Crimson Footprints (14 page)

“
Trust me. Not logic or
science, but me.”

He brought a hand to her
cheek and traced the line of her jaw, eyes on her mouth. Her
breathing came fast and shallow. Instinctively, her lips parted.
Tak leaned in and Deena’s eyes closed, chin tilting.

The pair jolted, the ride
begun, jarring them sheepishly to the far ends of the cart. They
glanced at each other, and quickly looked away.

With a pull of the chain,
Tak and Deena were dragged up a steep incline. Above the trees,
above the park, they continued to climb at a steady rate. The
creaking of tracks, the rattle of chains and the steepness of
incline combined to topple Deena into near hysterics. In
desperation, she gripped Tak’s arm when she could stand it no more
and buried her face into the crook of his shoulder.

They fell out the sky. Eyes
watering, Deena shrieking, feet digging for footing in vain. Next
to her, Tak hooted in glee. They rose and fell, the third of the
drops by far the harshest. And just when Deena felt certain her
nerves could take no more, they were hurled into a 180-degree turn
and heaved toward the exit.

He wouldn’t do that to her
again. She’d been terrified, far more than he thought one person
could ever be. She’d shrieked and clawed like a cat in a hot bath,
and halfway through, he felt ashamed for making her
ride.

As they weaved down the
walkway, Tak hurried to keep up, Deena, it seemed, was hell bent on
escape.

“
Dee, wait!” Tak called as
they dashed towards what he figured was the park’s exit. “I’m
sorry! I shouldn’t have pressured you. Forgive me.”

He’d asked her to trust him,
and just when she did, he’d heaved her into horror.

Deena turned on
him.

“
Forgive you? What are you
talking about? I’m getting back in line.
That-was-incredible!”

She snatched him by the arm
and dashed towards the waiting queue, dragging a baffled Tak behind
her.

As it turned out, Deena was
a thrill junkie. Slicing through the heavens on Mr. Freeze,
toppling twenty-three stories on Superman: The Tower of Power and
catapulting through head over heel loops on Batman: The Ride. She
wanted it all. White knuckle, corkscrewing, free falling gushes of
adrenaline—she wanted it all, it turned out, while clinging to
Tak.

Tak squinted under the
Midwestern sun, his favorite UCLA cap pulled low on Deena’s
brow.

“
Ready for your surprise?”
he asked as he draped an arm about her shoulder
mid-step.

She glanced at him. “That
depends. What is it?”

He stopped before a slew of
games. “A stuffed animal. Pick one and I’ll win it for
you.”

Deena looked at him
doubtfully.

“
Tak, these games are
difficult. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were
rigged.”

“
Just come on, already.” He
led her to the long-range basketball booth. “Last I checked I had a
pretty decent jump shot.”

Despite her objections, Tak
nodded towards the crater-faced attendant and dug out his wallet.
He slipped the kid a five and turned back to Deena.

“
No worries, you’ll see.
Besides, every girl should have a guy to win her
something.”

An hour later and forty-five
dollars lighter, Tak and Deena left with an oversized panda she
could’ve bought for twenty. Still, she was surprised at the
tenderness she felt when he handed her that prize. It was a sweet
feeling, having that panda to cradle as they exited the park, his
UCLA cap pulled low on her brow. And as they walked, Deena felt
something extraordinary and exotic—something she’d all but
forgotten. Deena felt…normal.

They did all the things they
were supposed to in St. Louis—pose for pictures at the Arch, gulp
beer at Anheuser Busch, and nearly hurl at Six Flags. They toured
the wineries on the outskirts of the city, caught an indie film at
Trivoli, and took a horse drawn carriage through Tower Grove Park.
And when it was time to split the state of Illinois in two with an
I-55 trek north, neither Tak nor Deena had any regrets.

As Tak drove, Deena made
plans for their next stop. The Chicago skyline was an architecture
lover’s dream. When the Great Chicago Fire destroyed so much of the
city, its visionaries began experimenting with steel frame
construction and large plate glass, and in doing so, created the
first modern skyscraper. Their work would give birth to the most
awe-inspiring structures the American landscape had ever
seen.

While in Chicago, Deena
would be able to appreciate the wonders of the greatest American
architects: Louis Sullivan, Frank Lloyd Wright and Mies van der
Rohe—their work all dotted the landscape.

And she looked forward to
the art, too. The Art Institute of Chicago housed an impressive
collection of Impressionist and post-Impressionist work by people
even Deena had heard of, Gogh and Monet, among them. And while
she’d never been one to linger in the halls of a museum per se, she
found Tak’s excitement about their work contagious.

Tak’s phone rang as Deena
flipped through the Chicago guidebook and deftly, he slipped it
from his pocket without so much as a swerve.

Impressive

Every city was a battle,
Deena thought, a constant crunching of time, always pressed with
the question of must-see versus must-wait. Sure, they could linger
in Chicago. But six days in Chicago meant no days somewhere else,
and Deena was becoming far too greedy to let that
happen.

They would have to
compromise. His art and her architecture were tops on the list, as
were a few restaurants and a night on Lake Michigan. But after
that, both time and activities got complicated. He wanted a Bulls
game and she wanted a chocolate tour. There would be time for one
or the other, but definitely not both.

Deena frowned at the glossy
photo of gooey milk chocolate dripping from a spoon and felt her
mouth go wet. There was a time in the not-too-distant past when
discipline had been the lifeblood of her existence. But as their
trip lingered, and Tak continued to pander to her every whim,
discipline gave way to indulgence, and restraint to satisfaction.
But Tak wasn’t the only one who could be indulgent.

“
Tak, I was
thinking—”

Deena froze with the
realization that he was still holding the phone.

