Midnight (16 page)

Akemi did not seem to mind our silent date. But now I really did have things I wanted to ask her. So I just started talking aloud to her as if she could understand me.

“How are you feeling right now and what are you thinking?” I asked her in English. She watched my lips. There was a pause. Then she started speaking to me in Japanese. Of course I couldn’t understand one word. I realized she didn’t understand my question either.

“So why did you watch me for three months before you finally said something?” I asked her. When I finished speaking, she began speaking Japanese again.

“What were you looking at anyway and why do you like me?” I asked her. Then she spoke Japanese again.

“Do you have a boyfriend? Have you ever been touched by a man?” I asked, feeling comfortable speaking this way to her only because I knew she couldn’t understand me. She said something else back to me in her language.

“What do you want anyway?” I asked her. She began laughing a little. Then she kept laughing a lot. Her shoulders were shaking. I started laughing too. I don’t know when I last laughed so hard. This shit is crazy, I thought to myself. But I like her. I like her a lot.

“Damn, I wish you could speak English,” I said, laughing and frustrated. She stood up and smiled deviously, put her hands on her hips, and said, “Speak Japanese!”

I stood up and pulled her by her hand. Her palms were soft like butter and warm.

Over at the vendor’s I brought her a Columbia University hooded sweatshirt. When I gave it to her she smiled like I had given her a brick of gold.

She went into her purse once more and came out with a folded shopping bag. As she opened up each square of the bag, I could see that it was made with beautiful decorated heavy paper, with gold twine for handles. I thought to myself how she seemed to be a female who plans and thinks ahead. Everything she wore and possessed, down to the smallest items, seemed to be carefully chosen. She paid close attention to details and preferred everything she wore, used, and surrounded herself with to be unique. It added to her elegance.

She placed the Columbia hoodie into her shopping bag.

At five minutes to ten, on a Queens corner, in a tree-lined residential neighborhood of medium-sized houses, we stood still in the dark. She was looking up at me. I was looking down at her. She stepped inside my leather jacket, standing close to my body but not touching.

I didn’t need my jacket no more, because in the cold air my body was consumed with heat. She reached up and touched my face like I was one of the African paintings whose texture she wanted to feel. Her fingers settled on my lips. I didn’t move. She pulled her hand back and stepped back a little.

I got mad at myself for hesitating. I picked up her bags, ready to carry them to her house for her. She held up her hand to gesture “no.” Gently, she took her bags back and started walking away.

I followed her instinctively. She turned back toward me and said, “Sayonara.” I knew that this word meant “good-bye.” I turned and headed back to catch my train to Brooklyn.

My body was hot in Queens, cold in Brooklyn, and warm inside my Umma’s apartment.

When I walked through the door my mother took one look at me and said, “You met a girl.”

I tried to play it off. It was crazy how she always just calmly stated the truth. She didn’t even bother to put it in the form of a question. It was like she already knew and didn’t need me to confirm or deny.

Stalling, I took off my jacket and loosened my laces, stepping out of my Nikes. No matter how long I delayed, I knew I could never escape Umma’s intuition. My seven-years-young sister laughed at how easily I was exposed.

“I met two girls,” I said, telling the truth but trying to throw her off.

“Which one of them made your face light up this way?” she asked.

“What about my face?” I dodged.

Umma smiled and stood staring. I knew no matter what I said, this conversation would end up meaning the world to her. She was clear and strong in her Islam, a Muslim woman of the highest degree. Umma never lowered her standards.
She considered America “the land of women with no honor.”

So, I chose my words carefully.

“She just came to this country six months ago. She does not speak any English. I met her at work. We are friends,” I said to Umma, speaking only in Arabic. My sister Naja hung on every syllable, fully aware of Arabic and English.

“You are leaving some things out on purpose,” Umma said coolly and confidently.

“What things?” I dodged again.

“She is not a Muslim or you would have said that she was. She is
very
beautiful to you and that’s why the light is spilling out of your eyes. You three are friends for now, but you already know that one of the two girls is very special.”

