Page 21

Cola and Conversation

“O hhhh, I bet he did!” Aunt Huni cackled as Poet opened the front door and let herself in. Figuring the woman was on the phone, she kept it down and hung up her jacket in the hall closet. Then, she removed her shoes and slid into her soft slippers.

She hummed to the music that played softly—‘Show You the Way,’ by the Jacksons—then left back out the front door, fully expecting to see Kage working away. But all she found was overturned dirt, slabs of wood here and there, a shovel and a saw on the ground. No sign of the man.

Curious, she re-entered the house. Perhaps he was getting something to drink, or using the restroom. His truck sat outside, so he had to be on the premises. When she made her way into the kitchen, where all the laughter was coming from, she realized Aunt Huni wasn’t on the phone after all…

The woman and Kage were playing cards, drinking big cups of cola, and playing music!

An old orange Tupperware bowl full of pretzels sat on the side, too.

Kage appeared pretty damn comfortable, while Aunt Huni was sitting there living her best life, talking a mile a minute.

She even had on her red lipstick, which she only wore when she was trying to flirt with a male visitor, or get a little attention.

Poet’s eyes bounced between the two of them, and yet they barely acknowledged her presence.

“Hey there, Poet. You’re twenty minutes early,” Huni finally said as she tossed down a playing card.

“Kage and I were talking. He’s so interesting!

It’s so hot, he take a break.” The woman stated matter-of-factly.

Poet had a sneaking suspicion that it had been all Aunt Huni’s idea for the bastard to take this little siesta.

“He’s good at cribbage!” She laughed, like that was the funniest thing in the world to say.

Poet mustered a smile. “Well, that’s nice.

” She studied the scene and swallowed a million curse words.

No telling how many refills of cola the woman had had.

Huni was a cola addict, if there was such a thing.

Snatching her glass—still mostly full—from the table, she set it on the counter.

Aunt Huni was so enmeshed in her conversation and “gentleman visitor,” she didn’t appear to notice her coveted vice had been confiscated.

Poet opened the refrigerator to bring the woman some water instead, and figured they could eat the leftovers for dinner.

But as she scanned the refrigerator shelves she noted that those were gone.

When she went to the sink, she saw that a plate, spoon, and fork had been left in the basin, unclean.

Aunt Huni never left her own dishes that way, unless she’d served someone else and was too preoccupied to be bothered by such trivial tasks.

She slowly turned towards the two, watching them banter, laugh and joke. Kage hadn’t said one word to her—not even a simple hello. He seemed completely enmeshed in the game and conversation with Aunt Huni. She leaned back against the sink, taking it all in.

“Guess what, Poet? Kage’s birthday the same day as my father’s was, can you believe dat?!” Aunt Huni was all smiles, as if she expected Poet to be whirling from the revelation, too. Who gives a shit? On the other hand, Aunt Huni had absolutely adored her father. “November 13 th ! Lucky number!”

“What a coincidence, huh? I thought the number 13 was actually unlucky?” she teased as she poured dish liquid onto a sponge, then set it aside.

“Poet’s birthday is April 19 th , Kage. She’ll be thirty-eight and an old maid, with nothing but cats, carrots and cabbage to her name.”

“Well, thank you very much for that, Aunt Huni.” Laughing, Poet turned around and began washing the dishes. “It’s not too late for me to put you in a tent outside. I can always rely on you to lift a girl’s spirits.”

Aunt Huni chuckled.

“Your Aunt Huni is kickin’ my behind at this game,” Kage finally uttered, clearly in the groove.

No, he was the groove, as well as the wallpaper and the tiles.

He looked like a permanent fixture, made of iron and steel, coated in tar and droplets of liquid midnight.

He was written into the farmhouse procurement agreement in tattooed ink, as though he’d come with the house when she bought it.

He was a wooden plank of the chair, his arms a part of the table, and his feet a part of the floor.

He was the darkness in the corners of the bedrooms, and the pixilated spirals of sunlight filtering through the bathroom windows.

Splotchy, purposeful, bright and beautiful.

He paused to take a sip of his cola. His loud chugging snatched her from her thoughts.

“Aunt Huni is a great card player.” She offered.

“She’s a beast at this,” he stated around a ball of laughter that came from his gut.

“No, he ’s good.” Aunt Huni chimed in. “Real good!”

