Black and White

 Things always came easy for me especially when I put my mind to it. I have a strong sense of self-love and self-worth and I do not scare easily. I have six older brothers and I am the only girl. My parents have been married for forty years and I do not recall ever hearing them fight or even raise their voice to one another. 

           I am sorry, I forgot my social grace, which was instilled in me at an earlier age by my mother, grandmother and even God almighty, himself.  Hi, my name is Lola Love and with a last name like Love you would think it is synonymous with having a successful relationship, nothing is further from the truth. People say I look like a younger version of Angela Bassett which I take as a compliment. She is a hero of mine as well as my parents, my brothers, and Michelle Obama.

 I am 32 years old with no children and no prospects. I am a successful Ad Executive and the current president of Star Lite Advertising Agency in New York City and the first female as well as African American to ever hold this position in the 45 years history of the company. 

On paper, I'm at the top of my game and even with all my accomplishments the one thing I have not accomplished is a relationship. Intimacy.  In the 14 years since I have been dating, I have yet to meet a man who knows or can relate to intimacy or have the slightest idea what it is:  Intimacy is what I long for…totally sharing and touching every aspect of life, which includes all the dimensions of me…physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual.  I have the same dreams as any other women of getting married and having 2.5 kids, a dog, a house in the suburbs and the proverbial picket white fence.  Sadly, though my dream may never become a reality because I have no prospects. 

“You know what your problem is Lola. You are too damn picky,” Rochelle tells me for the hundredth time. Rochelle Brathwaite is my best friend. She is your typical military brat. Her mother is Middle Eastern Asian, and her father is African American. He was a General in the Army which kept them moving around a lot. They moved into our neighborhood when she was around thirteen years old and we both had a crush on each other's brother. We also started our period on the same day, so our friendship was destined to be and instantaneous. We went to the same college and majored in the same field, Marketing and not to mention I am her boss. 

“How can I be picky when I have standards?” I remind her as we walk into our favorite restaurant near Rockefeller Center. 

“Okay then your standards are too damn high,” she reminds me as she holds the door open for me. “After you,” she adds. 

As I turn and say, “Requiring that a man have subject /verb agreement when he speaks is not having high standards?” I say as sincerely as I can.

Rochelle laughs, “Okay, fair enough but what about some of the other brothers you met on Blackpeoplemeet.com?” she asks. “I’m sure you could have found some prospects there.”

The hostess escorts us to our seats and for some reason she heads towards the back of the restaurant near the kitchen. I ask her if we could sit at a window seat because I want a better view of Time Square plus the restaurant was not crowded. I did not think anything of it, but Rochelle was immediately offended.

“What kind of Rosa Parks nonsense is this?” she says to the hostess. We head in the opposite direction. “Anyway, what happen to some of the guys you met on Black People Meet?” she asks again demanding an answer.  

“John was boring as hell and the man wore a toupee and came to my chest.”

“Okay, I'll give you that one. What was wrong with Mason?”

           “Too clingy.”

           “And Lucas?”

           “Unemployed.”

           “Aiden?”

           “Girl, he stayed in the mirror more than I did, I can't!”

           “Matthew and Henry?”

           “Matthew was totally obnoxious, and Henry was a country bumpkin.”

           “Lola,” Rochelle cries laughingly.

           “No, Rochelle I’m serious. I worked too damn hard and long just to settle for anyone.”

           “Lola, do you even know what it is you want?”

           “Yes, I do know what I want,” I tell her. “I want love which produces intimacy and intimacy produces more love,” I tell her.   My own idea of love had become a definition not found in Webster’s Dictionary. 

           “You sound like a Harlequin Romance Novel,” she says to me with her face buried in the menu. Rochelle and I come to this restaurant three to four times a month, if not more and she always end up ordering the same thing so why she looks in the menu every time is beyond me.

           “Why do you even ask for a menu? It’s not like you are going to order anything new,” I say to her and then there it is, the epiphany which is my life. The same places and the same faces.  A sudden insight into my life that nothing is going to change. I am stuck on stupid. I am starting to suffocate in my own sorrow. I jump to my feet, pay for lunch, and tell Rochelle I will see her later.  I call my secretary and tell her to reschedule my afternoon meeting to Monday morning.

           “Is everything alright?” she asks.

           “Yeah, everything is fine,” I tell her.

           “Wait! Where the hell are you going Lola? I know you are not just going to leave me here, like that?” Rochelle practically yells across the restaurant.

           I nod my head, “Um yeah, just like that. You’re a big girl,” I tell her and walk out. 

           I have no plan, no rhyme, or no reason on where I was going or what I was going to do because I have never done anything spontaneous like this before. My whole life has always been well- planned and well- organized but today is different. Today, I feel different.   I want something more, something new, something different. I just do not have a clue what it is. 

I walk and walk and before I know it, I’m in Central Park. I find a park bench and sit there. I watch children playing, men playing soccer, and people laughing, talking, and jogging. 

           “Is anyone sitting here?” I hear a voice say.

           I shake my head no without looking in the direction of where the voice was coming from. I move more towards the left side of the bench, I just had a feeling he needs more space.

           “Beautiful day isn’t it?” he says. I decide now to focus on the voice because it is apparent, he is not going to let me sit here in peace. 

           I smile, “Yes, it is.”

           “I’m George,” he says and extends his hand in my direction.

           I look at his hand and then at him. I extend my hand back. “Lola,” I say.

           “Beautiful name for a beautiful lady,” he adds. 

           I blush. “Thank you. You come here often?”

           “No.”

           “I’m sorry. I just thought….”

           “No, I mean I just got out of the service after 25 years.  I am just passing through New York before I head home. I live in Florida.”

           “Oh, which part? I have two brothers who lives in Florida?”

           He looks at me and smiles, “What a difference a moment makes,” he says out of the blue. 

           “Excuse me,” I say.

           “My body and my soul are so tired of participating in this unfulfilling practice called sex that some men continually substitute for intimacy,” he says out of the blue sky. “And one day, I was just minding my own business until I caught a glimpse of your face.”

           I’m sitting straight up now because this man has my undivided attention. “What a difference one moment makes,” I say back to him. “It takes a moment to bring forth a memory. It takes a moment to make a difference in someone’s life. It takes a moment to be kind.”

           “And it takes a moment to fall in love at first sight,” he says to me as he looks deep into my eyes. 

           This man has me speechless and I have never been at a lost for words before.  Normally, under any other circumstances, I would not have given him a second look because his upper torso, arms are covered with tattoos, he is bald, he resembles a skin head, and he is white. A white man is the last person I ever thought I would go with.

           George and I sat in Central Park for hours talking about everything from A to Z.  The intimacy we shared in one afternoon renewed my faith in love and men.

Seven months of communication and with each passing moment I see myself growing closer and closer to him. I love myself which allows me to love him. I watch as the layers of my life peel back and reveal themselves. I am shocked and disgusted at some of the things I see but I have learned to trust the process. The process that is….us. 

The End