Two Roads Back Together, page 7
She put her hand gently on Shy’s arm. “I don't know if anyone has ever told you this,” she pointed over to the spot they both stood earlier, “You are really an amazing person. I think you have this magnetic way of connecting with people." With a light pause in thought, she continued, "I don’t know what you think of me or the command, but, you are safe in this unit.” Suddenly, her hand was on Shy's arm, reassuring them with an unfamiliar warmth. Tick. Tick. Tick. Shy’s eyes stung and hot perspiration rose from the stiff uniform collar.
No, this is a trap.
Too late. She already knows, Shy.
Run!
Wiping their eyes, Shy bolted for the door. They quickly retrieved their book bag, car keys, and turned the office lights off.
“Shy! Shy, come back!” Rihannon called as she rushed from her office.
No. Shy would not turn around, no matter how much a part of them wanted to. They needed to get as far away as possible. Away from Rihannon! Away from DADT! Away from Sebastian! Shy walked briskly down the dark hallways with only the sound of their boots tapping the buffed reflective floors.
Shy, we were so close. Wait, please! Shy, look. Please don′t lock me back in there again! Shy!
Shy mentally checked out and the voice faded as they slammed the exit door behind them.
PART TWO
Chapter 7
Sometimes, time is all we need to appreciate the most precious things unseen before. For Shy, the short plane hop from Tucson to Los Angeles allowed them a chance to reset. Rihannon had gotten a little too close with her questions and probing; even now, Shy fumed inside. A sense of panic gradually set in as they replayed the conversation that day in Rihannon’s office. What would happen next? Would Rihannon tell the commander what happened? Was this grounds to lose their job? How did this even happen? From the blurred and grayish images flashing through Shy's mind, their tired mind reeled and churned in search of the small moment they outed themselves. But nothing. Shy could not figure out how Rihannon connected the dots. I thought I was being careful...
Then that familiar voice chimed in. You remember that girl a while back? The one at the party? Dude, we were feeling ourselves. The drinks—Maybe we were more obvious than you thought.
Shy signaled their disagreement before peering out the cabin window. For now, they had escaped. As the plane dipped below the brown L.A. haze onto the runway, an air of nostalgia floated through Shy, who could only smile as they texted their hometown friends and family that they’d arrived.
Shy’s phone buzzed with messages as one by one their folks replied to the news they’d come: So glad you are back! We missed you.
You back?!
*Hug emojis*
Open mic at the club. THIS WEEKEND. Come thru!
Shy grinned. Their hometown had missed them, too.
“I'M SO GLAD you're home. I missed you, bro.” Sitting in Evelyn’s driveway, Jayceon looked over as Shy climbed into the passenger’s seat. “Got-damn, Jay!” Shy rubbed the area of their shoulder that Jay had tightly squeezed. Shy had missed being around Jay, though naturally they’d never tell him so. Jay waved to Evelyn and pulled out the driveway. He revved the engine of his red ’67 Impala, a gift from his mother during his college years, which still boasted its original interior and exterior body; Jay had invested all his savings to bring the relic vehicle back to near-pristine condition.
It was a beautiful mid-October morning. Soft winds and balmy temperatures filled the cabin as the red convertible wound down the hilly roads of Ladera Heights, affectionately called the “Black Beverly Hills.” Despite growing up in the nineties, the friends were both old souls who always enjoyed a reason to cruise the highways and soak up the sounds of classic Motown and G-Funk hits. Like old times, Jay turned up the radio and Cameo crooned It’s Like Candy. Shy sang in tune while they cruised.
L.A.’s streets came alive. Traffic was everywhere. Shy watched the eateries, hotels, and pregnant palm trees flash by as they traveled down the same streets they used to walk along years ago. Memories of catching the metro bus and walking to school surfaced. The people, the cars, the vibes seemed the same, though Shy saw some new transplants here and there. For what it mattered, this was home, and it remained the way Shy left it before taking on a new life in the Army.
