Page 42 of The Ninth

“Your voice moaning and groaning at almost noon. Pitiful.”

I pinched his side as he laughed, acting fake hurt.

The cashier stared at his lips the entire time he ordered. By the small smile on his face, I knew he noticed but wasn’t playing into it. He got us one flaky croissant to share that was filled with Nutella. We also shared an apple juice. He tore a piece and put it into my mouth as we continued walking.

“I genuinely do not know where your mouth has been, Mr. Chicago.”

“Ain’t about where my mouth has been, it’s about where it can be.”

“Where’s that?”

“I feel like you want it all over that tummy since you wore that skirt. You’re raw, Devyn.”

“I showed you mine, now show me yours.”

He stopped on command, lifting his shirt. “Damn!” a woman walking past yelled. I rolled my eyes, yanking it down as he cracked up laughing.

“When did you start drawing?” I asked him.

“Same age as you. I was always the nigga in skoo drawing the S’s and the three-dimensional boxes. I drew the backdrops the drama club used. At homecoming and proms I did portraits. The first time I held a tattoo gun, it was over from there.”

“How did your family feel about it?”

“Oh, they loved it. They’ve always supported me, and I’ve done a lot of their tattoos. Especially my younger brother.”

“Do you miss them?”

“Something terrible. But we move, right?”

“Right.”

“Come with me.”

We stopped at a photobooth where they were putting your picture on a vintage newspaper. I thought he wanted to take his alone, but he stood in front of the camera with me. I looked up at him and laughed. Just tall and silly. I reached up, swiping the Nutella from the corner of his lip. I didn’t have anywhere to put it, so I just sucked it off my thumb.

“Y’ALL READY?” the photographer smiled.

He pulled me into his chest, bending down and resting his forehead on mine. We looked into each other’s eyes, smiling as the picture was taken. Duke said thank you, and we’ll swing back for it.

He talked to me about some of his favorite tattoo designs to do. He also said number eight was prayer hands and seven was a rose with petals falling from it. Listening to him go on and on about art period was such a turn on. He talked about mine, his, others. He spoke quickly and used his hands a lot. I could tell he was genuinely excited to discuss it. So I fed him question after question, topic after topic, just to keep his happiness going.

We got to the bean. My feelings were...confusing. It’s just a big ass bean. I jokingly asked Duke if it did something to which he cracked up laughing. I’ve been to Chicago several times but never to the bean. Never to the riverwalk. It was beautiful and it was special to the city, so it was special to me. Chicago was always up the road, so driving to it was nothing grand. But now I actually felt like I not only traveled but moved somewhere meaningful.

“Let me take your picture for your parents and grandmother,” he smiled.

I handed him my phone and walked in front of the bean. A nervous feeling to pose in front of him crept up on me. But the way he was biting his lip and smiling caused me to do just that. We took a few. A smiling one, one I blew a kiss, and the other with my hip poked out, hand in the curve.

“Send me these,” he said as he approached me.

He flipped the camera front facing. My arms flew around his neck and lips to his cheek. Every tooth in that man’s mouth showed as he smiled, taking our picture with the bean in the back. This time when we walked away, he intertwined our fingers.

We went into Bye Bye Chicago where he spent an unnecessary bag on souvenirs for me, and for my parents and grandmother. We bought shirts, snow globes, hats, pins, post cards, hoodies, blankets, everything. I was forced to get a Chicago Bears shirt. When I explained I will not be needing it, he was highly offended. As we walked to the next place, he looked down at me,

“Okay, go!”

“Good, better, best. Never let it rest. Til your good gets better, and your better gets best. Bears on three! One-two-three, BEARS!”

“Good girl,” he chuckled. Fuck. “Don’t say I didn’t teach you anything today.”