Chasing Butterflies (28 page)

“Y
o, word is bond,” Shawn says as we’re walking out of the building toward his bike. “I ain’t think your skillz were like that, yo. You slaughtered that ish. Hands down, you did ya thing.”

I blush. “Thanks. It was fun.” And it was. It felt so good stepping up on that stage, being bathed in the heat of the spotlight and caught up in all of the energy in the room. “I really needed that.”

“Word is bond. I can tell. Yo, you stepped up on the stage ’n’ the minute you took the mic, you became this whole other person . . .”

After I’d worked through my nerves, I closed my eyes to pull my thoughts together. And when I opened them again, I was pushing out lines about the broken heart of a daddy’s girl, left in the world, alone and lonely, chasing butterflies.

That girl being
me
.

Shawn takes my hand and helps me climb back onto his bike.

“Yo, ma?”

“Yes?”

“I’m not ready to take you back yet.”

“Then don’t,” I boldly say, shocking myself as I slide my arms around his waist and put my chin on his shoulder to catch his expression under the light of the street lamp.

He starts the bike, and we speed off.

I don’t know how many miles we’ve traveled on the open highway before we’re finally turning off on an exit. Several miles later, he’s easing into a parking space, then parking his bike and helping me off.

My eyes widen.

It’s a boardwalk.

A beach.

Ohmygod!

He’s taken me to a beach!

“I’ve had you on the brain for a minute,” Shawn says coolly as we walk on the beach. He reaches for my hand, slipping his fingers through mine as we saunter along the edge of wet sand.

It’s a warm, breezy night out. The sky is filled with twinkling stars.

I glance up, smiling. “It’s so beautiful. The sky.”

“No doubt, like you,” Shawn says. “I wish you weren’t leavin’ yo. But I understand you gotta do what you gotta do. Still, you kinda got me goin’ through it.” He shakes his head and grins. “Seeing you up on that stage tonight really did it for me.”

I nervously smile, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear as the cool sand squishes between my toes. I don’t say anything; just take in his words along with the sound of the ocean.

I glance around, surprised that there’s no one else on the beach. I’m out here alone, with him.

I swallow.

“I don’t know what it is about you. But you got me wantin’ to be all up on you. I ain’t never wanna sweat no female ’til you. From the moment I peeped you, I knew you were type special; word is bond.”

My heart thumps.

Then stumbles over a beat.

He stops walking and turns to me. “You feelin’ me, aren’t you?”

He grins, taking his jacket off then spreading it out on the sand.

Um. No. Yes. Maybe.

Uhh. I don’t know.

I open my mouth to say something, but I’m struggling to form a coherent thought. For some reason, my brain turns to mush. “Huh?”

“You heard me, yo. What, the cat got ya tongue? I said you feelin’ the kid, aren’t you?”

I struggle to keep from smiling. “I don’t know you.”

“C’mon.” He gestures toward his jacket. “Sit. So, what’s good? You diggin’ me or nah?”

I grin. “I plead the Fifth.”

“Yeah, a’ight. Plead all you want. I already know what the verdict is. But it’s all good. You ain’t gotta admit it. If I were you, I’d be feelin’ me, too.”

I playfully nudge him in the ribs with my elbow. “Ohmygod. You’re so conceited.”

He laughs. “Nah. Convinced. Keep it a hunnid, yo. You want me?”

I swallow. I’m not sure what I’m feeling toward him. I mean. He’s nice. And, he’s . . . really, really cute. And he seems thoughtful.

But—

“I want you, yo. Bad.”

Um, wait! What does he mean by this? Wanting me as in
wanting
to get to know me, or as in wanting to get me in bed?

Not that I’m admitting to liking—I mean,
feeling
—him, too. I’m just shocked that he’s admitting it to
me
.

I may not be well versed in street lingo, or have a lot—no. Scratch that,
any
—experience dating boys. But I had a father who always talked openly with me about boys, and some of the mind games they play. So I might not be from the hood, so to speak, but I’m definitely not overly naïve, either.

I know boys will say all types of things just to get what they want from a girl.

Unfortunately for Shawn, I’m not like most girls. I have nothing I’m willing to offer him, so there’s not much he can
try
to get.

I’m not easily manipulated.

No matter how cute and sexy some boy is.

I look at Shawn, wondering if he’s sincere, or if he has some hidden motive.

He grins. “Yo, like I said, ma. It’s cool. You ain’t gotta admit. I already know what it is.”

I smirk. “Then why’d you ask if you already know your version of the answer?”

He laughs. “Oh, word? My version? Haha. Is that what it is?”

I shrug. “Probably.”

“Yeah, a’ight. Whatever you say. But dig. You mad sexy, ma. But you already know that, though.”