“
Listen, I told you I don’t
know how long I’ll be gone. I’m with a friend.”

Tak drummed the steering
wheel in impatience. “Of course that’s important to me. You’re
important to me. All I’m saying is—”

Tak paused, glanced at Deena
who continued to stare, and returned to the call with a
sigh.

“
Listen, I can’t talk right
now. It’s just not a good time. Later.”

He powered off the phone and
turned to Deena’s wide-eyed stare. The scowl he wore morphed into a
smile. “Admiring the view?” he said.

Deena blushed, her curiosity
forgotten.

CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN

A hotel room high enough for
views of the skyline at the junction where the river met Lake
Michigan. A top-level suite with hardwood floors, two broad
platform beds and an ebony-paneled Jacuzzi. Soft ecru wallpapering
covered three sides of the room, and on the forth, a
floor-to-ceiling glass door led to the balcony. These features,
combined with a fully stocked wet bar and 47 inch flat screen,
promised that they could enjoy Chicago quite well, all without
leaving their hotel room.

It was late when they
arrived, so the two ordered in. A loaded stuffed pizza with three
kinds of sausage, made right with a garden salad for Deena’s wary
conscience. They mixed Long Island Iced Teas and chatted while they
drank, and afterwards collapsed into bed for the night.

When Deena woke, it was with
a start. Breathless and confused, she blinked at the darkness in an
effort to orient herself. She felt ladled in sweat. Entangled in
the bed sheets, her womanhood throbbed with the flickers of a
memory. A swipe of the tongue. An arch of the back. A moan.
Another.

She brought a hand to her
throat and it came away wet. She glanced at Tak, snoring in the
bed, razored edges of his hair sweeping his face. In her dreams,
those locks had swept her body as he hovered over her, had his way
with her, kissing, teasing, pleasing.

She wanted so badly to touch
him. Always had. But the voice of her grandfather, strong even in
death, maimed her desire.

“
The Lord God created the
races and separated us water, appearance and language.”

It was a cautionary tale
about life, and the reason Deena should’ve never existed. Her
parents had been a brazen affront to God, and she, the byproduct of
disobedience. And in the past, his voice had been enough. When no
other reason seemed compelling enough, the voice always was. It
stopped her from clasping Tak’s hand a moment too long or holding
his embrace a second more. But the voice was losing its luster. No
longer was it the loudest or the most insistent. No longer so
persuasive.

CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN

A morning at the museum, an
afternoon on Michigan, an evening of Chicago blues. Day one was
done, and for another day, another round of delights. Sunrise on
the balcony with mimosas in tow, sunset on the Sears Tower with a
view of four states, and jammed between it all was a sublime array
of artwork and architecture, exquisite food and music.

Chicago was a complicated
city. Ten million people comprised the metro area, three million in
the city proper. It was a place where towering high rises met
natural beauty, and where a segregated past battled an inclusive
future. It was where a Jewish synagogue could stand three blocks
from an Islamic mosque, yet ethnicities could cling to
neighborhoods as if gentrified by law.

Nowhere did Deena’s
increasingly contrary life seem more illuminated than in Chicago.
Raised by a family that subscribed to voluntary segregation, she
found herself in perpetual violation of this tenet. She spent her
days in Tak’s company and her dreams in his arms, all the while
leading her family to believe her with a girlfriend from college. A
black girlfriend, at that.

Deena and the Windy City
were of a common variety, clinging to the past out of habit, aware
that it hindered, not helped. Deena stood on the patio of her room,
gaze sweeping the steel mountains of Chicago, as color and creed,
race and religion pressed one upon another in the landscape below.
She knew that practicality would eventually force change, in
Chicago, in her. But as she stood next to Tak with all the hues of
ethnicity beneath her, she wondered. Wondered if she and the city
could change together, or if fear would force it to go
alone.

On their final night in the
city, they visited an old friend of Tak’s. His college roommate,
Eddie Spruce, was a fledgling artist with a grunge-like appearance
who lived in Wicker Park. An enthusiastic sculptor and aficionado
of graffiti, Eddie Spruce boasted that he could down six shots of
Tequila, all without flinching.

“
Eddie’s an enthusiastic
guy,” Tak explained, as he slowed at a red light mid-journey to
Wicker Park. “He means well, but his personality can be kinda
strong.”

“
I hope he likes me,” Deena
said. “Do you think he’ll like me?”

He glanced at her,
surprised. “Yeah. I’m sure of it.”

He gave the steering wheel a
nervous tap.

“
And you’re okay with
spending the night here? Instead of a hotel?” He was speaking
rather loud.

Deena shrugged. “I guess so.
I mean, it’s a practical idea. And people do that all the time,
don’t they? Stay with their friends when they visit?” She paused.
“Anyway, I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

Secretly, she felt thrilled
that he would reach into the farthest corners of his life and seek
to include her.

When Eddie opened the door
that evening, he was clad in a pair of ripped jeans and a T-shirt
that proclaimed art dead. His greasy red curls were shorn short and
tucked behind his ears; his green eyes glassy—no doubt from the
alcohol Deena smelled.

“
Tak-man!”

Eddie clapped his old
roommate on the back before sweeping him into his arms. Behind
Eddie, a slender, wide-mouthed blonde sat on the couch.

“
What’s happening, Spruce?”
Tak said.

Eddie grinned. “That’s what
I’m trying to find out.”

He turned to Deena with
interest. “This her?”

Tak nodded. “Yeah. This is
Deena.”

“
Sweet!”

Eddie snatched her into a
hug. When he released her, Deena was breathless.

“
Man! I feel like I already
know you! Tak-man here talks about you all the time.”

“
He does?” Deena whispered,
wide-eyed.