It felt good to be back. The rush of familiar memories that flooded Shy’s homecoming ride were generally pleasant, but a glimpse of one or two landmarks was enough to remind them of why they left: the impossible expectations set at home, school, even the church, all forbidding them from living freely as themselves. With a twenty-one-year-old’s high hopes of reaching a more accepting tomorrow on the other side of the country, Shy had bought a one-way ticket and joined up with the military. Although they had hoped to find camaraderie and acceptance in the Army, recent experiences proved to test their resolve.
But now, as they smelled the freshly baked donuts from old Witchell’s Donut and the savory, crispy breakfast tacos from Pacho’s, and just basked in the afro-Latin vibrancy of familiar streets, Shy realized something. In spite of the memories seared from years back, they missed being home.
Shy couldn’t help but smile as their hometown seemed to give its widest embrace. Jay and Shy continued to cruise on the clustered highways before exiting onto the busy side streets. Natives zipped across lanes and honked their horns. Many gave a rising head nod and smile to Jay in admiration of his car. The upbeat energy shot through across every inch of a city coming alive. Gaggles of people spilled from the Metropolitan Transit Authority buses out onto the sidewalks, some rushing towards the crosswalk to catch connecting bus routes. Flashing street lights, revving car engines, roaring jet engines of landing flights, barking dogs, laughing children, and a gumbo mashup of hip-hop and Chicano beats—this morning perfectly captured this urban city’s heartbeat.
Shy had the realization that life went on, whether they were here or not.
Jay turned his vehicle into the sprawling acres where well-known and famous Los Angeles natives laid to rest: Inglewood Cemetery. As they rode down the winding path, Shy counted, “67, 68... Over there.” They pointed to Plot 70. Jay parked the car and reached behind to grab the flowers in the backseat. They exited the vehicle, and Shy held Jay’s hand as they walked over to the headstone that read Mablean M.R. Johnson, 1961-1990, Mother—Daughter—Child of God.
Jay kneeled and rested the bouquet next to the plaque. Shy placed two candles in two cylindrical vases on each side of the prominent marble gravestone. “Happy Birthday, Mrs. Johnson. I miss you.”
Jay sung his mother’s favorite timeless gospel classics, I Found the Answer and Precious Lord Take My Hand, by the great Mahalia Jackson. Shy harmonized the chorus as they wrapped their right arm around Jay, performing for Mrs. Johnson just like old times. Jay’s voice was a rich tenor-falsetto mix. His perfect tone and pitch delivered a soulful rendition in Mrs. Johnson’s honor. They felt her gleeful presence.
Mrs. Johnson had been Jay’s foster mom until she adopted Jay at four years old. She had fostered nearly forty-five children during her lifetime, all of whom grew up to be successes in their community. She was an icon to kids all over Inglewood and L.A., was honored and loved and remembered fondly by all, Jay included. So the day they diagnosed her with stage four breast cancer had hit hard, shocking everyone when they heard the news. Mrs. Johnson succumbed to the disease within two months of the diagnosis, when Jay was only ten.
It wasn’t enough time.
Jay hadn’t been ready, as no one would be. He’d learned so much from his foster mother: love, kindness, and empathy for others. She was the motivation behind Jay’s pursuit to become a practicing mental health therapist. He knew the struggle, the pain, the work it took to deal with his own deficits and used that knowledge to help others through theirs.
A short time after her passing, Jay found out her beloved Impala had been left to him once he turned twenty-one. After it officially became his, Jay immediately set to restoring it to its original glory. It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t cheap. But each time he tracked down an original part to replace something broken, each time he changed the oil or topped off the coolant, he felt close to her. Like she approved. And now, seeing the glistening red paint reflecting the southern California sun, Shy knew that Mrs. Johnson would be proud of her son. Not only for his obvious care of the car, but for the man he had become—a man who took care of people, as she had.
As Shy sat with Jay on the cool grass, they were grateful the timing of their leave had worked out; Shy had wanted nothing more than to be with their best friend on his mom’s birthday. As the morning ticked by, they sat, and sang, and laughed, and cried with Jay for Mrs. Johnson. Just like old times.
