"Because hurt things kill
We can't be real
Only if we just be still
Only if we just be chill
So many good things heal
…cuz I know the feeling…"
Mali Music & Emmavie – "I know"
Diša rubbed her three middle fingers on the vinyl and leaned her ear deeper into her shoulder so she could hear the fade better in her headphones. She slowed the bpm of Zana High Life Part 2 so that it matched the speed of the drum mix she created and recorded on her own drums in the garage. She patched in her laptop and checked the updated DJ software she installed to handle a few cuts that she uploaded from her digital crate.
Cueing the beats and song, she watched her bestie Yamilet salsa around the room in high heels and skinny jeans. Yamilet held one of Diša 's recording mics and she blurted out party shouts that rang out through the surround-sound speakers in the living room.
"Let those ta tas bounce Diša!" Yamilet shouted as she watched Diša shake her upper body to her own mix.
Yamilet's voice bounced in Diša's head and she pressed record to catch snatches of the woman's South Florida accent as she shouted her pleasure with the music. Yamilet twirled around wiggling her slim hips in seductive twists. She winked at Diša and poked out her full lips and crinkled her wide nose.
A loud rumble rattled her windows and Yamilet ran to the wide glass view clutching the mic to her chest. She looked down to the second floor of the split level.
"Jesus, what that mouth do?" she hissed.
Diša stepped away from the turntable set up and padded over to Yamilet. Down below she saw Erik hooking his motorcycle helmet to his bike. He glanced up and caught her eye. What that mouth do indeed, she thought as she took in the lush fullness. His lips peeled back into a grin and she waved for him to stay there. Slipping on some house slippers, she headed down the short flight of stairs and greeted him outside with the garage door opener in her hand.
"Hey, you made it," she said.
Yamilet was on her heels drinking up Erik's physique. He wore a sporty-looking dark motorcycle jacket with faded jeans and Black steel-toed boots with silver tips. His hair sat around his scalp in tiny bunched curls here and there and a faint beard shadowed his cheeks. He was crisp and clean-looking from head to toe. More manly than the puppy-eyed kid she ran into at the museum.
Pressing the garage opener, the right side of the double doors rose with a loud whirring and he followed her inside. His eyes flitted about, noticing Hollis's unclaimed belongings stuck inside several large cardboard boxes. Some had the words fragile slapped across them with bright red stickers. Her ex was slowly moving the last of his things from their once shared home. When she had been a doe-eyed seventeen-year-old freshman, she met Hollis. He ignored her along with the other swarming hormonally excited young women who flocked to his classes and lectures. Diša found him handsome, worldly, and oh so sophisticated compared to the simps who begged to get into her panties during undergrad. She asked Hollis to recommend faculty to her for her thesis committee three years later to gain her Masters degree and they began an illicit relationship right after. From the outside, it may have looked like she used him to get favorable recs, but Diša was brilliant and enjoyed long office hours chatting with the man. He respected her intelligence and loved hearing himself talk about her future while he wined and dined her away from the city with secret trips to New York. She eloped with him in the Bahamas and they secretly lived together as man and wife for over two years until she noticed the shine of his intellect wearing off on her. Twenty years her senior, Diša came to her senses about Hollis. Cambridge would not be her permanent home once she earned her Ph.D. And being a professor's wife wasn't the lick either. The cliché of a teacher fucking his student in his office, or finger fucking her at a faculty dinner as professors ate dry chicken around them with her wet pussy squelching on Hollis's fingers grew tired. He was old. Not physically… mentally.
For a man to be so cutting edge in his field, he was pre-historic with living a full life. Work stress cut in when he worried about not making tenure or losing students to the new hot professor from Greece. He was heading into middle age malaise and she was just getting started with possibilities. Their divorce was quiet like their marriage had been. She didn't even inform her parents about being married until after the divorce. They were shocked. Her close friends at school were shocked. Yamilet was pissed at not being able to be a sexy bridesmaid in the Caribbean. Diša tossed it off as a youthful indiscretion, but Hollis wanted to stay married. When she went ahead with divorce proceedings, he opted to keep her close to him by giving her the house and paying the mortgage. The deal was that he would pay for the house until she finished her Ph.D. and found employment either through teaching or the outside market. Although the deed was now in her name, she socked away savings to prepare for the day in the future when he would cut her off. They stayed cordial, dined together at least once a week, and had sex together when she allowed it. It was a serviceable arrangement, and she still had love for the man. The only problem was she grew up and saw more for herself.
