Honey and Spice(44)
Malakai released a dark chuckle and rubbed his jaw. “This was the first week of term and I didn’t know anyone. Kofi had to go back to London for a family thing that weekend. I was alone. Like for real, alone. I don’t even know how it happened, don’t know if it was five seconds or five minutes, but something must have happened, I must have said something—or maybe nothing was enough—but they had me pushed up against a car, hands behind my back while they searched me. Three of them. My camera drops. The camera I saved for a summer to get. Lens cracks. I feel it. Can’t get to my phone to film what’s going on.
“Anyway, Meji must have heard and he comes out. Meji’s kind of a big deal around here. A big brother, uncle to everyone, all the shop owners know him. Even the police know not to fuck with him. Meji went to law school in Nigeria and he’s the smartest guy I know. So, Meji comes out and asks them what they’re doing. They stutter. He asks them again, ‘What’s the reasonable grounds?’ And I’m shaking, man.
“I try to tell him what’s going on but I can’t talk. He says, ‘A young man taking pictures?’ They stutter. He gets his phone out, starts talking about rights, how what they’re doing is illegal. They let me go. The police say some shit. It’s all bluster. They’re scrambling. Meji ignores them, brings me back here, and gives me food. He calms me down and tells me to breathe. And that’s how he became my big bro. That’s how I found this place.”
I sat back in my seat, the full force of what he said pushing me. My stomach was a swirl of sickness and sadness and indignation, a cocktail that caused my hand to fly over to his and squeeze. “Malakai . . . I’m sorry. So sorry that happened to you.” But it felt useless, trite, and I felt embarrassed at how pathetic, how useless my words sounded.
Malakai’s eyes dropped quickly to our hands, and he gave me a small, weakly reassuring smile. “Thank you. It’s fine, though.”
I shook my head, my eyes surprising me by stinging slightly. “No. It isn’t. It’s fucked.”
Malakai swallowed, and I realized his eyes were slightly glassy too. “It’s fucked. Which is why I don’t get the bullshit debate the ACS is doing next month. Black Lives Matter versus All Lives Matter? Who signed off on that? Zack really is a prick, man. What does he even get out of that?”
I removed my hand from Malakai’s and swallowed hard. “I have no idea.”
A waiter came over to take our order and the ordering process gave me sufficient time to try and digest the new version of Malakai forming in my head, a version of him that roamed the roads at night trying to capture the light of a chicken shop because he found it beautiful.
“Sorry,” Malakai said, leaning forward as the waiter walked off to hand in our orders. “I don’t usually talk about institutional racism on first dates.”
I relaxed again. “Really? Weird. I thought it was standard.” I let my eyes drift over to a booth where a boy was playfully serenading a girl along with the Pharrell and Snoop ditty playing from the speakers. She was pretending to hate it, slapping his arm just to touch him. My gaze returned to his with a twinkle. “So, this is a first date?”
The corner of Malakai’s mouth ticked slightly upward. “Thought this would be the perfect place for a chill preliminary meeting to get to know each other as project partners. Also, this place is a hot date spot. There are about eight couples here right now that would be perfect for the film.”
I looked around and saw that he was right. The pair I had just seen were one of many. A few were our age, some were clearly sneaking out, and one was closer to Meji’s age. All of them looked like they were at various stages of romance: a couple that was sitting so close to each other and looking so lustful that there was a possibility that they were violating several health codes under their table; another sharing a plate of food; one in which the woman was commanding a man to read some texts back to her, irately.
I nodded at him. “So, you must have brought a few girls here, then?”
“You’re the first, actually.”
I couldn’t help but cackle. “Malakai, what do I look like? This place is sexy and opens late. We’re here to be real, remember? Tell me the truth. You take them here, have the same routine with Meji, tell them to order the plantain waffles, drive them back to campus, fool around in your car, and fire off a ‘Good morning, beautiful’ text in the morning.”
Malakai met my gaze, eyes totally devoid of irony. “Seriously. You are the first girl I’ve brought here. This is my spot. Maybe I’ll come here with Kofi, but I also come here alone quite a bit. To work, to chill with Meji. Whatever. I’ve made friends here. . . . Don’t you have a spot?”
I flicked my eyes across him in quiet deliberation before leaning forward, resting my jaw on my fist. Dr. Miller said I had to learn to work with others. He’d shared with me so it was only fair that I shared with him. I inhaled deeply.
“Alright. It’s extremely nerdy but there’s this spot in the library I like. African histories. Because no one’s ever there.” I laughed. “It’s in the far corner, away from everything. I smuggle a coffee in and I just chill. Think. Sometimes there’s a book involved, sometimes I’m just listening to a playlist I loaded up. It gives me . . . space.”
Malakai released a slow smile. “Wow. That is extremely nerdy.”