LOOKING OUT THE window, Shy felt their heart tug as Jay slowly drove past a street they knew all too well: Prairie View Lane. Shy watched as Prairie View Magnet School and all those memories came into full view. On this quiet afternoon, there were no children on the playground, no yellow school buses dropping off dozens of screaming kids onto the sidewalk. Instead, the school was empty and silent, the faded No Trespassing sign and bright tags of wannabe artists proclaiming the building abandoned. Shy felt nostalgic as they disconnected from the present. Their memories connected disparate images as they stared at the abandoned school grounds through the lens of their past: roaming teachers, the sounds of a ringing bell and chalk tapping on the chalkboard, lunchtime on the playground, and mixed feelings of belonging. The car slowed as they passed the bus stop directly across from the old corner store. Shy grinned; this was where they used to watch girls dancing on the other side of the street. They would sit there and imagine being with one girl, in particular, some day, and Sandra hadn’t a clue. I wonder where she is these days.
As they pulled to the end of the side street, Jay turned again onto “Black Street,” the local nickname for this street filled with Black-owned businesses that were the pride of the community. Shy’s heart stuttered, and they looked at Jay. “Are we going where I think we’re going?”
Jay smiled and nodded as he parked the car. “Surprise!” he chimed.
Shy didn’t bulge. Their mouth gaped, lips whispering as they read the sign, but no sound could escape. Pops’ Bookstore was still in business, its red brick facade frozen in the nineties, the sign faded but still readable. Jay gave Shy a measured look as they shook their head in disbelief, then slowly unbuckled their seatbelt.
“Jay, is she still here?”
He winked. “Let’s find out.”
A pale red “Open for Business” sign hung crooked on the front door. A familiar scent of earthy incense greeted Shy as soon as they stepped inside. Jay shut the door. “It still smells the same, Jay.” Shy looked around the store, overwhelmed by nostalgia.
“I know, right?” Jay replied as he gazed around the small but clean store. “No way! It’s still here.” Jay walked over to the popcorn stand and grabbed a bag. “You want some?”
“I’m good.” Shy headed to their favorite section in the bookstore, the back wall nook in the young adult section. Vintage circa-nineties posters of Black activists, literary greats, and poets lined the walls. Dark brown, red brown, and light brown faces of men and women lined the six-shelved, tall bookcases anchored around the store. The yesteryear artifacts, dusty and warped windows, along with modern faces on display stands, touched Shy. Pops’ Bookstore was an unapologetic Black space, a space to be uninhibited and free.
A side door suddenly cracked open, breaking through Shy’s nostalgia.
“Well, look who we have here!” A familiar booming voice filled the intimate bookstore.
Jay and Shy immediately turned around as a short, stocky guy in a black and gold Ruff Ryders sweatsuit approached them.
“Oh, shit! My dude.” Jay dropped the popcorn on the counter and walked over to the guy. Their bro hug quickly turned into a fuller embrace as they gave firm slaps to each other’s backs. Jay kissed his childhood friend on the cheek. “Yo Kris! Where ya been?”
“Hustlin’, man. Hustlin’. Just tryna keep the lights on. Feel me?”
“I haven’t seen you since we were at Prairie View.”
“I know, man. I know.”
Jay never took his eyes off his friend. “You look good! Except–” Jay patted Kris’ stomach. “Bruh, what have you been eating? A 100-pack of ho-hos and fatback?”
“Man, th-that’s my girl’s cooking.” Kris swatted Jay’s hand and blushed.
“You still with Stacy?”
“You already know, dawg.”
“Respect.”
“Long time, no see, Kris,” Shy said while walking toward the two men. Kris squinted, trying to recognize the voice and face. When Shy last saw Kris, they were a foot shorter and had shoulder-length hair; now he wore a short fade cut, and Shy stood near Kris’ eye level. Shy couldn’t help but smile and hinted, “It’s Keisha... but I go by Shy now.”
“Noooo! Shut up!” Kris’s voice was almost a falsetto pitch, and he looked back at Jay for confirmation before picking Shy up in a bear hug. In Kris’ excitement, he lifted Shy nearly over his shoulder.
“Alright, alright,” Shy laughed in delight. “Okay. Dude, chill. Put me down, yo!”
“What’s all the commotion in here?” A mature Black woman with silver dreadlocks entered from the back.
