Page 10 of And Everything In Between

“I’m proud of you, man. This thing you’re building is dope. And it’s needed. Don’t forget to enjoy it.”

They hung up, and Giovanni stared at the phone for a long second before sliding it back on the table.

Spirit had gone quiet, busy texting on her iPad. Betsy was sipping the last of her coffee, humming a gospel song under her breath like she always did when her spirit was full.

Giovanni leaned back, letting the simplicity of his life settle over him. It was a good life. But some days, even good didn't feel like enough for him. Not when you were the one everyone leaned on but had nowhere soft to fall for yourself. And it was his own fault. He had plenty of women to choose from, butafter what his ex-girlfriend Sienna did to him, he'd shut his heart off and down. End of story.

It was recently that he started thinking differently about it and his choices to remain single. A certain someone had his attention, his interest piqued, but he wasn’t sure how to approach her. He didn’t want to hurt her or ruin a gift he’d been waiting for. But he also didn’t want to be hurt.

He smiled thinking about her but kept it pushing. He had a show to run. A community to pour into. A name to keep solid. Love would come when it was supposed to.

At least that’s what he told himself.

He dropped a few bills on the table, kissed his momma on the cheek, tapped Spirit’s shoulder, and headed for the door.

Giovanni headed home fast to change into his fit for the day. He’d kept it light; it would be a busy day. He headed back out quickly and floated to the fairgrounds. He smiled as he pulled up and saw his community mixing and mingling.

The sun showed no mercy today. It poured down in waves, sticky and relentless, making every chrome surface at the fairgrounds burn hot to the touch. Giovanni didn’t mind the heat, though. Not when he was surrounded by the rumble of old school engines, the smell of fried and grilled everything, and the sound of his name being shouted every few steps.

“G! This you?” a man hollered, pointing to a pristine ‘88 Regal with blue candy paint and peanut butter guts.

“Nah, that’s Keon’s. But I supervised the framework. She clean, though,” Giovanni said, slapping palms and pulling the man in for a quick dap.

Everywhere he looked, someone had a camera phone out, catching the bounce of the lowriders, the line dancing circle near the food trucks, the pure joy of Black folks loving each other out loud. Kids ran wild with snow cones dripping down their arms. Old heads arguing over who would win the Superbowl this year.The DJ was spinning classics, talking his shit between songs. This was his element. His people. It was the vibe he lived for.

Spirit kept him on schedule, tugging at his elbow and pointing toward the raffle table like a damn campaign manager. “You still ain’t kissed the babies, Gio,” she teased. “You’re one grilled wing away from a mayoral run. I’m free if you decide to do that. Mayor Dowlen has a nice ring to it.”

He let out a deep laugh this time. “I ain’t kissing nobody’s baby. And they wouldn’t know what to do with me as the mayor. I’d turn this whole city upside down.”

“You’re so full of yourself. But one last thing before you have to go. Smile”

Doing as he was told he posted up at the table, took pictures, handed out raffle prizes, hugged women who knew his momma too well to be flirting with him, and posed with little boys and girls who looked up to him and loved his work. Everything he did was for them, the generation coming behind him. Too many were growing up without fathers and mentors. And with that, they lost the trades: fixing cars, cutting grass, building, using their hands. Giovanni wanted to bring all that back. That’s why he built the shop. Not for the money, for the clout, or the horsepower. He’d built the shop, for the impact.

A grandmother came up to him with a folded envelope. “This for the scholarship fund. My grandson can’t go this year, but maybe another baby will.”

Giovanni took it with both hands, nodding his thanks. “He gon’ get his time. Promise you that. And you know you can always send him to the shop on Wednesdays.”

On Wednesdays Giovanni ran a youth program at the shop. He taught kids how to change tires, check oil, basic maintenance. Fed them dinner, helped with homework. Whatever it took.

“You’re a good man. Never change.” Mrs. Carpenter thanked him, and he hugged her before she walked off.

For a moment, the noise faded, and Giovanni stepped back from the crowd, wiping sweat from his brow with a folded paper towel to take it all in again. His eyes scanned the sea of bodies, polished hoods, and vendors lined up. The vibe was alive.

He should have felt full.

But he didn’t.

Everybody around him had somebody. A woman wiping barbecue sauce off her man’s beard. Teenagers leaning into each other over funnel cake. Even Spirit, posted up near the detailing tent, smiling too long at some dude.

But it wasn't that easy for him. He was still moving, building, and pouring into the world, hoping someone might see him and want to do the same. It was simp shit, but he wanted to be chosen. He wanted to know what it felt like for someone to say,‘let me hold that’.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. The name that flashed across his screen had his pressure going up, hand shaking, neck tightening. What the fuck did Sienna want? She’d had two years to reach out. Now she wanted to talk about what he didn’t know. They had nothing to discuss.

“Fuck that. No time for ghosts,” he muttered. Kids were waiting for backpacks with school supplies. That was what mattered.

Giovanni pushed off the post he’d been leaning against and rolled his shoulders back and stalked toward his Monte Carlo. His eyes swept the growing crowd, half sizing up the success of the day, half checking for trouble. This moment right here, before the parade lap, always got his blood jumping. It was the part where all the cars cruised through the fairgrounds at walking speed, handing out school supplies. He made sure everykid saw what was possible when you built something with your own hands instead of taking what someone else made.

Engines growled to life in the distance, a mechanical thunder that vibrated through the soles of his Jordans. Speakers shifted from trap to something smoother. Old school cuts floated through the air, the kind that reminded him of where he came from before showing him where he could go. Vendors scrambled to fix tablecloths and banners, already bracing for what was coming. The air was heavy with heat, anticipation, and gasoline. That was the holy trinity of a proper show.

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