EXCERPT from BREATHE 7:17 p.m. on a cold, Sunday evening in mid-January. A fierce winter breeze blew across the streets of
Despite the inclement weather, a boisterous birthday party started up on 51st and Spruce Street, disturbing the night’s calm. Inside the On the left side of the living room, near the picture window, a small, select group of females stood, talking, pointing, and smiling at a handsome caramel-colored brotha, dancing solo. This young man, who was exhibiting his superior dancing skills and outdoing everyone on the dance floor, was Nafiq Johnson- the 17-year-old birthday boy. He was an intelligent brotha, standing 6’3” with a strong athletic build. His powerful physique was a result of his demanding workout regimen, a baseline requirement of his high school basketball team, for which he had been the starting shooting guard for three years. His intelligence was a result of his driven nature, his genes, and his family upbringing. Nafiq sported intricately styled cornrows, an Allen Iverson Sixers' jersey, and low-hanging, baggy designer jeans with spotless Timbs. Like many Philly brothas of his generation, he projected a youthful, thuggish masculinity. He was the quintessential hip-hop teenager.
From the kitchen doorway, Gwendolyn and Reginald Johnson stood, observing the party and proudly smiling at their son. Gwendolyn was an attractive, distinguished-looking woman in her mid-50s. Her beautiful auburn hair hung to her shoulders and complimented her soft, honeysuckle skin. As a seasoned paralegal at one of Philly’s most prestigious law firms and an active member of the city’s largest African Methodist Episcopal (AME) church, she assumed an air of authority and respect.
Reginald Johnson, a tall, stout, and handsome man also in his mid-50s, was normally a quiet, reserved guy although he did have his moments. He wore a lightly trimmed, graying beard, which created a slight shade against his dark skin, giving him a middle-aged sexiness. As a young man, he was a star tight end at
Together, Reginald and Gwendolyn projected a uniquely Black yin-yang as they affectionately held each other, and cheered Nafiq on.
After showing off his skills on the dance floor, Nafiq rolled up to Simone, a pretty, voluptuous young woman who was one of Nafiq’s classmates at
“I’ll be back in a sec,” Nafiq said.
“Where are you going? We just started dancing,” huffed Simone.
“Just chill. I’ll be right back.”
Nafiq escaped the crowd, and walked into the hallway, leaving Simone in the middle of the dance floor. She folded her arms tightly, disappointed.
In the hallway, Nafiq took a seat on the hardwood stairs, and wiped sweat from his forehead. He sat placidly, looking out into the crowd; his expression inscrutable. As he looked into the crowd, his sister, Kiara, an alluringly beautiful and high-spirited woman, strolled up to him. Only twenty-six years old, this almond-colored sista was a diamond; a down-to-earth sweetheart with talent and intelligence. After graduating summa cum laude with a degree in fashion design from the Rhode Island School of Design, she decided to take the entrepreneurial route, like her father, and open up her own clothing boutique in the city.
“Fiq, why are you sitting down? You’re supposed to be celebrating,” Kiara said, excited.
She grabbed Nafiq’s hand, but he resisted. His face remained placid, his feelings a mystery.
“Sis, I’ll be there,” he said.
Nafiq’s resistance stunned Kiara. She looked at him closely, trying to figure out what was on her brother’s mind.
“Are you all right? Did something happen out there?”
“Naw, I’m cool.”
Kiara exhibited some skepticism. She knew her little brother. She knew that something was wrong. Since they were children, she could always sense when something troubled him, especially when others failed to detect a problem.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked, her eyebrow arching.
“Kiara, I’m fine. I’ll be there. Aight?” Nafiq said in a mildly irritated tone.
“Okay,” Kiara said as she shrugged her shoulders and walked away. But before she completely entered the living room, she stopped, turned around, and looked at Nafiq. He seemed deeply troubled, and was reluctant to share what was on his mind. Over the past few months, Kiara felt that Nafiq had been acting distant. She constantly asked him if something were bothering him, but he continuously ensured her that nothing was wrong. “Nothing!”
Kiara frowned to herself, and decided to leave her brother alone. She didn’t want to anger or annoy Nafiq by pressing him, especially on his birthday. She turned back around, and returned to the living room.
Meanwhile, Nafiq stayed on the steps, and stared into the living room. He watched his male and female peers dance and flirt with each other. He saw one couple kiss. Another couple held hands in the corner as they bopped happily to the music. This bothered Nafiq deeply. He longed for the same affection, for the same feelings of elation and joy and comfort. He yearned for that special connection with someone. He longed to truly express himself.
