Something Like Love (Serendipitous Love Book 6)

by Christina C Jones

  Maybe it wasn’t them though.

  Maybe it was me.

  That little revelation was perfectly timed with gunshots from the bullshit music in my headphones, the same shit I always listened to when I ran. I stopped, cranked the music to something else, then upped my pace when I started running again, with Kendrick’s Humble blasting in my ears.

  When I came to a familiar crossroad, one I came to every morning… instead of turning left, I made a right. I never made the right. But now that I had, I slowed my pace a bit as the sun started coming up, and a new route through the city woke up, right before my eyes. Well, maybe not new, but certainly not as familiar as the exact same thing I’d been doing every morning.

  Hm.

  Just that little change knocked my mood off kilter, in a good way. By the time I made it to Urban Grind, as the streets were starting to bustle with activity, I was feeling much less… out of sorts.

  “Good morning Eddie,” Caela, the head barista called to me as soon as I walked in. I couldn’t see her, but just the sound of her perky voice brought her visual to mind. Cute little college girl, with light skin, feline eyes, and a head full of –

  “Oh damn,” I said, when she stepped from behind the espresso machine, with a disposable Urban Grind cup in her hand, already starting my drink. The mass of thick, lusciously kinky hair I’d come to look forward to seeing in the mornings was… gone.

  Her hand went immediately – almost – to her head, self-conscious, before she dropped it back down. “You don’t like it?” she asked, and I shook my head.

  “Nah, it’s not that, I’m just… surprised. It looks good. Really good. You look… grown up.” – that was my way around telling her the shit was sexy, cause that just might have been creepy.

  She blushed. “Really?! That’s actually… kinda what I was going for. A totally different look. You know what they say, a woman that changes her hair is about to change her life. And, well… yeah. A change is definitely needed.”

  “Well, good luck with it,” I nodded. “I hope that happens for you. But nah, it’s a good look.”

  “Okay,” she said, sounding relieved. “I went to Fresh Cuts after I butchered it all off, and the men were staring at me like I was an alien or something.”

  I chuckled. “That’s because you’re fine, Baby Girl.”

  Those words set off another blush, and she shook her head. “Sure Eddie, whatever you say. You want your usual, right? House blend with a double shot?”

  Something about “your usual” struck a discordant note with me, and I shook my head. “Nah. Uh… I think I want to try something different. What would you recommend?”

  Her eyes went wide, caught off guard by my response. “Well… um… Ooh! I like the Dirty Mutha-Chai Latte. It’s our special blend chai – tea – with a shot of espresso and a pump of Guilty Pleasures chocolate syrup. I make mine with almond milk.”

  “That sounds like a lot going on.”

  She laughed. “I guess I could see that, but I prefer to think of it as… layered. It’s really good.”

  “Okay,” I shrugged. “Why not? I’ll try it,” I told her.

  Five minutes later, I was back on the street with the cup in my hand, sipping a concoction I’d never even heard of. And… the shit was actually good.

  Horizons, broadened.

  By the time I made it home and into the shower, the endorphins from my run and caffeine from the espresso were going to work in my bloodstream. My first appointment wasn’t for another few hours, but I was ready to tackle my day – get to the shop early, do some sketching, pick up a drop-in, something.

  After my shower, I stood in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection like a middle-aged white man in existential crisis mode. I was a few years from middle-aged, but that whole wondering who the fuck I really was and wondering what I was doing here thing?

  Yeah.

  That was me all the way.

  I stared for a few more seconds, then went to my kitchen to rummage through my junk drawer. Once I found what I needed, I went back to the bathroom, pulled my locs from the band holding them back, and raised the scissors in my hand.

  Fuck it.

  I wasn’t a woman, but I was about to do some life changing too.

  &

  “You know my old lady is gonna be pissed, right?”

  That question was posed to me from across the barbershop, as soon as I walked in the door. The usual clamor of conversation died down as people looked up, recognized me, and then recognized that I was now missing the locs that had become something like my signature.

