Page 9 of Love You Like That

I didn’t answer right away. Just let her watch me. “I’m not easy,” I said finally. “But I’m real and I won’t lie to you.”

Her face softened. “I like real.”

We sat like that, sipping, talking about the city, the sounds and the art around us. She asked about my poetry and murals. I asked about her clinical work.

“You ever think about quittin’?” I asked.

“All the time,” she said. “But it’s not just about me. There’s pressure. My family’s name is heavy.”

I looked at her then. “You ever get tired of carryin’ it?”

She nodded. “I’m always tired.”

“Then let it down,” I said. “Just for now.”

She stared at me like nobody had ever told her that before. The silence between us grew but it wasn't awkward and then her leg brushed mine again. “You really been writing about me?” she asked, quieter now.

I nodded. “A lil' bit.”

She looked down at her cup. “What if I’m not what you think?”

“I don’t need you to be perfect,” I said. “I just want you to be real.”

Her eyes lifted to mine. She leaned in slightly, her body soft, open. “You reallyarealways this smooth huh?”

“I told you that.”

She grinned, that lazy beautiful smile, and leaned back, her head resting on the edge of my arm. I let it stay there and we sat like that as we watched the sun slide down behind the trees. We listened to the city exhale and then something hit that I couldn’t stop from flowing.

“I don’t know ya past or how heavy it sits. But I see in ya eyes that you carried some shit. You laugh like ya light, but you guard like a wall. Still, I’d stay in the silence if that’s where you fall. A vibe like a whisper, a name on the breeze. You don’t say too much, but ya got me at ease. And maybe I’m wrong, or maybe I’m right. But I felt you the moment you stepped into the light. So I ain’t saying love. Not yet. Not tonight. But you feel like the start… of a some shit worth the fight."

She didn’t say anything right away. Just looked at me, eyes shining under the low city glow, lips parted like maybe the words were there but she wasn’t sure if they’d come out right. Then she smiled, slowly and sideways and shook her head. “Did you just freestyle that?” she asked, her voice low and smooth.

I chuckled, rubbing the back of my neck. “Somethin’ like that. It’s been sittin’ wit’ me since earlier.”

She smiled again, softer this time as she leaned back into me, her wine glass cradled in one hand. A warm breeze waved passed up and I caught her scent. She smelled like honey and shea butter. No hesitation in her eyes. Just that honest curiosity again. It was the same look she gave me the first night on the sidewalk when she asked without flinching.

“So… what happened to your eye?”

I looked away for a second. Not out of shame but to collect the story. The real one. The one I didn’t sugarcoat. “There was a shootout,” I said. “Long time ago.”

Her lips parted, but she didn’t say anything. Just listened.

“I was twenty-one. My cousin got caught up in some beef wit’ some niggas we moved weight wit’. He wasn’t built for that life, but he tried to flex like he was. I went wit’ him to a party and was supposed to keep him safe, keep shit cool. But it wasn’t cool.”

I paused, sipped my wine, and let it sit on my tongue before swallowing.

“Niggas waited outside. We didn’t even see ‘em coming. Heard the first shots ring out when we got to the car. I pushed my cousin down behind a dumpster. Caught one in my shoulderand another clipped my face. Glass shattered in my eye from a mirror.”

Yavanni’s hand gently covered mine. She didn’t flinch or make a face like most people did. “What happened after?”

“I woke up in the hospital. My eye was gone. They saved the shape, but the vision? Done. Doctors said I was lucky to be alive and cops asked questions but I ain’t say shit. My cousin disappeared after that. Nigga couldn’t face me. And I left the drug shit alone. Put that shit down and picked up a pen instead.”

“Damn,” she whispered.

I met her eyes. “That night made me different. Not softer. Just… more alert. More careful. I stopped hangin' wit' certain people. Started writin' more. Started paintin'. I had to do somethin' wit' the rage.”

She rubbed my hand with her thumb. Slow. Thoughtful. “Do you still feel it?”

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