“Sweet Like Plums” by Zakiya Moore – A Short Story

Woke Dancer // Pulp Fiction Edition, Vol. 1 

Lips like plums that were dark and sweet. Like a fruit hanging low from a tree, ready to be eaten. He was sure they were juicy, too. 

That’s what he saw when he looked at Diana. Eyes that felt dark like a lampshade hanging over them; a secret behind them waiting to be revealed. Why is it when the fruit is ripe, that some wait for it to fall to the ground, and soon spoil? Why not just take it when it’s perfect? 

He had sat there for over an hour, just staring at her, but his words never came. She would catch a glance up at him and curve her lips, then she’d escape back into her own world again with her head in a book. 

She sat there like she knew she was a vortex of energy – with soft, mahogany cheeks and almond-shaped eyes. Did she even know how beautiful she was? He thought to himself. 

It was like she heard him thinking, because it felt like the bustling New York crowd stopped around them. She looked up at him again – and this time – her eyes stayed with him. 

She stood up then, and walked over to him. The flash of people seemed to go around her like water falling down a plant. She grew through the crowd and became the flower of his eye. 

And now she was right in front of him. He opened his mouth, then closed it. 

“I saw you in Harlem, at Benny’s,” Diana seemed to sing her words. 

Still, he said nothing, feeling his chest tightening like a fist. 

“You know the tenor saxophone doesn’t get enough respect, but it’s so deep and firm. Like a man,” Diana said, stepping closer. 

“Maybe you could make a man out of me,” he let the words slip out, trying to swallow them but they had already suspended themselves into the air. 

“I could sing for you,” Diana smiled. He raised an eyebrow. “What is your name, mystery man?” 

“Marvin,” he answered. 

New Yorkers bumped his shoulders as they whisked by a few times, so he stepped to the side. Diana seemed immune to the rush of Manhattan with buildings taking the place of trees and lights taking the place of flowers. 

She stepped to the side of the sidewalk with him. 

“Marvin,” she said again, letting the word hang longer in her mouth. 

“I’ve been waiting a while to speak with you. I thought I would’ve had a bit more nerve,” Marvin said, rubbing the back of his neck. “What was your name again?” 

“Diana,” she let her hand fall in front of him, and as if by impulse, he slid into her hand and placed a gentle kiss upon it. His eyes never left her deep brown pupils. 

The two started walking, feeling the rush hour get even heavier around them. 

“Why haven’t you sang at Benny’s?” Marvin asked, his voice heaving a bit as they picked up their feet. They walked so fast they even began to pass up the evening traffic as the sun began to set. 

“I can sing tonight,” Diana answered, and the two turned a corner to brush into the underground allure of the subway that blew them inside.

Marvin smiled, and the train came to the tracks. It seemed right on time. His frenzied nerves came to a standstill the same time the train did. 

And so under the dusk of rush hour, they rode to Benny’s in silence.

Together.