  I headed straight to the back, where Carter was standing with Troy – Fresh Cuts’ manager, now that Carter was focused on his IT business. They were both staring at my head with distinct disappointment, some shit I hadn’t expected.

  Carter was the one who’d shouted the question, and he shook his head as I walked up. “What the hell happened man?” he asked, then extended his hand to dap me up. “You piss somebody off and wake up with a haircut or something?”

  I chuckled. “Nah, man. Just needed a little change, you know. Can one of y’all clean it up for me or something?”

  “Nah, no openings,” Troy said, crossing his arms. “You took yourself out of our brotherhood, no perks for you nigga. Make an appointment.”

  “You don’t take appointments.”

  “Exactly.” Beside him, Carter was having a hard time trying not to laugh, and after a second, the scowl on Troy’s face broke too, into a stifled chuckle. “Man, sit your ass down,” he directed, pointing at his chair. “I can’t believe you butchered your power and came to us to fix this shit for you.”

  Laughing, I took a seat in his chair, lifting my chin for him to position the paper strip around my neck, the towel over my shoulders, then drape me with the barber cape. “You’re really taking this shit personal, huh?”

  “Hard not to, man,” Carter shook his head. “I remember when your shit was still childish, sticking up all over your head. I taught you how to take care of those locs boy, don’t you forget it.”

  Troy sucked his teeth. “Man, I’m just wondering what this means for my dating prospects. These women thought we were brothers, two handsome chocolate mothafuckas with locs. You messing with the church’s money bruh.”

  I moved my head away to laugh before he touched me with the clippers. “Both of y’all are some damn fools,” I said, then moved back into position to get my haircut.

  “Maybe so,” Carter said, “But seriously… Viv is gonna flip when she sees this.”

  “Exactly why I’m going to be avoiding her ass until I’m ready to hear her curse me out in French,” I chuckled. “Y’alls reactions have me a little bit shook, thinking about when I have to see people who actually care about my hair.”

  “Oh you think I’m playing,” Troy laughed. “Your ass is crazy. The locs were your selling point boy, you were pulling all types of women.”

  “Wasn’t all he was pulling,” rang out across the shop, and I swear it was like everything went quiet. Like Jas said – everybody seemed to know my business, so it wasn’t like the shit was a surprise to anybody in here.

  As much as I loved Fresh Cuts, usually loved the environment, Black barbershops weren’t exactly a paragon of inclusivity. So, nobody really brought that shit up – which was fine, cause I didn’t want to talk about it with these fools anyway – but only rarely did anybody feel the need to say any slick shit, at least when I was right there.

  Apparently, today was one of those days.

  “Yo, you got a problem?” I called out, waving Troy and his clippers away from my head for a second.

  The dummy who’d made the comment – somebody I didn’t even recognize – let a stupid smirk cross his face. “Who? Me? Nah, ain’t no problem over here, long as you keep that fruity shit over there.”

  I laughed. “Oh, no problem, huh? Cause I was sitting here thinking, damn, I wonder which one of his parents I must’ve hit and quit for him t
o be so salty? Was it his mama or his daddy that I was making call me daddy?”

  “What the fuck did you just say to me?!” he asked, hopping up from his chair. Any eyes in the shop that hadn’t been on us were definitely there now.

  I cupped my hand around my mouth like a megaphone. “I asked if it was your mother or father that was deep throating my dick,” I called, earning a chorus of “oooohs” and “daaamns” from the early morning peanut gallery gathered in the shop.

  “Yo, I’ll break your neck homey, you better relax,” ol’ boy said, taking a few steps in my direction.

  So… I got up too.

  “Ay, if you’re really about that life, run up nigga. Talking about some fucking “relax”. Nobody was even talking to your dumb ass, motherfucker,” I shot back, from around Carter, who’d moved to stand between us. He pushed me back, then turned to ol’ boy.

