On her 18th birthday, Evelyne woke to the smell of burning coffee grounds and fresh éclair being warmed in the oven. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and was drawn into the new light which poured into the dining room from the vineyard facing window. The tall, thin, bronze brown girl embraced her shorter white mother. 

“Today is the happiest of birthdays, my angel,” her mother, Mademoiselle Lempereur said.

“Why? Because I’ll finally be finished with this dreadful excuse for an English teacher?” Evelyne asked.

“That’s a plus, but, I was referring to the fact that you’re now an adult, a woman. You are turning 18 on the same day that you will finish your secondary education. You have a newborn freedom and can do anything you find interesting. You could even leave the island if you pleased.”

“Leave Corsica?” Evelyne asked as she poured frothed milk into her coffee. “It all feels a bit rushed to me,” she said. 

“How so?” her mother asked, motioning for the milk.

“My classmates are all full of plans. Their futures are mapped out and now that we will be receiving our baccalaureates, they are ready to move into a career or onto higher education.”

“Are you feeling insecure about your decision to study littéraire again?” her mother asked with a comforting smile.

“No, that isn’t my main concern, although it always plays a role.”

“I’m not sure I understand then.”

Evelyne sighed, “It’s just… I have no plans. I feel as though I am simply treading water while everyone around me is swimming in a specific direction.”

“I see,” her mother began, “but what you cannot know at this moment is that many of those people who appear to have everything figured out, do not. They are heading towards an idea; but whether that idea is realistic, or fantasy, is another question entirely. For your generation, the journey is just beginning, and there is nothing wrong with taking some time to figure out exactly where you want it to lead, as opposed to jumping in head first while only being half-way sure.”

“What if I am never sure of anything?”

“Oh Evelyne, you’re very young. It’s normal to feel unsure, to have doubts, to second guess yourself. There is no need to act as though feeling this way makes you some sort of failure.”

Evelyne shrugged and let her attention be diverted towards a group of three crows who chased each other through the early mornings orange marmalade glow. 

When she’d finished her breakfast, she cleaned her reading glasses, put on her school uniform for the last time, and made for the front door. Before she could be on her way, her mother stopped her. “Wait a moment Evelyne,” she insisted, “I nearly forgot, your father sent you a package for your birthday. We received it yesterday, and I didn’t say anything about it at the time because I’ve always felt that opening a present on the day it's intended for adds to the celebration. It’s a nice tradition don’t you think?”

“Sure, but I’m already running late, I’ll have to wait until evening to open it,” Evelyne said, mounting her bicycle. 

“Forgive me dear.”

“I already have, I love you and will see you tonight for dinner.” Evelyne blew a kiss to her mother and kicked up dust behind her as she peddled into town. There would be celebrations after graduation, but the last day of school was jammed full of laborious exams. It was no way to spend one’s 18th birthday, Evelyne thought. The only part she enjoyed was writing an alternate proof for proposition 16 in part four of Spinoza’s Ethics for her philosophy final.

Her most difficult examination was in French literature, she found it to be nothing more than a formal exercise and deemed it tedious, futile, and lacking in imagination. But, she tried her best on it all the same. Evelyne finished the school day with an English test which was no more difficult than a stroll on the beach for her. She had become fluent at a young age and her mastery of the language was superior to that of her classmates and even her teacher.

Evelyne’s mother had met her father while he was in the United States Navy. He was a dark skinned, French-speaking, creole from the southern swamps of Louisiana. When her mother became pregnant she hid it from Evelyne’s father; who only found that he had a daughter when she was turning seven years old. At once, he began reaching out for a connection by sending letters, small gifts, and books, from an address in West Oakland.

The books he sent were always in English, and though he spoke some French, his letters were filled with English as well. This trend continued and Evelyne’s mother—realizing that she had almost no choice but to help her child learn English in order to communicate with her father—signed her up for private lessons. 

Turning in her final English exam felt a bit like waking up from a dream. It was a moment she had imagined many times, but now that she was experiencing it she could hardly believe she was free. Afterwards, she met up with two of her oldest friends for ice cream. There was no breeze and the buildings seemed to quiver and sway from the island heat.

  The three girls ate while looking out at the clear Mediterranean. They laughed, talked about boys, parents, and their futures. Evelyne did her best to either stay quiet or change the subject when the conversation shifted towards plans. At one point, Marie, a blonde who was the tallest girl in their class and a fierce tennis player said, “I’m going to burn and be as red as a cherry for Jacque’s party tomorrow night. You don’t happen to have any sunblock, do you Rosemary.”

“Sorry,” Rosemary replied.

“I don’t have any either,” Evelyne added.

“Do you wear sunblock?” Marie asked.

“Sometimes, on days like these I do,” Evelyne replied.

“I bet you’ve never burned in your life, have you?” Rosemary asked. 

“I’ve burned,” Evelyne said, trying to think of a time that she had. “You’re right though, I’m far more likely to become a shade or two darker.”

“Of course you are, and let me tell you, I’m jealous.”

“Me too,” Marie added, walking back towards the ice-cream parlor. “Come on, let's go sit beneath those umbrellas, I know it’s not quite the same view, but I heard that Tony Prium will be at the party tomorrow night. I couldn’t stand to run into him with my skin peeling and pink.”

  “Okay,” Evelyne agreed, and the three girls walked to the tall, colorful umbrellas. 

“Speaking of things that make me jealous, have you thought about what you’re going to do with that hair of yours Ev?” Marie asked.

“Not really, I guess I’ll probably keep it short if it stays hot like this.”

“Oh, such a shame, if I had hair like yours I would grow it out until it was a big poofy afro, you’d never be short of attention then.”

Evelyne laughed out loud and the other girls joined her. “My hair doesn't really grow into an afro, at a certain length it curls out and falls to my shoulders.”

The other two girls exchanged a look as if they didn’t quite believe her, then began discussing arrangements for the party. Evelyne followed her thoughts to the package her father had mailed to her and felt a strong urge to return home and open it. 

“So, now that we’ve graduated, are you finally going to let black Charles have a date?” Marie asked, doing her best to keep a straight face.

“Yes, it’s all I’ve ever wanted: to marry Charles, work in a cubicle, and eat the same meal every day of the week,” Evelyne replied.

“You shouldn't be so sarcastic, he’s nice.”

“He’s as dull as my last exam.”

“What’s so wrong about that?”

“What’s so wrong about wanting to feel the flame of love?” Evelyne asked.

“You may get burned.”

“I suppose, but don’t look at me like I’m the only one who wants romance,” Evelyne directed the comment towards Rosemary and the focus of the conversation followed.

After finishing their ice-cream, the girls split up and agreed to meet at Rosemary’s the following night. Evelyne peddled along the cliffside path at a swift pace. She was drenched in perspiration by the time she reached her house in the vineyard. She fumbled with her key chain until she found the right one and was able to open the door. The package sat on the kitchen table, Evelyne used her keys to cut the tape across the center. Inside was an envelope and a book she’d never heard of: Quicksand, by Nella Larsen. She read the title and put it to the side. Then, she opened the letter and read:

Dearest Mademoiselle Descôteaux,   July 6 2018

Happy birthday! I wish that I could be in France to celebrate with you. I know that you haven’t received the results for your examinations, but I will wish you congratulations on that front as well, since I am sure—as always—you excelled.

18 years and I am happy to say that even though a great distance separates us, you are a light and joy in my life. I hope you enjoy the latest book I’ve sent you, Nella Larsen is one of my personal favorites. Perhaps you have already seen this, but inside I have included an additional present for you. 

Evelyne paused in her reading to search throughout the paperback book. In the middle of it’s worn pages, she found a pair of plane tickets and $1000 in U.S. 50’s 20’s and 10’s. Evelyne did not consider her mother to be poor, but this was the most money she had ever had in her possession at one time. Shocked, she returned to reading the contents of the letter.

It is my sincerest wish that you can visit me here in the Bay Area for a brief period this summer. I have recently received a promotion at the Port of Oakland and would be happy to pay for your return ticket to Corsica whenever it is most convenient. It brings a great sadness to my heart that you are turning 18 and we have never met in person. If you are interested—and your mother approves your decision—please let me know as soon as possible. The money was intended to cover traveling expenses, a new suitcase, perhaps an outfit, a nice meal and movie on the plane. Still, if you have other plans, the money is yours and you can use it for whatever you’d like. I hope today is as spectacular as a hundred thousand sunsets.

With all the love in the world, 

Your Father, Monsieur Descôteaux

Evelyne examined the tickets: the first flight left from Corsica to Paris in just two weeks' time and the other was a transferring flight from Paris to San Francisco. She looked at the green American bills with faces of presidents she barely knew and let her mind run away with the possibilities that only money can buy. The tide was shifting around her, she was being carried in another direction, her head swirled with plans, places to look forward to, and people to meet.

She left the tickets out on the kitchen table for her mother to see; then brought her new book to her room, washed off in cold water, read the opening chapter and fell asleep for a midafternoon siesta. 

That night, Evelyne and her mother had duck, grilled vegetables, and red wine to celebrate. The summer sun did not fade behind the vineyard until well past 8 p.m. After a preliminary conversation regarding her exams, the two began discussing the offer made to Evelyne by her father. 

“It is a bit scary to me,” her mother began. “I’ve never been to the United States myself, but I have heard that Oakland is a dangerous city. I can understand your desire to visit though.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“A part of you would like me to stay though?” Evelyne asked.

“Part of me, yes. It’s been just the two of us for so long; it will be strange to have the house all to myself.”

Evelyne turned up from her plate and looked as though she was about to say something, but didn’t. Her mother began again, “I suppose you should meet your father though, and this seems like a great opportunity to do so.”

“I think he wants to meet me too, and it might be that I find this island is holding me back. I catch myself thinking all too often that small communities tend to breed mediocrity.”

“Evelyne,” her mother snapped, “there are plenty of fine people from Corsica. Napoleon, the most famous man in France’s history was born just 7 miles from our house.”

Evelyne looked towards her food, “Sorry, I’ve been down on everything lately.” 

Neither party spoke and the wind howled through the tangled grape vines behind them. Evelyne’s mother broke the silence: “I think you should go, and I think you should bring me back a nice souvenir,” she said, leaning over and kissing her daughter on the cheek. 

Evelyne recoiled, then smiled. It had been decided; the next day she emailed her father, and the following night told Rosemary, Marie, and anyone else who would listen that she’d be meeting her father in the Bay Area for the first time that summer. 

2 Oakland

Though they were sad to see her go, the other girls delighted in the opportunity to shop with Evelyne. In two weeks time, she was fit to travel the world and still had half the money her father had sent to her. She rode in a taxi with her mother to the airport and attempted to pay the fare, but Mademoiselle Lempereur would not allow it. 

They embraced before the security checkpoint and Evelyne promised to send an email as soon as the plane touched down in San Francisco. Once she got in line, she put on her brand new noise-cancelling headphones and got lost in the steady rhythm of the 10 hour lo-fi playlist she had downloaded the night before. 

Evelyne sat in the window seat for both flights. Could Corsica really be so small? She asked herself from the air as the only home she’d ever known disappeared into the Sea. How could I have lived for so long in such a cramped space, she wondered. This thought compounded when, in Paris, she transferred and left all of France behind her. She read Quicksand, and nearly finished the novel, but the flight to the United States took off as the sun was setting and once the cabin lights were dimmed, she spent most of her time sleeping. 

When she awoke, they had landed in San Francisco. Long fingers of fog stretched over the Bay and concealed Oakland from her view. She made her way to the international terminal’s baggage claim and saw a tall, strong man in a red Polo shirt and khakis. He was holding a sign which read: Evelyne. She had not felt nervous to meet her father until she saw him in person from across the room. 

He was larger in life than in the pictures she’d seen and in that moment, thoughts of the two arguing and even hating each other caught Evelyne by surprise. She tried to close the fears off and suffocate them like a fire in a pit as she walked towards him, but her nerves intensified as his eyes locked on her. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” she said, reaching out her hand when she was close enough. 

“Alright, we’ll shake hands English style,” her father chuckled in a southern accent that was as strong as his grip. “It’s nice to finally meet you too. How was your flight?”

“It was beautiful, I’d never been on an airplane before. The world looks so small when you're looking down at it.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

“Yes... hold on a minute I see my bag,” Evelyne said, heading towards the carousel. 

“The black and yellow one?” her father asked, following behind her.

“Yeah, but I can get it.” 

“Please, allow me.”
“Okay, thank you,” she said, stepping aside even though she didn’t particularly want to. Evelyne disliked the way chivalrous men were always doing things for women which they were perfectly capable of doing for themselves. Still, she accepted that her father was attempting to be a gentleman and moved on without a fuss.

“Have you eaten any breakfast?” he asked her.

“No, but I could certainly go for a bite and I’m dying for a coffee.”

“I’ve been wrestling with an idea, tell me what you think of it.”

“Okay.”

“No, you’ll think I’m strange.” 

She hesitated, his accent was thick and she wasn’t sure she understood him, then after an awkward pause she said, “Just tell me, I’m curious now.”

“Well there’s a little café in the Richmond District here in SF. It’s not really on the way to Oakland and we’d have to take a different bridge to get across the bay—but since you’ve never been here—I thought maybe you’d like to explore the scenic route.”

“I don’t think that’s too strange,” Evelyne replied.

“Well, I haven’t told you all of it.”

“Okay, tell me.”

“The café goes by the name La Promenade, it’s French themed.”

Evelyne laughed in relief, “That could be fun, come on let's go.” 

Her father drove a 1999 Ford F-150. The inside smelled strongly of Febreze and Evelyne could tell that it had just been cleaned. His radio played Muddy Waters, Otis Taylor and old grainy recordings of Jimmy Reed. 

They drove into The City’s fog and spent more time listening to music than talking. Evelyne was glad that they didn’t force small talk and reclined her seat to be more comfortable. He took her down Highway 1 to see the ocean and Evelyne acted excited even though she’d grown up on an island. Then the two sat down to have coffee and sandwiches at La Promenade.

“It’s strange, admit it,” Evelyne’s father said.

