Page 170 of Invisible Bars
He looked down at his hands. “I used to be way lighter than I am now. Back then, my mama made me wear sunscreen like religion. She’d tell me I had to protect my ‘features’… said I wasblessed.But it never felt like a blessing; it felt like I was being dressed up to be someone else—something else.”
Imanio exhaled slowly, rolling his neck as if the pressure of those old days still clung to his shoulders.
“I wanted to be darker, though. So what did I do? I’d tan, hoop in the sun… everything. The shit ain’t really last, but I tried.”
I smiled faintly at that, but stayed quiet, letting him unload.
“I thought if I looked more like the kids who didn’t flinch around me, I could blend in… fit in, perhaps. But nah. Lightskin, white daddy, new money? I was already on a pedestal I never asked to stand on. I was wishing for more melanin just so I wouldn’t get all the fake love. The shit was crazy.”
I touched his hand, feeling a soft squeeze in return.
“I don’t want none of this shit without being the Imanio I was before I left the hood,” he admitted. “That’s who I really am. Not this... corset version Giselle tries to lace me up into every time there’s a dinner guest or board meeting. I hate who she’s become.”
I reached over, brushing my hand against his. “You’re still him.”
Imanio glanced at me sideways, lips twitching just a little.
“Yeah? I don’t always feel like it.” There was a pause before he added, “Dess feels the same. That’s why we’re so close. She saw the shift too. But her? She made peace with it in her own way. I think that damn chair of hers is her rebellion.”
We both laughed softly, then he brightened just a touch.
“You know… my grandma wants to meet you.”
“Sh-Sh-she does?” I asked, pushing through a rapid stutter, but he continued, completely ignoring my tics, and I was starting to love that about him.
“Yeah. I told her about you. She lives in the same neighborhood where we grew up. Still there—stubborn as hell. She’s nothing like my mama. Trust me. Everybody calls her Mama Rose, but don’t let the name fool you. She’s wild, loud, and says whatever she wants. And somehow, everybody in the hood still got respect for her like she a damn queen.”
“She sounds amazing.”
“She is. You’d love her.”
I smiled. “I’m sure I would.” I raised my wine glass. “To… to meeting the ones who make us better… even when the ones who made us don’t.”
He clinked my glass. “Hell yeah to that.”
“Seriously, Imanio… thank you. Thank you for sharing all this with me.”
He nodded. “Likewise.” Then scooted closer. “Naji, I’m telling you all this because I want you to know I’m not pretending to be some perfect man who had it easy. I’m still that kid who had to sleep with roaches in the corners and noise through the walls. I’m just older, wear better clothes, and got a lil’, well… a lot more money.”
We shared a laugh.
“Imanio, I don’t need perfect; I just need r-real.”
“You got him,” he said. “Right here… no edits.”
This wasn’t the life I thought I’d end up in. But for the first time… it didn’t feel so far from home.
An hour later, I was a bit tipsy—just warm enough to giggle at nothing and talk a little too freely. Imanio, on the other hand, had definitely gone drink for drink with the ocean breeze. He was relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen before, his sharp edges softened but not dulled.
We’d shared more stories of our childhood—the good, the bad, and the kind a person only tells when they know the other person won’t judge them. But we kept the heavy stuff light. That night was supposed to be memorable, not a therapy session.
The soft hum of jazz floated through the hidden speakers around us, blending seamlessly with the gentle rocking of the yacht and the quiet hush of the waves.
I took another sip of wine and caught him staring at me again—that lazy, heavy-lidded stare that made my skin warm in places untouched.
"You keep staring like that, I’ma start thinking dessert’s not the only thing on your mind,” he said, voice low and thick with flirtation.
I didn’t respond; I just blinked slowly, my tongue wetting my bottom lip.