"Nice drum kit," Erik said.
He glanced over at the other side of the two-car garage.
"My baby," she said, "Go ahead and bring your bike in."
Erik walked back out and Yamilet greeted him before she slinked in next to Diša.
"Who is that? Does Hollis know you're importing new dick?"
"Shut up! He's just a new student who needs a place to store his bike."
"Doesn't he need it?"
"He has a car too, and it's causing him some parking problems keeping both with winter coming."
"Single?"
"Young."
"How young?"
The rumble of the bike made them jump hearing it up close.
"He can't even buy a drink at the bar."
"No! Don't say that!"
Yamilet's eyes were bold and direct when Erik eased the bike in. He turned it off and swung his leg around and Yamilet made a desperate pouty face. They were both starved for new dick but under twenty-one dick wasn't the move. Diša couldn't blame Yamilet for thinking potential hook-up. She missed having any thoughts of that before with the first three times she saw Erik. But this fourth time away from campus made him seem different. Her eyes flicked down to the crotch of his jeans. He was looking a little thick down there.
"Can I see you play?" he asked stepping over to the drums.
His broad back moved away from her and the swagger in his hips had her studying him in more detail. Diša wandered over, lifting the hem of her beige lounge pants as she sat down behind the kit. She leaned back and grabbed the nearest drumsticks lying around an open case and tapped out a rhythm on the high hat before she put her feet and hands in motion letting Erik know she wasn't to be fucked with on drums.
He bobbed his head and held his fist to his mouth with some serious stank face and she knew it impressed him. He should be. She'd been playing with the best L.A. session players when she was a kid. Her Godfather was the drummer for a well-known jazz ensemble. Her family was full of musicians and having a father work as a percussionist for Lionel Richie gave her access to the best of the best. She stopped showing off.
"You thirsty?" she asked.
His eyes had a twinkle in them, and he grinned.
"Yeah, I could use some water."
"I have water, juice, soda, and tea."
"Water is fine," he said following her and Yamilet through the garage. They entered the garage entrance into the house and walked up a few stairs to reach the living room.
"A lot going on in here," he said looking around.
He marveled at her turntables and all the expensive dark oak wood bookcases filled with books, vinyl, CDs, and old VHS tapes. Tasteful modern furnishings complimented the global artwork hanging on the walls of buildings and art deco designs from around the world. There were framed historic pictures of Max Roach with Abbey Lincoln. Malcolm X, Angela Davis, and Assata Shakur along with music posters of classic Hip Hop shows. Her favorite was a 1994 showdown between Geechie Dan and the Grey Boy All-Stars in Philadelphia featuring Kurtis Blow. Diša 's father had witnessed it and she owned a VHS tape detailing the battle. Her forever DJ crush began there, and she collected any underground mixtapes of Geechie Dan where she could find them.
There was something otherworldly and pressing about Geechie Dan's use of music. It was like the man was planting a time capsule for other generations that he would never see. Something about his style had so deeply influenced Diša over the years that she worried if maybe she was a little too obsessive. She once cursed out an A-List panel of Rappers and DJs at a Hip Hop summit in New York when they didn't even acknowledge Geechie Dan's contribution to the culture. Most people in the audience had no clue who she was talking about and it infuriated her. It infuriated her even more with how dismissive the men had been with her. The misogynoir was thick in that room and Diša vowed to stop fucking with basic Hip Hop. To disrespect a legend was treason, and it dismayed her that a random white guy from France of all places knew who Geechie Dan was and cited his influence on European DJs. She was furious when the Black men sitting before her gave that white man thoughtful consideration instead of her. She talked mad shit on her radio show about it and grew a global audience of fans.