“No, I feel as though I never left home,” she joked. “Seriously though, with coffee this good I can’t complain.”

“I’m glad you like it, but I was actually talking about us… hangin’ out.”

“Oh, no, I don’t think it’s too strange. It’s not so awkward for me, because we’ve picked up where we left off in our letters. It feels like being reunited with a friend you haven’t seen in a long time.”

“I’m glad you said that. I regret not having been much of a father, I guess I’m probably nervous that I’ll blow this whole thing and you’ll wind up going back to France and never wanting to speak with me again.”

“No,” Evelyne began, “just cause you weren't home when I got back from school doesn’t mean you haven’t been much of a father. I know plenty of kids whose fathers were home physically, but checked out mentally. Anyways… I got nervous too. My heart tried to jump out of my ribs when I saw you at the airport. I thought about running back to France right then and there.”

“Maybe we are related after all,” he said.

“Maybe that’s right,” Evelyne smiled.

“Hey, listen, I know I’m easing you into life across the Atlantic with this café and all; but it’s important to me that I introduce you to black culture while you’re here in the Bay. From my memory there weren't too many people of color in Corsica.”

Evelyne thought of her group of white friends back home, of her father’s dark skin, her mother’s pale tone, and wondered where that put her. “It’s a pretty diverse Island, but there aren’t many black people, you’re right. Besides, I’ve heard that black culture in France is vastly different than in the United States.”

“You got that right,” her father chuckled. “But we can get more into that tonight; it’s the first Friday of the month and that means we’re in for a big party put on by the city of Oakland. If you’re up for it, we should drop by.”

“Sounds great,” Evelyne said, then finished her sandwich. “Hey, I’d like to check out the books they have in the back before we head out.”

“No problem, just give me a nod when you’re ready.”

Pouring over the contents of unfamiliar book cases was one of Evelyne’s favorite pastimes. This particular library had quite a few English translations of French authors: Rousseau, Diderot, Colette, and many more old friends brought a smile to her face. Evelyne picked out a copy of Flaubert’s Madame Bovary and flipped through it while she thought about her circumstances. When she was living in Corsica she had often wished for an opportunity to become immersed in black culture and to learn more about her father. Yet, it was an urge that she kept at arms length due to her circumstances. Now, she felt as though it was fundamental to her growth to see how things would progress.

When she took her last sip of coffee she put the book back on the shelf and nodded to her father from across the room. Evelyne fancied her white mocha so much that she got a second for the road and drank it as the two drove across the Golden Gate Bridge. At one point, as she gazed out the passenger side window towards their final destination; Evelyne’s father turned the music down and said, “Hey listen, I know you’ve got a life back in France. But, if you decide you want to get a job out here, you can stay with me as long as you’d like. The way I see it, the two of us have got a lot of catching up to do.”

Evelyne mulled it over before saying, “Let me take some time, I’ll think about it.”

“Sure, take as long as you need. I just wanted you to know that I’d welcome it with open arms.”

The fog had cleared by the time the two made it through rush hour traffic and arrived in Oakland. The City was putting the work week behind it and preparing for the night's festivities. Every corner was alive, drinks were being served, groups gathered, and the streets echoed with music. 

The two dropped the F 1-50 at Elijah’s small West Oakland house before making their way to Telegraph Avenue for the celebration. Evelyne made herself at home on the living room's pull out couch, logged into the Wi-Fi, and sent her mother an email to let her know she had arrived safely and that everything was going well. 

The house had a number of Buddhist decorations and as they walked from West to uptown Oakland Evelyne asked her father, “Have you been to India?”

“Oh I wish, maybe one day I’ll get there. I take it you noticed the art though.”

“Yeah… no offense or anything, but I wouldn’t have expected a Creole from Louisiana who’d sailed with the Navy to be into eastern religion.”

“Well, why not?” his tone became defensive.

“It’s just unique, that’s all.”

“Yeah… I reckon it is. I don’t know too many Buddhists from Louisiana, that’s for sure. I picked up the religion around 07, just about the time I learned you’d been born. Truth is, I had to work through a lot of anger in my personal life, I used to walk around just looking for a fight. Buddhism helped me work through that. Sometimes I think it’s for the best that you never knew that part of me because now you’ll never have to.”

“Do you go to a temple?” Evelyne asked, unable to imagine the man in front of her becoming violent.

“No, I’ve never been much for organized religion. I can do everything I need to from the comfort of my own home.”

“I like that,” Evelyne said. “Maybe you can teach me a little something about it.”

“I can show you how to meditate, but your best bet is to read the philosophy. Remind me to loan you a book when we get back to the place.”

“Got it,” Evelyne said, filing the thought away. The streets were filling up as the two approached Telegraph Avenue. She had never seen so many black people in one place before and began to think about the limited interactions she had had with Africans on Corsica. They had always seemed unnecessarily formal, at times even verging on up tight. The scene in Oakland was free, full of energy and distinct from anything she had experienced in her past. 

There were dancers and musicians competing for attention, street vendors with art on display, and food trucks perfuming the air. Elijah seemed to know everyone and introduced Evelyne as his daughter. One such introduction took place outside of a packed venue which hosted a live band. Evelyne could barely hear as her father said, “This is Mollie, she’s your Oakland Auntie, the two of us go way back and she runs the Blueford Center here.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Evelyne said, reaching out her hand.

“Anything you need honey, just let me know.”

“Okay, thank you,” Evelyne said, thinking that this woman’s skin was so light that her large grey afro seemed almost out of place. “What exactly is the Blueford Center?” 

“You’re lookin at it,” Elijah nodded towards the music.

“That’s right, this is Alan’s house behind us. Alan Blueford was shot dead in the streets by Oakland PD back in 2012. We don’t forget him though.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Evelyne responded, unsure what else to say and thinking about what her mother had said about Oakland being a dangerous city. 

“No need to apologize,” Mollie smiled.

“Evelyne, why don’t you step inside and check the place out. Mollie and I have a few things to discuss.”

“Okay, it really was nice to meet you,” she stepped to the side and gave a wave. Mollie said something back but the words were drowned out in the loud music as Evelyne made her way into the show. The venue’s walls were covered with professional graffiti and there was political art calling for police to be held accountable. The band was made up of two Latina guitarists, a dark black woman on drums, and a white saxophone player whom Evelyne thought must be younger than herself. They played high energy funk and the crowd grooved in harmony. Evelyne was quick to join in and lost herself in dance. 

Then, just as things seemed to be getting started, the band's song came to an end and a man as black as a starless sky took the stage. Evelyne couldn’t help but notice the veins that riddled the surface of his muscular arms as he reached out for the microphone; nor could she ignore the way he pulled on the end of one of his cornrows before saying, “Aight, aight, aight: give it up for The Dreamscapers! That ish was funky as hell, did y’all feel it?” he asked the crowd who responded by stomping their feet, and uttering sharp yells.

“Word up,” he continued, “I fluxed with ‘em too. And yo, where did y’all get this man on the sax? How old are you bro?”

“15,” the boy said shyly, cleaning his glasses.

“God damn, 15. Yo does Oakland have talent or what?” 

The crowd resounded with a cumulative, “Oh, yes!” 

But, Evelyne’s mouth stayed shut. She felt as though she had to focus all of her attention on the figure in front of her. 

“Oh yes we do, that’s what’s up. Yo, check it out, we got a different vibe coming to the stage this time about. They’re a neo-soul group from Berkeley and they can seriously rock out, but they’re high key multifaceted and can also lay down a slow jam when they want to. Check ‘em out on IG, Spotify, Soundcloud, and any other socials y’all got. Let’s get rowdy and make hella noise for the Soul Bears!”

The crowd let out a roar and the MC stepped to the side of the stage to let the musicians begin their set. As the music resumed, the crowd swayed back and forth, but Evelyne stayed planted. She was still looking at the host and couldn’t help but to find everything about him attractive. 

He stood left of the stage and danced better than anyone else she’d ever seen. At one point his eyes traveled towards the entrance and met hers. She looked away, blushed, then pretended to dance herself. When the groups first song concluded she looked back in his direction and stared until she felt her father's strong hand on her shoulder. 

“C’mon now, lets go get a bite,” he said.

The two left the Alan Blueford Center and went to eat Korean Barbecue at the end of Telegraph Avenue. Afterwards, they walked back through the crowd and Evelyne kept her eyes peeled in hopes of seeing the MC again, but he was nowhere to be found. As they were making their way back to Elijah’s place on 10th and Chestnut, Evelyne, without being prompted, said, “I was thinking about your offer from earlier, and I’d like to stay here for a while. At least through the end of summer.”

“Happy day,” her father said, surprising her with a hug. “I’ll ask some people I know about working under the table. Getting a visa under this administration would be a major hassle. I’m sure we can get you a summer job that pays in cash.”

“Sure, and I’ll help out around the house too, I won’t be a nuisance, promise.”

The two walked under the moon and streetlights listening to the noises of the street fair behind them. When Elijah got to the door he opened it for his daughter, waved her in like a landing plane, and said, “Welcome home.”

“Thanks dad,” she smiled and watched her father’s chest swell. “Oh, don’t forget to lend me one of your books.”

“Right, sure,” Elijah said, trying to keep his cool.

Evelyne went to her restroom to prepare for bed. When she returned to the living room, the pull out couch had been transformed into a well made bed and a book sat by her pillow. The Life of the Buddha by, Ashva-Ghosha. She opened it up and saw that the pages had English on one side and Sanskrit on the other. Evelyne, who knew French, Corsican, Italian and English delighted in the prospect. 

 3 Benit

Mollie Costello helped Evelyne get a job at Jasmine's café on Broadway and 20th and after a week of training, she was given the 5 a.m. opening shifts on Thursdays,  Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays. She also worked one afternoon shift on Wednesday’s. The shop was a hotbed for poets and artists, because it hosted two weekly events — an open mic and a poetry slam.

Throughout her first week of work Evelyne struggled to adjust to her new schedule and missed the poetry slam. Afterwards, her coworkers who were all artists of various mediums, asked her every day if she would attend the open mic on the following Thursday. 

“I won’t miss it, not for the world,” she repeated to her coworkers.

She had not yet figured out an answer to repeat for another constant question, “I don’t get them,” she said to her coworker Olivia on the morning of the open mic.

“What’s the matter Ev?”

“The customers are always asking me what I am. When I tell them I’m from Corsica they act like I’ve lied to them—I don’t understand it—really.” 

Olivia’s dark eyes looked Evelyne up and down before she answered, “They’re asking about your race girl.”

“Why do they care?” Evelyne asked, a bit embarrassed at Olivia’s direct response.

“It’s the American ethos baby. There are strict divisions on the line of race in this country. People want to know what side you're on,” Olivia said.

“Oh…” Evelyne replied, just beginning to understand the depth of the question, “In French society, the role of a mixed race person is more defined. For example, my father is a Creole. What if I fall somewhere in the middle, should I tell them that?”

“You can tell them whatever you want baby-girl. Problem is, Americans are color blind, they only see black and white. That’s why they be lookin at you funny when you tell’em you're French.”

“It’s complicated though, I grew up in a European household. My friends back home are all French and Italian, and until a couple weeks ago, that was the only world I’d ever known. Now though, I’m living in Oakland and trying to get in touch with a part of myself that I never have before; still no matter what I do, I won’t ever look like that,” Evelyne said, pointing to a photo of three black panthers standing with berets over their afros and fists high in the air. 

“Just cause they want you to fit into their hypothetical imperative don’t mean you have to.” Olivia shrugged and went back to her work.

Evelyne wanted to keep the conversation going but when Olivia turned up the music she could tell that it would have to wait for another time. It’s just so strange, she thought, I have no problem telling white people that I’m mixed, but when a black person asks I want to tell them: I’m just like you, the thing is, that’s not the whole truth either...I don’t know where I stand with anybody. 

When the café opened to customers she felt on display and could not help herself from wondering what each and every person she served thought of her. She found herself providing special treatment for black customers and even changing her pattern of speech depending on whom it was directed towards. 

At 8:00 a.m. a third barista came to assist at Jasmine’s. That day it happened to be Jamal, a poet born and raised in Oakland who had come in second place in last week's slam. Jamal arrived at work with his three housemates. They were all darker than Evelyne and she felt as though she was under a magnifying glass as soon as they entered the café. 

Jamal insisted on changing the music and Olivia handed over the aux-cord then took her 15 to smoke. Jamal played SZA, turned the sound system up, and danced from one order to the next. When Olivia returned, Evelyne was supposed to take her break. She warmed up a breakfast burrito and thought she would do a brief meditation as she walked towards her usual seat in the back of the café. 

Before she could reach her peaceful corner though, she was invited to sit down with the poets who lived with Jamal. The group consisted of what she thought were twins and a woman named Joelle with dreadlocks that went down to her lower back, “What’s up y’all?” Evelyne asked, trying to remember the twins names and not sound too French.

“Ay, we're just gettin ready for the daily grizzle; our non-profit kicks off a meeting at 10, so we got some time to kick it,” one of the twins said.

“Do you all work together?” Evelyne asked. 

“Just those two, I work with the East Bay Times,” Joelle said.

“Oh cool, so you’re like a journalist?” 

The woman sighed and the boys looked at each other. “Not yet, although that’s def what I got my degree in. Right now though I’m an assistant to the editor, so basically I wait hand and foot on these white people while they cover the ‘Ghost Ship’ fire.”

Evelyne hesitated before responding and one of the twins spoke up before she had a chance to: “White people always be wantin a nigga around for diversity now a days, you notice that?”

Evelyne took a bite of her burrito and the other twin responded, “Yeah, it’s like they gone off an convinced themselves that they standin’ on the moral high-ground just by havin’ us nearby.” 

“What happened exactly with the ‘Ghost Ship’ fire?” Evelyne asked.

The three of them looked at her with stares so wide that she saw her image reflected in their pupils. “You ain’t from The Town are you?” The woman asked.

“No,” Evelyne admitted, “I’ve only been here a few weeks. I was born and raised in Corsica—it’s a Mediterranean island off the coast of France—my dad lives on 10th and Chestnut though.” 

“I thought I heard an accent,” one of the twins said, clapping their hands as they spoke.

