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“Hi, Tazeem.” Donna welcomed him with a smile. “We haven’t seen you in so long.”
Normally, he would’ve been immediately more guarded and business-like since Donna was one of the women who were trying to get in his pants. But today, he didn’t even care. He grinned widely as he answered, “It’s nice to see you too, Donna. How have you been?”
“I’m good. I’m good. What are you doing here?” A hopeful light glinted in her eyes as she asked, “Are you here to see me?”
“No.” Tazeem swiftly dashed her hopes. “I’m here to see Chelsea. She asked me to come in at three-thirty.”
“Oh!” Donna’s face fell. “Well, Chess isn’t around. She had a meeting with H-Street.”
“Really?” Tazeem frowned. Why would Chess set up an appointment with him when she already had one on her schedule? “Will she be there for long?”
“She said she’d be back by four or four-thirty.” Donna asked, “Do you want to wait for her or would you like to leave a message?”
Though his excitement had been significantly doused by the fact that Chess wasn’t waiting for him eagerly like he’d wanted, he forced a smile. “I think I’ll wait.”
“Just take a seat there.” Donna gestured towards the long couch across from her desk.
The only person in the sitting area was a chocolate-complexioned boy who was seven or eight… nine years-old max. The boy wasn’t seated on the couch; rather he was kneeling by the coffee table in front of the couch. His head was bent, and he appeared to be focused on whatever he was scribbling on a notepad.
The boy’s head lifted when he heard Tazeem coming towards him. And immediately, his eyes had Tazeem’s attention. Those eyes were so familiar, as was the way the boy’s eyebrows arched into a frown when he saw Tazeem.
“Hi,” Tazeem greeted as he sat on the couch to the left of the boy.
The boy didn’t say anything. He just tilted his head to watch Tazeem for a few seconds before he turned back to his drawing.
Ever since Tazeem had lost his son, he’d become a kid-person. Whenever he met one, he just wanted to chat with them and be in their presence if only to soak up the feeling of what it would’ve been like if he still had a son. This boy in particular fascinated him because he was almost the same age as Tazeem’s child would’ve been if he’d lived.
“Hi,” Tazeem repeated, scooting closer to the boy.
The boy ignored him and kept drawing.
Tazeem leaned forward to see what the boy was drawing, and he had to stop himself from gasping in awe. The boy was drawing Green Lantern. Though it wasn’t quite a professional representation of the superhero, the drawing was good enough that one would’ve assumed that it was drawn by someone older.
The boy was clearly gifted.
“You’re very good,” Tazeem complimented.
Immediately, the boy snatched his notepad off the coffee table and hid it underneath the table. He whipped his head around to glare at Tazeem. “Stop looking.”
“I was only looking because it’s so good.” Smiling, Tazeem stretched out his hand. “I’m Tazeem. What’s your name?”
The boy’s scowl deepened as he looked at Tazeem’s hand then back up at him. “My mommy told me not to talk to strangers.”
That scowl was so familiar that Tazeem felt something strange tug at his heart. He’d seen that scowl somewhere. Did he know this boy?
“But I’m not a stranger,” Tazeem said even as he forced himself to ignore the unsettled feelings that this boy’s looks and general demeanor brought on. “You know my name, and I’ve seen your drawings. That practically makes us friends.”
The boy looked at Tazeem, tilted his head as if considering his words, then smirked. “I’m not that dumb.”
That smirk and the knowing look he leveled at Tazeem were reminiscent of an old man mocking a young man who thought he could fool him. But it also set off another round of that niggling feeling of familiarity.
Tazeem asked, “Hey, have we met before?”
The boy only snorted before putting his notepad back on the coffee table. He resumed drawing.
“You’re really good at this,” Tazeem said as he watched the boy shade his drawing. “Do you want to be an artist when you grow up?”
The boy didn’t answer or even acknowledge Tazeem’s presence. He just kept scribbling.