I just hugged Umma instead of offering her my words. My sister wiggled her way in between us and that was okay too. It was late Saturday night. In our family embrace I said to Umma, “Akemi, her name is Akemi.” Umma repeated softly, “Akemi.”

Alone in my warm bedroom I dashed my window open to bring in a stream of cold air. As I did my pushups, voices from the streets below also came rushing through. My thoughts spanned from Umma to Akemi, from New York to the Sudan, from Islam to the unbelievers.

Surely I know who I am. Yet the reality is that I am living here. I am young. The niggas on the streets consider religion a trick and a weakness. The believers are seen as the duped and the hustled. The Holy Quran, which is the absolute law where I was born, is
nothing
more than unknown or useless poetry in the eyes and ears of American youth.

I already knew from listening to and observing these American chicks, they didn’t give a fuck about female honor. They fucked any random stranger who looked good to them and switched boyfriends like they changed their hairstyles. They definitely gave less than a fuck about marriage. It wasn’t even a consideration.

In the Quran I read an
ayat
¹
in a
sura
²
that said, “Allah knows the count on your womb.” In Islam it mattered a lot if a woman laid down for a man, her relationship to him and under what circumstances. In the Quran it was forbidden for an unmarried female to lay with an unmarried male and vice versa. In the Quran every detail was written clear and simple for true believers to follow and limit themselves.

On the other hand, here in the United States, a man gets no respect unless he bangs and twists these females out, right away.

I consoled myself, the difficult position I was in being from there, living here, remembering and believing, and over the years, seeing nothing outside of my little family that reflected my memories or beliefs.

Guns and girls—I keep them separate. Ameer showed up to the dojo Monday night with Redbone on his arm. Me and Chris was looking at him sideways because as a rule, we didn’t bring spectators during our training. Even though every now and then there were times when I had no choice but to bring my little sister, Naja, I thought, or I should say me and Chris thought, Ameer’s move was a mistake. First off, since he turned twelve, Ameer been girl crazy. Me and Chris watched him act like he had fallen in forever love with about eighteen different females. The girls were all crazy about him too. So it was cool. But we knew from experience that he shouldn’t bring girls who we knew he was gonna break up with to any of our permanent hangouts. He already had a female named Sophia turn stalker on his ass. Shit with her got so serious, even Sensei had to step in.

Over the years, when any one of the three of us did anything wrong, we all got the pressure from Sensei the same as if we all had done the wrong thing together. Sensei told us in private that it wasn’t enough for us to master the fighting technique. We had to master our desires for women “before the women master you.”

I looked at Ameer all wrapped up with Redbone.

“Long weekend?” I joked. Me and Chris both laughed.

Our training takes a lot of concentration. Out on the floor we stretched and worked on katas and rollouts.

Later we sparred at Sensei’s demand. He kept the fight scenarios flipping like a quarterback calling out complicated plays. He never allowed us to get used to one sparring partner. I would be out on the floor sparring one opponent, next thing I knew I was surrounded by three more attackers. For half an hour I would be in the defending position. The next half hour I would be one of the attackers. Some of the fighters and students in our dojo were our age. Others were full-grown men. The challenge kept my blood pumping.

Through it all, I kept feeling Redbone’s eyes moving on me. I wanted to believe I had her wrong. But I knew I had her right.

Toward the end of the session, me and Chris sparred each other, while Ameer and a next student sparred also. When our class finished up, I pulled Ameer and Chris to the side.

“You got my piece?” I asked Ameer.

“Nah, but we can go pick it up now,” he answered.

“Nah, bring it here Wednesday night when you come. But don’t bring her,” I told him.

“She’s cool,” Ameer said nonchalantly about Redbone.

“Yeah, she’s cool at anyplace except the dojo, alright?” I asked, but it wasn’t really a question.

“She wants to get your phone number anyway,” Ameer stated casually.

“What?” Chris jumped in before I could even make sense out of what Ameer was asking me. Then Ameer started laughing.

