Page 54 of Meet Me on Greenwood

"Honestly," I said, taking another bite of my own. "No. This is the best I’ve ever tasted." It wasn’t laced with chemicals yet, just pure cane sugar.

"It is divine." She licked her fingers, which was something that struck me as unlike her. "I am thinking about getting another."

"Now?" I looked toward the white ferry boats carved with ornamental swan features, and foot propelled pedals. Umbrellas were permanently over them fixed to shield riders from the setting sun.

The air smelled of sun-warmed water and spun sugar drifting over from the cotton candy stand, and somewhere nearby a band played sweet southern music that seemed out of place for a Black audience.

The line wasn't long, but it was divided. There were two queues running parallel, one for Whites and one for Negroes, separated by the lake. The visual carried an irony that nobody seemed to feel the need to explain. I watched the operator load the White side first, filling almost every swan boat, before he gestured for the young operator on our side to fill just one.

I felt a familiar tightening in my chest as we drew closer to the water.

"Should we just get out of line?" I asked.

"No!" Rita said, glancing back at the cotton candy stand from where we’d just come. "I’ll be back in plenty of time. This line isn’t moving."

I looked around. The crowd had thinned some as it was getting late and the sun had finally set. "Are you sure? I’m not the biggest fan of ferries, anyway."

She placed her hands on my shoulders as reassurance. "We are getting on. It is the best view of the city. I can’t wait for you to see it."

"I can see it any time."

"It won’t take me long. I’ll be back in a second, and I’ll bet you’ll still be in this spot."

"All right. Don’t be long."

"Promise, I won’t," she said with a wink.

As I stood in line, the people in front of me groaned about the wait, as several white couples in the other line had gone more than once. The operator seemed to have enough of the complaining and opened the Negro section, letting everyone on, four at a time. I looked around frantically for Rita, but I didn’t see her.

I let several people behind me go ahead, though there weren’t many behind me now. Soon, I was the only one in line. The operator called me forward, and I stepped into the ferry, realizing it was one of the smaller boats designed for two people. I looked out once more. Come on Rita, where are you?

The young operator finally noticed, seeing the empty seat beside me. He tapped his foot impatiently.

"What's your name, ma'am?"

"Gema."

"Gema." He said it slowly, the way adults speak to children. "You can't ride alone. This is a two-seater. It throws off the balance."

Before I could reach for the latch on the door, he turned to the crowd and cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Anyone willing to ride with Gema? She doesn't have a partner."

I stared straight ahead and reminded myself that I had two advanced degrees. I’d been shortlisted to receive the Lemelson MIT award. This boy, barely out of high school, could not embarrass me.

"I can ride," a nearby voice called out.

"That is alright, sir. We can pull her off."

The voices became muffled as my heart pounded so loudly I couldn’t make out what was said. I could kill Rita for putting me in this situation. I’d finally convinced myself to unbuckle and stand when a someone entered the car.

"I hope you don't mind," a man said, that familiar voice again.

I turned, and the rest of Houston caught up to the voice all at once. His red hair, a shade that blended into the setting sun, glasses pushed slightly down his nose, and a brilliant, easy smile. Did he know already the effect he had on me?

My breath hitched, which was so unlike me. I’d always preferred Black men. There was an ease there, an understanding that didn’t need to be explained or earned. Of course, other men caught my eye. And this one—who breathed onto his glasses before polishing them with his shirt so casually—well, I didn’t hate it.

"You can’t," I said. "We could get into trouble."