THE FLOW

Issue #004

August rests on the horizon, creeping up on me in a fashion all too similar to its shining twin rising outside my window every morning. Deadlines, deadlines, and more deadlines stack up on my itinerary. I've pressed my fingers down on the keys of my typewriter so much that joints ache. I've sat at my laptop's mercy for so many hours that my back throbs in peculiar regions. I'm knee-deep in finish my portion of the project intended to be rolled out in the upcoming October issue.

A pencil behind one ear, a pen behind the other, I can feel my limbs quaking as I realize what good a cigarette will do me. Quitting feels like my biggest mistake. What kind of a writer doesn't burn tobacco and take deep inhales of it, poisoning the lungs that only do me any good when I'm out performing social journalistic duties like an occasional interview. I could say none of that matters right now. Slaving away to complete a project I couldn't give a rat's ass about is something out of my ordinary, as is turning down a cigarette. Maybe I'm becoming someone new.

This someone new is begging the universe for some kind of an outlet or break... Anything to get away from a desk job writing about mostly women's fashion, really. I'm beginning to feel stuck. No matter how enormously comforting the checks are, my soul craves the liberty of writing whatever it is that I want. I've thought about exactly that: What do I want? In milliseconds, I was able to spit it out. I have a dream that I'll, one day, be able to curate my own magazine meant to enhance the Black youth's entertainment experience. Our fashion, our music, our stars, our everything. I want to take a slither of our culture and place it on shelves across America, uniting us all in a new way without needing cable.

Until then, I'm stuck right here. Bills paid, a nice place, and seven manuscripts with details of why Demi Moore wears white after Labor Day piling up into hefty paragraphs.

"Yo, yo, yo," Jared calls out, making his presence known as he fully enters my apartment. A bag in his hands lets me know he kept his word on picking up the movies we wanted to see before he got here. "You gotta stop leaving your door unlocked like that," he semi-playfully scolds. He laughs because of how many times he's told me, but he's serious about the statement.

Barely looking up from my work, I split my attention in half to greet him. "I told you, I don't live in Bed-Stuy. I can do what I want up here."

"Son of Sam wasn't running around Jamaica, Queens, just think about that." He places his coat on the rack by my door, kicking off his shoes in the process. Summer rain kisses my window as it has surely dampened his lightweight exterior. "And Ted Bundy..." Jared trails off as he floats over to me.

My head turning to look up at him as he approaches me, a smile widens in expectance. "Ted Bundy what?"

A quick peck on the lips or cheek has become a normal greeting. Once he's said his full hello, he carefully drops the bag of rented tapes on my table and falls on my couch. His legs sprawl out down one side, torso leaning over the edge to face me at my off-centered dining room table, Jared shrugs his shoulders at me. I mimic his act, laughing, trying to figure out what else he has to say.

"I'on know," he finally confesses. "But Ted Bundy wasn't no broke dude, you feel me?"

"I think he dated all of his victims and the only man I'm seeing right now is a country bumpkin that really likes to watch Predator 2, knowing it's a terrible movie."

Smacking his lips, Jared sits straight up. "I ain't even got that one this time." My smile tightens as I fight my laughter from becoming a snort. "And I told you I ain't no country bumpkin. You comin' at me sideways 'cause you ain't go no taste without knowin' what I brought!"

"I'm going to finish these last two sentences and we'll see exactly what you got and if you decided to listen to me this time."

A real woman of my word, I finish my final edits and close everything up. Popcorn popped, cans of pop cracked open, we zone in on Billy Madison and the laughter it provides.