Page 18 of Vaughn & Cori (D-Ville Projects #7)
Cori
When I first landed in Diamond Falls, I was young, na?ve, and ambitious, determined to be the next Deborah Willis or Ruby Washington.
Both exceptional photographers who captured so many moments in the Black community and of the Black experience.
I think that’s the reason I was drawn to events like this and the basketball tournaments at Highland Park when I first arrived.
Then I’d focus on the landscape of people in the community as a whole, finding something so beautiful about the big picture of it all like they had.
But today’s different as Vaughn and I walk hand in hand, experiencing it together.
Sure the big picture’s still there. The only difference now is I can no longer mute out all the individual colors and faces I’ve gotten to know since I met him.
“What do you want to do first?” Vaughn asks and I hold up my camera to him, ready to capture every moment of the block party.
It’s an annual event held by the DP gang, not just for them, but the community as a whole.
It’s a day of truce between them and the Bedford Boys, a day of giving back to the community they came from, and a day of celebration.
When we reach the street lined with booths and food trucks, my stomach grumbles, putting a pause on my plans. It’s so loud that the woman beside Vaughn turns to give him a questionable look and I laugh. He changes direction abruptly and goes the opposite way from where we were originally headed.
“I thought we were going to Emma’s,” I say, looking back to the booth with all the colorful fruity drinks I’ve seen people walking around with and Vaughn sucks his teeth in disgust.
“Did you just hear your stomach?” he asks louder than I’d like.
“We’re going to Fire Peaux Boyz to get that shit handled.
You’re not gonna have niggas out here looking at me sideways,” he grumbles, and I can’t deny his logic, so I follow his lead, thinking about my go to toasted shrimp po’ boy with sriracha mayo I plan to enjoy.
While I wait for my po’ boy, Vaughn goes to get a drink from Emma’s booth.
When he doesn’t make it back by the time our food is ready, I go to meet him and catch him staring at a tall woman with braids talking to Jay.
Vaughn has never been shy, so him just standing in the distance watching is odd until I see a picture of Petey on the T-shirt she’s wearing.
“Are you okay?” I ask, coming up to Vaughn, and he nods, still eyeing the shirt and the woman wearing it.
“I never really got to live in that house, and the way Petey was moving, the shit was bound to happen,” he murmurs casually, still staring at the shirt, the woman, and Jay.
It’s been a week since the fire at Vaughn’s house, and with all the evidence provided of Petey going in and out of the property, the incident was ruled accidental, citing a trash can as the source.
As a journalist, I can’t help but be curious about how it all went down, but when I think of the lingering odor of smoke and soot present in the air that same night when Vaughn came home, I kill my curiosity and stop wondering why.