“How you likin’ Oakland?” the other asked.

“I love it so far.” 

“I’m guessin’ you get your melanin from pops right?”

“Yeah,” Evelyne blushed.

“Are you feeling any culture shock?” Joelle asked.

“To be honest with you, I am a little bit,” Evelyne said, wondering if she could really be shocked by a culture that was supposed to be her own.

“What’s your favorite part so far?” the twin closest to her asked.

An image of the MC at the Alan Blueford Center flashed across her mind. “I like the people, it’s inspiring to be around so many artists.”

“Eh, we we, similar de Pari I hear,” the same twin said in a crude French accent. 

Evelyne shrugged, “Never been.” Then, just at that moment, an alarm went off in her pocket signaling the end of her break. “Oh, I’ve got to get back to work guys,” she said, standing up and heading towards the bar.

“Are you coming to the show tonight?” Joelle asked her.

“I don’t think I could miss it even if I wanted to,” Evelyne laughed.

“Good,” she smiled. 

Evelyne relaxed a little after talking with the poets. Most of the friends she had made in Oakland were black and didn’t seem to give a damn about her being part French. She had a break in her day before the show and decided to go back home and nap before returning to Jasmine’s. She opened Quicksand to the last chapter, finished the novel, then closed her eyes and let sleep take over. 

The smell of Gumbo in the kitchen and the sensation of hunger pulsing through her stomach woke Evelyne from her nap. She had two large servings, while she talked about her day and plans with her father. After eating she changed her outfit, and walked to the café. Evelyne had taken the bus to work twice and had been late both times because of it. She did not understand how the public transportation system could be so inefficient and was determined to buy a skateboard with her first pay-check. 

The café was a different world when it hosted events and people came dressed for the night life. The barista’s served beer and wine, and the house DJ played music even louder than the levels Jamal dared to reach. Evelyne went up to the bar and ordered a glass of white wine. Her co-worker, a long haired first generation Mexican American, gave her a strange look, but poured the glass and rejected her money. 

“You get a free drink since you work here,” he said. “But if Jasmine catches you with it, I’m not the one who served you alright?”

“Why n–” she started, then remembered that the drinking laws in the US were 21 and up. “Shit, I forgot. Don’t worry about it T, I’ll be low key.”

“Better be,” T said.

Evelyne looked around the café for her boss and couldn’t spot her. She started to drink the glass of wine too quickly to enjoy it, then saw her co-worker's in a crowd near the stage. Olivia caught her eye and beckoned her over. 

“Let’s gooooo, Ev’s here!” Olivia said, pumping her fist like an Italian soccer fan.

“It’s litty, it’s litty, it’s lit. Speaking of which, let’s go smoke up before the show starts,” one of the twins said.

“Ooh, I second that,” the other responded.

“Do you smoke much Ev?” Olivia asked.

“Not much, no.”

“Aight then, be careful.”

Evelyne didn’t know how to take that advice but followed them out nonetheless. Then from behind her she heard the DJ yell: “Yo Olivia are ya’ll headin out to get blunted?”

“You already know Cody,” Olivia yelled back

He pressed play on a new song, grabbed his skateboard and followed them out. There were three or four blunts in rotation, Evelyne lost track. She smoked every time that one was passed to her and swore she didn’t feel a thing. At one point she set down her finished wine glass and when she looked up, she locked eyes with the host from the Alan Blueford Center. He was approaching the group and looking directly at her. He came around the back of the DJ and gave him a big hug, then proceeded to greet the rest of the crew with intricate and unique handshakes.

When he’d made it around to Evelyne, Olivia said, “Benit, this is Evelyne, she’s new, so be nice to her.”

“New girl,” he smiled showing perfect teeth, “nice to meet you.”

“You two,” Evelyne stuck out her hand. He shook it firmly and continued his rounds with the rest of the group. When he finished going around he took a blunt, puffed it in succession, and then said to the DJ, “Cody c’mon bruh, we gotta get this show goin.”

Cody rolled his eyes as Benit passed the blunt off and headed inside. When he was gone Cody asked the group, “How’s he tryna act like I’m the one holdin up the show when he’s always the one who’s late? Is there not music playin’ inside?”

“True.”

“I’ma finish my blunt first. You know what I’m sayin?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“What’s the matter Ev? You look like you just saw the boogeyman,” Olivia said.

“I think I’m feeling the marijuana....” the words sounded strange to her as they left her mouth. 

“Aha! You finna’ be hella high. Boutta’ be a good first show,” Jamal said, stomping out the end of a backwood. 

“Don’t smoke anymore babe,” Olivia added, and Evelyne didn’t; she became quiet and shrunk into herself. When there was nothing left, the crew went inside, Cody trotted over to the DJ table and Evelyne took a seat next to Olivia and one of the other women who was scheduled to perform second on the list. 

Cody and Benit began setting up and Olivia whispered to Evelyne, “Benit thinks you’re cute.”

“What, how can you tell?”

“Just the way he was looking at you, I got a sixth sense for this stuff.”

“Damn,” Evelyne said, biting her lip, “I hope you’re right.”

“Shit, I knew you liked him girl, I don’t need no sixth sense for that.”

“Was it that obvious?”

“Well you might have covered it up by getting all high all of a sudden.”

“Yo, I am high though. I smoked a few times back home but that stuff you all are smoking is strong.”

“It’s California.”

“Well then California weaponized it, I swear.”

They both laughed louder than was necessary until they realized people were looking at them. Then, the beat dropped and the show started. Benit warmed the crowd up with some call and response: “Yo when I say, one, can y’all say love? It’s that one,”

“Love.”

“One.”

“Love.”

“And when I ask where are we at, can y’all say Jasmine’s?”

“Like, where we at?”

“Jasmine’s.”

“Ay, where we at?

“Jasmine’s.”

“Okay, okay, okay, word up. Yo, Cody, let’s do that new shit for em.”

“New shit!” the crowd responded, ready for their que.

“Na, they ain’t ready,” Cody said, shaking his enormous afro. The crowd booed him and he shrugged then changed the beat.

When Benit began to rap, Evelyne became convinced from his eye contact that he was speaking directly to her. The song was a classic boom-bap about money and it’s utility. Evelyne thought it was a peculiar choice given his Che Guevara Guerilla Warfare t-shirt, but bobbed her head anyway. When it was done, he wiped the sweat from his brow, did another round of call and response, then introduced the second performer. 

Afterwards, he walked past Evelyne to get water, on his way back she stopped him to tell him how much she had liked his song. He smirked at her, “Stick around new girl, we got a whole show.”

“Play it cool Ev, you want him to be the one working,” Olivia whispered to her.

Evelyne barely paid attention to the performer on stage, she made an effort to focus more when the next artist sang and played guitar because they had just met and Evelyne was sitting next to her. Still, with Benit around, she found herself distracted by his aura more than once. She hugged and congratulated the girl when she stepped off stage and the rest of the night went by in much the same way. A performer would make their way onto the stage, but Evelyne would exchange looks with the tall, handsome, MC. 

When the show was over, most people started packing up and leaving, but Olivia told her to: “Stick around, the after party’s just starting.” There were twelve of them who stayed, among them were Benit, Cody, Olivia, Jamal, The twins, Angel(who sat next to Evelyne and performed on a guitar) T and Elaina who had worked that night Joelle the journalist with the dreadlocks, Ajuda a pakistani trans-woman who had brought a large bottle of Hennessy, and Evelyne.

The crew commenced to get drunk off of wine, beer, and mixed drinks while a new round  of blunts was being rolled. Cody kept the music spinning and Evelyne decided not to smoke anymore, but kept drinking. All together they were black, latino, asian, white, bi, straight, gay, and trans, all brought together under one roof by a connection in art.

When Evelyne finished her third glass of wine, she caught Benit’s eye. He was in a conversation with Ajunda and asked them if he could have two drinks. Ajunda poured two glasses of Hennessy and mixed them with cherry coke. Benit knocked elbows with them, walked over to Evelyne and handed her a cup. “Have a good time tonight, new girl?”

“Good just scratches the surface.” 

“Cheers,” Benit knocked his cup with hers. “Hey, have I seen you around before? Did you go to Oakland Tech or something?”

Evelyne thought about the night at Alan’s House but said, “I doubt it, I just moved here a few weeks ago.”

“Oh shit, you’re the French girl, huh?”

“I guess so,” Evelyne pulled her hair back and took a sip of the mixed drink.

“Damn, that’s hella cool, how’s the hip-hop scene in France? I hear Paris is pretty poppin.”

“I’ve only been in the Paris Airport. I lived on an Island in the Mediterranean…there wasn’t much hip-hop, at least not like this.”

“Well, I'm glad we got to be your first show.”

“Me too, and you were…awesome, really.”

“Yo, I do my best,” he said, then took a long drink. “I’ve been about the craft for a minute.”

“How long?”

“Damn, lets see, I’m 24 now and I guess I’ve been rapping since I was 12 or 13. Holy shit that’s more than 10 years. Woah.”

Evelyne laughed but felt a sense of disappointment about their age difference. 

“What about you, you got a craft?” Benit asked her. 

Evelyne panicked at the question then said, “It’s funny you ask that because I think I might be discovering an interest I never knew I had until I got out here to Oakland.”

“Lemme know,” he smiled.

“Well–”

“Yo we're goin to light up out front,” the twins said, waving blunts at the two.

“We’ll be there in a second,” Benit told them. “Sorry, continue.”

“Okay, don’t make fun of me. My dad has all these old books on Buddhism that have Sanskrit in them. One of them is a dictionary and I’ve been looking up the definitions of a few words here and there. I think I want to be like…a translator.”

“Woah, new girl gotta big ole’ brain. Okay, I flux with it — I’m not going to let you around my boy Quixote though. The two of you would probably start talking about books and have to finish the discussion in a library or something.”

They both laughed, “Who’s Quixote?”

“Oh you’ll meet him at one point. He’s my partner in rhyme, I rap with’em.”

“Cool.”

“So do you know any other languages besides French and English?”

“I know Italian and Corsican too.”

“No way, Italian’s gotta be my favorite language—it’s hella romantic—don’t you think?”

“That’s what they say,” Evelyne blushed, they were the only two left in the café.

“Can you tell me how to say something” he asked, finishing his drink and putting his cup down behind her.

“Sure, what do you want to know?”

“Tell me how to ask for a kiss.”

“Baciami,” she nodded and their lips met. 

“Okay, come on now. We don’t need everyone talking about us,” he said leading her by hand outside and then letting it go as he walked through the door. 

They stood in the warm summer night and smoked until they ran out of blunt wraps. As the group exchanged goodbyes, Benit asked Evelyne for her number and she happily gave it to him. 

A sense of joy surged through her heart as she walked home.

4 Quixote

A week after the open mic, Olivia and Evelyne caught Bart at 19th Street and rode it to Lake Merritt. It had been an overcast morning and when the sun finally came out it was warm without being too hot. Evelyne dipped the tips of her middle and pointer fingers into the water when they arrived. Then they sat in the shade and watched a teenage boy teach his younger sister how to skip rocks. 

“So what’s the word with you and Benit?” Olivia asked her.

“You tell me,” Evelyne sighed.

“He ghosted you?”

“I guess…I mean, he never hit me up after we made out at the show last week. Maybe he got busy, I don’t know for sure.”

“He playin’ games,” Olivia rolled her eyes.

“Yeah,” Evelyne nodded her head, “I’ll see him tonight at Jasmine’s though, maybe I gotta show him that two can play at that.”

“How do you know he’s coming to the show?”

Confused by the question Evelyne looked away from the brother and sister and met Olivia’s eyes. “He’s the host…right?”

“Yeah, but no. He’s the host, but it changes every week. He only MC’s at Jasmine’s once a month.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I wanna say T hosts tonight, but don’t quote me on that.”

“Hmm, I didn’t know T performed,” Evelyne said.

“Yeah, they do spoken word. They’re damn good too, but sometimes the event seems too similar to the poetry slams. I like it better when someone outside the slam scene hosts the open-mic, you’ll see.”

“So you don’t think Benit will be there tonight?”

“Hard to say, I heard Quixote was back in the Bay, so maybe they’ll wanna share the stage again before their next real show,” Olivia reasoned. The young girl they were watching tossed a flat rock on the surface of the lake and it bounced four times before flipping sideways and sinking. 

“That was good!” Evelyne clapped her hands and the little girl looked back and smiled. “Are you going tonight?” she asked Olivia.

“Yeah, I’ll roll through, I’m hella broke though. I swear, they gotta stop having these event’s right before payday, it just ain’t right.”

“Agreed, speaking of which, when we do get paid, will you help me buy a skateboard? I need someone in there who knows what they’re doing.”

“I got you,” Olivia smiled, then said, “yo, I know I just complained about being broke, but let’s go get some boba.”

“Okay,” Evelyne said, standing up first and offering a hand to Olivia. 

“Hey, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but I should probably let you know that Benit is known for being sort of a player,” Olivia said, as they walked around Lake Merritt.

“Shit,” Evelyne replied.

“Not saying he’s playing you. But, I just wanted you to be aware of his rep.”

“Thanks for looking out,” Evelyne said.

After getting their drinks the two walked around without direction and talked freely. They browsed through a few bookstores and gift shops but didn’t buy anything. Then they came across Angel, busking with her guitar on a busy street corner. When she finished her song, the girls clapped loud enough to make a scene. 

“What’s good? You comin to Jasmine’s tonight?” Olivia asked.

“Yep, I’m finna’ be there for sure. T’s hosting tonight, so if us instrumental artists don’t show up at the café we’ll just start having two slams a week.”

“See, I told you,” Olivia said to Evelyne.

“I’m starting to get it,” she replied. Then asked: “Do you know if anyone else is coming?”

“Not really, I haven’t asked around though. I’m sure all the usuals will be there. Oh, and I heard Quixote was back in The Town. I wouldn’t be surprised to see him there,” Angel said.

“Everyone keeps saying he’s back; where was he in the first place though?” Evelyne asked.

“No one can keep track of Quixote,” Olivia laughed.

“For real, he stays on his vanishing act,” Angel agreed.