“So… what have you two been talkin’ about?”

She immediately saw it then. Kage and Aunt Huni froze, their eyes staring into one another’s.

A quiet understanding spread between them like a spider’s web.

They were speaking to one another in a language she couldn’t understand.

She wished she knew how to decode it. She felt like a voyeur to her own demise, or perhaps, her upliftment.

Of that, she was not quite sure, but she had a hunch that they’d been conspiring.

“I’ll be right back.” Aunt Huni slowly rose from her seat.

She grabbed a scrunched-up napkin and rubbed it across her lips, removing the lipstick and leaving only traces of pink.

She threw a glance at her glass, the one she’d once had full of cola, but didn’t comment on the change to water.

Kage’s beard moved as he smiled at her, and his eyes darkened to the color of dirty rivers and turbulent seas.

Aunt Huni whispered something fast to him that she didn’t quite catch, but it was in Filipino.

Does Kage know Filipino, too? That was highly doubtful, especially since he’d mistaken Aunt Huni for Chinese.

Poet kept on washing the dishes, placing them on the drying rack. When she turned back around, her aunt had vanished.

“She’s not comin’ back, is she?” She dried her hands on a white and blue striped dish towel. An old spaghetti sauce stain was still visible on it from a year ago.

Kage reached into his pants pocket, and pulled out a cigarette and lighter, setting them both on the table.

“No. She’s not comin’ back, Poet. Have a seat.”

After a slight hesitation, she made her way over, pulled out a chair and parked herself on it. ‘Bizarre Love Triangle’ from New Order was playing as they sized each other up.

“How’s the greenhouse going?” she finally asked.

“We’re on schedule. Almost ready for the glass install. I added some more security beams and another drainage line as I felt this was necessary, but won’t charge you for that because it wasn’t our original agreement.”

“Thank you.” She noticed her voice was softer than she wanted it to be. Something inside of her was being devoured by the look in his eyes. It felt good to be eaten alive…

“Today is the end of the race, Poet. I’m not leavin’ here empty-handed.”

“You need more money upfront for your employees?” She grabbed the bottle of water she’d placed on the table for herself to enjoy, cracked the lid, and sipped.

“Stop playin’ with me.” His voice was low, gravelly. Strong. She smirked as she downed the rest of the water then crushed the bottle in her hand.

“What?” She looked around. “You must be talkin’ to the walls, because you damn sure aren’t talkin’ to me. Who said that I was playing?”

“Be fuckin’ for real.” He sucked his teeth, then crossed his arms.

“I’m trying.”

“Don’t try. Just be. Can we hash this out? Right here, right now?”

“Of course.” She fought the urge to smile.

“You want me as much as I want you. I have my concerns, you have yours. I’m not no wimp, and I ain’t no quitter.

I’m comin’ on strong, because anything less is weak.

I can’t be weak. It ain’t in me. My father is dead.

Your mother is dead. We never got a chance to really know them—proof that life is too fuckin’ short for games, Poet.

You felt what I felt, but instead you want to waste time. And for what?”

“Kage, you need to settle the hell down. Don’t act like I have to give in to your demands, like you’re some schoolyard bully! I’m not scared of you.” At least not anymore.

“Now why in the hell would I want someone I desire to be scared of me?”

She shrugged, her adrenaline soaring. “I don’t know. You tell me .”

“I can’t have all of you if you’re frightened of me.

Fear makes people freeze or run around aimlessly.

That makes no sense, now does it? I need you free, and uninhibited.

I need you to feel and see everything I want to give and show you, whether it’s my touch, my dick, my love, my time, my energy. I need you to be open to all of it.”

He was so intense, it was scaring the shit out of her, and yet, he turned her the fuck on. Her heart rate was soaring—a dull pain against her ribs.

“You’re just pullin’ shit out the air.” She forced a laugh.

“I’m not that dude… I don’t live in a fantasy land.

I pull no punches, and put out nothin’ but the truth.

I know you like to argue when you’re worried.

What’s goin’ on right now is mere foreplay because make no mistakes about it, I don’t argue.

I say what I have to say and that’s it, but I’m allowing this shit to happen because we need to sort this out before we can move forward.

See, I’m on to you, Poet. I’ve studied you. ”

“Well, isn’t that somethin’, considering I wasn’t certain that you were literate, Mr. Oscar the Grouch.”