Crossing Prospect
Jerk’s ease had evaporated before the symphony of tobacco stopped blunting the city’s stinks. He had his hands in his pockets and was walking fast. He hadn’t spoken in blocks.
“I’m still upset you wanted to give my recipe away to Roxy.” Kid said when they were almost to Prospect. “An extra cigar doesn’t make up for it.”
Jerk shoved his hands deeper in his jeans pockets and grabbed handfuls of the fabric, shoulders stiffening. “I’m too practical.” They crossed Prospect. Three sleepy blocks until they turned onto St. George Street.
“Right, Roxy would use it for–”
“I’m just too practical.” Jerk’s voice shook. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Looked at his shoes. “I always think if it works, it solves the problem. I forget other people have stakes. Roxy’d use it for her egg salads, because it’s so good.” Jerk looked up at Kid, his shoulder locked, his arms rigid. “I get it. I’m sorry.” His pupils were constricted, his gray eyes combination dials.
Kid touched his arm. Jerk was shaking, eyes on his feet again. “What’s wrong?”
“I keep replaying it. Too practical. Hurts people.” Jerk said quietly. He looked up at Kid. “Hurt you.” He pulled his arm away. “Please, let’s go.”
Jerk walked away, shoulders still rigid. Kid caught up, and grabbed his arm again. “Honey, I don’t understand.”
Jerk stopped dead. “Are we like that?” He looked down and away from Kid.
“I…” Kid hesitated. “Do you want to be?”
Jerk stared at the sidewalk. “I don’t know how.”
“We’ll figure it out.” Kid squeezed his arm. “A little at a time, OK?” Jerk pulled his hands out of his pockets, shoulders relaxing a little.
He looked up and glanced at them before nudging his head southward. “Com’on, you’ll like Carmen.” His voice was flatter.
They reached the next corner. Kid slipped their hand into his.