“You two haven’t met yet, have you?” Olivia asked Evelyne.

“Not yet, I keep hearing about him though.”

“He’s…he’s hella different. I don’t quite know how to put it.”

“Yeah he’s different, in a different universe,” Angel added. 

“What do you mean?” Evelyne asked.

“You’ll see tonight,” Angel said, strumming her guitar and looking down at the few bills she had collected in her case. “Yo, I love ya’ll, but I gotta keep playin’ so I can get this money. You feel me?” 

“Oh, of course, sorry to keep you,” Evelyne said.

“No stress, I’ll catch up with y’all at Jasmine’s tonight.”

“Sounds good,” Olivia gave a salute and the two went back to wandering through Oakland. 

When it was getting late, Olivia said, “Damn I wanna eat, but I don’t wanna spend money.”

“I could ask my dad if you can come over for dinner. You could eat at mine and afterwards we could head to the show together.”

“Word up. Does your dad have skills in the kitchen.” 

“Girl… he’s gifted. I swear he needs to open up his own restaurant. I never had food like his before.”

“Okay, let’s do it,” Olivia said. 

Evelyne texted her father who agreed and told them to be there by 7 o’clock. The girls wandered around a bit longer before making their way to Bart and heading to Evelyne’s home in West Oakland. Elijah served them shrimp and grits with bananas foster for desert and entertained them with stories of learning how to cook from Evelyne’s grandmother. 

“She’s always claimed to be part native,” he said. “I don’t know for sure so we’d need 23 and Me to investigate that one, but cooking for her was sacred. I’m nowhere near as ceremonial as she is, especially when I’m only cooking for one. When I have company though, I can’t help feeling like it’s important to honor her and the traditions she’s passed down my way.”

“Evelyne, you need to start learning these recipes girl. Your people got the hand of God in the kitchen, for real for real,” Oliva said, scraping the last bit of desert from her bowl.

Father and daughter locked eyes and Evelyne said, “Yeah, you’re right, I really should.”

“When you two are ready to go, I’d be happy to lend you a ride. I wasn’t going to do anything tonight besides read a little anyway,” her father said.

After a brief and polite argument all agreed. Evelyne changed her shirt, the girls shared her deodorant and then rode in Elijah’s truck to the show. Olivia told everyone about the home cooked meal and the other Barista’s began asking Evelyne when they could come over for dinner. 

Evelyne surveyed the entire crowd for Benit but he was nowhere to be found. Before the show started a group of poets led by T went out to smoke and Evelyne and Olivia joined them. Outside there was a poet holding a pen over his leather bound black journal. He wore a thick silver bracelet, two necklaces and three colorful rings. He had clay brown skin, a crooked nose, and long curly hair that wrapped around his noise-cancelling bluetooth headphones. He was slouched against the wall, counting something on his fingers with a copy of Kafka’s collected fictions on the ground next to him.

“Yo Quixote, you wanna hit this?” one of the twins asked.

“I’m G. I don’t like to smoke before I perform.”

“Suit yourself.” 

As Evelyne joined in conversation with the group she decided it was a good thing that Benit had not shown up. She wanted to be appreciated as an individual; plus she would get much more out of the show without him around to distract her. 

T was a good host but after three slam poets started the event, Evelyne was ready to hear Angel take the stage with her guitar. While she performed, Evelyne looked around the crowd for the poet Quixote but was unable to spot him. She hadn’t seen him since the crew finished smoking and went inside. She thought it was a bit strange for him to stay outside the venue while the show was taking place, but didn’t think too long on the matter.

When he was next on the list, T went outside and returned with the long haired poet. Quixote stood near the door and attempted to put his books in order while he waited to take the stage. Olivia whispered to Evelyne, “He’s agoraphobic.” 

Then when he was invited to take the stage, Quixote played with his jewelry and neglected to offer an introduction, instead he tested the microphone by singing: “It’s those city day’s where you can’t feel the sun, caught up in the same place no matter where you run, so numb.”

On his cue, Cody dropped the beat and Quixote closed his golden brown eyes, turned away from the crowd and began rapping. The beat was slow, lo-fi, jazz and the poet counted out the rhythm with the fingers on his free hand. As he rapped, Evelyne thought she might be brought to tears from the raw emotion that accompanied his voice.

During the second half of his song he opened his eyes and connected with the crowd. The audience didn’t dance or bob their heads—they sat still and listened—trying to catch every word. Then he finished just as he’d begun, by singing: “It’s those City day’s where you can’t feel the sun, caught up in the same place no matter where you run, so numb.” 

“Wow,” Evelyne said to Olivia as applause filled the room. “He is different.” 

“He’s in his own universe,” Olivia replied. 

The show ended with a beautiful poem that T had written about his family in Mexico. Then, the after party began. Jasmine, the owner of the cafe showed up, and while Evelyne didn’t think she would care if she was drinking after hours, she still avoided it. Instead, she went out with the crew to smoke. She hated the taste of backwoods and preferred the flavored tobacco of swishers. Cody and Olivia were playing skate when Jamal said: “Oh shit, here comes Quixote with his fancy ass vape.”

The poet blew a small cloud of vapor towards Jamal and entered the circle next to Evelyne, sticking out his hand and saying, “Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.”

“I’m Evelyne,” she said feeling the cool touch of his rings press into her palm. “I saw you perform earlier, it was cool, super unique.” 

“It was okay, I said shuffler instead of subtler at one point in the second verse.”

“Well, I don’t think anyone noticed,” Evelyne said, then hit the blunt, coughed, made a face, and passed it along to Quixote who passed it without hitting it.

“Want to try the vape?” he asked, holding the expensive looking contraption in front of her.

“What’s in it?”

“Just herb,” he said, opening the chamber and showing her the green and light brown mix inside. 

“Sure, I’ll try a hit,” Evelyne said, taking the warm device from his hands and puffing off it twice.

“You two lightskinned, non blunt smokin’ nigga’s forgot where you came from,” one of the twins remarked from across the circle. Evelyne’s stomach dropped. 

“What does smoking blunts have to do with being black?” Quixote asked.

“I don’t know, but your fancy ass vape is some white people shit.”

“Whatever, I don’t like tobacco, take my black card.”

Evelyne said nothing, but the conversation made her feel as if everyone had seen her with her mother and group of friends from Corsica walking through downtown Oakland. Quixote offered her the vape two more times but both times she refused. Then, after she was quite high, she kept smoking the blunts that were passed her way in order to avoid further criticism. 

When the conversation about the blackness of blunts had died down, she said to Quixote, “Not to creep or anything, but I saw you out here earlier with a book of Kafka’s stories, have you read much of his work?”

“I read The Metamorphosis in school a few years ago and it stuck with me like a bad dream. When I saw his full collection in the airport bookstore I knew I had to have it. I’m working my way through The Trial right now. How about you? Are you a scholar?”

“I don’t think I’d go that far, but last year I was reading a lot of Murakami. He has a novel–”

“Kafka On The Shore?” he interrupted her.

“That’s the one.”

“So you went through a Kafka phase?”

“Yeah, you could call it that. I audio-booked three or four stories while I was reading Murakami to help me pick up on some of the references.” 

“Do you read a lot of fiction?” Quixote asked her. 

“I do. Not exclusively though, I try and read anything I can get my hands on. Actually, my dad has a lot of texts on eastern religion hanging around the house. So I’m starting to get into those.”

“That’s great,” Quixote said, looking impressed. “What have you read so far?”

“I’m working my way through The Life of the Buddha.” 

“So you are a scholar then?” 

“Not yet. Maybe one day though,” Evelyne smiled.

“Have you read any Dostoyevsky?”

“Just some excerpts in school.”

“Oh, you must read Dostoyevsky. If I could write like anyone who’s ever lived I would  want to write like Dostoyevsky.”

“Do you write fiction too?” Evelyne asked.

Quixote looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to their conversation, then said, “To be completely honest with you, poetry is my second mania. My first passion is and always will be writing fiction.”

“Mania,” Evelyne repeated his word, “I can’t say I expected that.”

“I do my best to defy expectations.”

“Well, I’d love to read something you’ve written… I mean, if you’re comfortable sharing. I don’t want to impose or anything, I know we just met.”

“No stress.”

“If your fiction is as good as your hip-hop though, I’d be really excited to look at it,” Evelyne said.

“Ah, okay, usually I don’t share my fiction; I’m a bit of a perfectionist. But... maybe having someone who’s kind of a stranger look at it would be a good idea,” he paused then said, “want to exchange email?”
“Sure,” Evelyne replied, and when he handed his phone over to her she entered her email into the new message column at the top of the screen.

When she was done, Quixote said, “Great, I’ll send you something right now. That way you’ll know it’s me.” 

“Cool,” Evelyne said. Just then, she caught Olivia’s eye. Her friend was looking at her like she had broken a promise. Quixote began talking with one of the twins about the Golden State Warriors and during a break in the conversation, Evelyne went over to make sure Olivia wasn’t mad at her. 

“Did I do something wrong?” 

“No, I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” Olivia said.

“Are you and Quixote like a thing?” Evelyne asked.

“What? No, but him and Benit are tight. I just don’t want you gettin’ tangled up in something cause you're new and don’t know.”

“Well, don’t worry, I think Quixote is sweet and all, but I’ve still got eyes for Benit.”

“100?” Olivia asked.

“100,” she replied.

“Alright, sorry if I was being over-protective.”

“No, don’t be sorry, I’m happy someone out here has my back. Damn, I’m tired all of a sudden though. I think I might have smoked myself to sleep.”

“Girl you can’t handle your herbs, we gotta start practicing so you ain’t all off to one extreme or the other during the shows.”

“Okay, this week you can teach me how to smoke responsibly.”

“Deal,” Olivia said.

5 Russian Doll 

Evelyne moved through the next day like there were weights around her ankles. It didn’t seem to matter how much coffee she drank, she stayed tired until returning home after work to nap. When she woke, the house was empty and no sun shone through the windows. She had become groggy after napping for too long. She splashed her face with water and played Rihanna’s Rated R album as loud as she could to try and snap out of it. 

She looked at her phone hoping for a text from Benit — still nothing. Then she decided to send her mother an email to update her on life in the Bay Area. When Evelyne logged into her email though, she saw a message at the top of her inbox from the poet Quixote. At that moment, she admitted to herself that she had forgotten about their interaction until that moment. She clicked on the link; it was a very short story — only 4 pages.

On the surface, his fiction appeared to be a philosophical dialogue on the topic of pain and pleasure. Evelyne read the first line, then the first paragraph and before she knew it she’d read the whole story. It wasn’t just good, it was sad and had depth. It was focused on two characters who were talking about something without saying outright what it was. When she got to the end, she felt like she had just grazed the story's surface, so she read it a second time. 

When she finished, Evelyne began an email to her mother but couldn’t concentrate. She wrote a line, deleted it, tried again, then deleted the draft and went back to the story. The two characters are talking about a death, Evelyne thought. Someone they knew had died, perhaps they had even taken their own life. 

After the third read through she typed a reply:

Dear Quixote, 

I’ve spent the better part of my afternoon untangling your story. I don’t want you to think of me as a mindless flatterer, so I’m happy to mark out a few places where the grammar is imperfect. Still, I have to admit that I was blown away. You have a true talent. Have you considered submitting the piece for publication? 

After going through it a few times I’ve come up with a hypothesis about the conversation, is the hidden focus a suicide? Maybe it would be a better discussion if we had it in person. In the meantime, if you feel comfortable sharing any other stories with me I would love to read them. 

Best,

Evelyne Descôteaux

After she sent the email she went back to the draft she had started for her mother. Before she’d finished though, a notification appeared in her inbox. Quixote had responded, saying: 

Hey Evelyne, 

Thank you for being observant, if it’s not too much trouble, go ahead and label those mistakes. To answer your question: yes, it is about a suicide. 

Attached below is another story. I’m happy that you’ve come into my life Evelyne; did I mention to you that you are the first person to read my fiction? I’ve flirted with the idea of publication but only using a pseudonym. 

Please don’t share my work with anyone,

Quixote 

Evelyne opened the document, it was 13 pages, much larger than the first. She decided she needed to finish with the email she’d been trying to send to her mother so she went back to typing. Just before she pressed send, her father came through the front door with a few grocery bags saying, “The first lesson in good cooking is to make sure you’ve got fresh ingredients.”

“I hear that, what are you making tonight?”

“I was going to do a classic, Grandmama’s Jambalaya.”

“So my great-grandmother, right?”

“That’s right,” her father said, “I was thinking that if you aren’t going out tonight, maybe I could teach you how it’s done.”

“Cool, no way am I going out tonight. I think I’m beginning to understand why I was able to pick up so many morning shifts right away, I can’t tell you how tired I’ve been, and I work in a coffee shop.”

Her father laughed, “I’m proud of the way you’re getting up early though, I mean that.”

Evelyne walked over to the kitchen and the two began preparing the meal and talking about their weeks. She checked her phone twice hoping to see a text from Benit; but whenever there was a lapse in the conversation she thought of the stories Quixote had sent her. 

After they had eaten, Evelyne got ready for bed early to try and catch up on sleep. When she lay down, she went back to the second document Quixote had sent her and read it in the dark. The text had a similar style to the first, it’s essence was concealed by it’s characters and as a reader she felt she needed to strain herself to uncover what the story was really about. After finishing the last sentence, Evelyne thought she liked the second story even more than the first. 

6 Warehouse  

An early  rainstorm made for an empty café that Sunday afternoon. Olivia mopped the floor and Bob Marley’s Small Axe album played in the background. 

“Who you textin?” Olivia asked Evelyne. 

“What? Oh, nobody, I was just looking at something,” Evelyne lied, putting her phone in her pocket.

“Come on girl, you ain’t hiding nothin’ with that big ole’ grin on your face. What’s good? Did Benit finally wake up and reach out?”

“No, he still hasn’t messaged me and it’s been almost three weeks since we hooked up. Also, when I saw him at the slam this week he was hella awkward, acting like I didn’t even exist. I don’t know what his problem is.”

“Asshole.”

 “I just don’t get him, he must have commitment issues,” Evelyne sighed.

