Only on the Weekends, page 3
I turn to ask Maz, “Why’d you always say
‘Sorry, I’ve got a boyfriend’
When guys try to talk to you?”
“Saying ‘I’m not interested’ never ever works.
Saying ‘I’ve got a boyfriend’ spares their feelings.
It means they’re less likely to get aggressive.”
It’s so unfair
That Maz has to worry about that.
When we get back,
The couples go down to the Den to do couple things,
Whatever that is.
In the living room, I invite Maz to sit.
To make it cozy, I turn on the two lamps
On either side of the green velvet sofa
And the one next to the record player.
It’s a baby-blue briefcase-style record player.
My most prized possession.
Dad got it for Mum.
He says I can take it with me to uni.
Maz will do law. Sim will do psychology.
Femi says he’ll do whatever will make the most money.
“Do you like Brandy?”
“You know I don’t drink,” laughs Maz.
“Not the drink, the singer,” I laugh
And pull out “Never Say Never” by Brandy.
“Oh,” Maz laughs, and face-palms herself.
“I don’t know her, but her eyebrows are on fleek!”
“These were my mum’s.”
I slip the record from its sleeve,
Set it down,
Place the needle and press play.
These melodies are like lullabies
Mum never got to sing to me.
I sink into the sofa beside Maz,
As we let nineties R & B wash over us.
Maz says, “It’s nice that you have this music
To remember your mum by.”
“Yeah, I guess.
The records help me feel close to her, in a way,
But I don’t remember her.”
“You have photos, though.”
Maz points at one next to the record player.
The gold photo frame,
The baby-blue record player,
The pine wine crates
And their vinyl contents
Are everyday sights to me.
But through Maz’s eyes
They must look like a shrine
To Mum and her music.
In the gold-framed photo,
Mum stands atop a mountain,
Hands on hips, triumphantly,
Like a capeless superhero.
Behind her: a too-blue sky,
And cartoonish white cloud,
Like on the weather app.
Photo Mum is unknowable;
She’s silent and still, she poses
More questions than answers.
“The woman in the photos
Doesn’t feel like my mum.”
A wincing guilt in my gut.
“She feels more like a myth,”
I admit, for the first time.
“Sometimes I wonder
What she would say to me:
Like words of advice.
Sometimes I think I see
Signs that she watches over me.
But it’s probably just
What I want to hear and see.”
Maz nods, sadly, but says nothing.
This side of the record has finished.
A quiet hiss troubles the speakers.
“Are you thinking about your mum?” I ask.
“Yeah,
But I’d rather not talk about her,
If that’s okay?”
I reach over to lift the needle.
“I get it. It’s okay.
What shall we play next?”
Thursday Evening
Everyone leaves.
I head upstairs to Dad’s study.
I aim to fill silence with distraction.
Above Dad’s desk are four Basquiat paintings,
Each with a crown motif.
A book is spread open on Dad’s desk:
Trans Teen Zine Volume One by Finlay.
I don’t know Finlay’s story,
Just that he’s trans and Scottish
And in Dad’s latest project.
I’ve heard his voice on video calls with Dad,
As they plot the film script they’re working on.
I remember when Dad first mentioned Finlay:
“Son.” He came to me down in the Den,
His hand wrapped round his phone
Open on Finlay’s social media page.
“Check out this kid I just discovered.”
I couldn’t hold back my laughter
When I saw the number of followers:
“Looks like two million people
Discovered him before you.”
Finlay is cute, in a mainstream way.
Blond hair. Blue eyes. Not my type.
My phone vibrates.
MAZ: I really enjoyed listening to records with you today!
MACK: I enjoyed it, too!
Sorry if I went on about my mum. Did I upset you?
MAZ: Not at all. I’m always happy to listen.
MACK:
MAZ: My dad wants to know
If you want to come round
To ours for dinner tomorrow?
We can do homework?
MACK: I’d love to!
I want to ask if K will be there
But I keep that hope and fear to myself.
Either way,
I look forward to a home-cooked meal,
Seeing Maz’s house,
Meeting Maz’s dad,
Being somewhere, anywhere else.
Friday, lunchtime
Femi and I stand in the corridor
Outside the doors to the lunch hall.
The doors swing open.
Students come and go.
The other four are already sat at our usual table.
“What do you mean we can’t come over?”
Asks Femi.
“I’m going to Maz’s after school,” I reply.
“Give me your keys, then,” says Femi.
“No,” I scoff.
“Why not?”
