“Hell nah. Chill out and protect your halo. You won’t be corrupted on my watch,” Rashawn laughed, shaking his head. “Look how you got yo’ hand wide open. You don’t even know how to accept a blunt, about to burn ya palm and shit.”
“Don’t make fun of me. I’m for real. I would like to try it. I heard weed makes you feel relaxed. Plus, I had a rough few weeks isolated with my parents. Protecting that halo you speak of has left me stressed and a little depressed.”
Rashawn’s eyes turned apologetic, and I immediately wished I had kept that rebuttal in the drafts. “Here, but I’m only letting you take one or two pulls because I couldn’t imagine being locked in a house with your people. You didn’t even have school to escape to.”
“Church, lecture, church, accusation, lecture, judgmental stares at church, more lectures,” I prattled.
“You have a genuine heart, Elise. As long as your heart stays genuine, your halo will always be protected.”
“Thank you,” I swooned, his words of encouragement definitely stuck with me while our eyes lingered a little longer than ever before.
“Alright, put your fingers like this and grab it in the middle with only those two fingers,” Rashawn mimicked how he was holding the blunt.
I followed his directions and accepted the blunt. “Now, when you put it to your lips, you gotta slowly suck it into your lungs like you’re taking a deep breath and hold it in for you to feel the effects.”
Rashawn released the blunt, and I slowly brought it to my lips. I didn’t want to appear nervous because Rashawn looked like he was ready to snatch it back before I could blink. With theblunt perched between my lips, I took a short pull and tried to suck it in, but it didn’t go as effortlessly for me. My chest and throat burned as I coughed and sputtered, trying to suck in more air.
“Fuck,” Rashawn laughed. “Sit up and breathe slowly.” He stood from the bed and cranked up the ceiling fan. “Here, drink some water, slow sips,” he directed, opening the water bottle I brought in with me, and placing it to my lips. I took a few slow sips, and another bout of coughs tore through me, shooting spittle all over Rashawn. He laughed harder, pulling his shirt off to clean the water that dripped down my face and the tears that escaped my eyes. We stared at each other while he gently wiped me clean. Then Rashawn pulled away from me and cleaned off his face and neck.
I felt tingling all over from his gentle touch, combined with the smell of his shirt. Whatever cologne it was, Rashawn wore it religiously because he always carried the woodsy citrus scent.
“I’m sorry,” I rasped, my voice super hoarse.
“See, I shouldn’t have let you do that shit.”
“I’m grown, Rashawn,” I quipped, forcing a calm breath although my throat was still burning. I needed to say it and mean it. Now that I wasn’t knocking on death’s door, I took a moment to appreciate his bare chest up close.
“Ummm hmmm,” he tossed his shirt on top of his duffle bag. “Where the fuck the blunt go?” He scanned the floor.
I forgot all about that while I fought for my life. Rashawn leaned down to look under the bed and dresser where he eventually found it. When he stood, I felt relaxed, and a prickly sensation spread through me. I lay back in the bed, and Rashawn plopped down next to me.
Turning on my side to face Rashawn, I propped my head up on my hand and confessed my deepest secret to the only person I ever wanted to know. “I’ve always had a crush on you.”
“Oh Lord, Elise. Why are you confessing this now?” Rashawn looked away from me and stared up at the ceiling.
“It’s okay. I know you never gave me a second look,” I sputtered, regretting bringing my fake grown behind in his room. Sharing the blunt would probably be the closest I’d ever get to his lips.
“Don’t do that, Elise.” Rashawn turned to face me again. “You’re beautiful, smart, and the perfect girl for any nigga… I just… I thought…”
“You thought what?” I badgered, my face screwed up like I smelled something horrid.
“I always thought you were like in the closet gay because of your people,” he spluttered.
“What?” I screeched.
“Chill out, man,” he laughed. “You gon’ wake up the whole house being dramatic. It’s just that you liked to play basketball with us. You used to always wear real tomboyish clothes unless you were going to church, then you wore a dress and those oversized knit sweaters. Then you be out there wrestling like a grown ass man. I still remember last year when y’all were doing the co-ed scrimmages. Essex was in the stands hollin’ ‘bout he was going to catch a charge if that nigga got too rough with you. Then you ended up putting the boy on his back before the scrimmage was over.”
I chortled, shaking my head. “I wore those clothes because that’s what my parents bought me. It’s not like I had much of a choice. And what’s wrong with me enjoying wrestling and basketball?”
“Nothing. You were just one of the fellas.”
“Shut up,” I nudged him. “Forget buying new stuff for my room, I’m telling Essex I need a new wardrobe instead. I truly didn’t think it was that bad.”
“Baby girl, your pants looked like some loose shit they wore in the seventies. I got you though. That can be our thing. If your parents made you wear that stuff, do you even know what you like?”
“Ummm, not really. I do like the way your mom dresses, I always admired her outfits on Sunday. Besides that, I wouldn’t even know where to start. I’ve never really been able to pick out what I like. Even down to that pink dress I wore to prom wasn’t something I picked out,” I divulged.
“You still looked good in it.”