“Are you going to their show tonight?”

“I don’t know, Quixote told me about it, but I feel weird showing up when Benit obviously wants nothing to do with me.”

“That’s who you were texting huh?”

“Who?” Evelyne blushed.

“Come on Ev, you got no poker face.”

“Yeah okay, I was texting Quixote. You got me.”

“I told you I’ve got a sixth sense,” Olivia said.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“You should just come tonight, these warehouse parties are wild and everyone’s gonna be there.”

“I know, and I still haven’t seen them perform together.”

“Okay, you’re going, end of discussion. We can get all done up together before heading out. That way when Benit sees you he’ll have to think long and hard about what he’s missing out on.”

Evelyne turned the thought over in her head before replying, “Yeah, alright let’s do it.”

“Fashiggity, I knew I could push you in the right direction. And we gonna be looking fine as hell tonight too.”

“Fine as hell,” Evelyne repeated.

“Yo, what’s up with you and Quixote though? Since when do y'all text?”

“Not so long, he’d been sending me his short stories and for about a week I was reading and replying via email. At one point we were in the middle of a conversation but I had to leave my dad's house and the Wi-Fi along with it. So I asked for his number and we’ve been texting on and off since then.”

“Quixote writes fiction?” Oliva asked.

“Yeah, on the low though, don’t tell anyone I told you.”

Olivia raised one eyebrow, “So you two just be texting about his short stories then.”

“We talk about other stuff sometimes,” Evelyne admitted.

“You crushin?”

“No, it’s not like that. I just enjoy his company, he’s got a different way of thinking and we’re interested in a lot of the same things.”

“What’s the problem then? You don’t think he’s cute?” Olivia asked.

“No, I mean, yes, he’s cute–”

“But…?” 

“I don’t know, we have a connection alright. Maybe if Benit wasn’t around then I’d be into Quixote, but right now that’s just not the way things stand.”

“Mmhmm, and does Quixote know that he’s been friend zoned?”

A customer came through the door and stomped his wet boots on the mat. 

“I got it,” Evelyne said and went to the cash register.

The man ordered a cappuccino and when he sat down Evelyne said, “Quixote’s only got one lover and that’s his muse.”

“If you say so,” Olivia replied. “Yo can you make extra? A cappuccino sounds good.”

“Sure,” Evelyne said, putting more beans into the grinder. “What day do you have off of work this week?”

“I think just Tuesday,”

“Want to go skate in the City?” Evelyne asked.

“Let’s get it,” Olivia replied and the two began making plans for the upcoming week. Later, towards the end of their shift, Joelle—the journalist with the long dreadlocks—came in looking for Jamal, who along with T, was supposed to relieve Evelyne and Oliva for the second half of the day at the café. The three girls talked about the Bay Area’s homelessness crisis and how awful being without shelter on a rainy day would be.

  After Joelle got what she wanted from Jamal, she asked Evelyne and Olivia if they cared to join her for a drive through the Oakland hills and eat at her favorite Chinese restaurant. Since they had time to kill before the show started, they agreed. Evelyne had never been through the Caldecott tunnel or heard of the suburban town, Moraga. Rain clouds above them cut the mountains in half and traffic slowed on the wet highway. 

“Damn, we boutta’ be the only black folk in here huh?” Olivia asked as they pulled into the strip mall.

“Girl, we’re about to be the only black people in this whole city. I’m telling you though, once you start eating you’ll forget all about that.”

“How did you find out about this place?” Evelyne asked.

“My college was right over the hill,” Joelle pointed behind them, “Come on, let’s go.”

They followed Joelle in. She talked with one of the waitresses in a familiar tone, and the three girls took a seat in a booth by the window. The conversations around them quieted and a few heads turned. Evelyne sat on the outside of the booth and Olivia looked out the window. A waitress brought them tea and menus, then said to Joelle, “You want the same?”

“Yes, eggplant and tofu please, thank you.”

Evelyne opened her menu and started looking over the options, then Olivia leaned over and in a low voice said, “All these people are looking at us like we don’t belong here.”

Surprised by the accusation, Evelyne looked up at the customers around her. It didn’t seem to her as though anyone was paying any attention to them. 

“Yeah, maybe they are,” Joelle responded, “but we do belong here, so let em’ look. Sometimes existence is resistance.”

“It don’t feel right,” Olivia said.

“I’m tellin’ you girl, once you get your food you’ll forget all about these white people.”

Olivia opened her menu and let the conversation drop. When the waitress came back they ordered more than enough and ate family style when the steaming plates arrived. In the booth behind them an older man in a suit sat down with a boy about Evelyne’s age with a Saint Mary’s sweatshirt on. She took them to be a student and his grandfather. The girls were not talking much, Olivia kept cracking her neck and knuckles. Evelyne was listening in on the conversation behind them. 

At one point the student said, “I love Oakland, but you have to know where you are because it’s not that safe.”

The old man replied, “I read that it’s been taking a turn for the better. The mayor is cleaning things up, don’t you think?”

The boy paused, “Yeah, some areas are really nice. In the right neighborhood it feels just like San Francisco or Berkeley, but if you take a wrong turn it can get really ugly out of nowhere.”

At the girls table Joelle asked, “Is the food as good as I bragged it would be?”

“Better,” Evelyne said, and it was true. 

Then, from behind them, the old man said, “That’s too bad, you’d think with all the economic growth in the Bay Area that those people would figure out how to improve their communities.”

“I really just can’t with this place right now,” Olivia said, pulling a ten and a five from her pocket and placing it on the table.“Ev, can you please let me out?”

“Sure, sorry” she said, sliding out of the booth.

“Damn,” Joelle said as she watched Olivia walk out the door. Evelyne was silent. 

After a few moments Joelle said, “Let’s wrap the rest of this stuff up to go and get out of here.” 

“Okay,” Evelyne replied. They called over the waitress, paid the bill and took the rest of the food with them out to the car. Olivia sat in the back seat putting ground weed into a rolling paper. 

“Yo, I’m sorry I brought you here,” Joelle said.

“You ain’t gotta be sorry. I just didn’t want to put up with all that, not today at least.”

“Well check it out, I got a lit spot to smoke, let’s go get a view then get ready for the show tonight.” 

“Whatever, so long as we get the hell on outta’ Moraga,” Olivia said. 

Joelle started the light blue 1999 Toyota Prius and put the car in reverse. NPR at quarter volume came in and out through radio static. The swollen grey clouds had stopped raining but looked as if they might start again at any time. Evelyne felt a vibration in her pocket, it was a text from Quixote, “Do you believe in the soul?” 

What an odd question to ask out of the blue, Evelyne thought. She closed her phone, looked out the window and gave the matter some thought. Then Olivia from behind her said, “Yo Ev, put some music on.”

She plugged into the aux cord and put on Noname’s Telefone album. Joelle turned the sound system up and the three girls each got carried away by different streams of consciousness. They smoked at an overlook in between Oakland and Berkeley but didn’t have much of a view as they were swallowed up into a sea of clouds. 

While the car was stationary and smoke swirled about like cream in a cup of fresh coffee, Evelyne texted Quixote back, “Define soul.” Evelyne regretted telling Olivia that she was texting Quixote and wished that their conversations had remained private. 

Olivia’s mood improved after smoking, but none of them talked about the Chinese restaurant. When the group returned to Oakland they went to Olivia’s to get ready for the show. It was a full house; Olivia lived in East Oakland with her parents, three younger brothers, older sister, cousin and two dogs. Evelyne borrowed one of Olivia’s dresses and a leather jacket, then Joelle encouraged her to wear black lipstick. 

They had more time then they knew what to do with so Olivia made a round of drinks for everyone. Since Joelle was driving, she gave hers to Olivia’s cousin who was complaining about her boyfriend. The drink was strong and bitter but Evelyne drank it to be polite. Quixote responded to her saying, “Life force.”

Evelyne responded right away, “Sounds metaphysical.”

Her phone buzzed to attention, “Death is different than life though, you can agree with that much, right?”

Evelyne knew her answer but let it sit. The girls took Olivia’s dogs on a walk around the neighborhood and two of her brothers came along. The youngest was flirtatious and would not leave Joelle alone. When they returned to Olivia’s they got into the Prius and drove to West Oakland. On the way, Evelyne texted Quixote, “Bring it up tonight and we can discuss it in person.”

An orange glow from the city’s street lights was trapped under the clouds. Evelyne felt nervous at the doors of the warehouse. Loud music thumped inside, a man took their money and gave them three tickets. The inside of the establishment was dark and crowded. There was no bar and people brought in their own bottles of alcohol. 

The girls made their way towards the stage and were relieved to find their friends from Jasmine’s drinking Crown Royal and dancing like trees in the wind. Quixote and Benit hadn’t gone on yet, but Cody was DJing the entire show and his afro bobbed back and forth to the rhythm of the bass. 

In between sets there was some talk of Benit’s new watch which was supposedly diamond encrusted and far out of his price range. One of the twins said, “He been spendin’ too much time in the streets. He needs to stay away from his uncle or else he gon’ end up in some shit.”

The other responded, “He’s got a persona to keep up, if he ain’t really in the streets then half of what he raps about would be faker than MTV.”

“What’s next though? A grill? I mean shit—it’s one thing to rap about it—it’s another to live it.”

The lights dimmed, “Here, take a shot Ev,” Olivia said, passing her the bottle. She took one and passed it back, then a moment later the bottle came again, she drank and passed it along. 

Benit and Quixote seemed an odd pair as they took the stage together and Evelyne thought that Quixote looked out of place in the warehouse. Not that that stopped him from speaking first: “Yo G, I had a long conversation with a misanthrope the other day and when I told ‘em I was a rapper and you know what they said to me?”

“What up?” 

“He told me hip-hop was dead.”

“Nah,” Benit said as the crowd booed.
“He said everything on the radio these days is bullshit, that the labels use the same corny beats and weak ass gimmicks but don’t understand the craft; that they just want to maximize profits, and that real hip-hop, you know—the message of the people—that was buried a long time ago.”

The crowd continued to boo and Benit said, “Well I can’t speak for the radio, but I think hip-hop is alive and well tonight in West Oakland, what about y'all?” the people agreed with Benit. “Yo let’s give ‘em a show Cody.”

The beat dropped and Benit rapped eight bars then Quixote took over. The two went back and forth like a game of chess. Their styles complimented one another well and were at the same time distinct. Benit used his right hand to grab the microphone and Evelyne couldn’t help but notice the diamond encrusted watch glimmering nearby.

Benit was more connected to the crowd throughout their performance. He managed most of the call and response, qued the moments to sing along, and coached dance moves. Quixote told an occasional story, or delivered a piece of revolutionary philosophy; but for the most part he seemed in a trance, as if rapping was a meditation which required a look into the mirror of the self. 

Evelyne drank until she felt quite drunk. She was enjoying herself and danced as if no one was looking. The duo performed for just over a half hour before clearing off the stage for the next rapper. When they finished, Evelyne and Olivia went to get water and use the restroom. Before returning to the group Evelyne asked, “I still look cool right? My hair didn’t go crazy from moving around too much did it?”

“Girl you look like Rihanna, don’t even trip.”

They waded their way through the crowd like it was a stream that had cut across a mountain trail. Quixote was with the crew, but Benit was still nowhere to be seen. Olivia went right to him and gave him a hug. “Ah, y'all were so baller tonight, for real, you guys chose a nice venue to have your best show yet.”

“All the credit goes to our DJ, the man Cody has been puttin’ in hella work with the production — no joke.”

It was hard to follow a hug with a handshake and so Evelyne gave Quixote a hug too. It was brief and afterwards she felt that she had made it too quick. “She’s not lying,” Evelyne said. “You guys made me believe that hip-hop is alive.”

  Quixote smiled, “Passion’s poet passes painstaking pictures, he puts his passwords into plain written scriptures.”

“Yeah...you were def rapping from the soul, it was cool.”

“So you do believe in the soul?” Quixote asked.

Evelyne looked around, the next performer was on stage and the crowd was ready for the show to begin. “Let’s talk about this when we have the quiet to go in depth.”

Quixote frowned but said, “That’s fine.”

They were both quiet after the next rapper started. They became separated when the dancing began and Evelyne spotted Benit. Inch by inch she went towards him, trying not to make eye contact. Then she felt his hand on her back and his voice from behind her, “Want to dance, new girl?” he asked. 

Evelyne let her body respond and the two fell into harmony like earth and moon. Their lips met again and Benit leaned in to make his voice heard over the music, “Yo, follow me, I got something to show you.”

She grabbed his hand and let him lead her through the people. They walked out of the warehouse and neither said a thing until Benit pointed to the jet black Ducati monster parked across the street from them, “Wanna ride?”

“Is that yours?” Evelyne asked.

“I just got it this week, you’ll be passenger numero uno.”

“Alright,” Evelyne said.

Benit kissed her again before starting the engine and kicking the bike into gear. Neither rider wore a helmet and Benit was intent on speeding; Evelyne held onto him like a tree in a flash flood. They rode into East Oakland and went past the Coliseum. When they were stopped at a red light Benit asked her, “What’s good, what do you wanna do tonight? Should I take you home?”

Evelyne didn’t respond right away and then when the light turned green she said, “I’m cool being with you.”

“Word,” he accelerated into the empty street.

When they arrived at Benit’s well furnished loft, Evelyne checked her phone. She had several messages from Olivia and one from Quixote asking if she was still at the show. She replied to Olivia saying, “Keep it on the low, but I left with Benit.”

Then she texted her father and told him that she was going to spend the night with Olivia. Evelyne ignored Quixote.

7 The Pieces

“Yo, let’s roll out new girl, I gotta meet up with my uncle at noon,” Benit said, pulling a number 24 Raiders jersey over his cornrows. 

Evelyne had a headache and was nursing a tall glass of water, “What are you and your uncle doing?” 

“Just business.”

Evelyne nodded, then Benit said, “Let’s make the move, I can either drop you where you stay or at BART.”

“I guess Bart is okay,” Evelyne said because she thought it was what he wanted to hear.

“Cool,” he said, tying the laces of his cherry red Jordans.

