2 Chapter 2

“Can I get a Diet Coke and some fries?” a melodic voice requested. On a day like today, filled with screeching kids and loud bands warming up, the request didn’t sound too bad to Zora’s ears. Shaken back to reality, she pivoted around, filled the red and white paper container with hot fries sprinkled with her father’s signature seasoning, and grabbed the requested soft drink from the cooler. Dropping her head down to see her latest customer, a pair of startling sapphire eyes and raspberry-colored lips parted in a welcoming smile greeted Zora. Hair the color of midnight fell in waves around a slightly tanned face. The sunlight hit her diamond stud nose ring, causing a quick shimmer in Zora’s eye. This customer bore a strong resemblance to one of her favorite Friends stars, which in turn made Zora’s bronze-tinted lips part in an appreciative smile.

“Thank you, and don’t worry about the change. Happy Fourth of July,” the pleasingly-proportional patron said, placing a five-dollar bill into Zora’s plastic-gloved hand. Watching the round pear ass encased in appealingly tight blue jeans shorts, Zora thought, I guess there are some payoffs to being a good daughter, before her attention was loudly demanded by an exasperated woman with three children cluttered around her like impatient flowers seeking sunlight. Zora passed the money down to her sister and resumed her role.

For three hours, Zora assembled fried oyster sandwiches, piled popcorn shrimp in paper baskets, handed out water bottles, and stole glances at the crowd that clustered in front of the food trunk. Even though it had been close to nine months since she had last made it down I-74 to Brunswick County, there was no time to play catch-up with her parents. Lines of customers stretched into the streets, requiring Zora to focus on service rather than the beads of sweat popping up on her forehead. Stealing glances at her parents, Zora felt warmed by their apparent sense of satisfaction that the food truck was paying off. In fact, Zora could swear she saw her usually solemn father smile.

Despite her mind being on ensuring sure the right change and Connors Crispy Crustaceans exchanged hands, Zora kept thinking about that customer with the raspberry lips. Something about her seemed familiar, was it her voice? Her eyes maybe, Zora pondered. The whole mystery off it all made her feel a little bit moist in her woman parts. Then again, that feeling of wetness could be sweat since it was hot enough to bake biscuits in the food truck. Exhaling, she took a sip of her water, not minding the drips that traveled from her mouth to the valley between her breasts.

Zora had always seemed to have an eye—and other body parts—for women. Growing up in a small Southern town, she’d worn so many labels in school because of her focus on getting good grades and skills on the tennis court. She’d concealed her sexual preference to avoid having another, not so nice title attached to her name. During college she had explored her sexual feelings, dating an Aggie, a Spartan, and even a Ram who’d actually preferred to be treated gentle like a lamb in the bedroom. She’d never tapped any of her fellow Bennett Belles. Going to a same-sex school was already ripe with Sapphic overtones; she didn’t want to become another stereotype. After college, she’d fully embraced her identity in Charlotte. She volunteered with the city’s black gay pride organization and attended a LGBT church led by an exceptionally beautiful masculine-of-center lesbian minister. Her family’s reluctance in accepting the total package of her was one of the reasons she didn’t come visit home much. Homosexuality just wasn’t the Caribbean way, so Zora knew without it being said, that part of her life would have to be checked at the county line. It pained her greatly and at times, she doubted if being an out lesbian was worth it. Then there were times like these. Just seeing a beautiful woman caused her mind to rise above the humid surroundings—that in itself was proof that being gay was truly her way.

Three hours after she arrived in Southport, salvation arrived in the form of, Zora’s younger brother. Free from her obligation, she stepped down the three wooden steps at the rear of the food truck. Even though the temperature outside seemed to be only a few degrees cooler than the sweatbox of a food truck, the wafting breeze from the waterfront less than one block away made the air feel tolerable.

Removing the Connors Crispy Crustaceans baseball cap, Zora let the beaming sun bathe her chemically-colored copper locks. Shaking her mane, she inhaled deeply and exhaled; it felt good to be free from being the good daughter. Now it was time to enjoy the festivities. Holding a heaping plate of her father’s signature sandwich and fries, Zora navigated her way across the street until she secured a space on the bench in front of the town’s weekly newspaper. Damn, I had forgotten how good Dad’s food can be, she thought, taking a bite of the shrimp burger. It had been three months since she had experienced fried food, and this was a fitting way to break her fast. Her taste buds welcomed the spices her father used in his batter to elevate his creations beyond just another bunch of fried shrimp. This meal came close to rivaling Zora’s most recent sexual encounter. Pausing mid-bite, Zora pondered if that was a fair assessment. Nah, she thought, this food is better

The Fourth of July parade had long since ended, a fact that left Zora bummed. She had hoped she would be able to sneak away to enjoy the sights and sounds of floats, clowns, Shriners, and of course the marching band. No matter how corporate she might appear to the outside world, beneath the business professional blouses beat the heart of a proud second-chair clarinet. What she wouldn’t give to be washed down in sweat, rocking her South Brunswick High School powder blue, black, and white outfit with the matching cavalier hat. Being part of parades made the hours of practice worth it. Alas, those days are long past, she inwardly sighed. Finishing off her sandwich, she thought, I guess I have to face facts. I’m officially a grown-up

A syrup-sweet drawl interrupted Zora’s thoughts. “Mickey Connors, is that you? You haven’t changed a bit since I last saw you.”

Zora turned to see a pair of water balloon-sized breasts attached to a petite frame crowned with a gravity-defying blonde bouffant rapidly approaching her. Zora beamed. There weren’t too many people in this world that could call her by her childhood nickname and this force of nature headed toward her was one of the lucky few. Standing up to toss her plate in a nearby trashcan, Zora’s face stretched into a welcoming grin.