“My bad, Pops.” Kris dropped Shy but kept his arm around their neck. “Yo, look who finally came back to see us.”
“Hey Pops,” Jay said, stepping into Pops’ line of sight with open arms.
“Jay, is that you? Come here.” Pops pulled Jay into a hug. “Now, you know you’re wrong for not visiting me sooner.”
“I’m sorry, Pops.”
“Well, you can’t get too busy for your own kind.”
Jay looked chagrined. “You’re right. I’ll do better.”
“Pops, look who else is here. Keisha—I mean, Shy,” Kris said as Shy froze. “Go on, give Pops a hug.” Kris nudged them toward Pops.
Shy took one half-step, their entire body heavy as if gravity had intensified. Their heart knocked inside their chest cavity, boom-bap, and the heat bubbled, forming sweat spots under their arms. “Pops.” The carefree mood in the small bookstore simmered to a standstill. “Is that really you?” Shy took another heavy half-step toward the elder’s silhouette.
“So it’s Shy now?”
Shy nodded and tensed for the I knew it and the I told you so.
“Good for you.”
Pops stood, slightly bent, leaning heavily on a cane; a profile much older than the image frozen in Shy’s mind from seventeen years ago. Pops was at least twenty pounds heavier, and much grayer, but still wore the same classic butch style from Shy’s memories. But it wasn’t surprising to see Pops so different. After all, Shy was no longer the bratty kid sneaking smut magazines to read in the back nook of the store. People changed.
Shy’s arms dropped by their sides, their shoulders pulled forward, as they lowered their chin amidst the heaviness in the room. “I…” Shy swallowed painfully, unsure, ashamed, full of complex feelings and uncertain of their welcome. Cracking a strained half-smile, they ventured, “It’s good to see you again.”
Pops stepped towards Shy, pulled them into her chest, and held them tightly. The warmth of Pops provided instant relief, and Shy felt weightless inside Pops’ motherly embrace. Their hardened edge cracked, snapped, and fell away as their internal walls quaked.
“Pops,” Shy whispered in a sort of desperation, a yearning to say these words after so many years. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t you do that.” Pops squeezed Shy into her chest and kissed the top of their short faded cut, rocking them a little. Jay and Kris shuffled and looked away from the tender moment they were witnessing, offering the appearance of privacy.
“I didn’t mean what I said. I was so… confused.”
“I know, young blood. It’s in the past now.”
Shy finally exhaled and looked at Pops. “I really missed you, Pops.” Shy hugged Pops again. They remembered why this place was so special. It wasn’t just the books or the nostalgic smells. It was that this was their space. Sacred spaces like the bookstore allowed Black culture to thrive despite the persistent death grip of mainstream Los Angeles. Pops had made Shy feel accepted for who they were. Here, in Pops’ embrace, Shy finally felt good in their own skin again.
“Kris, mind the store, would you? You two, let’s go to the room of the Lorde.” Pops snickered at the pun, then motioned Jay to follow but kept Shy safe in her embrace. The tiny back reading room was simple and practical. Pops named the space after Audre Lorde, a pillar of the Black intellectual society of the sixties and seventies, who described herself as “Black, lesbian, mother, warrior, poet.” Lorde’s black and white portrait warmly acknowledged each reader that entered the quiet matchbox room. Pops sat right below Audre, the symmetry between her and the poised, unadorned Lorde striking.
Pops settled into her chair directly across from Shy. “Wow. Look at you two. These ol’ eyes can’t seem to believe it.” She looked over at Jay. “You did this? And you didn’t tell anyone, huh?” Jay beamed proudly and gave a suppressed chuckle. “Well, let’s not be all awkward. We are here. Let us rejoice. Today, we are once again in each other’s presence.” Pop looked at Shy with a soft smile. “I’m really glad to see you. Believe me, whatever made you come by, I’m grateful.”
Jay also glanced at Shy. “You wanna start, or you want me to?”
Despite having a million things to say, Shy didn’t know where to begin. Shy looked at Jay and indicated that he should open the discussion and give Shy more time to warm up. Jay obliged.