A look of sadness quickly grew over Nafiq’s face.
He couldn’t stomach these displays of affection and happiness anymore, so he rose from the stairs, quickly concealed his emotions, and walked into the living room.
As Nafiq entered the living room, Gwendolyn took his arm and escorted him to the glass, dining table where his elaborate birthday cake sat.
“It’s time to sing ‘Happy Birthday,’” his mother informed, smiling.
Nafiq stood at the table. Everyone gathered around the fragrant, sugar-laden cake, and broke into a soulful rendition of “Happy Birthday.” Kiara finished the song with some sultry ad-libs.
Nafiq leaned over the cake, and tightly closed his eyes. He silently made a wish and opened up his eyes. The glow of the candles illuminated his face. He blew out the candles all at once, and everyone clapped. A few people whistled and cheered. His closest friends and a few flirtatious girls wished him a “Happy Birthday,” and patted him on the back. He graciously nodded and thanked them.
The crowd moved in closer as Gwendolyn handed Nafiq the knife to slice the cake. He started passing the cake around, and everyone began to eat.
Nafiq picked up his plastic plate, and took a bite of his cake. The cake was one of his mom’s typical gourmet choices- chocolate with a praline, buttercream icing. It was hypnotizingly sweet. But Nafiq was neither impressed nor satisfied. To him, it was just another cake. Another party and birthday. Just another damn day.
The Johnson family stood next to him, eating and enjoying the cake.
“Happy Birthday,” Gwendolyn and Reginald said almost simultaneously.
“Thanks, Mom. Dad,” Nafiq responded.
Nafiq’s only brother, Marcus Johnson, patted Nafiq on the back. The 21-year-old college senior wore a University of Pennsylvania Wharton School sweater with sandy-brown khakis. Marcus wasn’t as tall as Nafiq (he was only 5’10”), but he was just as phine. His hazelnut skin, medium build, and dark eyelashes, which emphasized his light brown eyes, drove women wild.
“Happy Birthday, man,” Marcus said.
“Thanks.” Alonzo Miller, Kiara’s boyfriend of four years, wished him “Happy Birthday” and handed him three, crisp $100 bills. Surprised, Nafiq showed one of his few real smiles of the night and stuffed the cash into his pocket. “Thanks, Zo,” said Nafiq. Alonzo smiled and nodded. Alonzo, on the cusp of thirty years old, was a vain and pretentious individual. He always dressed to perfection in designer clothes- Armani attire being his preference- and was always meticulously groomed. He was distinguished by his nicely styled dreadlocks, which fell to the middle of his back. He also routinely bragged about his surplus of cash and his high-paying A&R job at Philly’s most reputable record company, Triple-P Records, Inc. A Morehouse grad and a M.B.A. recipient from Kiara, who stood with Alonzo’s arm around her waist, broke away from him and gave Nafiq a big hug. “Happy Birthday. I love you,” said Kiara. “Thanks. Love you, too,” responded Nafiq as he kissed his sister on the cheek. Alonzo interrupted the family love by tapping Nafiq on the shoulder and nodding his head in the direction of someone across the room. Nafiq turned his head, and noticed Simone standing by herself. Other guys were clearly staring at her, debating whether or not to approach her, but her eyes were fastened on Nafiq. “Man, you better go get yours,” Marcus insisted. But before Nafiq could step away, Simone walked up to him, smiling. She reached out her right hand. “It’s time for that birthday dance. I made a special request,” she said. The Johnson family, especially Gwendolyn, looked impressed by Simone’s confidence and forwardness. She saw a bit of herself in the assertive teen. After all, not just any female was good enough for her son. In fact, Gwendolyn and Reginald had worked too hard and struggled too long for any of their children to just date anybody, to just marry anybody, or to just socialize with anybody. Reginald and Gwendolyn grew up poor and resided in a lower middle-class African-American community, but they believed that their purpose was to help uplift their community. To be pillars and mentors. To share some of their success with others. To be an inspiration for others. They truly believed that each generation is supposed to improve. With “Elevate” as their mantra, they were determined to help others, especially their children, take it to the next level. Nafiq smiled, and took Simone’s hand. They walked to the middle of the dance floor. DJ Q expertly moved from an up-tempo song into a slow jam. The lights dimmed, creating a sensual, romantic mood. As Nafiq and Simone began to dance, the crowd slowly closed in, enveloping them. ___ ___ ___ In Nafiq’s bedroom, posters of hip-hop artists and NBA ballers shared space with gorgeous swimsuit models from magazines such as King and Black Men. His bookshelves were covered with numerous academic achievement awards, trophies, plaques, snapshots of himself with family and friends, and pictures of him proudly posing with Central’s basketball team.