  “Get out of here starting bullshit man, this ain’t the place,” Carter told him. “Find somewhere else for all that.”

  Dude sucked his teeth. “I gotta leave in the middle of my haircut cause of him? This is bullshit, I’m a paying customer.”

  Carter shrugged. “I don’t care.” He turned to the barber who’d been working on him. “Joey, I’ll take care of you for his cut, aiight?” Joey nodded, and Carter turned back. “See? Done. You don’t owe anything. You can go.”

  “Fuck this cupcake ass shop anyway. Yo, I see you on the street, your ass is mine,” he growled at me, before he turned around.

  “That’s really not my preference my man, but I hope you find what you’re looking for,” I called after him, trying my best not to laugh, until he turned to me with a scowl. Then, I laughed openly, right in his face.

  “Fuck you,” he spat, and I shook my head.

  “Another poor choice of words in this context bruh, you may want to just leave it, for real.”

  The whole shop erupted in laughter as ol’ boy stormed out, and I sat back to get my own cut finished. They were all excited about the disruption giving them something to talk about, a story to take back to work, or home with them.

  I was annoyed as hell, and trying my best not to show it.

  Too often, I’d had to defend myself against men – never ones I’d shown even the slightest romantic interest in – who were either perturbed by my sexuality even though it had nothing to do with them, or felt the need to challenge my masculinity. The shit got old, and though I did feel a sense of satisfaction from putting him back in his place, it was annoying that I even had to do it in the first damn place. The bullshit I took from men and women was enough to make me want to just go live on an island to myself and not fuck with anybody.

  But that wasn’t realistic.

  So, not backing down was how I survived in a world where either my queerness, or my blackness, or both at the same damn time, was always a threat to somebody who didn’t even know me, and who I usually wasn’t even bothering.

  It was tiresome.

  “You know,” Troy said, breaking the relative silence that had fallen in the shop in the aftermath of Carter kicking dude out. “You ain’t have to say you had the man’s mama deep throating you. That was a straight up violation,” he laughed, and the rest of the shop did too.

  I let myself smile. “But I did though.”

  “Did what? Have to say it, or his mama?”

  “Both.”

  Another round of laughter erupted, and then someone said something else, and something else, and life in the shop went on.

  Thank God.

  I just wanted to do what I came for – get my haircut, and get across the street to start my workday. Instead, my morning of shooting the shit was interrupted by me having to prove I wasn’t somebody that was going to get sonned just for the hell of it.

  Again – tiresome.

  When Troy finished my cut and turned me around to look in the mirror, I let out a low whistle. “Damn.” I said out loud, leaning in to examine myself a little closer. I looked… good. I mean, I’d always looked good, but this was really, honestly, next level.

  “Ah, shit,” Carter said, shaking his head when he came by again.

  Troy chuckled. “So you see what I see too? Clean cut pretty-boy look got this dude feeling himself even more than he already was.”

  “Didn’t think that shit was possible,” Carter laughed as he headed for the door. “But here we are. And Viv is still gonna be ready to cut your head off, so be prepared.”

  “I look too good for her to be mad at me,” I called after him as he left, and Troy brushed the residual hair off of me before he took off the cape. “Thanks for hooking me up bruh,” I said, extending my hand to him as I stood up.

  “Whatever,” he said, brushing me off. “Keep ya lil handshakes or whatever til you get some hair again dude,” he laughed, then turned back to not leave me hanging. “Ay, I see you’ve got a new neighbor over there. The little photography shop, that wasn’t there before was it?”

  I shook my head. “Nah, but I haven’t really seen anybody over there yet. Have you?”

  “Nah. I know it’s a woman though, cause she called asking to do a photo series or something on the shop.”

  “That’s dope,” I nodded. “Maybe I can get her to do some new head shots for me.”

  Troy frowned. “What do you need head shots for?”

  I shrugged. “Life, nigga. The gram. Where else?”

