The Friend

Rodney

The following week marked the start of October; fall was officially here. Rodney stood in front of his bedroom mirror, debating what to wear. He couldn't remember a time in his life where he paid this much attention to his attire. Normally, he wore whatever since he knew he was good-looking. But for some reason, that didn't seem like enough. Not when it came to a girl like Alicia. It was a late Saturday morning, one week after speaking to her in her bedroom where everything changed for the both of them. They were going on a date. Their first date.

When he set out for Alicia's apartment he hadn't expected for them to end up making out on her bed so heavily. He never even thought about kissing her. Alicia was intriguing as a person that her mind and character attracted him. But now he thought about kissing her, about sex.

Where did the girl learn to kiss like that? She was telling him that she didn't have much experience and he believed her, but no kiss had ever turned him on like that before, no shyness had ever been so appealing. In the past, he could remember the desire and willingness in women when he kissed them, but not the passion, the heat like Alicia offered him. It had him sprouting up like a cucumber instantly.

Sharply, he inhaled and snapped out of it, buttoning up his white shirt.

They were taking it slow. It was what she wanted. He could do it. As long as he got to see her.

As he was heading out, his phone rang.

"Yeah, Cortes?" Rodney answered it.

"Rodney, what's up with you? You cooled down yet?" Cortes asked.

Rodney rolled his eyes, "Is that what you called for? Really?"

"Hey man, I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry for the way Michael acted. We shouldn't have had the party at your spot and risked getting you in trouble. We're your boys. We really care about you," Cortes said.

"What's this? You apologizing for Michael and yourself?" Rodney asked.

"It's not like that—"

"Fuck him, Cortes. He only cares about himself—"

"Okay, okay. Let's not talk about the situation then. I get it. Ya'll both need time to breathe a little more," Cortes sighed, "But anyway, guess what? I was chatting with that babe that approached you at the party. She lives around here. She kept asking about you so one thing led to another and I gave her your number," Cortes said.

"You what? Man, I'm not trying to talk to her."

"Why not? Shorty fine."

Rodney rolled his eyes and didn't say anything.

"What? You fucking around with someone else?" Cortes asked.

"Why are you phrasing it like that?" Rodney asked, irritated.

"Like what? We always talk like that—"

"Well, I can't stand it. I mean, I am seeing someone, but...I mean...not everything's about sex, okay?" Rodney said.

"Oh shit! Cuffing season is in full swing. Heard you. So who's the lucky lady? That Maxine chick?" Cortes asked.

"Nah, look, I gotta go," Rodney said, hanging up.

***

It was his mother that told him red chrysanthemums represented hope. He was very little back then, about three or four. With the several times his father wasn't around and the few times his mother was in her right mind, his mom busied herself by decorating their small apartment with flowers. It was the only fond memory he had of her. The flowers made their disgusting world smell fresh and crisp for a few days. The blushing chrysanthemums were his favorite.