Here's another excerpt from Breathe Again. Enjoy!!
I turned my attention to the
plate, which held a pig’s foot drenched in hot sauce, pinto beans virtually
swimming in grease, mustard greens intermingled with ham hock meat, and a thick
slice of cornbread. I’d never seen anything that looked so appetizing and
unhealthy before in all my life! Okay, that’s a lie. My mother, Rhonda, used to
throw down like that nearly every Saturday. Saturdays were for my mama’s soul
food. Sundays were for Brown Boy’s.
A faint smile appeared on my
face at the memory. It was one of the few good memories of my mother that
remained. “Wow, this looks good!” I said, as I forked up a heap of greens.
Malachi nodded, chewed for a few
seconds, and said, “It tastes even better.”
I dug in, and by the time we
were both finished, I was so stuffed I felt a little uncomfortable.
Malachi chuckled. “You look like
I feel.”
I sighed and readjusted my butt
on the seat. “Then you must feel like you’re about to pop.”
He nodded. “Yep.” Hopping up, he
reached for my hand. “Come on. Let’s dance this food off. I think I just gained
twenty pounds.”
I took his hand, stood with a
soft grunt. “I gained forty.”
The dancefloor was a scuffed-up
piece of black and white, checkered linoleum no more than ten feet by ten feet.
We barely fit with the other three or four couples already on the floor moving
to a mid-tempo song.
I was poised and ready to do my
signature dainty two-step when the song ended and a slow jam I slightly
recognized began to play. Like all of the other music that had been playing in
the background the entire time we’d been there, it was old and bluesy, made
many years before my time. I knew the melody, but the lyrics and title escaped
me. Malachi, the old soul, hummed along with the song as he pulled my body
close to his and began rocking both of us back and forth, rubbing his hands up
and down my back. I leaned into him a bit, but didn’t totally relax in his
arms. Yes, he was handsome and kind and had basically shared his life story
with me, but I still found it hard to totally let my guard down. I still didn’t
know him. Not really. And he definitely didn’t know me. I wasn’t sure if I
wanted him to know me.
So I placed my hands on his
shoulders and backed away a little, gazing up at his face. If I looked into his
eyes, maybe he’d see what I couldn’t tell him—that I was petrified of what he
represented and what he could offer me, even more afraid of him disappointing
me.
Coming 6.20.17
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