It
was a Friday evening
when
I went walking
in
the early September sun,
being
young and free,
letting
my hair blow
this
way and that,
with
my headphones loud
so
my hips can swing,
when
a young cat
stepped
to me and said,
“Excuse
me, Sister…”
I
thought to myself,
“Sister?
Homie,
is trippin’
with
nowhere to unpack.”
“Excuse
me, Sister,
I couldn’t help but notice your swagger.
It’s
not your style that caught my eye
because
it’s rather simple,
but
with radiance like yours,
you
wouldn’t need any help to stand out.
I
was stunned by the confidence in your step.
You
don’t have the strides of a goddess,
but
you demand respect.
How
do I know?
I
can tell by the way you cock
your
right hip to the side
because
you feel that I have crossed the line
somewhere
in my dissertation already,
but
please rest assure
that
I have no intentions of offending you,
not
even with titles.
I
would never call my chick or even my boo;
there’s
so much more in a name,
there’s
so much more to you.”
If
I had heard anything he said so far
it
was that last part,
but
I couldn’t let him know that he was on to something.
“Mhmm,” I said.
He chuckled.
“What’s funny?” I asked.
“You’re
cute, even when you front.
Sister…”
I shifted from the right hip to the left.
“Oh,
you don’t like that.
I
call you sister
because
I have some kind of connection with you.
But
I’d rather feel this connection
emotionally,
physically…”
He
clears his throat…
“…and
sexually.”
I
know he knows that this conversation
could
go one of two ways…
“That
would be incest.”
He
smirks at me
and
I smile back.
I
can overlook a little forwardness
from
a gentle,
young
man,
it
just shows he’s willing to take chances,
he
speaks his mind,
and
he is eloquent.
He
said,
“Ooh,
and she’s quick witted.
So,
can I assume that you’re natural?”
“Natural?”
“Real.
I
see the gaze in your chinky eyes,
your
high cheek bones rise
when
you are truly impressed,
the
red undertone
in
your almond silk skin
flushes
through when you’re flattered,
like
now,
and
all of that is complimented by
the
beautiful curls in YOUR hair,
emphasis
on your.
And
though black is beautiful,
that
isn’t the only ethnicity
that
has contributed to such a
pretty
face on a pretty frame.
Ooh
child,
somebody
help a Sister!
I’m
not sure
if
I’m more impressed by him
or
the fact that he dresses with dignity.
I
can respect an intelligent,
young
black man
who
wears a navy blue cardigan
over
a solid,
collared,
white
shirt.
His
jeans are around his waist,
waves
on swim,
and
his hat tilted to the side.
He
was staring at me,
I
had my nostrils opened wide
breathing
in his cologne
as
the wind blew it my way
as
if God wanted me
basking
in his ambiance.
Couldn’t even vocalize
what I visualized,
he had my body paralyzed
as he smiled at me.
It
felt good.
I
didn’t know if it should,
by
why wouldn’t it
if
this brother of the night
was
reciting his blues to me
as
if my name was Nina?
I
don’t mean to sound too cliché,
but
I was digging his poetry
like
a grave.
“You
seem like a half way decent guy,
what’s
wrong with you then?”
“What’s
wrong is that
I’m
only half way decent.”
I
blushed again.
We
continued talking
but
I’m not sure
what
made me hand over my digits.
Was
it his smooth,
Mississippi-brown
skin
with
an evenly blended
beard
and goatee?
No,
I see that every day.
As
I turn to leave I stop and say,
“I
never got your name.”
“I know”.
“Soo…
what
am I supposed to call you then?”
He
gently strokes my chin
with
his left fore finger and says,
“Ya
man”,
and
walks away.
I’m
not sure why,
but
that name satisfied me
even
more
than
his real name would have.
There
were so many things
to
reminisce over on my way home,
but
I couldn’t remember everything
or
even his whole face.
The
only image
that
had been permanently imprinted
was
that I met
a half decent guy
wearing
a red bow tie
on
a Friday.
*The bolded section is a quote from Destiny's Child - Apple Pie La Mode