  “Man, get outta here,” Troy laughed, and I tossed up my hand at everybody as I left myself. I wasn’t particularly looking forward to a bunch of questions and shit once I walked into Dist’Inked, but at least there, I knew it would be all love.

  Those were my people.

  I ran a hand over my freshly cut hair as I walked across the street. It still felt foreign to me, and probably would for a while… but in a good way. Different, but necessary – can’t attract new energy with old things.

  And from here… that’s what I was about:

  Good vibes.

  Fresh energy.

  New Eddie.

  Let’s get it.

  two.

  astrid.

  Breathe in faith.

  Breathe out fear.

  Breathe in life.

  Breathe out death.

  You are significant, and beautiful.

  You are supernatural.

  Your presence on this earth is vital.

  You matter.

  Always.

  I pushed out a final breath, and then slowly lowered my legs back to the ground. My arms relaxed beside me, shoulders free from the tension I’d woken up with. Eyes closed. Slow, deliberate breaths as I sank flat into the mat beneath me.

  After another few moments, I opened my eyes, searching out the window to peek outside through the open blinds. I forced myself not to rush through my movements as I transitioned to a seated position, and then to my feet, but I really did have to get going.

  “You owe me.”

  That’s what I’d told Kim when she asked me take over her class for the morning, for the sole purpose of her getting to sleep in late with her boyfriend who lived on the other side of the city. She didn’t really owe me – I’d only said it because it sounded good. Really? I thrived on classroom energy.

  My morning routine was quick, since I’d showered the night before. I brushed my teeth, tied a cute scarf around yesterday’s wash-n-go puff, threw on leggings and a tank, and after tossing together a quick smoothie, I was ready to go.

  A warm, late spring breeze greeted me at the front door to my building, bringing a smile to my face. This was my favorite season of the year. Rebirth, renewal, and growth. The air was ripe with it, so much that I could practically feel it on my skin.

  Something interesting is going to happen today.

  Instead of taking the leisurely stroll I wanted, I put a little pep in my step to make it to the studio – my studio – on time. Kim’s “Prophecy and Power” Yoga class couldn’t start without an instructor, and today, well… that was me.

&n
bsp; I made it there about twenty minutes before the class was supposed to start, and spent the first few minutes unlocking the doors to the building, which was honestly drool-worthy. Hell – the whole neighborhood was, with all its different blue collar, bougie, business-owning, warmth-inducing, life-giving Blackness. All I’d wanted was an affordable space to share the power of yoga and holistic healing, but I’d lucked up on a place that felt like something I’d never really experienced – home.

  After the doors were unlocked, and the blinds opened for natural light in the big studio I’d be using up front, I swung by Kim’s office for her student list, and notes for the “prophecy” part of her class. Some of the names I recognized, and would easily be able to mark them as having attended, but others, I would have to ask. There were a few names that were freshly added, based on the attendance dates that were checked off, so I made a mental note to be aware of newbies in the class.

  Kim’s class was not for the faint of heart.

  Those who I knew, I greeted by name as they came in, and familiarized myself with the others. By the time I adjusted the blinds to lower the light, and started the music, I had a class of twenty people staring at me from their mats, waiting to start.

  I lowered myself into a seated position on my mat, and prompted them to do the same, then closed my eyes. Instead of speaking, I let the music fill the space, echoing off the scuffed hardwood floors for several long moments. I felt the shift in energy as someone rushed in, a little late, but didn’t open my eyes. I was finding a vibe, and letting them find one too.

  And then…

  “If you never figure out your own shit, how are you going to figure out someone else’s?”

  I posed that question with my eyes still closed, legs crossed, and chin lifted high.

  “Really though,” I continued, opening my eyes. Half of the now twenty-one person class had their eyelids lowered – I made eye contact with the ones who did not. “How do you answer to anyone – for anyone – how do you fix someone else’s life, solve their problems, if you haven’t even attempted to clean up your own mess yet?”