Nafiq, dressed in navy blue boxers and a white wifebeater, sat at his desk in front of the computer monitor. It was 12:15 a.m., and his party had been over for a little over an hour. He surfed the Internet- his concentration very intense. On the computer monitor, the cursor found and selected a link. A small window popped up, and a nude white female with flowing blonde hair began to caress herself seductively. Her hands squeezed her large, supple breasts. She moaned in ecstasy as she stared at Nafiq with her crystalline blue eyes- eyes that were meant to captivate and entice. Nafiq watched with indifference. He clicked the mouse, closing the pop-up. He turned the volume down on his computer’s speakers, and, then clicked the cursor on the [ENTER] link. Soon thereafter, images of all types of nude African-American and Latino men slowly loaded onto the screen. Muscular, washboard stomach bois from the South. Tattoo-laden, Nafiq grinned as he stared with lustful eyes. His temperature climbed. His manhood enlarged. The computer cursor jogged across the screen, hunting for the right image. That image that would make him nut. Nafiq clicked the mouse, and an image enlarged, displaying a naked, nutmeg-colored African-American male- thuggish, tattooed, and athletic. The image began to gesticulate, and chant “You want some of dis, nigga?” Nafiq stared at the image, growing deeply entranced. He touched the screen with his index finger, slowly outlining the contours of the image’s physique. The image smoothed his hand over his own chiseled chest, and slid it down past his belly button, leading to his bulging crotch. Nafiq slipped his right hand underneath his boxers, and started to stroke himself. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, each breath becoming more and more intense until- KNOCK! KNOCK! There was someone at the door! Nafiq swiftly jumped up, knocking the mouse to the floor. He frantically picked it up, clicked an icon to minimize the image, and clicked another icon, which displayed a history paper. “Come in,” Nafiq stammered. Reginald entered the room, and stumbled across the mess on the floor, almost tripping. Reginald sat on the edge of Nafiq’s bed. “Boy, I almost killed myself. Didn’t I tell you to clean up this room a couple days ago?” “I’m sorry, Dad. I’ll clean up tomorrow. I’ve just been preoccupied with school.” He glanced over at the computer screen. “Doing schoolwork this late?” Reginald asked, surprised. He knew that Nafiq finished his assignments early, and never worked past 11 o’clock at night. “Oh… I just wanted to make a few edits while it was still on my mind,” Nafiq responded. Reginald studied Nafiq briefly, skeptical. Nafiq sat at his desk, hands innocently clasped together, with a nervous look on his face. His piece was still aroused, and tucked tightly (very tightly) between his thighs. One slight move and he would be exposed. “Is everything okay?” Reginald asked. “Yeah, Dad.” Reginald nodded, and changed the subject. “How’d you like your party?” “For a Sunday party during a blizzard, the turn out was great, and I had the time of my life.” “I bet you did. That girl, Simone, really likes you.” “I know.” “From what I see, she’d be a nice choice for you. She’s smart. And I hear she plans to become a pediatrician someday. And you already know she’s a sexy young lady.” “True,” Nafiq responded. “So… are you thinking about dating her? Tell your old man.” “I don’t mind chillin’ with her, but I don’t want to commit myself to any type of relationship right now. I just want to enjoy myself. ” Reginald smiled. “I understand. You want to play the field. I remember when I was your age. The ladies were all over me. They couldn’t get enough of Reggie Run-em-over Johnson. But I did have to be careful, because they saw promise and a good future, and that’s when some females try to get you. But I’m glad you’re trying to be smart and careful, too.” “No doubt,” responded Nafiq. “You’re using protection?” Reginald bluntly asked. “Yeah, Dad. Of course.” “Just checking. I don’t want any grandkids from you anytime soon. I also want you to be a healthy man.” “I understand,” said Nafiq. Reginald rose from the bed, and patted Nafiq on his back. “Well, I just wanted to check up on you before I went to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.” “All right, Dad. Have a good night.” “You, too,” Reginald said before exiting the room, and closing the door behind himself. Nafiq waited about a minute, listening carefully for his parents’ bedroom door to close. Once he heard the door shut, he turned toward the computer screen with anticipation. He pulled his boxers down to his ankles, and clicked an icon on the computer. The naked male popped back onto the screen. He clicked off the image, and started to scan other pictures of sexy, African-American and Latino men. |