Grown: Part Two

I pat my new mini fro, unaccustomed to the tight dark brown coils slipping through my fingers.

Korey’s words are always so sweet, thoughtful. Not like boys. Boys fumble, word vomiting wants, attacking my lips and hips like feral dogs.

Korey goes into a tangent about God, Jesus, the devil, and church.

“You ready?” Korey says behind me, breath on the nape of my neck.

The door clicks open. Korey stands at the threshold and gives me a once-over.

He glances at me, his voice deadpan.

Korey wears his sunglasses and hoodie to the most magical place on earth. On a Monday evening, with the park near empty, it’s the perfect time to be incognito on Splash Mountain.

I stumble, catching a glimpse of myself in the vanity mirror.

Anger rises with bile.

Except tonight, my performance was stagnant. Fake. Forced. Voice cracking at the end of my solo.

Jessica’s eyes widen for a split second, and for the first time, through her cold demeanor, I see someone real, not just a block of ice.

“It’s OK,” I relent.

So EVERY chick that comes forward is vengeful?

I’ve only caught mere snippets of information from the news, but not much since Jessica keeps the TV off and I don’t dare google it since Korey checks my phone.

The thick Miami humidity creates a muzzle of sweat around my neck, holding me back from what I want most. To jump, to fly, to glide...right into the ocean. The yearning is physically painful, like holding in a sneeze.

You can try all you want to control the wild sea, but in the end, it’ll always do what it wants. And Mom was done with Grandma’s stubborn irrationality for good.

He must read the skepticism on my face.
“You don’t believe me, do you?”

He clambers around me, wiping his wet face on my stomach.

“Welcome home,” Korey says, his arms spread wide under the giant crystal chandelier that hangs from an impossibly high foyer ceiling.

It screams museum or mausoleum, smelling as if it was dipped in bleach.

No pictures. No memorabilia. Nothing that says this place belongs to anyone specific.

On the first landing, Jessica appears, wearing a loose-fitting black sweat suit, face devoid of emotion.

The flat-screen TV on the wall seems dwarfed by the vast plainness. It doesn’t match the opulence of the rest of the home.

The window faces a pristine backyard with manicured hedges that look like part of a large maze surrounding a giant swimming pool.

But when I moved closer, the bag came to life, its tentacles darting, and a three-alarm fire broke out on my arm. I popped up to the surface with a scream. Daddy rushed in and carried me to shore. Mom doused the fire with salt water.

I breathe in the thought, flipping through the warped pages of my book.

The scene changes, a man with a fro in the dank, messy bedroom with a half-dressed girl.

Time of Death: Body temperature, rigor and livor mortis, and stomach contents approximate the time of death between 10:30 and 11:45 p.m.

“We’re not at liberty to say but per protocol, we need to ask you a few questions.”

Beach lifeguards can hold their breath for two whole minutes. It’s a part of their aptitude test.

Tears pooling in his eyes, he nods incessantly.

Amber and I sit in the doorways of our respective rooms, chatting.

Derrick turns, remaining stoic, positioning himself in front of me.

“Sir, care for another beverage?” she asks with a taut smile.

“All this turbulence got her shook.”