The Color of Roses

The setting sun had turned the sky into a scribble of blue, orange, and purple, with wispy pink clouds stretching as far as the eye could see. Nature flies from the infinite, Akil recited to himself, For the infinite is imperfect and nature always seeks an end. He would have loved to sit down on one of the benches outside of the philosophy hall and analyze what it was that Aristotle meant when he said that but, he had somewhere to be. His father always said that a man’s work is never done and since he started at Bourke College, he found that to be exhaustingly accurate. Walking from the philosophy hall to the library, Akil passed by several students who probably felt that same relentless work ethic if the way they powerwalked hither and yon was any indication. Beneath the lavender fabric of his button-down shirt, a flicker of pride caused Akil to square his wide, lanky shoulders and hold his head up high- he’d earned his spot amongst these students through his own academic prowess and he would fight to keep it by any means necessary.

He reached the back entrance of the library and glanced at his watch as he leaned against a small metal bike rack. The parking lot was small and only a few spots were occupied but none of them were the black Honda he was familiar with. Akil raised his headphones from around his neck to over his ears then gave a squeeze to the button on the volume control piece for the music to start playing. He bobbed his head to a throwback 90s R&B album and was able to admire the darkening sky for a few minutes before he noticed the black two-door Honda pull into the parking lot. Anthony had barely put the car in park before he slammed the door shut and jogged over to Akil.

“Tony Tone.” Akil smiled and greeted his friend with a handshake and a pat on the back but his smile turned serious as he took a step back. “You’re late.”

Anthony let out a laugh as he shrugged his shoulders. “C’mon man, only by, like, ten minutes. Those are some sick kicks by the way. Where’d you get em? Bet it wasn’t that place over the bridge I always go to, they never have cool stuff like that.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “You always wanna gas me up like that’s gonna make me forget about your tardiness. And you know I’ve worn these before.” For comedic effect, the taller boy dusted off imaginary dirt from his white high-top Adidas sneakers. “Anyway, I have my own studying to do, so let’s get you off and on your way…”

Akil slung his canvas backpack off his shoulder and retrieved a stack of papers from inside. Each set of notes and essays were enclosed in black plastic sheet protectors to maintain their pristine condition and for discretion. Selling notes and pre-written essays and test answers was, without a doubt wrong, and Mr. and Mrs. Washington would surely skin his hide if they knew what their son was up to… but, at the very least, he took pride in the appearance, quality, and promptness of his work. No offense to his homeboy but if left up to Tone, the work would be B-grade at best and written in pencil on wide-rule notebook paper. No, it was better for Akil to do the brunt of the work and for Tone to be the delivery boy- he had a brand to protect.

“You want a lift back to the dorm?” Tone asked, nodding his head in the direction of his car.

Akil shook his head. “I’m gonna head into the library for a little bit.”

“What about a little hot box before you go?” Tone pulled a small orange pill bottle from his jeans pocket and jiggled it in front of Akil’s broad nose. He focused his dark brown eyes on the neatly rolled blunt inside and snatched it from his friend’s high yellow hand.

“For being late,” Akil said before pocketing the bottle in his own jeans pocket.

Tone sucked his teeth and groaned. “C’mon man, you know I need that shit to sleep.”

“I also know this isn’t all you have. Next time, skip the extra ten minutes on brushing your hair.” Akil laughed and tried to rub his hands over his friend’s silky black hair. Tone swatted away his hands and darted to the left.

“Yo, you need to chill, bruh,” he said, using his hands to smooth his hair down. “Girls go weak for these waves. If you were half as smart as you think you are, you’d get like me.”

"Whatever. Take your ol Trey-Songz-lookin-ass home and don’t forget to deliver those papers first thing in the morning.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll catch you later.”

“First thing in the morning,” he yelled again as he turned to head into the library.