Evelyne put Olivia's leather jacket on and followed him towards the door. They didn’t say anything to each other in the elevator or on his motorcycle. When they reached Coliseum station, Benit said, “Yo I’m glad we linked up, maybe we can make that happen again sometime.”

“Alright.” 

Then he stuck up two fingers in a peace sign, kissed them, and jetted off. 

Evelyne did not want to ride public transportation alone in the outfit she’d chosen for a party the night before. She was hungry, tired and annoyed with herself for not asking to be dropped off at her house. It was a hot day with no breeze and the light coming off the buildings was sudden and harsh on her eyes. 

On the train she passed the time by scrolling through various social media apps and thinking about how little her island home had changed. In her mind, she could return at any time and things would be just how she left them. That morning was the first time that Evelyne had wanted to return since she had moved in with her father. 

When she unlocked the door to her house on 10th and Chestnut, she changed out of Olivia’s borrowed dress and into sweats; played Amy Winehouse through her bluetooth headphones, made eggs, cried without knowing exactly why, ate and took a nap. When she rose, the wish to return to Corsica had faded.

She checked her phone and saw she had three texts, one from her father asking if she wanted to help with dinner, another from Joelle about her skateboard still being in the trunk of her car, and a third from Quixote which read, “Yo, you made it home safe last night and everything, right?”

Moving her thumbs across the screen she replied in order: agreeing to help with dinner, arranging to meet up with Joelle who happened to be within walking distance, and saying to Quixote, “Hey my bad, remind me not to drink with the twins again. I had a bit too much Crown last night, then my phone died. I’m safe and sound at home though, thanks for checking in on me.”

Evelyne put on a pair of black jeans and skate shoes, shuffled her lo-fi playlist and started walking to meet Joelle in uptown Oakland. Her phone vibrated in her front pocket; she knew it was Quixote and waited to check it. Joelle was at a plant shop repotting a group of succulents When Evelyne arrived. Joelle asked, “Yo what happened to you last night? You hella freaked Olivia and me out.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” she said, noting that Olivia hadn’t told anyone that she’d spent the night with Benit. “I stepped out for a breath of air, and once I got outside I just didn’t want to go back in. It was weird, I definitely drank too much, but I think I felt like I had seen what I came for and that was enough. So I went home and on the way my phone died.”

“Damn girl, that’s reckless. I mean, I’m glad you’re safe and all, but yo—this isn’t Corsica—you can’t just go walking through the hood alone at night.”

“I know, it was dumb,” Evelyne shrugged.

“Yeah, well we all make mistakes, come on though, lets go get your board,” she said, making a move towards the door. 

“Cool.”

“Oh, by the way, your boy Quixote was stressing about you too last night, kinda sweet.”

“He’s not my boy,” Evelyne shot back.

Joelle looked at her like she’d stepped on her foot in a grocery store, “I didn’t mean like that, relax.”

Evelyne didn’t reply until the two rounded the corner and Joelle lifted her skateboard from the trunk of her car. “Here you go,” she said. 

“Yo, I’m sorry I kind of snapped a second ago. I’m not having an easy time of things today.”

“Don’t stress it sista, you know I got nothin but love for you.” 

The two hugged and Evelyne put Rage Against The Machine’s Evil Empire album on in her headphones then pushed off on her board. Cody had told her that skating was “creative destruction,” and she hadn’t understood what he meant until getting on her board that day. She rode angry and didn’t care what was in front of her. She crashed in the street, scraped her elbow and laughed at the pain. She got right back on her board and felt like nothing else mattered while she rode. 

She had time to kill and skated until she needed to get home. When Evelyne did return to her house she decided to take a shower before beginning to cook. She checked her phone while the water heated up, Quixote’s text said, “Cool, I was light-weight worried about you, but I’m glad you’re all good.”

Before getting under the water Evelyne replied, saying: “You really were amazing on stage last night. Sorry we didn’t get to talk about the soul.”

Evelyne kept her phone nearby so that she could change her music if she needed to while in the shower. Quixote was quick to respond, saying, “No worries, I’m sure we’ll get there one day. Yo, check it out, I just finished up a piece of flash fiction, it’s only a page long, want to read it?”

When she had dried herself off she replied, “Always, send it my way. I’ll read it tonight after I eat.”

Her father was unhappy with the way his work had gone that day. He’d had to settle a dispute and neither party was happy with the arrangement he’d set up. He complained to her while they prepared the meal but as soon as they sat down to eat he seemed to forget all about it. Evelyne continued to ask him about himself though and was happy to listen and not discuss the details of her personal life. He had a beer after dinner and went to bed a jolly fellow. 

Evelyne struggled with some Sanskrit and then read Quixote’s story just like she’d told him she would. It was short, vivid and direct. A man had set fire to the life he once knew, but as he stood watching the ashes tumble into the light pink sunset, he felt hopeful. 

She cherished this story and the others that Quixote had sent to her. Sometimes she found herself thinking that she wanted no one else to ever read them. That night, she wished that she could inspire him to write about her as a subject. The idea filled her with guilt and she attempted to bury it, but could not. 

Unable to sleep, she thought about Quixote and his art as she lay on her back with two pillows under her head and a group of  blankets pulled tight around her. She tried her right side and let her cheek rest against the pillow; when this failed she turned over to the left. She let her legs extend all the way to the edge of the bed, pulled them in, reasoned she was too hot, removed the comforter, became too cold and pulled it up. She switched back to her right side, but her shoulder felt uncomfortable beneath her. 

It’s your own damn fault for napping too long, she told herself as she returned to her original position on her back. Evelyne pulled out her phone and read back her conversation with Quixote. 1:55, sending a message this late would be rude, she thought to herself. Still, her thumbs typed up a text, “You still up?” Evelyne looked at it, deleted it, then typed it again and sent it off. 

Not expecting to receive a response, she followed an impulse and began scrolling through instagram. Every post seemed to celebrate an accomplishment, each picture had a girl more beautiful than the next. She was only online until a message from Quixote dropped into her inbox, “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Can’t sleep,” Evelyne replied right away.

“Welcome to my world. What’s on your mind?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

A minute went by before Quixote asked, “In Oakland you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought you were getting to know your dad. Is that not going well?”

“No, it is,” Evelyne said. 

“So what's the real problem?”

Evelyne tried the phrase a few different ways before finally asking, “Do you ever feel like nothing in your life is working out the way it’s supposed to?” 

She stared into the pale blue light of her phone screen awaiting a response; then just when she thought he must have fallen asleep, Quixote replied: “Of course, all the time. To be 100 I was down last night after the show. I mean shit, we performed for...who knows how many people? And I’m still not gonna have enough dough to pay my rent on time this month. There’s worse things though, before I met Benit I used to think my dead end life had worked out exactly the way it was supposed to. I couldn’t imagine things being any different, I was actually afraid to perform if you can believe it. But, Benit saw something in me that I didn’t even see in myself and once he shined that light on me, I realized that I had more to give the world and could get on a different path then the one I was on.”

“I think I have too high of expectations,” Evelyne said, then followed it up with, “hey, how did you two meet by the way?”

“Ha, maybe I ought to turn that into a short story.”

“Do tell.”

“Back in the day Cody had a home studio setup. So even though I was afraid to perform, I was still recording my music. Anyway, I slide through to his house one day, we start on a track, the beats coming along, I’m writing a verse and then we hear the doorbell ring. Turns out to be Binet — Cody had invited us both to record on the same day. At first it was kind of awkward because I had an idea for the track and he had a different one. But, we agreed to put our initial plans to the side and team up. That first track of ours was fire, then we dropped it and it low key blew up. I mean, 3000 streams in a week, but mind you, I was dropping whole mixed-tapes that never got over 100. Long story short, he asked me to open for him at his next show so I could be in the venue to perform our track. One thing led to another and now we’re a full blown duo.”

“Damn, so it was all from Cody’s mistake?”

“Yeah, crazy right?”

“For sure,” Evelyne replied. She waited and when Quixote was slow to respond she said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Seems you just did,” he texted back right away.

“So last night the twins were saying Benit had gotten his new watch by working with his uncle. What’s the deal with all that? Who’s his uncle?”

“You need to come up on some extra cash?”

“What, no why?”

“...his uncle’s a gangster Ev.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, they’re big time, Benit doesn’t really like to talk about it, but my understanding is that his dad used to be the one running things. Then when Benit was a freshman at Oakland Tech his pops got sent up to San Quentin. Now, the older Benit gets the more responsibilities he has.”

“More responsibilities and more watches.”

“I guess so.”

“I absolutely loved your story by the way,” Evelyne said, changing the subject.

“Well, I absolutely adore you for taking the time to read them.”

“Please, it’s an honor, one day tons of people will be reading your stuff and I’ll always get to say I was the first.”

Quixote took his time replying and Evelyne’s eyes were beginning to feel heavy. She held onto her phone and closed her eyes. When she woke up the next morning to her father cooking eggs and sausage in the kitchen she saw that Quixote had sent her another text while she’d been asleep, it said, “Yo Ev, I know you were feeling like ‘nothings working out,’ but for what it’s worth, I think you’re a very talented and beautiful person with a lot going for you.”

8 Day Trip

Evelyne and Olivia met at Jasmine’s before catching the westbound train into San Francisco. Olivia had been skating much longer than Evelyne and forgot that her friend could not always keep up. They practiced tricks for an hour at the ferry building and then Olivia asked, “So, whatchu wanna see?”

“I’m cool with anything.” 

“Na, fuck all that yo—this is your first time skating in SF—let’s make a memory.”

“I’ve heard the Haight is pretty cool, same with North Beach and the Mission.”

“How are your caffeine levels?” Olivia asked.

“I could go for a coffee.”

“Yo, they got the plug in North Beach. I can’t even go through that part of town without stopping, it’s that good.”

“Okay, let’s hit North Beach first then.”

“It’s lit.”

The girls skated along the Embarcadero and into the North Beach neighborhood. When they sat down to have their coffee in the small Italian espresso cafe, Olivia said, “So…are you and Benit officially official?”

“No,” she replied. “We’re nothing.”

“I thought you slept over at his spot.”

“I did.”

“He still ain’t hittin’ your line though?”

“No, he didn’t even give me a ride home, he said something about having to meet up with his uncle for business and dropped me at the Coliseum Bart.”

“You’re playing?” Olivia asked.

“I wish.”

“Damn, I oughta smack that boy.”
“I wish for that too.”

Olivia tasted her coffee and made a face, “Too bitter, hold up and let me put some more honey in here.”

Evelyne nodded, she was facing the window and watched the people and their long shadows walk by. A man wearing a grey suit and tight black tie came into the café and wiped the sweat from his brow. He had a sad and tired face that Evelyne found herself unable to look away from until Olivia sat back down.

“What’s up space cadet?” Olivia asked.

“I’m just pathetic is all,” Evelyne answered.

“What?”

“I know he hasn’t been treating me right, but I keep hoping that I’ll be able to crack Benit’s shell. I want him to open up to me and show me who he is beneath the surface.”

“You ain’t pathetic for wanting that. I do think Benit does his best to avoid that type of interaction, but I get where you’re coming from. I mean, being vulnerable and putting your soul out in the open can def mean more than a hookup.” 

“Yeah,” Evelyne blushed and took a sip of her coffee, “maybe he’s afraid to get close to someone who he knows is only in the Bay temporarily.”

“Yeah, he might be trying to avoid commitment when he’s got it in the back of his head that you aren’t here forever. Or maybe in some twisted way, he’s trying to protect you by keeping a distance,” Olivia said.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to make excuses for the man, but he is livin’ fast and dangerous. Maybe he doesn’t want anyone getting too close; yu know, in case something happens.”

“Girl, speaking of dangerous, you should have seen his wheels,” Evelyne sighed. 

“He’s got a car?”

“Motorcycle.”

“Oh damn, so you were feeling extra reckless that night.” 

“I guess so.”

“Yo, let’s get to the Haight, what do you think?” Olivia asked.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Evelyne said, then finished her coffee. “One last thing though.”

“What’s up?”

“Do you think Benit knows I can’t stop thinking about him? Do you think he knows he’s got me losing my damn mind about us?”

Olivia shrugged, “Probably.”

“Okay, let’s roll, I gotta get on my board, for real.”

The two left the café and went into the wind and sun. The City was in the midst of a work day, and the two received glares and looks of envy while they skated by as if nothing else mattered. They explored a few bookstores and ate pizza in Buena Vista Park as the sun set. 

Evelyne used her phone camera to take a picture of the thin golden clouds that were suspended above the busy city. She scrolled through her contacts looking for someone to share the moment with. When she got to Quixote’s name, she went into their thread and read over the text he had sent her the night before. She looked over to Olivia who was busy reading the preface of an Octavia Butler book she’d just bought.

“You’re too sweet,” Evelyne texted Quixote with a picture of the sunset. 

“Nice pic, are you in the City?” he asked. Then he sent a follow up text saying, “By the way I saw a statue of the 9 muses today, has anyone ever told you that you look like Euterpe?”

“Yeah, I’m in SF. And no lol—no one has ever told me I look like Euterpe—am I supposed to take that as a compliment? Or are you just saying I’m inspiring?” Evelyne replied, then felt nervous about her question. 

“No shit, I’m just leaving the Fillmore, you wanna link up? I can give you a ride back to the East Bay.”

Evelyne wished that Quixote had answered her question directly. She turned to Olivia snapped her fingers and asked, “Yo where’s the Fillmore?”

“Hella close, why what’s up?”

“Quixote says he’s nearby and about to head back to Oakland. He offered us a ride.”

“Ayyy, it’s lit,” Oliva danced in celebration.

“Should I tell him to come get us?”

“Hell yeah, I’m tryna get to bed early so that I can be alive at work tomorrow.”

“Same, let me text him,” Evelyne said. Then got back on her phone, “Actually a ride would be much appreciated. I’m with Olivia and we both have our boards, is that chill?”

“Of course, no stress, where y’all at?” he asked.

“Buena Vista Park.”

“Word, I’ll be at the corner of Haight and Baker in 10-15.”

