Sometimes I close my eyes and all I can see is me in Bleu—me in his arms, me in his whispers, me in his dreams. I try not to close my eyes. Try not to forget that I vowed to escape the smallness of this island. It suffocates me. Mama, the most. She blames me for Papi’s death. It happened three years ago when I was only fourteen. And I couldn’t have stopped Papi’s dinghy from getting lost at sea anymore than Mama could. Still, if she was the hammer, I was her nail. She never failed to hit me with her words—loud, soft, unspoken. They all hurt.
“Shakima, bring your backside home as soon as de school bell ring,” Mama would say.
And I did. I got home fifteen minutes after the bus dropped us off at the nearest shopping plaza. The slow country road to the resort reminded me of Papi. Of driving in his old truck with a cold cup of soursop fraco—a blend of shaved ice and my favorite local fruit. Everywhere on the island reminded me of Papi. A breath of disappointment slipped from my lips.
Now, it was just me and Bleu walking the narrow road home. My heart sank, drowning in that dinghy with Papi. Then Bleu would tell his wild stories of the day. Stories of catching iguanas by the tail and flinging them into the trees. Stories of placing first in random races. And stories that ended with, “I got this for you, too.”
Mango. Soursop. Coconut tart.
Bleu had skin like the sky before midnight. He had easy manners and a smile that glittered in his eyes. I knew his stories left out the parts about girls in our grades fawning over his suddenly broad shoulders. And I knew he left them out because he has loved me since we were little. But I also knew he could leave—would leave me, too.
We turned a corner, passing genip and tamarind trees that grew wild alongside the road, and walked until gravel dusted the asphalt. My feet slowed. Stalled. I stared at the gravel path that led to my bungalow.
Fourteen minutes to walk home.
One minute to brace myself.
And seventeen if Bleu tried to kiss me.
Kissing Bleu was worth more than all the sand in the sea. He grabbed my hand, leading me away from the gravel path, and guided me into the lush forest of tropical trees by my house. Against the rough, ringed bark of a coconut tree, he tilted my head so I could see his beautiful brown eyes, the color roasted walnuts. And his smile would shimmer there right before his lips covered mine.
Bleu was like the sea. Calm on sunny days. Cool when the island was too hot. And wet. For those two minutes, I would drown myself in Bleu, letting his tide wash my worries out to sea. But two minutes were too short. I held him tighter, taking one last drink from his lips before I let him let me go.
I rested my head on his chest, inhaling the ocean breeze scent that clung to his skin.
I love Bleu.
My eyes popped open and I pulled myself away from the truth. It burned.
“You all right?” he asked.
“Yes,” I lied, wiping away evidence of his kiss, the only good thing left in my life. Then I rushed ahead, and he followed like always, lingering far enough behind to blend into my past but close enough to dwell in my senses.
I love Bleu.
I shook off the thought and marched up the gravel path that Papi promised he would pave. The crunchy rocks pierced the soles of my shoes, threatening to cut through.
I’ve loved Bleu since we were six. Since we played together on the beach. I watched him grow from the boy that played marbles and slept in superhero pajamas into the guy that every girl wanted. But Bleu belonged to the island just like the sea. He would never leave, and I would never stay. I turned back, searching the jungle of tall grass, hoping to catch one last glimpse of him.
“Eighteen minutes,” Mama’s voice called from the back porch, snapping my attention. The round woman planted her hands on her hip. “What take you so long?”
Nervous about being caught, I reached into my book bag and handed her an envelope I’d been cherishing for three days. Mama yanked the thick paper from its sheath and held it far from her face as she craned her head back to read.
“I win de scholarship,” I said, forcing a smile. Sometimes she liked when I smiled. “It pay for all de tuition, fees, and for de dorms in North Carolina, too.”
Mama sucked her teeth hard and ripped my acceptance letter in half. My heart leapt into my throat. Another deafening shred ripped the paper into quarters. My hands flew to my head. She kept tearing and shredding until her hands were filled with tiny flakes of my hopes and dreams. Then Mama threw the pieces up into the air and let them fall to the ground.
I gasped.
“This is your home,” she said. “T’aint got nothing up there for you but a bunch of empty promises.” Her scowl turned toward the trees in the direction I had come from, then came back to me. “Go and take de laundry down off de clothes line. Put them up, then come to de hotel. We need to make more dumb bread.”
I crouched to pick up the broken pieces of my dream.
Mama raised a brow. “You hear what I say?”
I froze, taking one last look at my lifeline before leaving hope behind. “Yes, Mama,” I answered.
#
The next day, I got off the school bus, slung my book bag over one arm, and walked ahead of Bleu. The late afternoon sun was angry, pelting my skin to form beads of sweat. I could hear his footsteps on the asphalt behind, keeping pace. My heart lingered, wanting him close, but my mind refused. I couldn’t stay. Wouldn’t. My feet moved faster, obeying until I ran, separating my heart from love. Distancing myself from the island.
I don’t love him.
I ran around the corner, up the modest hill, and past the genip and tamarind trees that grew wild alongside the road. I ran past the worn grass that led to our coconut tree, running until the lush foliage gave way to the gravel path. Then the bungalow came into view. My feet slowed. Stalled. And my heart ached for Bleu to catch me. Even if his kisses could never be enough.
Just then, his long arms wrapped around my waist from behind, holding on tight enough for me to forget myself. His breathing matched mine, and I stayed there, cloaked in him, hidden from my life.
His hand slid away from my waist, bringing me back to the place I wanted to escape. I stared at the gravel path, and let out a desperate sigh. Then Bleu slid the book bag from my shoulder, put a large manila envelope inside, and helped me put the backpack on.
“Congratulations Shakima,” he said, scooping my hair from under the strap of my bag. His eyes didn’t shimmer. This time, they were empty like mine. “Don’t leave without saying goodbye.”
Another smile. Sweet. Slow. Sad. Then he hurried along, away from the path to my house toward his family’s resort—his castle on the beach. I stared, watching his long, lean frame get smaller and smaller until he disappeared around the bend.
When I remembered Mama, my gaze darted over to the bungalow. Like a hawk, she watched me from the porch. Her lips were drawn tight. My head dipped under the pressure and I walked home. Each crunch of the gravel was louder than the last until I stood at the base of the concrete steps.
“Sorry, Mama,” I said.
“For what?” she asked, crossing her plump arms.
“I’m late.”
Mama frowned. “Girls dem does always think they special until they find out they not.” She adjusted the purse clamped in the crook of her arm. I heard heavy steps as she came down the stairs and said, “I’ll be back in an hour. Make sure this place get clean up good.”
I kept my eyes on the ground where my dream was scattered. “Yes, Mama.”
At the bottom of the stairs, Mama stood before me, waiting longer than usual. I lifted my eyes to meet hers and found a hint of softness camped in her hard terrain of her tired face. Then she cleared her throat, the hardness returned, and she stormed away.
Stunned, I watched her leave. She rarely left me alone. Without trying to figure out why, I ran up the stairs, through the galley kitchen, and into the cramped bathroom. Then I locked the door and drew out the large envelope Bleu had slipped into my book bag.
Tugging from the corner, I recognized the tattered linen paper. I eased it out with care. Smooth rivers of transparent tape held my scholarship letter together. My eyes watered and a hand flew over my mouth. Every word was as I remembered.
Congratulations, Shakima Thomas, it read. I followed the curve of each letter to the end, fighting back tears. Then another paper slipped out of the envelope. A one-way airplane ticket to Raleigh, North Carolina.
Bleu.
How could I leave him? How could I not?
Now, every moment of every day, all I ever see is me in Bleu.
************
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