N
I was having an internal dilemma. I assumed him to be late 20’s to early 30’s. He was home in the middle of the day, and outside half dressed. He was wearing shorts that were so far past his waist they appeared to be too short pants. It was hot outside and he was sweaty, which caused his exposed underwear to stick to his behind, detailing his butt crack.
I
I was disguised.
On the other hand, the sheer beauty of him would not allow me to look away. He’s what I like to call fudge sickle brown. His muscles, wonderfully pronounced, glistened with sweat and oil. He was clean cut with a nicely waved fade. His big brown eyes surveyed me from head to toe and when he smiled in delight; his teeth were straight and white. I’m a sucker for a pretty smile. He was not tall which was a turn-off but otherwise, he was indeed a piece of art.
“WOW!” he said as I passed.
“WOW what?” I knew as it was coming out of my mouth that I should have simply smiled and kept walking. But as the old folks say, that would have been too much like right.
“You in Fort Worth but you look Hollywood. I’ve never seen a woman that made me say wow.”
That was cute. I thanked him and kept walking. He followed. He asked for my phone number and I asked what he needed it for.
“To flirt!” he said as a matter of fact. The response along with the “duh” expression on his face made me laugh.
By that time I had entered the elevator of the apartment complex I was visiting. Oh how I wish this was the end of the story…
He stood preventing the elevator doors from closing, refusing to move until I had given him my number and it had been verified with a call. Is this not stalker activity?
G
Over the next week, he remained top-less and sent me many random text messages. Most of which made me laugh and the others simply made me shake my head in disbelief. He would tell me how cute and sassy he thought I was, how sexy he was, and how sexy we would be together. There were tales of how he’d spent the last six years in the penitentiary for selling drugs. I learned he had been released on parole three weeks prior to our meeting and lived with his uncle’s ex-girlfriend.
G
How and why do these people find me?
Why do I entertain such foolishness? Because I’m the white girl in horror movies. You know the one; forever investigating the monsters. I wanted to know how he’d gotten to his current place in life. He told me, “All I’ve ever known is hustlin’”. His mother, who had singlehandedly raised him, had sold drugs and later became addicted. I felt sorry for him. After over thirty years of life, he had yet to be exposed to anything other than street and prison life.
E
I wanted to help him get on his feet and I attempted to express that in the most humble way possible. I know the male ego is an extremely delicate thing. I know some people who specialize in finding employment and education for felons. His response nearly floored me. He told me that he “wasn’t going to stop smoking weed to pass a stupid drug test to work for nobody” but wanted me to loan him money to buy drugs so he could sell them. He promised to repay me after he had doubled the money. When I refused, he asked me why I had offered to help if I wasn’t going to.
R
I didn’t know whether to laugh at him or cry for him.
“What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore –
and then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over-
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?”
Langton Hughes, “Harlem”