I cover my nervousness with a chuckle. “No, not really. But I bet you say that to all the girls.”

He bunches his brows together, shaking his head. “Nah, nah. Just the ugly ones.”

Oh
.

So he thinks I’m
ugly
.

That stings.

Hurts my feelings.

But he’s entitled to
his
feelings.

Still...

My heart sinks.

He smiles. “I’m just effen wit’ you, yo.”

His chocolate-brown eyes lock with mine.

I smile back at him. Then look out into the night. The ocean is ours—Shawn’s and mine—just for tonight. More waves crash, and hiss into white foam, rushing up the sand, then stopping just below out feet, which we’ve planted slightly beneath the sand.

He smiles again, then leans in. And, this time, when I glance over at him, my heart thuds loudly in my chest.
Ohmygod!
That smile of his. I’ve never been stupid over a guy before.
What is wrong with me?

“I like you, yo,” he murmurs, lightly brushing his lips against my ear. His warm breath kisses my cheek. And I shiver. He takes a finger under my chin and turns my head to him.

He leans in closer.

I close my eyes.

Anxious.

My heart racing—no, stuttering stupidly in my chest.

Waiting.

Wanting.

Needing.

“H
ow you?” Omar asks, stepping into the house. He’s been gone for almost three days, sending me the occasional text to check in on me. But what does it matter?

I’m leaving in two days.

Crystal’s parents have finally returned from their travels. Crystal called me all excited this morning and gave me the best news of my life. I can stay with them for as long as I want.

I don’t need Omar’s permission, or his blessing.

And I don’t need to ever hear back from Aunt Terri.

I can simply get on the plane and go.

Back to California, where I’ve always belonged, where I never should have left.

“You good?”

I’m sitting cross-legged on the sofa, watching reruns of
How to Get Away with Murder
when he disrupts my marathon moment.

I glance up from the television and look at him.

“I’m fine,” I say, my tone clipped.

Omar shuts the door behind him with his foot.

I narrow my eyes, scrutinizing him. He’s wearing a pair of True Religion jeans and a brand-new pair of Jordans. There’s more jewelry dangling from his neck. And bigger diamond studs in each earlobe.

For some reason, I’m annoyed.

I’m not sure if it’s because he’s back, or because he’s been gone for days, obviously up to no good.

Either way, I’m irritated.

“Yo, sorry ’bout not being around much,” he says, plunking down in a chair across from me. “I’m tryna handle some things.”

Oh, really? I reach for the remote and mute the television. “It’s fine, Omar. I’m learning to manage without you.”

I shift my gaze back to the television, turning the volume up.

I can’t get out of here
and
away from him soon enough.

“Ouch,” he says. “You have my digits, though. You know you can hit me up anytime, right?”

Umm. That works both ways. I shrug. “I guess.”

“Yo, why you say it like that?”

It doesn’t even matter. “No reason.”

“Listen, baby girl. I know I already said this, but I know I can’t bring back ya pops. And I can’t take back what I’ve done. Or the time lost. But I’m hoping one day, you can forgive me.”

I blink back tears.

Forgive him?

What is there to forgive?

Like Daddy said in his letter to me, what Omar did was really selfless.

So why am I really mad at him?

Because Daddy’s gone.

And
he
exists.

Because he’s appeared out of nowhere and, and—

“You hate me, don’t you? I see it in ya eyes.”

No. I’m
mad
at you.

I don’t want to be. But I am. I just don’t know how not to be.

But is it him I’m really mad at?

Honestly?

No.

I’m still mad at Daddy.

I’m still mad at God.

And I’m mad at Aunt Terri.

Daddy didn’t turn his back on me; he just died on me. And I still blame God for taking him from me.

I hold my hands over my face and smooth away the tears. “I don’t hate you, Omar,” I say, in between sobs. “I just want my life back.”

He gets up and walks over to me, sinking into the space next to me. “And I wanna be in it,” he says, softly. “In whatever capacity, feel me?”

I bite into my bottom lip to keep it from trembling. “School starts in a few weeks,” I say pensively. “I’m going back to California.”

“When?”

I tell him in two days. He plops back in his seat. Runs his large hand over his face. And then he’s upright again. Looking, staring, at me. “Is there anything I can do to change ya mind?”

More tears.

I shake my head, allowing my tears to wet my cheeks. I choke back a sob, shifting my body in my seat so that I can let him
see
me. Hurt and broken.

“Look at
you
. Look at
me
,” I say, my lips quivering. “We’re both
homeless
, Omar, staying in someone else’s place. What kind of life is this for either of us? You can barely take care of yourself, let alone a teenager. If things were different, maybe.” I shake my head. “But they aren’t. Things are a mess. I’m a mess. You’re a mess. We’re both two big messes, Omar.”