Erik stood near a bookcase filled with classic Black literature, and science fiction books. He ogled her collection of Octavia E. Butler books. His finger ran across the spines of a few more books. He nodded his approval at many and smiled at some.
Yamilet went into the kitchen, and Diša heard the pouring of water from the fridge into glasses.
"Oh, snap. The original hardback of 'Beloved'," he said.
"You read it?"
Erik licked his lips then turned his head toward her. His soft brown eyes caressed her face with gentle pondering. Lifting the book, he held it close to his chest.
"She is a friend of my mind. She gather me, man. The pieces I am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order. It's good, you know, when you got a woman who is a friend of your mind…"
Diša almost couldn't breathe. The hitch in her chest forced her to place a hand there just to calm her nerves. It was her favorite passage from the book. The raspy quality of his voice and the sensual way he delivered the lines with his full lips parting let her catch glimpses of the gold slugs on his bottom teeth. Erik made her lightheaded. He placed the book back on the shelf.
"Sixo… and the thirty-mile woman," she whispered.
Diša's eyes teared up. Her vision of Erik grew blurry.
"Hey," he said stepping up and touching her hand.
"I'm fine. That's my favorite part of the book. Love like that, y'know? So rare."
"Yeah. My mother gave that book to my Pops to read when they first started dating. It's one of his favorites. It gave him some insight into what it was like for us here. He was from Wakanda."
"That's how you got the music."
He nodded. Diša wiped her eyes.
"I just couldn't imagine not being able to be with the person you love. To not see them, or touch them because some piece of shit white man enslaved and separated you from having a family. Sorry, I always get emotional with that part of the book."
"My father did too. It tore at him that Sixo walked all those miles just to touch his woman's hand, and he had to go all the way back to his own plantation before the sun came up or risk death for sneaking off to see her."
"And then they caught him… burned him alive…"
"But he left the world screaming 'Seven-O!' because his woman and his unborn child were able to escape."
"Yeah," she whispered.
"That unborn child was all that mattered to him. If his baby could touch the future, it was worth dying for…"
Erik's voice trembled, and Diša saw him chew on his bottom lip. Their eyes connected and she wanted to hug him. There was a deep pain in his wounded gaze. He was an orphan out in the world and she didn't know how he functioned with so much passion in his school work. Hollis bragged on him, telling Diša that he had never had a mind like Erik's in his presence before. She joked that his stanning of Erik made her feel bad because she used to be his genius favorite, but Hollis gave a serious tone in his voice.
"Diša, I'm telling you, that boy doesn't even need to be going to MIT. He's beyond the curriculum honestly. I feel like he goes to school like it's a hobby… like he's biding his time until he moves on. His classmates struggle to keep up with what I put out, but to him, it's like rudimentary basics. He absorbs information so fast and then thinks beyond it."
"Well, he was a Tony Stark intern, I told you that," she said.
"If I weren't happy to see another young Black man being here, I'd accuse him of taking up space for another student who needed the experience more than him. He makes my lectures come alive, but he's also very introverted. I invited him to come for an office chat, just to see what his future plans were, but he hasn't come through yet. If I weren't so impressed with him, I'd probably be scared of him. He could teach my class blindfolded."
Diša moved closer to Erik wanting to comfort him because of the connection they both had with the book. She felt compassion for the big little boy with the haunted past of death and loneliness. His eyes darted away from hers.
"My Baba really appreciated Toni Morrison. It taught him a lot about my mother—"
"Here we go!" Yamilet said bustling into the living room with water for Erik and Diša.
Her eyes took in the somber scene.
"What's wrong?" Yamilet asked.
"We were just talking about a book."
Diša took the glass and drank deeply. Erik turned his back toward the bookshelf but she caught him wiping a tear away from his cheek. He drank his water and moved over to the shelf filled with vinyl. Yamilet gave her a curious look, but Diša only smiled and reached for the mic that sat on her mixing table.
"Oh, shit, I left this thing on," she said turning off the recording button.
