Conception by Kalisha Buckhanon

Author:Kalisha Buckhanon [Buckhanon, Kalisha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-312-33270-9
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group
Published: 2008-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

PART TWO

EIGHT

HE LIVED ON the fourth floor. We had talked about the building and the block, out in the cold, for about ten minutes because he couldn’t smoke in the house even though nobody else was home. He had offered his hand and said, “I’m Rasul.” All I had done was shake it and say, “Hi Rasul.” When he had finished his Newport, he offered to walk me to my door but I had told him I wasn’t ready to go home yet. I wanted to walk up because I knew Ma and Renelle would only take the elevator. Turned out we would have had to do that anyway since the elevator was out of order. I wondered what Renelle had done after I ran out. She couldn’t call Leroy, and he had already had his one call for the day so she wouldn’t be screaming any questions into the phone tonight. Maybe she didn’t believe Nakesha. I’m sure my girl had looked pretty crazy and the whole thing was a blur to Renelle. About the most she had probably done was knock on my door for me without explaining why. Maybe. I hoped. Then Ma would have gone off and Aunt Jewel would have panicked because I wasn’t where I said I was going to be. Then Ma would have started going off about me being with that boy I supposedly liked but wouldn’t tell her about. Well tonight, she would be right.

Here I was, alone, in the apartment of some strange dude I had only seen a couple of times. Grandma would have said I didn’t have a fool’s sense. I told myself that I was taking a chance, having an adventure, broadening my horizons, “stepping out on faith” as the preacher would have said at Grandma’s church. But I thought back to the feeling he had given me the very first time I saw him. It had been like a bubble bursting, a wave crashing into me, or even the shock of that first raindrop falling on my forehead when a storm was coming. It had felt good, in a way that had nothing to do with sex like it did with Leroy. I knew I had nothing to be afraid of.

Rasul’s apartment was the same style as mine. Large living room, small kitchen, tiny bathroom, and two bedrooms arranged in an L-shape. But this one was hooked up. There was a three-piece velvet living-room set and nice dark wood breakfront to match. Tall speakers stood in the corners of the living room, and an entertainment center held a thirty-six-inch television and serious stereo with a record player on top. What seemed like a thousand albums were encased behind glass at the bottom of the entertainment center. Strange art decorated all four walls—real painted pictures, not Jew Town posters in cheap gold-tone frames. The raised paint scratched when I ran my fingers along the colorful shapes. Pouch-faced African masks were all over the walls, and their few family photos were all in wooden frames.

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