A short story by South African writer Panashe Ndou based on a boy recounting his memories of a unique boy in his neighborhood when they were growing up.

Content Warning: Homophobia

In the neighborhood where I grew up there was always a buzz in the air - whispers, chatter. Everybody's business was everybody's business. You wanted privacy? You better take your ass on somewhere else cause you ain't about to get it here.

When I was about twelve, there was this boy who always had flowers in his hair. The flowers peppered his nappy hair like they blossomed from it. His eyelashes stuck out like they were waving at you, his nose was like a button, his cheeks were like peaches with freckles (I didn't see many black boys with freckles) and his lips were so shiny you'd think he was always smiling. Truth is though, he never smiled, or at least I don't think I ever saw him smile. He seemed to spend most of his time alone. To this day I don't know if that was by choice or a byproduct of his environment.

Everyone told us to keep away from him. "us", being the kids in the neighborhood, "everyone" being most of the adults. My pop didn't say much, but my mom was pretty vocal about it. She told me I shouldn't talk to him, or play with him, or accept anything he tries to give me, or listen to anything he says - which wasn't very difficult, he didn't talk much. I could never imagine what it was he could have possibly gave me or said to me that would've caused so much concern they'd want to keep us so far away from it. I always try to remember the particular word my mom and some of the other moms in the neighborhood used to describe him. My mind always immediately goes to the word "delinquent", I sure heard that more than enough, but that wasn't the word they used to describe him. The word they used was "degenerate". I didn't really know much of what it meant at the time, but I knew enough to know that it clearly meant something bad enough that we had to stay away from somebody associated with that description. Some of the boys in the neighborhood did this thing were they would find some dog poop lying around and pick it up so they could throw it at some group of girls, trying to get it in their hair. I was never warned so much about staying away from them. No one ever described them as "degenerate".

People around the neighborhood called him all kinds of names: "sissy", "pixie", "priss", "flower boy", "faggot", "fairy". The kids would say it to his face, but the grown ups would whisper about it to each other. Some of the grown ups would use more passive aggressive phrases while pretending to mind their own business, but other didn't entertain such masks. It wasn't always about him though, it was about his mom as well - it was just the two of them, there were rumors here and there about where his dad was, but that’s all they were, rumors. There was always gossip about her, mainly people questioning and deliberating how and why she'd let her son go out like that. There would never be a moment during church when they didn't have lingering eyes on them. She probably got more flack than he did sometimes, but she was always nice and friendly. I remember one time I was at the store because I had to get some bread. I grabbed some marshmallows for myself but I didn't have enough coins to pay for both, but before I could put the marshmallows back, that boy's mom stepped over and paid for them. The boy was there as well. Now that I think of it, I did see him smile! After I thanked his mom, I looked at him and I guess I had some sort of smile on my face because he smiled right back at me… then I definitely had a smile on my face.

He has purple daisies in his hair. I can't believe I forgot that…

There was a man in the neighborhood called “Tip Toe” Tito who always wore earrings, dresses, and sometimes he wore wigs and nail polish. I heard worse names being shouted at him and even more so said behind his back. “Tip Toe” Tito was the person you went to see if you wanted a quick hook-up on a new cassette tape or a record that was out (sometimes before it was out). If a new Diana Ross or O'Jays record came out, “Tip Toe” Tito could get it for you no problem. I guess that made it easier for him, the hood needed him around so they definitely weren't about to drive him out. They still told us kids to stay away from Tito. The Earth, Wind and Fire tape that played in the car every morning we went to church was from him.

Growing up they'd always tell us boys that we had to decide what type of man we want to be. They'd phrase it as a choice, but they all had their own view or picture of what type of man they thought you should be, what was ideal. Some were more bold so as to outright tell how you how they thought you should be, or stop you in your tracks when you seem to be going down some other road. I didn't want to think about it but I couldn't help but feel like I had to. I never quite got my answer, at least not a formal one.

I think about that boy with the flowers in his hair, it makes me sad to this day I never learned his name - I should've talked to him. The boy that smiled at me in the Bodega. The boy that probably had every reason not to smile. In that one smile, it felt as if we were friends, as if nothing hurt him, as if I didn't even need to smile back.

When I think about it now, I think that’s the type of man I wanted to be

About Panashe

He/they

Panashe is from South Africa. He studied Mechanical Engineering at the University of Edinburgh. Through writing he hopes to evolve his understanding of people and the world around him. He hopes to further grow his passion for his creative interests in writing, art and music.