"we fell in love the way you fall in leaves."
Juwan "Rocky" Rockwell has had a pretty hard life. Between trying to find a way to fend for himself and dealing with the normal hardships of teenage angst, he had nowhere to turn as an adolescent and no...
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"a thin line between love and hate"
"You're sure that you're gonna' make it, right?" I asked, struggling with my tie while the phone remained on speaker. "Yes, Rocky— for the millionth time. I'll be there," Ava replied.
"Don't let me down," I pulled the silk material from around my neck once again to start all the way over. "When have I ever?" I could imagine her rolling her eyes. "What are you doing anyway?"
"Trying to do this tie thing," I mumbled. "If you need help, I can just do it when I get there," she suggested. "Nah, I'm fine. I'm a man, Ava. I can do this for myself," I didn't know if I was lying or not. I've never had to wear a tie, and because I didn't work some corporate job (meaning that it was never mandatory to wear one), I never learned how to tie one. It never seemed like an important life skill.
I guess I was mistaken.
"Whatever you say, Juwan. . . How was your visit to Red's? Did you tell him I said hi?" she inquired. "Yeah. I gave him and Marcus all your good wishes," I nodded, looping the material around itself once more. "Good." "I saw Quinn too," I added. "Really?" "Yeah. . . and her boyfriend," I sighed deeply, growing frustrated with the task I was doing.
"How was it?" she questioned.
"It was fine. . . Her new man got pretty visibly bothered every time he saw her looking at me. We started talking and shit, and I was fuckin' with his head a little bit. It was really entertaining fucking with him, honestly," I smirked at the thought. "What were you saying to him?" she inquired.
"Nothing! but I knew he already hated me because Quinn was not hating me. I was asking questions that I knew he'd read too far into because he'd think I was trying to get in his head—how long they been together, how he's been dealing with New York and making time for Quinn. You know, small talk," I explained with a shrug.
"Juwan, you don't know that man. Don't play with him like that," she warned me. I kissed my teeth. "Or what? He's gonna' get a gang of niggas on me?"
"He might. You never know. . . You need to be more careful with people out here," her tone remained cautious. "Yeah yeah yeah," I mumbled.
I had enough paranoia weighing on me. I didn't need to be worrying about some photographer from California too.
"Are you excited for your show tonight?" she inquired. "Yeah, I'm pretty nervous, to be honest," just thinking about the event caused butterflies to fill my insides. "You? Nervous? What do you have to be nervous about?" she asked.
"I don't know. What if no one buys anything? What if no one likes my shit?" my self-doubt was pulling back the curtain on itself. "Juwan, as long as you've got drawing utensils, people will buy your stuff. You're talented. . . and talent always wins, at the end of the day," she assured me.
