Brown Sugar 4 by Carol Taylor

Author:Carol Taylor
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: SOC035000
Publisher: Washington Square Press
Published: 2005-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

JESSICA CARE MOORE

A New Tale of Two Cities

It was the way he looked at me when I walked into the room. The pale colors of his high ceilings and Ralph Lauren-painted walls bloomed purple lotus petals and covered the space like the ivy of my childhood home. He could trace my sadness, the loss of my father too soon, the neglect from past and present lovers. He was simply my brother, my good friend, and I thought it was just supposed to be that way.

There was a time when another woman caller would have made me jealous, but I never let him see it. He was, after all, one of Harlem’s most wanted and his mama had graced him with a name to match his history. Harlem was a tall enough man with a beautiful face blessed with Cherokee cheeks, lush feminine lashes, and long, thick, reddish-brown hair he kept in tight cornrows. He was a pretty nigga, but with enough edge to qualify for thug status. Harlem possessed an old-school pimp vibe, wearing Dobb hats and gator shoes you could find only on 125th Street. He was the guy on the block who could kick it with the street-corner hustler, made sure the elders of the neighborhood were respected, and played big brother to the latchkey kids. Everyone loved Harlem.

I can’t believe I’m at his door at midnight, hoping he didn’t have company on the other side.

In our beginning, he would tell me stories of how he’d come home and this certain chick might be posted in his kitchen, completely nude, boiling water and cooking Newman’s Own marinara and noodles. He was funny about what brands of food he ate. He’d argue that was what was wrong with our people, always accepting less. He thought watching his diet was important, and he ate only foods that served a purpose. For breakfast, he would eat hard-boiled eggs and wheat toast to help his digestive system. Whatever. We didn’t always connect in that way. I was a Midwest girl, but my entire family was from down south. I grew up on mashed potatoes and gravy. Homemade maple syrup, thick-ass grits, scrambled eggs with lots of cheese, and even the culturally taboo pork bacon.

“She climbed through the window, Savannah! Climbed the freakin’ fire escape. She’s nuts, man!” Then he cracked up. When he laughed he used his whole face, and when he told a story he worked the room like an actor on stage.

She was always in his front row, but invisible, unlike the cute size 7½ shoes lined up near the door of his two-bedroom condo. My size. I had to stop from making a fool of myself one particular morning. Something came over me, and I decided to try on the soft Japanese-style slippers that didn’t belong to me and wear them home. I got as far as the sidewalk, then turned around and put them back in their purposeful place on his polished hardwood floor.

A few days later I examined a pair of white leather shell-toe Adidas.

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