From the moment Yamilet stuck her face to the window, she digitally saved everything spoken in the room.
"You're always leaving things on. That's why your electric bill is so high every month," Yamilet said lightening the mood.
Erik walked back over to the turntables and his face looked happier. The rims of his eyes were a little pink.
"Whatchu cookin' over here, Ma?" he said with a challenge in his voice.
Diša set the headphones on her ears and slipped an album out of its sleeve.
"I have a D.C. gig coming up in two months and I'm preparing a set that pays homage to my DJ hero—"
"There she goes," Yamilet said flopping down on Diša's couch flinging her frizzy long braid behind her back.
"Geechie Dan will be there and he will finally hear me lay in person."
"Geechie?" Erik asked.
"Yeah," Diša said turning on her drum machine.
She tapped out beats and programmed a few keys as Erik and Yamilet watched her. He sat his empty glass of water on a side table.
"My Mom's people are Gullah. My Nana. Georgia Fam and shit."
"That's cool. You ever hear of Geechie Dan?"
"My mom had some of his songs. She ran a dance theater for a few years. Taught Hip Hop dance, jazz, and West African dance. I still listen to some of that old-school stuff."
Diša walked over to the bookshelf near the turntables. She pulled out an illustrated book on rap during the golden era.
"Check this out, Geechie Dan used to dance for a West African troupe down south until he moved to New York. When he started as a DJ, he used to do toasts like the Jamaicans during his sets and people didn't know what he was saying. They thought he was speaking an African language."
"The Gullah language has those African retentions," he said ogling the pages she flipped open for him.
Yamilet jumped up from the couch.
"Shit, I need to cut the vegetables for the beef bourguignon!"
"Grab a red wine bottle in the crate not the ones in the wine cubby," Diša said.
"Fancy," Erik said.
He stood near the VHS tapes and held the book open.
"You want to stay over for dinner? I'm having one of my notorious dinner parties later."
"Notorious?" he said with a grin.
"Take off your jacket, and relax a bit," she said reaching a hand out to him.
He pulled off his motorcycle jacket and gave it to her. It was heavy. She carried it to a closet near the front door and hung it up inside there.
"Am I dressed for it?" he said looking down at his thin long-sleeved black sweater.
"You're perfect. I throw one every couple of weeks and have a few friends over. A lot of intellectuals who talk shit over good food, wine, and some tasteful jazz. It can get pretty heated. Sometimes feelings get hurt. I can have Yamilet give you a ride back to your dorm when it's over."
"I can catch Lyft. Do you have enough food to add on one more at the last minute?"
"I always cook too much and there are always leftovers. Sit down and relax. Read."
Erik sat on the couch.
"Would you like more water?" she asked.
He handed her his empty glass.
"Be back in a minute," she said happily because he was staying.
###
Erik's eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw the inside of Diša's house. The outside looked very suburban. He noticed a lot of white neighbors watching him as he roared by on his motorcycle. A cop followed him in a police car until he pulled onto Diša's street.
Stepping up into the living room was like stepping into a fancy library. The house was warm with rich cultural touches that denoted her very Black American heritage, but also her Muslim upbringing. Candles, incense, African drums, and decorative frames with Arabic writing blended the East and West. Her home was cozy and felt well-loved and… protected. The feel of it the moment he came inside made him want to curl up on the couch automatically and he did his best not to shout with joy when she invited him to stay for dinner.
Bookshelves were filled with collected music and books that reminded him of his family's old townhouse. His parents collected books and tons of music and to be surrounded by such things again made him invite old memories of the past. The wound in his heart would always be in the shape of his parents. Thoughts of N'Jobu and Califia still made him cry. Sometimes there would be a lump in his throat that took a long time to go away. The "Beloved" book brought it all back and seeing Diša spill tears over his recital of a passage brought home the ache in his chest again.
She left him alone in the living room and he read about Geechie Dan. Her adoration of the man was evident, and as Erik read about him, he could see why she was such a fan. The DJ seemed like a man out of time. It was something Erik could relate to.