“I don’t need to give you a reason.”
My keys feel hot in my pocket,
Like my thigh is on fire.
“What’s the wahala?” Femi loud-whispers.
“Your dad says we’re always welcome.”
“You are always welcome but when I’m home.
I won’t be there after school today,
So take your girlfriends somewhere else:
The cinema, Nando’s, your house.
It’s always my house and me feeding you.”
“It’s not like you can’t afford it,” says Femi.
“That’s not the point,” I say tightly.
“So, what’s the point?” Femi scoffs.
“You take me for granted.”
Finally, these dreaded words dislodge
From the back of my throat.
Femi is stunned into silence.
He narrows his eyes.
He shrugs,
“Whatever, man. Have fun with Maz.”
New Message to Dad
MACK: Hey Dad!
I’m going to my friend Maz’s after school today.
Friday, after school
Maz uses a key fob
To open the main door of her block.
We climb two flights of stairs
Then pass through a door
That takes us outside again
Onto a balcony of doors, like a street in the sky.
Maz unlocks her front door
And kicks off her shoes as she enters.
I follow her lead.
“Welcome, welcome,” says Maz’s dad, K’s uncle,
As I step into the kitchen, to the right as I enter.
“Thank you for having me, Mr.—” I begin,
But he interrupts.
“Just call me Uncle Omar,” he says.
I look past him, to the pot on the hob
That fills the whole flat with mouthwatering aromas.
I inhale heavily: cumin, garlic, chili.
“Don’t worry!
I’ve got my taxi shift coming up,
So dinner will be ready soon.”
Uncle Omar laughs and pats me on my shoulder.
I feel embarrassed to be so obvious.
“It’s only fair you try my cooking.
I get to sample what you and my daughter make
In class together.” He pats my shoulder again.
“It’s very kind of you to invite me.” I smile.
“Mariam talks about you so much.
I had to meet you.”
“Okay,” Maz tries to interrupt from behind me
But Uncle Omar continues.
“Mack said this. Mack did that.
Mack’s house has a cinema—”
“Okay, Dad, we’ve got homework to do.”
Maz grabs my arm and starts to turn away.
“Let us know when dinner’s—”
“Not in your bedroom!
You can do homework here
At the kitchen table.”
Uncle Omar’s face is serious.
I’m not sure what’s changed.
No one speaks for a moment.
Pots bubble.
“Fine.” Maz looks at me with a small smile
And an apology in her eyes.
We sit at the kitchen table.
Uncle Omar marches over to the fridge
And pours two glasses of juice,
Which he places in front of us, with purpose.
“Thank you.” I force a smile.
“Thank you,” mumbles Maz,
As she unzips her rucksack
And takes out her food tech folder.
I nudge her foot with mine under the table.
She moves hers away.
I take out my phone and message her:
MACK: What’s going on?
MAZ: I didn’t tell him that you’re gay.
MACK: So what?
MAZ: He thinks you’re my boyfriend.
MACK:
MAZ: I know!
Friday Evening
Uncle O drops me off
Before his first job of the night.
I’m relieved
He didn’t try to start
An awkward boyfriend/girlfriend chat.
I unlock the front door and step inside.
I toss my rainbow key ring into the bowl.
Keys jangle.
Then silence.
No computer-game gunshots.
No laughter.
No shouting matches between Louisa and Femi.
Maybe I should have given him my key after all.
My phone shows nothing new,
Not even a reply from Dad.
But on the heart-shaped chalkboard,
In the kitchen, Dad has written:
I hope you had
a nice time with Maz.
I’ll be back late.
XX
Then my phone buzzes with a message from Femi.
It’s a photo of them on a double date at Nando’s.
BROTHERS GROUP CHAT:
FEMI: Thanks for the advice
To take the girls on a proper date.
I told them it was your idea
And they said to tell you
That you’re the best.
Even though this message is wonderful,
A pit forms in the bottom of my stomach.
Will K and I ever take a selfie like that?
In an attempt to cheer myself up, I go online.
I order the makeup that’s sat in my wish list
For the longest time:
Fenty Beauty, Bobbi Brown, MAC, and more!
The account is connected to Dad’s credit card,
So he’ll pick up the bill.
I daydream about earlier
When K arrived home as we finished dinner:
Stewed fava beans
Topped with diced tomatoes and fresh parsley.
Uncle O stands up to offer K his chair.
I look at K and smile.
K looks at me and titters.
Makeup
It’s not everything
But it’s something.