The tears keep flowing. And I can’t stop them even if I wanted to.

I don’t want to.

This is the first real conversation Omar and I have since I’ve been here. And I’m afraid if I don’t get it all out now, there may not be another opportunity to. I catch my breath, then straighten myself. “No disrespect. But you made a baby.
Me
. But you didn’t raise me. You didn’t parent me. You gave up your rights to me the day you signed your name on the dotted line. Don’t forget that, Omar.”

He runs a hand over his face. “I can’t ever forget that. It’s been effen wit’ me for the last sixteen years. And, now, all I gotta do is look at you ’n’ see what I gave up. Sixteen years of my life, Nia. Sixteen years of not having
you
in it. I regret ever givin’ up my rights. I swear, yo. I did what I had to do.”

“For who, Omar?
You
?”

“Nah,” he says softly. “For you. I thought I was doin’ what was right for
you
. I knew I had a mad long bid to do. I ain’t wanna put that kinda pressure on ya moms. She wasn’t built for that life. She didn’t deserve that ish. Jailin’ wit’ some
nig
—cat. So when she came to see me wit’ you in her arms to tell me she wanted out, that she’d met someone . . .” His voice cracks. He looks over at the muted TV, then back at me. “I did what I had to do. What she asked me to do. I let her go, yo.”

“And
me
, Omar. You let me go, too.”

“Because I loved you, yo. I’ve never stopped lovin’ you, baby girl. You a part of me; no matter what, I’m still ya father.”

I wince. “No, you’re not. You’re a sperm donor. That’s all you are. Just some man who impregnated my mother. Then wasn’t man enough to stay on the streets long enough to take care of his responsibilities.”

There’s a flicker of shock in his eyes when I say this. And I almost feel bad for saying it. But, right or wrong, it’s how I feel. And I won’t apologize for that.

He gives me another pained look. “You really don’t like me, huh?”

I stare at him. “I don’t
know
you, Omar.”

“I wanna change that. All I’m askin’ for is a chance to make it up to you. I know things been kinda crazy lately. But I’m workin’ on makin’ things right; feel me?”

“No, Omar. I don’t
feel
you. What I
feel
is abandoned. I
feel
empty. I
feel
alone. I
feel
lost. And I’m tired of feeling this way.”

He winces. “On e’erything I love, yo. We can get through this.”

I shake my head. “No, we can’t. Sorry. I gave it all the chances I’m going to give it. I’m
still
miserable. And, right now, all I know is, you’re not ready to be a grown-up, Omar.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but I put a hand up, stopping him from getting his words out.

“Are you working?”

“Nah, not—”

I shake my head. “My point exactly. How do you expect to provide for me, or for yourself, huh?” He gives me a dumbfounded look. “I may not be from the hood, Omar. But I’m not stupid or slow, either. I’m smart enough to know when someone’s in way over their heads.”

“Yo, you gotta understand, baby girl, I been locked up for close to sixteen years. I’m just gettin’ home. Shit ain’t the same. I mean, the streets are the same. But e’erything else around me is different. Ain’t no one tryna hire a muhfuggah like me. A cat wit’ a record.”

“Sounds like a bunch of excuses to me,” I say, feeling emotionally exhausted.

His brows furrow. “Ain’t no excuses, yo. It’s fact. Mofos ain’t checkin’ for a cat like me. Period.”

“Well, have you
tried
looking for work?”

When he doesn’t respond right away, I keep going. “What you do with your life, Omar, is none of my business.” I swipe away more tears with my hand. “But it’s real selfish of you to want to drag me into it. You should have never brought me out here knowing your living situation was chaotic. You say you care about me, then prove it. You gave me up
once
because you couldn’t be there for me, or take care of me. Well, you still can’t. I don’t deserve to live like this. And you have no business trying to make me.”

He blinks. “On e’erything, yo. I’m sorry I wasn’t in ya life, a’ight. Sorry I wasn’t able to love you. I’m sorry another man had to step in and do what I couldn’t do. I’m sorry I missed out on sixteen years of ya life. I can’t change what’s already done. But I’m here now. If you’d let me be.”

I don’t say anything. Just stare at him.

I want my daddy.

Not this fill-in, this, this . . . imposter.

I close my eyes, then open them. “You’re not ready to be responsible. Not for me.” I pause, swallowing. “And not for
you
. I don’t belong here, Omar. This isn’t my life. It’s yours.”

In the flickering glow of the television, I think I see hurt illuminating from his eyes, maybe something more. “You right,” is all he mutters, before silence creeps in and swallows us whole.