The aroma of beef cooking in a rich savory sauce filtered in from the kitchen and Erik heard his stomach grumble. Yamilet checked on him from time to time as Diša fussed with pots and pans. At one point she left the room to go into a small bedroom for her early evening prayers. His cell rang, and he smiled when he saw the avatar of Bugs Bunny in a black-and-white striped prison uniform. It was Shawn, his old juvenile detention buddy from Oakland.
Shawn was older than Erik by six years and they remained tight for after their stint in the system.
"What up, nigga!" Shawn shouted.
There was loud music crowding Shawn's voice.
"Where you at, son?" Erik asked feeling himself get hyped hearing a fellow Bay Area accent.
"On my way to a movie with some friends. You were on my mind, boy! MIT working out?"
"Yeah. I'm hanging wit' it. This dorm shit is for the birds though. My roommate is a fucking slob. He's good people, but he's a slob most days."
"Get your own apartment."
"I can't right now. Promised Uncle Bakari six months at Chocolate City. The male bonding experience."
"How are the girlies treatin' ya?"
"You know how I do," Erik chuckled thinking of Alexis and the others.
"Keeping it wrapped up, right?"
"Nigga, I ain't stupid."
"A'ight, let's keep it that way. Girl… stop messing with that. I'll be off of the phone in a minute. Yo chill!"
"Who you wit'?"
"Couple of work buddies and my homegirl Renata from school… Renata… quit playing… girl—"
"Who dis?"
A soft Texas drawl curled around his ear through the phone.
"This Erik, who this?"
"Renata—"
"Renata, you're drunk!" Shawn said, "Man, I'm sorry about that. We've been out for a late brunch and these mimosas kept flowing in her—"
"Lemme talk to him again!"
Renata's twangy voice made Erik smile. She sounded tore up from the floor up.
"Nah, get back. Aye man, I just wanted to know if you'd be around for your birthday. You plan on going to Oakland or staying out here?"
"I don't know yet. Uncle Bakari wants to bring Granpop out here, but he's been doing poorly for a minute."
"Sorry to hear that, lil bro. Nothing serious I hope."
"Nah, he'll be alright. He had some circulation problems in his feet, but that's slowly getting better with some therapy. Nevaeh lives with him now, so she helps out a lot."
"You going back to Brazil for Marisol's birthday?"
"If I can get through these tests before winter break, I might."
"Okay man, I won't keep you on here long. Just wanted to get a heads up so I'll know what to plan for. Twenty-one is a big deal. You become legal nigga!"
"Happy birthday!" Renata shouted.
"It ain't his birthday yet, girl. Lemme go man. I gotta get this woman sober and back home before I go see this flick."
"Okay…"
The doorbell rang.
Diša and Yamilet were still working in the kitchen. Erik put away his cell phone and walked down the steps to the main entrance. He opened the door.
"Erik. What are you doing here?" Hollis said.
The older man stepped inside and Erik shut the door.
"I brought over my bike—"
"Oh yeah, that's right. Storage."
Hollis sized him up and Erik knew there was a problem already. He was supposed to drop off the bike and bounce. Not linger in his ex-wife's house.
"Diša is in the kitchen cooking for the dinner tonight," Erik said.
He followed the man upstairs, and the mood shifted with his presence.
"Hollis," Diša said stepping out of her kitchen.
She wiped her hands on a kitchen cloth as Hollis gave her a peck on her cheek.
"We all set for tonight? Need me to run out and pick up anything?" Hollis said.
"No, I'm good. There's wine in the kitchen. Erik, would you like a glass?"
"He's underaged," Hollis said.
"People his age drink wine all over the world."
"We're not all over the world. He's also my student."
"This isn't a classroom, Hollis, and you aren't the boss of him right now. Erik? A glass?"
"Yeah, I'll take a glass," Erik said.
Diša walked back to the kitchen and Erik couldn't help but stare. Her ass jiggled in her lounge pants and her long hair laid straight down her back past her shoulders.
"Damn," he mumbled and Hollis heard him.
"Listen here, Erik. She's off-limits to you. Understand?"
