The House of Eve (22)

“Never heard of a Colored doctor before.”

“First off, I’m Negro, not Colored,” I snapped, sitting up fully in my seat. “Mrs. Thomas says that Colored is a painful word used by segregationists trying to keep our race down.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“And haven’t you ever heard of Dr. Charles Drew?”

Shimmy looked so thunderstruck I couldn’t help but suck my teeth. I was forced to learn his history, but he knew nothing of mine.

“He’s a Negro surgeon and the founder of the blood bank.” I stuck out my chin.

“You’re smarter than the girls I know. Most of them are more interested in bagging a husband. Forgive me,” he said tenderly, and his sentiment softened me.

“Come sit up front.” He held up his forearm for me to clutch.

I hesitated, and then climbed over the seat, careful to keep my skirt down around my knees. When I slid into the passenger seat, I noticed that he smelled like a zesty aftershave. The front seat was wide enough for us to fit another person between us, and we sat a respectable distance from each other. Outside the window, I saw a thread of tall trees surrounding us on three sides of the lot.

“Are we near the Robin Hood Dell?”

“Yeah, on the far side of Fairmount Park.”

“How did you find this spot?”

“When I was little, my grandpa used to bring my cousins and me up here to listen to music. He couldn’t afford to buy tickets for all of us, so this spot was the next best thing. My grandmother would pack hot dogs and we’d get out of the car and dance under that streetlight”—he pointed—“pretending we were onstage.”

Shimmy rolled the windows down halfway. The music came through loud and mostly clear.

“Free concert. I haven’t been up here since he died.”

“When was that?”

“About two years ago.” He snorted, sounding like he was trying to cover up the sadness that had come into his voice. “Sure brings back good memories.”

His story made me realize how much I had missed the closeness I had shared growing up with Nene, sleeping each night nestled in her bed. We sat in silence, listening to the call and cry of the instruments.

“This is a nice car,” I offered.

“It’s my old man’s. Ma doesn’t like him driving on Saturday nights, so she either lets me take the car or hides his keys.”

“Why would she hide the keys?”

“?’Cause he’s always wasted.” Shimmy chewed his lip. “How about your pa?”

I dug my fingers into my thigh. “He lives in Baltimore. Never bothered to marry my mother. She had me alone and I ruined her life.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.” I hugged myself.

“I can’t see you messing up anything.” He turned his face toward me with eyes so warm, I felt a flicker of heat rise up my neck.

“You staying with your aunt?”

“For now. Till my mom calms down.” I couldn’t imagine telling Shimmy about the kiss and Leap, so I told him we got into a fight over money. It wasn’t a total lie. Then we sat quietly, listening to the clip-clap music. Outside the car, there was a glimmer from the streetlights, and the shadows of the trees were large and luminous. I didn’t see another car in sight. I knew what girls did with boys in off-road parking lots. For a fleeting moment my thoughts flashed to Inez, “fast ass.”

Shimmy reached across me and opened the glove compartment.

“I brought you something.” He passed me a small white box. I ran my finger under the Greenwald’s seal. Inside were two chocolate drops.

“Noticed the other day you had a sweet tooth.”

“Thank you.” I held one out to him, and as he took it, our fingers grazed each other. A sensation that felt electric surged between us, and I trembled.

“You’re cold.”

“I’m all right.”

He removed his heavy corduroy coat and draped it over my shoulders. The heat from his body was imprinted in the material and I instantly felt safe.

“Whatcha do today?” I lifted the sweet to my mouth, and when I took a bite, I left a ring of pink lipstick against the black chocolate.

“I went to temple this morning with my family. But my ma didn’t like the rabbi’s talk today, so she kept swearing in Yiddish on the way home.”

My eyes got big. “Oooh, tell me a Yiddish curse word!”

“Like what?” He chewed his candy.

“Anything.”

“I’m drawing a blank.” Shimmy snickered.

“What does your mother say?”

He looked pensive for a moment. “Du farkirtst mir yorn!”

“What’s that mean?”

“You’ll be the death of me,” he whispered. The air between us felt sticky and sweet. His eyes stayed on me for so long, I had to look away.

He’d certainly be the death of me if Aunt Marie found out. “How do you insult someone?”

“You call him a dummkopf, which means he’s stupid.” We both laughed and then finished off our candy.

“What else did you do today?” I balled the wrapper in my palm.

“Went home, ate and rested all afternoon.”