Evelyne relayed the message to Olivia and the two rode their boards down to the meeting point. 

“Should I roll a joint?” Olivia asked before he arrived.

“No, I think he only uses that vape.”

“Oh yeah, weirdo.”

“He’s different, that’s for sure.”

The sky’s colors faded and a full moon showed it’s pale beauty just above the horizon. Quixote arrived in a beat up, grey, 2005 Honda Civic, he let the car idle in neutral so that the girls could put their boards in the trunk. Evelyne noted the smell of cinnamon as she arranged a pile of books that cluttered the space around her feet. Quixote’s long hair fell below his shoulders and he had a new bracelet around his wrist. He put the car into first gear, accelerated, and turned up the instrumental jazz that was playing through a portable speaker.

“What’s up Quixote, got a problem with your radio?”

“Shit that’s not the only problem in this old whip,” he laughed.  

“What were you doing in The City?” Evelyne asked. 

“I was recording a track.”

“Solo?”

“Yeah, this one was too personal to have another voice on.”

“Can we hear it?” Olivia asked.

“It’s not ready yet. Maybe I’ll perform it this week at Jasmine’s though.”

“Now we gotta go Ev,” Olivia said, touching her shoulder from the backseat. 

“Yeah we should,” Evelyne nodded. 

The car slowed down as Quixote brought it into second gear and merged into the bridge bound traffic. “It might have been quicker for y'all to swim across the Bay,” he jested.

“Probably,” Olivia agreed. 

Evelyne tapped her fingers on the window in search of small talk, traffic let up then slowed down to a complete halt. 

“I shoulda’ rolled that joint,” Olivia said.

“Oh, pardon my manners, you’re welcome to roll on the low back there or hit my vape if you want to,” Quixote said, reaching into his center console.

“Cool,” Olivia took the contraption and inhaled more than she had expected to, coughed and passed it up front. 

“I’m good on it right now, I’ve still got some things to do tonight.” Quixote smiled, waving her on. 

“Ev?” Olivia waved the device.

“Na, I’ll pass on it. Hey yo, what’s this ugly building over to the right of us?”

“That is where the illusion of justice disappears,” Quixote responded.

Evelyne turned to look at him and Olivia said, “Quite a poetic phrase for the county jail.”

“Yeah, what do you mean by that?” Evelyne asked.

“All I’m saying…” Quixote paused, “look, I spent 9 nights on one of them stale ass cots they’ve got in there — high key shook me up.”

“Oh shit, you and Benit are both gangsters on the low,” Olivia said.

“No, it’s not even like that. I got caught up in the wrong place protesting after they killed Freddie Gray. I was going about it peacefully, most people were, but a little skirmish broke out and I happened to be right there when it did. So, when the cops started putting cuffs on folks, I got shackled up too.”

“Damn,” Evelyne said.

“How old were you?” Olivia asked.

“I had just turned 18 that week. If I had been a minor, they probably would have let me go.”

They were beginning to pick up speed again as they neared the bridge.

“Nine days is a long time, what’d you do while you were in there?” Olivia asked.

“Well… they didn’t have much of a library; most of the books they had were either junky pop culture novels or a part of the chicken soup for the soul self-help collection. I got lucky though and found a copy of Plato’s Republic in between a couple old bibles. I read it three and a half, almost four times.”

“So, what is justice Socrates?” Olivia asked.

“A myth.”

“I still haven’t read any Plato,” Evelyne cut in.

“Oh, you’re kidding!”

“Nope.”

“I think it will be cool for you, having the background in Eastern philosophy will give you a unique perspective,” Quixote remarked.

“Hey, look at this, we’re actually moving like a car again,” Olivia said, referring to the accelerated pace of traffic as they got onto the bridge. 

It was a clear night and the water below them was black like ink. Evelyne was enjoying her first time on the Bay Bridge and thought it remarkable that her friends took the experience for granted. She wondered if there were things in Corsica which she disregarded in the same way.

From the backseat, Olivia received a call and when she answered Quixote turned the music down.

“Yeah, what up cuz?”

Evelyne recognized the voice of Olivia's sobbing cousin through the telephone. 

“Na, he did what now?”

“…”

“Well are you alone or is he still with you?”

“...”

“Aight, aight—I’m coming to you—just stay put.”

“...”

“Yeah girl, I love you too, just stay where you are and I’ll text you.”

Olivia hung the phone up and exhaled deeply. Quixote merged into the right lane and turned the music back up. 

“You all good?” Evelyne asked after she felt enough time had passed. 

“Na, my cousin just walked in on her man cheating and now she goin off the walls, for real. They just had a kid together in January too.”

“Damn,” Evelyne said.

“You need a ride somewhere different?” Quixote asked.

“Bruh, if you wouldn’t mind taking me to North Berkeley, it would be huge. Otherwise just drop me where Ev stays and I'll catch AC transit.”

“No stress, I’ve got your back.”

They drove across Alcatraz Avenue and into Berkeley without much conversation. Olivia gave directions and Quixote followed. When they arrived at a small blue house, Oliva got out of the car, thanked Quixote and promised to stay in touch. 

“She’s a good cousin,” Evelyne said when they had pulled away.

“You can say that again, Olivia’s a real one through and through. I always respect somebody who’s willing to call me out when I’m in the wrong.”

“She’s got a natural born talent for that. How long have you two known each other?” Evelyne asked.

“Damn, a good minute, I’d say at least four or five years. We used to do Youth Speaks open mics together way back in the day. She really kicked my ass at one point after my last… ‘break up,’ if you can even call it that.”

“Oh.”

“It wasn’t serious or anything. I mean, I thought it was at the time, but looking back on it now I see that it wasn’t. We’d only been on two dates, she didn’t like me as much as I liked her, so it’s whatever. I just took it hard at the time.”

“Even the heart of Hercules may not be strong enough to withstand the strain of unrequited love,” Evelyne sighed.

“Yeah,” Quixote down shifted to merge into a turning lane, “Well, it doesn’t stop me from making the same mistake over and over.”

“What’s that?”

“I guess… I guess it’s that I perceive my partner as art; for me, they exist as an ideal in my imagination — almost as a character. I know it’s not fair to them for me to apply standards that are unreachable. I can’t help it though, it’s like I have a set idea of what my perfect partner should be.”

“Your Dulcinea,” Evelyne joked.

Quixote laughed along but she felt he was forcing it to be polite, “In a way, maybe. It’s self sabotage though, that’s all I know.”

“What did you do, write a poem for her or something?”

“Yeah, I did, I wrote a poem okay. When I feel an emotion it gets me deep, and the only way I know how to express it is to pull it out and turn it into art,” Quixote replied.

“She liked it at least, right?” 

“To be one hundred, I don’t even know. I was so nervous when I read it to her that I think I made her feel more sorry for me than anything else. She dumped me the next day.”

“Her loss, I’d be honored to inspire your art. She just didn’t recognize how talented you are,” Evelyne said.

“Thanks, maybe I should write a story about you. You’re certainly an interesting enough subject.”

“Maybe you should,” she said, meeting Quixote’s eyes and hoping she had gotten the wheel spinning. 

“Anyway, Olivia helped me recognize that I was seeing the rejection of my love as also being a rejection of my art. I’m trying to keep the two worlds separate these days, but it’s not so easy, and to be honest with you, recently the lines have been blurring for me again.” 

“You can always be honest with me, as a matter of fact, I expect it.”

“I just hope I’m not made of glass,” Quixote said. 

“No, keep going and get on Mandela,” Evelyne said, pointing in the direction of her father’s house.

“Hey, do you work tomorrow?” Quixote asked.

“Bright and early.” 

“Maybe I’ll come by and give you a book of Plato’s dialogues, it’s important to read a good translation.”

“Do you have any loebs? I like to be able to see the text in its original language.”

“Of course, that’s what I was thinking.”

“I’ll treat it like it’s sacred,” Evelyne said, doing the sign of the cross over her chest.  

“No need to go that far. I just want to be able to talk about the ideas with you.”
“Okay, I’d like that,” Evelyne paused, then changing topics said, “and this is my spot, thank you, right here is perfect.”

“Right on, I’m glad we linked up.” Quixote said to Evelyne as she grabbed her skateboard out of the back seat of his car. 

“No doubt, and I guess I’ll see you soon.”

“Bright and early,” Quixote said as he put the Civic into gear and accelerated. 

9 Crimson 

Evelyne woke up earlier than usual that morning and put in the effort to shower and look presentable before riding her skateboard to the café. It was a busy shift, and she was frustrated with her coworker T, who was moving like they had fallen into a jar of honey. Then, one customer told her, “The coffee ain’t worth the cup you poured it into.” Another requested a refund saying, “No way this weak ass shit is caffeinated.” 

There was barely anything in the tip jar when a man accidentally knocked over the station which staged the milk, cream and sugar. As Evelyne mopped up the mess, sweat dripped from her forehead and stung her left eye. She was hungry and irritable when Quixote appeared at the back of the line which nearly stretched out the front door. 

When he reached Evelyne, he smiled, leaned into the counter, and said “It sure is a beautiful morning,”

“Maybe if it’s your day off,” Evelyne replied.

“Not having to work does make it easier to enjoy the little things.”

“Do you want a drink?”

“Yeah, what’s the Corsica special.”

“No such thing.”

“Well, do you have a blend or a particular style you can vouch for?” Quixote asked, still smiling.

“It’s all coffee, once you put in cream and sugar you can barely taste the difference.”

“Is this how you treat all your customers?”

“Only when there’s a line.”

Quixote looked behind him then back to Evelyne, “Alright, just give me a large light roast then.”

“You got it.”

Quixote paid with a five dollar bill, put the change in the tip jar, and waited for his coffee. When he got it, he sat down and began flipping through a copy of the newspaper that someone had left at the table. 

Evelyne went back to her work until she felt her phone buzz in her pocket, when she finished with the customer at hand she read the text from Quixote, “Do you have a break coming up at any point?”

“At 10,” she replied. It was 9:15.

“Cool, just trying to give you this book.” 

She didn’t reply, the clock seemed to turn in slow motion, and the line refused to let up. Quixote occupied himself by writing in his journal. At that moment she wanted nothing to do with him because she wanted nothing to do with anybody. When Jamal arrived at the shop and her break started, she brought a fresh cup of coffee and a warm chocolate croissant with her to the table where Quixote was sitting. 

“Alright, check it out,” he said, smiling and reaching into his bag, “it’s all yours.” He passed her a new, green, hardcover copy of Plato’s early dialogues. 

“Thanks,” Evelyne replied, blushing and looking self-consciously behind her. “What’s this?” she asked, pulling three sheets of printer paper that had been folded over from the back half of the book.

“It’s a story I’ve been playing with. I figured since I’d be dropping by that I would pass it off to you in person.”

“Am I supposed to read up to the Phaedrus before I start your story?” Evelyne asked.

“No, you can read it whenever.”

“Okay, cool,” she said, wishing that her and Quixote could be out of the line of sight. 

They sat for a while longer and as Evelyne had her croissant she felt that there wasn’t anything else to talk about. Quixote seemed tense to her and after a few moments of silence returned to what he had been writing in his journal. When her break was over, she picked up the hardcover and said, “Thanks again for coming by and giving me the book.”

“No stress,” he replied, barely lifting his head. 

She began serving customers and not long after, Quixote got up and made his way out of the café without saying goodbye. 

“What’s his deal?” T asked Evelyne as they made drinks behind the booth.

“Nothing, he’s just a nerd, he found out I hadn’t read any Plato and so he made it his personal mission to put a book in my hand.”

“He looked hella…what’s the right word, distraught. He looked hella distraught.” 

Evelyne blushed and wanted to hide her face, “Quixote is in his own world, I can’t keep up with what goes on in his head.”

“Fair enough, I’ve always said he’s got a talent that’s too big for his personality,” T responded, then went to help the next customer.

There’s no fooling yourself though, Evelyne thought as she served a round of espresso’s. I can’t keep leading him on, he’s too sensitive. She spent the rest of her shift weighing her options: I don’t want to cut him off completely, he is a good friend and even though I feel guilty admitting it, I like being the only one whom he shares his fiction with; still, I’ve got to show him that I don't want anything romantic out of our relationship. 

She looked at the book he’d given her and then asked herself, is that even true though? Maybe the feelings I have for him are stronger than I’ve conceded. It’s just not the same way I feel about Benit—there’s no flame—no lust. If only I could listen to my mind and abandon the hope of Benit and I being together, maybe then I would see it all differently. In fact, I don’t think I can reason properly about Quixote until that flame has been extinguished. 

Evelyne bit her lip and looked up at the clock which reflected the blinding glare of the sun. What I need is time, she thought, time to allow things to play out their own way, without my interference. I’ll just let things happen naturally for a bit longer, there’s no harm in that right? A voice in the back of her head began listing possible consequences but she suppressed it by focusing on the next customer and by making small talk with her coworkers. 

After work she had the house to herself. She was both tired and hungry and so she decided to microwave some leftovers before taking a nap. Evelyne sat at the table on the side where the sun was coming through the windows. Her glass of water was three quarters of the way full, but looked empty when she set it in the dark. She contemplated a slender spider as it crawled down the flaking grey plaster, then opened the book Quixote had given her. 

She made it a few pages into the introduction before placing the dialogues to the side of her bed. I’ve always had trouble starting one book when I’m in the middle of another, she thought, then switched to reading the short story Quixote had printed out for her instead. 

The story’s narrator was wealthy and retired. He had purchased a sailboat and lived on it alone in the Mediterranean. It was understood that the narrator had sacrificed his art for a successful career and now that he had the time, he was getting back into painting. 

One night, the painter woke before sunrise with a sudden rush of inspiration. He went to the canvas and painted the image from his dream. The page pulsed with a paragraph of poetic details, then revealed that the man had painted the profile of a woman, starting from the left side of her face and down to her bare shoulder. The narrator rarely finished a painting in one attempt, but when he put the final touches on this piece, he felt it was perfect the way it was. Seeing that it was so close to sunrise, he made coffee and eggs then decided to watch daybreak on the horizon from his deck. 