It’s not essential
But it’s wonderful!
I’m the artist
And the canvas.
I’m the only
Audience I need.
I don’t want to
Put on a show.
I just want to
Shimmer and glow.
This makeup
Makes me feel pretty.
This makeup
Helps me feel free.
But I know
If I wear this makeup outside
It could be dangerous for me.
December
Monday, after school
Has Maz noticed my eyeliner?
It’s very subtle, so maybe not.
She didn’t mention it in food tech
Or when we walked to Uncle O’s from school.
While Maz and I have strewn our stuff
Along the kitchen table,
K is somewhere in his room as per usual.
Would K notice my eyeliner?
I can hear the bass line of his music.
My ears can’t catch what song it is.
Maz says, “I can’t stand it anymore,
The way girls at school talk to me
Just because they fancy K.
I wanna tell them, ‘Girls,
You don’t stand a chance;
K has like twelve boyfriends.’”
Pause. Boyfriends?
I hold my breath.
“Mariam? What are you talking about?”
Asks Uncle O, looking up from his book:
Rich Dad, Poor Dad.
Maz rolls her eyes and laughs.
“You know K will never give a girl
More attention than his precious team.”
I exhale.
“That’s right,” says Uncle O, back to his book.
“Karim doesn’t have time for girls.
He has school and basketball.”
I turn the page of maths equations.
Maz sticks out her tongue in concentration.
I tap it with my pencil.
We laugh.
But I can’t work out
How to not to think about K
And how he gets taller and more muscular every day.
Is K hot because he’s everything I’m not?
“Anyway, you two, koshari’s on the side.
I’m going out in the taxi for a few hours.
I’ll be back at eight to drive Mack home.”
And Uncle O is gone.
Part Two
K
Chef’s Kiss
K emerges from his room
While we pile our plates with food.
“Back up, you’re doing it wrong.”
He pushes me and Maz out the way.
He touches me.
“It’s rice and lentils first, then pasta,
Then tomato sauce, then chickpeas,
And then the crispy onions.
Chef’s kiss.”
K does the “chef’s kiss” gesture with the words.
Kiss me?
Maz shoves K, as we walk into the living room.
“Want to watch Love & Basketball with us,
Or will you disappear as usual?”
“I’ll watch it.” He glides down to the floor.
His back upright against the brown sofa,
His first forkful of food finds his expectant mouth.
And now, three empty plates
On the red-and-gold rug beside K.
His back rests against my leg.
I keep completely still,
In case K doesn’t realize he’s leaning on me, not the sofa.
My trapped leg gets pins and needles:
The tingles spread up and throughout
My whole body.
There’s a sex scene scored by a song I know
From Mum’s record collection:
“This Woman’s Work” by Maxwell.
I wonder if Mum saw this film?
Maybe she and Dad saw it together?
I want to tell Maz and K I know the song
But I don’t want to ruin whatever this is with K.
I think about me and K.
Then,
Mum and Dad.
I move my leg.
K jumps up.
He spins around to face me.
He’s frozen:
A ballerina in a box when her music has stopped.
K squints, slightly.
I think:
Maybe he’s noticed my eyeliner.
K’s eyelashes are so thick,
He has no need for mascara.
“You’re in the way of the TV,” Maz says to K.
K replies, “I’m bored of this film.
It’s like fifty years old, anyway.”
He twirls,
He exits.
Bubbles
K on the floor with his back against my leg
Becomes one of many
Bubbles.
Times when K and I make contact.
Physical contact.
Eye contact.
K grabs the remote control from my hand
Because he wants to watch football.
K snatches my phone
To see the video Maz and I laugh about.
K snatches looks at me
When the three of us walk back from school together.
K jumps on the brown sofa between Maz and me
When we watch Queen of Katwe.
With a curious smile:
“Do you play chess, Big Mack?”
Big Mack?
This doesn’t sound mean
But it’s the first time he’s used this nickname.
“No, I don’t play chess,” I reply.
“Why?”
“Just wondered.” He winks.
With both hands, Maz shoves K from the sofa
Down to the red-and-gold-patterned rug.
K puts up no resistance.
He lands in a plank position.
Did Maz shove K in defense of me?
“One. Two. Three,” K counts.
As he completes each perfectly controlled push-up,
I watch his muscular butt
In tight gray tracksuit bottoms
Rise and fall, rise and fall.
Does he put on this show of strength for me?
Next Week—Monday, after school
K farts, on purpose, to annoy Maz,