Erik tilted his head. His shoulders rolled as he stepped to Hollis.
"What that mean?" Erik pressed.
"That means Diša is not in your league. Sniffing around her is a no-no."
"Nigga, I don't know who you think you're talking to."
Hollis's eyes blinked rapidly at being called out of his name.
"Excuse me? Maybe you should leave because we don't allow that type of language in this house—"
"This ain't your house!"
"Diša!"
The man shouted and Erik laughed at him. He sounded like a scared little bitch about to snitch. Diša rushed out carrying a baguette loaf.
"What?" she said.
"I don't think Erik should be here. He's disrespecting me—"
"You came in here with the bitch-made attitude—"
"See? See what I mean? That language. From a student I once had respect for."
"Slow down, Hollis. Erik, what happened?"
"Why are you asking him?"
Erik saw the stress on Diša's face.
"Aye, it's all good, I'll just leave, Diša."
Erik headed for the stairs to retrieve his jacket from the closet.
"Wait… Erik! Wait. Hollis. What did you say to him?"
"He was staring at your ass!"
Erik's cheeks warmed up. He thought the man would say he was rude or something. Diša started laughing.
"Hollis. Really?"
"It was lascivious and rude."
Diša glanced at Erik and he couldn't hold eye contact.
"I was just… you were walking, and I was noticing. This is fucking stupid."
Erik started laughing himself.
The doorbell rang again.
"Hollis, answer that. And stop acting like people can't look at me."
"He told me you weren't in my league. He's just cock blocking. Man… listen. I'm sorry for calling you a nigga—"
"You said that?" she asked.
"Yeah. He was being all rough in the throat with his talk, so I had to let him know I'm no lil punk. Diša, I swear I was just looking. You fine as frog hairs, Ma. A man would have to be dead not to look."
"Fine ass frog hairs?" she giggled.
"It's the Geechie in me," he said.
"You two are so ridiculous. Go answer the door and let the other guests up here. And Hollis… this is my house."
Diša left for the kitchen and Hollis stormed back down the steps. Erik heard him switch up his voice to a more pleasant pitch as three more people entered. Yamilet handed him a glass of wine and patted him on the shoulder.
"Good for you," she whispered.
Erik gulped down the rich strong liquid and went back into the kitchen for more. Diša had sliced up the bread, and it smelled so delicious. It had been a long time since he had a home-cooked meal. Yamilet left the kitchen with a fresh open bottle and glasses to give to the new arrivals leaving Erik alone with Diša.
"I'm sorry for getting into it with Hollis. I was admiring you and he caught me peeping. I ain't mean no disrespect."
"He's territorial—"
"I would be too."
She stared at him as she lifted a wineglass to her lips. Within minutes Hollis was in the kitchen with the new arrivals and the chatter distracted Diša. Erik slipped back into the living room and Yamilet ushered in five more people. It was going to be a big dinner with a diverse crowd. He lingered by the bookshelves again until a familiar voice caught him off guard.
"I didn't know you knew, Diša!"
Alexis stood near him and he noticed weird stress in her voice like she was being overly friendly—
"Erik, this is my boyfriend Kwame. Kwame… Erik."
Kwame was a big linebacker-looking dude with a gigantic head that overpowered his neck. Erik held out his hand and Kwame shook it.
"I know Diša from the radio station," Erik said.
Stress crept into Alexis's voice when Hollis came back into the room and it leaped into Erik too. Hollis had a devious gleam in his eyes and Erik knew why within a few minutes. The man saw Erik with Alexis a lot near his department because Kwame was in a different section. They were discreet… well at least Erik was, but Alexis had a nasty habit of grabbing on him when she thought no one was looking. As Alexis introduced her boyfriend to Hollis and the other guests, Erik prayed no shit would go down. He wanted to enjoy being in Diša's home, eating her food, and hanging around her for a few more hours.
Once more, Erik's dick was placing him in precarious situations.
He took one good cursory glance at Kwame.
Fuck.
That nigga already knew Erik was fucking his girl. The clenched jaw and the fake grin told it all. Bast be a rock.
