Page 60 of Voice to Raise
And four minutes later, arrived at MacLean Park.
The streets were lined with vehicles, but someone was pulling out just as Malik drove up.
“You must have a horseshoe up your ass. I never find a parking space that easily when things are busy.” Brushing aside my pique, I said, “What’s going on? Why are things so busy?”
He backed into the parking space with practiced ease, put the SUV in Park, cut the engine, and grinned. “Just a day at the park.” He exited his vehicle.
I did the same. The sound of music filtered through as I gazed over to the park and got my first good look. I noted about twenty-five motorcycles along Heatley Avenue. Then we headed into the park. The splash pad was closed, obviously, what with it being the first of November. But the rest of the area was filled with food tents and people milling about—mainly kids and families. Well, and a bunch of burly men and interesting women clad in leather. Safe to assume at least some of them were bikers. “Uh, what’s going on?” I looked for a sign but didn’t see one.
“This is a fundraiser. For Movember. You know, for prostate cancer.”
I’d heard of Movember, of course. When men grew their mustaches to raise money for prostate cancer. My problem was my mustache always came in patchy and I looked like I had a mouse pelt over my lip. To save everyone from staring at me and pitying me, I just made a donation and kept shaving.
“So why are we here?”
Malik grabbed my hand as if this was the most natural thing in the world to do. “We’re going to eat hot dogs and cotton candy and drink too much soda. We’re going to smile at the families,and we’re going to listen to the great indie band who are playing. In other words—we’re going to have fun.”
I had my doubts. But Malik had chosen to invite me…so how was I to turn this opportunity down?
He guided me to the first vendor, where we bought hot dogs and colas. I was able to get a veggie dog, so I was grateful. As adamant as I was about being vegetarian, sometimes that rigidity put me in a tight spot. Sometimes I chose to be polite over stubborn. Rarely. Today, if I’d only had a meat option, I might’ve made an exception. That was how much I liked Malik.
Wait. I thought he irritated the shit out of you. Now youlikehim?
I rolled my eyes at my inner voice.
I don’t exactly make it a habit of letting people I dislike fuck me.
Repeatedly.
The voice huffed, then went into the corner to pout.
Ha.
What I’d won, I wasn’t certain. Because this argument could go on forever. We had a love/hate relationship. Sometimes he had good advice. Other times, he drove me nuts.
“You look very pensive.” Malik pointed to my hot dog. “Regretting the relish and mustard?”
I shook my head. “Two of my favorite garnishes.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, I’m ketchup all the way.”
“Bland.” I smiled, then bit into my hot dog.
“Each to their own.” He bit into his.
We consumed them in silence, standing near a tree. A cool breeze came off the water, but nothing uncomfortable.I think November is a crazy time to do this. What with the weather being so unpredictable. Still, this is an amazing turnout.
Families as far as I could see. And lots of bikers in leather. I swallowed the last of my dog, scrunched up the paper wrapper, and tossed it into a recycling bin. “Do you come every year?”
Malik shook his head. “First time.”
I eyed him. “So you had no idea how this would turn out.”
“What’s not to love? Junk food, rock band, and raising money. This is how to make a difference.”
He wasn’t wrong. A percentage of everything we bought would go to the charity, and I also planned to make a decent-sized donation tonight when I was on my computer. “That’s a fair assessment.” I sipped my cola. “But I’d say Razor Made—” I glanced around to ensure we were alone.
Relatively, we were. No one within hearing range.
