Page 59 of Don Caselli

I tossed my arms around him and hugged him as his hands came down and held me tightly. “He cheated on me and got Mila pregnant… stood in my face and told me that he had been cheating on me. How fucking heartless?”

“Damn.”

I felt his chin lean on the top of my head as he hugged me and allowed me to hug him back. “What did I do to deserve that?”

“Not a damn thing.”

“Maybe I did. Was I not there for him enough?”

He pulled me back and looked down into my eyes. “You could give the nigga the world, and he’d still want another planet. This not on you, Bleu… you were perfect.”

“How do you know?”

“Cause I haven’t known you long and I can already see you perfect. That nigga had more time with you and couldn’t see that, and that’s his loss.”

“I’m sorry for ignoring you. There was so much going on that I didn’t want to talk to anybody.”

“I can give you the space that you need. Just let me know something, so I’m not out here going crazy thinking something happened.”

“Okay.”

He stared at me. “I wanna take you somewhere.”

“I’m waiting for my food.”

He walked a few feet and turned around. “Fuck that shit… I’mma feed you, Bleu.” It was the wink as he walked away, and I ran behind his ass quick.

I watched as he held his hand out behind him, and I placed mine inside as we walked down the block. When we came to a motorcycle, I was really confused.

“Who bike is this?”

“Mine.”

“You ride bikes?”

“Yeah, my brother’s best friend taught me.” He held a helmet in his hand and walked over toward me. “You ever rode on the back of one?”

“No. My dad has a few Brooklyn Bullies as friends… they came up together. Other than that, never got on one.”

He smirked. “First time for everything, huh?”

I allowed him to put the helmet on my head, knowing I had so much to do. None of that mattered because I was too excited. I wanted to get on the bike and drive my damn self I was so excited.

He got on first and held my hand as I climbed on behind him. I held him tight around the waist as he started the bike, and we pulled away from the curb.

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No sooner than we left my block, he picked up speed. As he turned on the parkway, he sped straight down, going in and out of the light traffic. I held onto him tighter as he continued to zoom through the streets. We bypassed Prospect Park and headed toward the roundabout that was Grand Army Plaza. Cabs, cars, and bikes were all merged in this circular pathway that took you different paths.

Don reached back and touched my leg. I squeezed him, letting him know that I was alright. We continued downtown Brooklyn, as I took in everything. I had been almost everywhere in Brooklyn. It was my home, and I had known every part like the back of my hand since I was six. My parents taught me how to always make it back home, so I would never end up lost.

Each block we passed had a special memory. As we made our way down Flatbush Avenue, we bypassed the pizza shop that survived gentrification. Me and Antwan would always get pizza from here because it was all we could afford. If money was really tight, we would share a slice as we walked back up Flatbush Avenue, talking about nothing and everything at the same time.

Coming down Flatbush and seeing the skyscrapers in the distance as we inched closer downtown was always surreal. There were never any skyscrapers in Brooklyn. There wasn’t a WholeFoods and Apple store. Flatbush had always been home, a place where you could find a million vendors selling everything from incense to belts, and costume jewelry. I remember holdingmy mother’s hand as she bought her black soap and shea butter from the street vendors.

Grabbing mangos from the fruit vendors and smothering them in vinegar and hot sauce. This was my Brooklyn, and like hell, I wished I could have shown Landon what it used to be like. It was a place where everyone went before school started to grab their new sneakers for the year. Income tax season, you came to get you a new coat and another pair of sneakers because money was good for that month.

My father bought my first name plate down here and appeased me when I wanted to get a grill in ninth grade. It was a culture and seeing how things had changed always made me sad. It made me yearn for what used to be. Before the crusty white dogs, the hipsters, and those wanting to be in Brooklyn because it was the happening spot, it used to be for us. It was when Mr. Fulton used to be on the corner of Dekalb. As we breezed by the new Brooklyn, I noticed he was heading toward the BQE instead of the Brooklyn Bridge.

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