Billy, His Crush

In the twilight of a damp 1960s evening, a young black boy named Tommy trudged down the deserted street, each step splashing in the shallow puddles that had formed along the sidewalk. 

The rain fell in a steady drizzle, more like a persistent mist, soaking through his sweater and clinging to his small frame. His hair, a neat all back weaving, glistened with hard moisture, and his eyes, black and expressive like those of a porcelain doll, stared ahead with a mix of determination and sorrow.

Clutched tightly in his right hand was an oversized suitcase box, its weight a constant reminder of the burdens he carried. His left hand swung freely by his side until, unexpectedly, he noticed something on the ground. 

A solitary dried maple leaf lay there, incongruously dry amidst the wet surroundings. He paused, bending down to pick it up, feeling its brittle texture between his fingers.

"Where you comin' from?" he whispered to the leaf, his voice barely audible over the patter of rain. "Why you showin' up now?"

The leaf didn't answer, of course, but in its silence, Tommy heard echoes of the past. He remembered the laughter he shared with his best friend, Billy, the adventures they had, the secrets they kept. 

Billy had been his confidant, his partner in crime, the brother he never had, and then also his crush. Yes, he had loved Billy but perhaps Billy never loved him as much as he loved Billy. Because, just like that, it was over.

Tommy's mind drifted back to that fateful afternoon, just a few hours ago. They had been playing marbles under the old oak tree when Billy suddenly stopped, his face serious.

"Sorry, Tommy, I can't hang out with you no more," Billy had said, his voice breaking.

"Say what now? Why you gotta be like that, man?" Tommy had asked, confusion and hurt blending into a painful knot in his chest.

"My folks,... they laid it down straight. They reckon I shouldn't be pals with you 'cause you're, you know, kinda different.."

Different. The word had hung in the air like a curse, heavy and suffocating. Tommy didn't need Billy to explain. He knew what it meant. 

It was a word that had followed him all his life, whispered behind his back, sometimes even shouted to his face. But hearing it from Billy, from his best friend, the one he had secretly loved and crushed on, had cut deeper than any other time.

"How's I different, man?" Tommy had challenged, his eyes stinging with unshed tears.

Billy had just looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "I'm real sorry, Tommy," he had said before running off, leaving Tommy standing alone under the oak tree, the marbles forgotten at his feet.

Now, in the rain-soaked evening, Tommy sighed deeply, slipping the maple leaf into his pocket. It was supposed to symbolize love, right? 

He laughed bitterly, a harsh sound that was swallowed by the rain.

"Love," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "That's a real knee-slapper, ain't it?."

He resumed walking, his footsteps echoing in the quiet street. The rain seemed to listen, each dropping a sympathetic pat on his shoulders. 

He looked up at the sky, letting the water mix with the tears that finally escaped his eyes.

"Why, rain?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Why take him away too, man?"

The rain had no answer, only its persistent rhythm, as if to say that life went on regardless of the pain one felt. 

Tommy took a deep breath, trying to steady his emotions. He couldn't fall apart, not now.

He spoke to the leaf in his pocket, feeling its fragile presence as a small comfort. "Maybe you'll remind me that love ain't always like this. Maybe one day, it'll be different."

With a final sigh, he adjusted his grip on the suitcase box and continued his journey. 

The rain fell steadily, a relentless reminder of the world's indifference, but Tommy walked on, step by step, through the drizzling rain and the darkness of the evening. 

As Tommy walked through the rain-soaked streets, he spotted a payphone booth ahead and hastened towards it.

He pushed open the door, stepped inside, and deposited a coin into the slot. He dialed the number, waiting for someone to answer but silence followed instead.

"Hello?" he said, his voice cautious.

"Is this Tommy? This is Mr. Charlene speaking," came the deep, reassuring voice on the other end. "We gotta talk about your rights to your father's properties. Can you meet me at the Copa, Jen 'N' Kins Copa?"

Tommy glanced up, squinting through the glass building for the payphone stained with drops of rain.

Just ahead, the familiar neon sign of the Jen 'N' Kins Copa glowed brightly, its light cutting through the evening gloom. The letters shone with a welcoming warmth that seemed at odds with the cold, wet night.

"I'm right around," Tommy replied, his voice steadying with determination. "I'll be there in a jiffy."

"Alright, I'll be waiting for you inside," Mr. Charlene said before the call ended with a click.

Tommy ended the call, placing the phone back on its hanger. To be able to reach Mr. Charlene only meant that the either the Copa, just like few luxurious Copas in Kentucky, has its own payphone or Mr. Charlene was that rich to afford one.

Well, that was unimportant. He had to focus now. His father's properties were all he had left, and securing his rights to them was crucial for his future.

He quickened his pace, the rain now feeling more like a backdrop than a burden. 

As Tommy neared the entrance of the Copa, the rain still drumming a rhythmic beat on the pavement, he paused for a moment. 

The familiar neon sign glowed with a warm light, cutting through the damp evening and drawing him forward. He took a deep breath, feeling the tension in his chest ease just a little.

Pushing open the door, he stepped inside, and the warmth of the interior washed over him, a stark contrast to the chill outside. 

The air was thick with the mingling scents of cigars, polished wood, and the faint trace of expensive perfume. He couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia. 

"I know Copas real well," he muttered to himself, a sad smile playing at the corners of his lips.