The next day, Saturday, Davanté took the whole morning to pack. Aunt Thelma had given him permission to spend the weekend with the Kettles. Since the Kettles lived less than two miles away, Davanté decided to ride his bike there. By afternoon, after ensuring he had eaten a good lunch and was properly packed, Aunt Thelma waved Davanté off.
Davanté rode his bike casually. He lifted his head to feel the soft breeze caress his face and blow through his shirt. He wondered if there were breezes in heaven. He wondered if his mother was truly free, if she was really happy. He questioned whether she could feel the breeze, too.
Davanté thought about God. He mused over the thought of his mother being with God. He thought that if his mother had to be anywhere, that being with God would be the perfect place for her.
"Ponk!"
The sound of a car horn snapped Davanté back to the present.
"Ponk!"
Davanté saw a silver car roll beside him. The driver's tinted window rolled down and Davanté recognized the same man from last night. Davanté pedaled his bike faster.
"No, don't run. I just want to talk to you. Five minutes," called Clarence.
Davanté did not want to talk to this man. He did not want to engage him in anyway. He began to pump his legs harder.
"Son, don't run. Please, just give me five minutes. Look, there's a park nearby. I'll pull over. Come on, please," said Clarence.
Davanté could hear sorrow in Clarence's voice. He seemed authentic. Although Davanté did not sense that Clarence was dangerous, he just did not want to talk to him.
"Okay. Look, if you give me five minutes, I'll get out of your life forever," pleaded Clarence.
Davanté slowed. Without responding, he whizzed his bike into the nearby park and stopped. He waited until Clarence's car pulled into the park's parking lot. Clarence got out of the car and walked to where Davanté had stopped his bike.
"Davanté-"
"First of all," interrupted Davanté. "Let's get one thing straight. I'm not your son."
"Of course, of course," said Clarence.
"Okay, what do you want?" asked Davanté.
"Well, I want to tell you a little about me and why I left you and your momma," said Clarence.
"I'm listening," said Davanté.
"I kind of got into a little trouble when I heard your momma was pregnant. She was about three months pregnant at the time. I had to serve a little time, but you were already born when I got out. Your momma didn't really want anything to do with me after that.”
“I tried to come around,” Clarence continued. “I tried to call her and she never gave me the time of day. I even gave her money. She wouldn't take it. Then, I started leaving money with your Aunt Thelma, but she would just give it back," he said.
"So it's my mother's fault that you're a dead beat. She's dead and you're blaming her?!" said Davanté.
"No, no. I'm not blaming her. I'm just trying to tell you how it was back then. That's why I wasn't in your life. Yes, I could have tried harder. You're right. After a while, I kind of gave up. I never should have given up. I never should have left you no matter what," said Clarence.
"So, why now?" asked Davanté.
"Well, I've changed. A lot. And I realized that you deserve a father. Even though you're almost a man, you still need a father. You still need someone to guide you. I can't go back in the past, but I want to go forward in your future," said Clarence.
"What do you mean?" asked Davanté.
"I want to be someone you can look up to. I did the worst thing in the world to leave you. There's no excuse for that. But, if there are second chances, then I'm hoping I could have one with you. You're about to graduate high school soon, you're going to need help out here. This world isn't easy for no man, especially for a Black man," said Clarence.
"I don't need you," said Davanté.
"Davanté, yes, you do. You do need me. You don't want to get old like me singing your shoulda-coulda-woulda's. You don't want to regret this. Please, I'm asking that you give me a chance,” pleaded Clarence.
“Look, I'll leave you my phone number. Call me next weekend and we'll do something. I'll show you everything that I'm about. No games. Think about it," said Clarence.
Clarence pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled his phone number on it. He handed it to Davanté.
Davanté hesitated. He stared at Clarence, noticing that he was smartly dressed. He did not wear the street clothes that many Black men in the neighborhood wore. Instead, Clarence dressed in jeans with no logo, a nice collared blue shirt and clean sneakers.
Clarence's face was clean shaven and his hair was closely cropped. He had the same nose and eyes as Davanté. Davanté could see a kind of tenderness in Clarence's eyes. It reminded Davanté of his mother.
"Okay," said Davanté.
He snatched the paper out of Clarence's hands and stuffed it into his pocket. Then he mounted his bike and sped away without looking back.
Davanté pedaled hard and fast until he reached Lionel's house. Only then did he look back. He caught a brief glimpse of Clarence's car as it turned onto the exit for the highway.
Five