The sky turned crimson like the leaves of a maple tree in October and the water reflected back the same color like moving glass. The story ended with the narrator dropping his plate of eggs after spotting a life boat floating on top of the sea. As he got closer, he recognized the sole passenger from his painting. 

Evelyne finished reading the story and did her best to hold back the tears she felt welling up in her eyes. It’s about me, she thought—I am the subject—I am the inspiration. She put her dishes away and crawled into bed for a midday nap. She read the story again and went to sleep feeling more sure of her suspicion on the second go through than she had on the first. 

Later, when her father got home, Evelyne was sitting at the kitchen table with her Sanskrit dictionary and workbook spread out in front of her. As much as she tried to study, she could not stop her mind from drifting to the dilemma she was facing. She hoped her father would provide a distraction and began to clear the table when he came into the room.

“Workin’ hard, or hardly workin?” he asked her.

“I was working hard till you came home.”

“Good, you’ve been working too hard, let's have some fun.”

“What are we making tonight?” Evelyne asked.

“This is gonna be a little different, do you think you can handle it?”

She laughed then said, “I hope so.”

“It’s not an old family recipe, are you sure you’re even interested in learning it?”

“Yeah, come on, we cook together, it’s our bonding time.”

“Alright then, feast your eyes on our main ingredient.” He reached into the shopping bag and brought out a package of silken tofu. 

“Woah, send me back to Corsica this instant,” Evelyne demanded through a smile.

“Damn, and we were just starting to get close to one another too.”

“No, let's get to cooking, I’m starved.”

“Follow me to the kitchen, I’ll show you how it’s done.”

She did and began taking notes on her father's instructions for how to dry and season the tofu before putting it into a pan. At one point, her phone alerted her to a new message by buzzing in her pocket. When the right moment came she unlocked her screen and checked the text. It was Quixote, “Did I do something wrong today?” Evelyne put her phone away and sighed. 

“Something on your screen giving you the blues?” her father asked.

“No, I wouldn’t say all that. I just…” she paused, in search of the best way to phrase her situation. “I just have a lot going on with my new social life here in Oakland.”

“That sounds like trouble.”

“No trouble, I’ve got to make some decisions though and I’m not sure exactly what I want.”

“You got boys on the brain?” he said, looking embarrassed for having asked.

“Maybe.” 

“I was afraid this might happen. I don’t know how much my advice is worth, seeing as my love life has been a long series of failures. I guess I can help you to avoid a mistake or two though; I’ve certainly made enough of those for a lifetime.” He laughed like it was a joke but Evelyne knew he was serious. 

“Maybe I’m following in your footsteps.”

“How so?”

Evelyne tensed up, “It’s difficult to put it into words, my head spins every time I think about it. It’s like I’ve made someone up who isn’t real. But that persona started to believe in itself and it’s broken loose from my control and now…I think I’ve dug a serious hole for myself,” she said.

“Do you mean that the picture you had in your head of this boy from your telephone ain’t living up to what you’d expected?”

“No, that’s not it,” Evelyne hadn’t expected to cry and attempted to wipe the warm tears away with her sleeve, “When I came out here I wanted to change the way people saw me. I wanted to look in the mirror and be someone else, but I couldn't change and now the wrong person has thought they’ve seen what was never there.”

Her father nodded and put his hand on her shoulder, Evelyne fell into his wide chest and cried into his shirt. He wrapped his arms around her and said, “We all make mistakes Ev, especially when we’re young.”

She thought about saying more, but instead she just let her tears speak for her.  

10 Grand Finale

Evelyne responded to Quixote’s text while on her break the next day at work, “No, you didn’t do anything wrong, work was just kicking my ass.”

Ten minutes went by until Quixote responded, “Okay, you seemed a bit cold, I couldn’t read you.” 

“It wasn’t because of you.”

She went back to work before the next text came in, “You coming to the show tonight?” Quixote asked.

“Yeah, should be a good one right?”

“I hope so, I’m nervous about it.”

Evelyne replied in a rush and barely gave her message any thought, “Don’t be,” she said, “you’re always great.” 

The rest of the day in the café went by like any other. Evelyne and Olivia got off at the same time and went to skate at Joseph Emery Park before dinner. Next they ate with Evelyne’s father and rolled a joint on their way to the show. 

Benit was out front with the twins when they arrived and Olivia gave him a scowl. 

“What’s her issue?” he asked, as Evelyne and Olivia entered Jasmine’s. 

The café was packed and there were whispers that they may be unable to sit during the show. They made their rounds, hugged and talked with their friends. Quixote was sitting with Angel who had her guitar out. He was tapping a rhythm and mouthing the words to his rap. Evelyne and Oliva did not want to disturb his concentration and so they left him alone. A group went out to smoke and the girls joined them. 

Evelyne could feel Benit’s eyes on her as she lit the joint that she and Oliva had rolled on the way to the event. No words were exchanged, and yet she felt as if she was being swept out to sea and that he was the riptide. 

Angel joined the circle without Quixote, “Warning,” she said, “The Poet Quixote has fallen in love again.”

“Oh fuck,” Benit said, causing an immediate burst of laughter from the group. Olivia made nervous eye contact with Evelyne.

“Y’all think it’s funny but it ain’t,” Benit said. “This man forgets about everything else when his heart be speaking.” 

“Love is irrational, you can’t fault him for that,” Cody said through a cloud of blunt smoke.

“Yeah, maybe you ought to follow his lead and write a love song once and a while,” T said.

“Come on, y’all are supposed to know me; I write about love all the time, I love money.” As Benit spoke he made eye contact with Evelyne for the first time that night. 

“We do know you, and we know you’re a hell of a lot deeper than you’re fronting right now,” Angel fired back. 

“Whatever, I don’t need it tonight,” he turned and walked inside.
“Somebody’s sensitive,” Angel said, taking hold of a blunt.

“He’s worried about his partner–” Cody was cut off by a remix of Sexyback by Justin Timberlake playing through the speakers. “Oh hold up, I’ve gotta change the music,” he said, passing off the blunt and heading into the venue.

The twins started talking about the slam they had won earlier that week and Evelyne watched Benit through the window. When he sat next to Quixote the two began speaking and Evelyne felt as though she wanted to be nowhere near Oakland for a long time. She would have preferred the two relationships secret and separate; the idea of Quixote finding out about her and Benit made her stomach twist into knots. 

“Hey, I think I’m gonna go home and sit this one out,” she whispered so that only Olivia could hear.

“What, come on, we came all the way out here.”

“I don’t feel so good.”

“Here,” Olivia grabbed her hand, “we’ll get some water.” She was now leading Evelyne inside.

“I just want to get a good night's sleep,” Evelyne protested.

“You never told Quixote that you and Benit hooked up, did you?” Olivia asked, with eyes that were cold and intense. 

“No,” Evelyne looked towards the floor.

“Well damn Ev, you better figure out a way to break that one to him before someone else does.”

Evelyne looked over at the rappers, Quixote had on a green and yellow Oakland Athletics hat and he gave her a peace sign from across the room. She tried to smile back at him but was so nervous that the look was strained and brief.

“You think I should tell him now? Before he performs?” Evelyne asked.

“You’ve got to, if he’s… yu know, ‘in love’ with you, then it would be very unpleasant for him to find out after he tells you how he feels.”

“How do I–” Evelyne began asking as the lights dimmed and Benit took the stage with microphone in hand. 

“Yo yo, yo yo yo. We got a big show for y’all tonight: a crazy talented line-up of slam poets, musicians, comedians, singers, and even a few rappers like myself. Now, we got a whole lot of rules, a whole lot of ways we like the audience to participate, but the reason we all gathered here tonight is to hear the most talented artists in Oakland show off their stuff. So let’s get into the rules after our first performer.”

The crowd clapped and cheered as Angel rushed in from the smoke circle outside. 

“Now,” Benit began again, “this first artist is someone who I usually perform with myself, he’s my brother, mi amigo numero uno, and the most dedicated writer I’ve ever met. Give it up for Quixote,”

Olivia looked at Evelyne like she had just witnessed an accident on the freeway.

As Angel followed him to the stage Benit said, “And tonight, as a treat for y’all, he’s gonna be sharing the stage with the most famous busker in Alameda County, our one and only Angel.”

There was a loud round of applause that took too long to die out. Evelyne felt bombarded by sensation as Quixote took the microphone from Benit. Angel was making some final adjustments to the tuning of her acoustic guitar while Quixote was waiting for the crowd to become silent before he addressed them. When he felt he had their attention he said, “This is dedicated to someone who’s been helping me with my fiction lately.”

She had to leave. Evelyne felt that it was a matter of her very survival that she not be in the crowd as the song was performed, but the entrance was crowded and her social ties trapped her in. Evelyne knew that if she left and it was obvious, that her relationships would be worse for it.  

Angel began strumming on her guitar and Quixote’s voice was quick to join her. Evelyne was thankful that Quixote wrote in a complex scheme and believed that while many people would be able to empathize with his feelings, she doubted that many would catch what or who he was rapping about. She understood like never before how much this fact must torment him. 

He kept his eyes closed, and as he picked up speed the crowd began to encourage him by stomping their feet and shouting praises his way. At one point, he began rapping so quickly that even Evelyne lost track of what he was saying. There was no chorus, just rhyming the entire way through. Then, near the halfway point of the song's second minute, an abrupt ending was made. 

The crowd exploded in a roar that was not easily quieted and Evelyne clapped along with them. No one seemed to be paying attention to her; including Quixote who would still not look in her direction.

After the performance, Benit got back on the stage and said, “Come on! now that’s what I’m talking about. My only complaint is with Don Q holding out on that second verse. Like damn, encore, encore.”

The crowd joined in the chant but Quixote shook his head and Benit moved onto introducing the house rules along with the next performer. When the next artist was settling the crowd in front of the microphone, Quixote got up and made his way towards the back of the venue, then left without glancing in Evelyne’s direction.

“Something ain’t right,” Evelyne said.

“It’s his head, girl.”

“What do you mean?” Evelyne asked.

“I mean he’s off base, his head ain’t right Ev.”

“Do you think he knows about Benit and me?” 

Olivia looked in her direction and lowered her voice as the woman on stage began telling jokes, “Look,” Olivia began, “All I know is that he just told the whole world how he feels about you.” 

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Go talk to him,” Olivia said, like it was obvious.

In that moment, it didn’t matter that the room was crowded, Evelyne felt alone the second she heard those words. She bit her lip and followed Quixote outside. He had isolated himself beside his car, writing in his journal under the streetlamps burnt orange glow. 

“How come you didn’t perform the second verse?” Evelyne asked.

He looked up from his journal, “The whole crowd didn’t need to know I was talking about you. I wanted you to have your privacy.” 

“Thank you,” 

“What did you think?” Quixote asked, his eyes burning like coals in a fire.

“About the song…? I thought it was cool, I want to sit down with the lyrics and go through each line. I never get the whole meaning during the first round.”

“So–”

“Look, I’ve got to tell you something,” Evelyne interrupted.

“Okay.”

“This is not easy, I’m not sure how to say it,” She was pacing and running her hand through her hair.

“Just tell me.”

“I…well, Benit and I have been hooking up.”

Quixote didn’t move or speak, from behind her she heard the crowd applauding the last performer. Finally, Quixote opened the door to his passenger seat and sat down. “Do you love him?” he asked.

“I don’t know, no, I don’t think so...” Quixote hid his face in his hands, and Evelyne said, “He certainly doesn’t love me.”

“You don’t feel about Benit the way you feel about me though, do you?” Quixote asked.

“Not the same way, no, it’s not so simple though.”

“What’s wrong with me?” 

“I don’t think anything is wrong with you,” Evelyne said, watching as he got up, closed the door and headed towards the driver's seat of the car. “Hey, what are you doing?” she asked.

“I gotta have some space,” he said.

“Don’t you want to talk this through?” 

“What is there to talk about? I’m stuck in a sickening cycle, I say appreciation holds more value than possession, but I can’t take my own advice,” he repeated. 

“Quixote!” Evelyne shouted his name but nothing seemed to reach him. He got behind the wheel of the car and started driving east, towards the hills. 

Evelyne sat on the curb after he left, and although no one was paying her any attention, she felt as though the entire café was staring out at her. She picked herself up off the pavement and started walking home. She sent Olivia a text message saying: “I’m headed back to my spot, this show is too much for me tonight.”

Evelyne collapsed into her bed, closed her eyes, and welcomed the darkness as it closed in around her. She wanted nothing more than to cease the thoughts which gnawed at her psyche. Sleep was a welcome escape. 

11 Epilogue

A week passed and though she tried to contact him, Evelyne heard nothing from Quixote. She was near the end of a shift when Benit burst into the café. He was wearing a black bandana and a red leather jacket. Evelyne knew he was upset and concluded that he had found out what happened between her and Quixote.

“I need to talk to you,” Benit said.

“Give me 5 minutes, my shift is almost over.”

“Did you know Quixote moved to New Orleans?” he blurted out.

“No,” Evelyne said, her face turning bright pink. “Give me five minutes then we can talk.”

“I ain’t got five minutes.”

“Benit, please,” she begged.

“No, what you did was whack, new girl. You got my homie feeling some type of way in order to try and get closer to me. You know you’re wrong for that.”

T stepped in at this point, “I can cover in here Evelyne, this seems pretty serious.”

She looked at T like they had slashed the sails of her boat. “Fine,” she said, and headed out of the café.

“You know that’s not what went down, right?” She asked Benit when they were alone with one another.

“No, I know exactly the way it went.”

“You may think you do–”

“I know,” he interrupted her. “And let me tell you something: you may have messed with my music, but you never meant anything to me. You and me aren’t anything now and we’re never gonna be in the future. So if you hear anything from my boy, Quixote, tell him that I told you just that.” He put one leg over his Ducati, fired up the engine, then said, “I hope you move back to Corsica,” and sped into traffic. 

Evelyne fought back her tears but could not find the words to speak with her coworkers as they tried to comfort her. She called Quixote, but only got his voicemail. A solitary crow sat on her roof when she arrived at her father’s house in West Oakland. Evelyne closed the blinds, crawled into bed and re-read all of the short stories Quixote had given her.