“Don’t be stupid. She wants your telephone number so she can give it to Homegirl from the other night. The three of them are used to doing everything together. Anyway, Homegirl gotta thing for you, for real. She asked me for your number so many times yesterday, I almost fucked around and gave it to her. I stopped myself when I thought about how you be running your life like you some kind of a secret agent.
Nobody can come to your house or call your crib at certain times and all that bullshit.” Him and Chris laughed.

“Homegirl is kind of cute,” Chris said. “She got a pretty face and a tight little waist.”

“And thick thighs,” Ameer added. “I was gonna take her at first. But there’s something so sexy about Redbone. She had them other two beat hands down,” Ameer joked and bragged.

“If I wanted her to know my phone number, I’d a gave it to her that same night. Just bring my shit here on Wednesday. You didn’t leave it at
her
house, did you?” I asked, growing tight about Ameer not being on point when all it takes is one little fuckup.

“Come on, man. Stop tryna play me,” Ameer answered, getting vexed.

Chris jumped in to cut up the unusual tension. He always had a way of calming things down whenever he thought it was necessary.

“Look, you ain’t gotta be serious with this girl. Just hang out with her while me and Ameer keep the other two busy. That’s how these girls want it, three on three. Make it easy on us.” He smiled, trying to get me to lighten up. I looked at both of them, considering the way they was begging me to get with some girl.

All of a sudden, Ameer’s facial expression changed. He busted out laughing, a complete switch in his mood.

“I got you, nigga! You
already
got a girl. That’s what’s up.” Ameer called it out. “You got a girl for the first time and now she got you open. You just ain’t saying shit about her! So now you don’t want to fuck with Homegirl. I should’ve figured it out before. That
is
the type of brother you are.” He laughed some more. There was a short pause before he offered more of his take on the situation.

“That’s how you do it, man, one at a time, huh?” Ameer leaned in and teased, while Redbone, who we’d told to stay
over there, was slowly creeping closer and closer to the area where we was standing.

“Well—let me tell you something,” Ameer said to me. “You got two eyes, two ears, two hands, two legs, two feet, ten motherfucking fingers, and ten motherfucking toes . . .” Now Chris was relieved too and laughing again.

I never answered Ameer or Chris. My smile at Ameer’s words just cut through naturally.

“See you Wednesday night,” I told them.

Realistically I didn’t consider Akemi my girl. But in between the hundreds of things I had to do, I found her popping up in my thoughts and remaining there. I planned to see her at the end of the week again when I went back to my weekend job at Cho’s on Friday. But now my thoughts of her were turning into an unfamiliar craving. I was feeling like a week was too long.

On Wednesday, I made two Manhattan Umma Designs deliveries. So afterward, I decided to stop by Akemi’s family’s shop and check her. I was not sure if she even worked on Wednesdays but I was about to find out. I wanted a chance to see what was up with her family. I got curious why her cousin said for me
not
to show up there at their family store.

I found myself catching feelings for Akemi. I had to be sure she wasn’t tryna dis me by keeping me away from her relatives, her job, and her home.

As I came up the subway steps onto the sidewalk in Chinatown, I joined the heavy New York crowds of walkers. One block down, as I turned the corner, I saw Akemi walking in a crowd headed in my direction. It was a gray day. She was wearing a designer scarf on her head, with the rest of her long hair falling onto her back. The pretty pastel colors made her glow. She had on a cobalt-blue, patent leather, trench-style
jacket today. It was close fitting, hugged her shoulders and laid across her breasts, with a belt drawn tight against her small waist. Jeans and another new pair of Nikes with dark-blue soles helped her to step lively through the dirty New York streets. She didn’t see me approaching and seemed lost somewhere in her own thoughts. I wondered if I walked right past her, would she notice?

Tucked underneath her arm secured in her pit was a large portfolio. In her other hand was a small purse. It matched her jacket and dangled from her fingers on a short handle.

Within seconds, I walked right by her in an uneven crowd of nine or so people who just happened to be moving in my same direction. I didn’t look back. Three seconds later, she grabbed my wrist. When I turned she had a penetrating look and a warm welcoming smile on her face. She pointed to her watch. She gave me the “come on” sign with her hand. I didn’t know where she was going. Yet, I followed.