The Night Is Young

Stereotypical Black People and Entangled Fingers

“Nothing Much,”

Nelson wraps his hand around my wrist and gives me a terse nod, “Let’s get outta here.”

Jared pushes himself up and cracks a smile as if we are a sitcom personified, “Why man? Come chill with me, we can talk together,” his eyes wander over to mines and he licks his lips, “all three of us.”

Nelson gently tugs at my wrist, “Nah we good bro.”

If he’s trying to conjure up a sick image of a manager tois then its working, very well. Only I don’t want his shaft stick and he can’t pop my cherry.

And then like a hurricane a wave of people flow through the house, music radiates around us and then there is the unmistakable squeal of someone I know too well.

“It’s about to go down!”

Damn. And I really thought I’d made it.

I should know well enough that hang outs like these eventually turn into raucous parties, but I’m not trying to run into my sister, not now, and not with Nelson and Jared about to pummel each other to bits and pieces, “C’mon.”

I look at Nelson and pull gently at my arm to alert him that I’m ready, because for whatever reason he has it in his mind to burn a hole into Jared’s forehead.

“You just gonna punk out man? She tellin you what to do?” He presses his well-toned body against the sink and chuckles, “What happened bruh?”

“Yeah, we out.” Nelson tugs on my wrist, not so gently either and makes his way out of the kitchen with me tagging along like a dog on a leash.

Jared laughs in the distance and calls out, “Really man? Bet, bet my nigga.”

Clear as day, and as pure as the living water of Jesus I can hear the undertone of what he’s implying, that somethings amiss and Nelson knows about it. I’m not stupid, and I’m not blind, but I wish for one day I could have some peace to myself and not wonder why everyone around me is talking in circles and hiding the truth.

Funk, perfume and the unmistakable scent of alcohol cajoles my senses and fatigues my mind. Mini skirts, too tight shorts and side long glances aimed at wide hips and big boobs makes me shiver. Are guys pigs like this all the time? Or is it just when they have enough alcohol in them to loosen up?

“Nelson, wait.” I attempt to speak over the music, but my soft tone is drowned out by the sweet vibes of Chris brown and Keri Hilson singing “Superhuman.” And he’s moving so fast that I have to keep up at a maddening pace when all I want to do is press my face into the back of his cotton t-shirt and evade the acknowledgement of my sister. Because Lord knows that I don’t want to see her face upturned in a grin of wicked malice, because double negatives aren’t cool, and because her mouth is wider than the Red Sea.

But he doesn’t stop, he continues on tugging and pulling and pushing through bodies and I find myself having to do the same. My cheek brushes against one shoulder and then another, I trip over a moving leg, run into an outstretched arm and meander around hips rolling like barrels down a hill.

“Nelson!” I hiss, its meant for him, but it seems as though I’m the only one who can hear it because he keeps moving. And I have to admire him for his perseverance and his determination, but if he doesn’t stop to give me some time to breathe soon then I’m going to have to put my foot down……or against his knobby knees.

“Nelson!”

Its not me, its someone else, a guy, some incredibly hot guy with dark skin, pretty brown eyes and pink brown lips. For a moment Nelson stops to nod his head and give him dap, but then he’s on again pulling and tugging the both of us to the door.