Page 25 of I Can’t Even Think Straight
Sunday: Back for More—Mum’s Market Stall
“Here, look who’s back for more.”
Mum nudges me gently with her elbow.
I’ve not officially come out to her,
but I figure she just knows.
“Back in five,” says Mum.
She hands over the card reader and money belt,
and, just like that, she’s gone.
“Where are your friends?”
I ask Obi as he reaches me.
“Ouch!” Obi laughs.
“I thought you and I were friends?”
“You promised me witches,” I remind him.
“I was hoping to join your coven.”
“I was hoping to get you alone,
and it looks like I’m in luck, for now.”
He grins, and I swoon at the sight
of those canines up close.
“Why do you want me alone?” I ask.
“Why do you think?” he replies.
I know what Obi may be implying,
but this isn’t good enough for me.
I was wrong about Kwesi:
my one-to-watch was
a red herring, a distraction.
I hope Obi will be the real thing.
I want Obi
to say it.
I need Obi
to say it.
I shrug and feign ignorance.
“ No lo sé ,” I say in Spanish.
“ ?Hablas espanol? ” asks Obi.
“ Sí, un poco ,” I reply. “ Es uno ...”
I go blank in Spanish.
I go back to English.
“It’s one of my GCSEs.”
“I do French,” Obi says,
with a hint of innuendo,
“but I’ve been on holiday to Spain
with my family.”
“ Con mi familia ,” I offer in Spanish.
“ Avec ma famille ,” Obi says in French.
I look over his shoulder
to check if Mum or anyone else
is coming this way.
Obi looks at the ground,
and bites his bottom lip.
“But you didn’t come here
for language lessons,
or to buy another pendant,
did you?” I ask.
“No, I didn’t,” he says.
He puts a hand to his chest
where the loop of jade rests.
“I came with Jenny last week
because she told me
you work here on Sundays,
and I was planning
to ask you something,
but I couldn’t do it
in front of your mum.
Jenny didn’t tell me
you work with your mum.
She said she didn’t realize
that was your mum
because your mum
looks so young.”
I’m impatient.
“Okay, I get it,
I have a young mum.
Can you hurry up
and ask your question
because my young mum
will be back soon?”
“Erm, sorry,” he says.
He clicks his tongue,
like he’s forgotten how words work.
“Obi, I don’t know Morse code.”
My eyes implore him to ask.
So I can say yes.
At the same time, I’m embarrassed
he didn’t move to me
with more confidence.
“I’m sorry,” Obi apologizes again.
“Shit! I’m sorry.
I’m tongue-tied all of a sudden.”
I can’t bear the tension,
the embarrassment,
the thought of Mum returning
before Obi manages
to untie histongue.
As my eyes urge him on,
I find the question on
the tip ofmine.
So, I ask him: “Obi,
would you like to
go on a date with me?”