakes at all!
“We gotta start taking the bus,” I said to Lovey as we walked up her stoop.
“Hell yeah,” she replied, turning to me once we got to the top. She shuffled through all the pictures we took and pulled out the one I shot of the Sempervivum. She slipped it into my jacket pocket, then tugged on my coat like she was about to button it, but instead pulled me close.
“Thank you for being open,” she said, her voice smooth as she leaned in and kissed me. This was not a peck.
“Thank you for taking me,” I said, returning the kiss.
“Did you learn anything?” she asked, her eyes closing as she kissed me again.
“Yep.” I smirked. “I learned that you’re a good kisser.” I pressed my lips against hers again, this time kissing her longer and pulling her as close as possible. I wrapped my arms around her, and I could feel her hands gripping my back. After a few seconds she pulled away.
“Damn right,” she said, moving toward the door.
I waited to go in, but before she actually opened the door, she turned back toward me, gave me one last kiss, and said good night. Wahhhh! I couldn’t believe it. But it was cool, I just bounced down the steps like I wasn’t trippin’, even though I was. I felt good. Better than good.
When I got to the bottom, I heard the robotic sound of the camera snapping. I looked up and there was Lovey, standing at the top of the stoop, kneeling and being overdramatic like I was in the Botanic Garden, this time taking tons of pictures of me. I’m glad no one was walking down the street and saw her, because they would’ve thought we were doing a photo shoot or something. Totally embarrassing. She laughed.
“Real funny,” I said.
And she shouted out, “It’s called payback!” while blowing me a kiss.
Chapter 16
FORWARD
“SIMPLE WHAT?”
“SemperVIVum, man. It’s like this flower that’s hard to kill. It kinda looked like a star inside a star inside a star.” I was on the stoop with Chris trying to explain this crazy plant. I could’ve pulled out the picture and showed him, but for some reason I didn’t want to. I know that sounds stupid, but I kinda wanted to keep the photo to myself. Like a me-and-Lovey thing.
I had stopped by Chris’s building when I left Lovey’s because I was way too gassed up to just go be alone, but he wanted to get out of there because his mom was frying fish. And just like he didn’t want that fishy smell all in his clothes, he also didn’t want his mom all in our business, which she was always trying to be in. So we walked up the block to my house. It was actually better that we didn’t hang at Chris’s house anyway. I wouldn’t have been able to just sit in there without thinking about everything that went down with Lovey’s mom. Talking about it with her made it all so fresh again, and to be honest, it was the last thing I wanted to think about. Not after such an amazing date.
“Man, that don’t sound like no fun date to me. But then again, you ain’t really no fun type of dude these days,” he said, texting somebody. He had been saying that for a few days now, ever since I told him what Lovey told me about her mother. It really messed with Chris, partly because, like me, he was there, but also because he felt like it was too heavy to put out there so early. But I tried to explain to him, Lovey and I just sort of have a thing. I guess it’s trust.
“Yeah, whatever. Fun enough to make out with her,” I bragged. I know, I know. I kissed and told, but what can I say? I was excited!
He snapped his head toward me, bug-eyed. “What?”
I couldn’t hold back the smile. And it was a big one.
“You heard me.”
He put his hand out for a grown man handshake, and after we shook, he leaned back like a proud dad again.
“My boy is all grown up.”
“Man, whatever.”
Across the street Mr. Ray was sitting outside too, talking to everyone who walked by. Brownie, whose real name was John Brown, stopped to yap to him. He was probably around six, and just knew that he was going to grow up to be a famous singer. He’d be outside dancing and singing his heart out all day, so whenever Mr. Ray saw him, he would ask Brownie to perform something old-school.
“The Temptations? Sam Cooke? What, you don’t know no Sam Cooke?” Mr. Ray would tease, and Brownie would laugh and laugh.
Mr. Whitaker also stopped to talk to Mr. Ray. Mr. Whitaker (all the old guys called him Whit) was a minister who preached at a church around the corner. He wasn’t a young guy, but not as old as Mr. Ray either. Just old enough to have a little bit of gray hair in his beard, but nowhere else. He always wore sharp suits, and my mom would always talk about how nice his shoes were. But the most important thing about Mr. Whitaker is that he was always
in the street trying to bust up gangs and keep police from doing crazy stuff around here. He wasn’t afraid of nobody, and that’s why everyone liked him.
Mr. Whitaker had both hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels as he stood at the bottom of Mr. Ray’s stoop, talking. Chris and I wasn’t saying too much at this point, just because Chris was way too occupied with all the texting he was doing to talk to me. But it was cool. I knew it was a girl—it always was—and I was used to it. The dude had game.
“So how was it?” Chris said, still staring down at his phone, his thumbs moving crazy fast.
I tried to be cool. “It was just kissing, man. Chill.”
Chris looked up from his phone. “Just kissing?” He slipped his phone in his pocket. “It’s never just kissing, man.”
Here we go again with Chris’s theories on girls, even though I have to admit, he was usually right.
Chris started grilling. “Was her eyes open or closed?”
“What?”
“Look, man,” he said, “if a girl keeps her eyes open when she kisses you, then she’s not sure about you yet, in that way. But if she closes them, then she likes you. Simple.”
Made sense.
“Okay, well, how am I supposed to know if her eyes were open or not. Mine were closed.”
“WHAT! You closed your eyes?” Chris barked. “You know what that means? Means you love her!”
“Man, you crazy. I like her, but I don’t love her.”
The streetlights started flickering and Chris stood to his feet almost at the exact same time. Like clockwork. It wasn’t even really dark yet, but I knew he was about to roll.
“Oh, yes you do. You love her. You just don’t know it yet.” Chris stood on the step in front of me and shook his head like he was disappointed. “I thought you and me was gonna grow up and be old playas like the Ray brothers, but you closing your eyes every time you kiss a girl!”
We both busted out laughing and he gave me dap before heading back down the block to his crazy building. Building 516. I sat there on the stoop and thought about the nonsense Chris was talking. If you close your eyes, you love her. Yeah, right. Closing your eyes don’t mean nothing. Maybe I just closed my eyes because I didn’t want her to open her eyes and catch me looking. Then she might not think I was into it or something, like I didn’t like her. Maybe that’s why I closed my eyes. I wish I would’ve thought of this when Chris was standing there spazzing on me. But even if I did tell him this, all he would’ve done was tell me I’m lying. And that might’ve been true.
The Boy in the Black Suit Page 19