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7:20
a.m., Monday, August 2004
I
scribble furiously from my first row corner seat
aboard Lantabus Metro.
I’m anxious to capture the thoughts and
words as they come.
Honestly, naturally, as I wonder how I ever
made it to this point without suffering
irreparable physical and/or emotional damage.
A
little over three years ago, I quit a well paying,
soul-destroying job in title insurance.
Around the same time, I discovered my
ex-fiancé’s impending fatherhood, which he
credited to my decision to reclaim my virginity
until our wedding in six months.
(I guess he took my urge not to merge
harder than I thought).
On the spiritual side, since I’d been too
busy coping with life to pick up the internal
phone, God sent a messenger to tell me, my
services were required as preacher, teacher and
mentor extraordinaire.
Being
the strong, black woman that I am, aside from a
daily struggle with depression and a weight gain
of 30 pounds, I thought I was pretty much taking
it all in stride.
Then…my landlord gave me 45 days notice
to vacate my apartment.
Again, being a longtime subscriber to the
“life happens” train of thought, sudden
changes ordinarily wouldn’t faze me, but for the
self-employed, apartment hunting is not a
cakewalk. Add
to the equation, defunct child support payments,
an elderly parent with special needs, a growing
teenager and the location of New York City and
I’m sure you can understand my dilemma.
I
“remained calm” even though my life was the
equivalent of a five-alarm fire.
I was on a forty day fast at the time, so I
knew God had my back, in fact I was even bold
enough to tell God, “This one’s on you”.
Nevertheless, I was ripe for a distraction,
diversion, and/or denial facilitator, some kind of
heavy-duty mode of escapism.
And wouldn’t you know it.
I found one!
5:00
a.m, Saturday, March, 2003
I
hit the jackpot last night!
I’d just returned from choir rehearsal and
was unwinding with a copy of Ebony Magazine when I
came across an article about two couples. One couple is a newlywed and the other is newly engaged. I
know, I know…what’s so remarkable about that?
Let me finish.
Both couples met each other online
through dating websites! Go figure, I didn’t even know dating websites existed!
I love technology!
According
to the article, the couples “met” online and
despite the sad rap that the Internet has for
unsuccessful connections, they managed to beat the odds.
Residing in different states seemed not to
pose a problem.
As I processed the article’s information,
my heart began to race and I began to experience a
certain sense of exhilaration.
In my mind’s eye I fast-forwarded
straight to the culmination of a successful
connection for myself.
Me,
Divine, walking down (or is it up) the
aisle, wearing a beautiful cream colored, empire
styled gown, with a rip away skirt for dancing and
showing off my jump-back-Tina-Turner legs.
Of course in this vision I am a size 10
again, and not the mismatched size 16/12
(top/bottom) that I am presently.
My auburn tinted locs are braided into an
intricate Nefertiti upsweep that just oozes
royalty. My
nails are unfortunately acrylic, (an inveterate
nail biter, I can only distort reality but so
far), and
the groom, oh the groom…he is a mix between
Morris Chestnut and Shemar Moore of “The
Brothers” and Boris Kodjoe of “Soul
Food”…all rolled into one…it is so real I
can feel the goose bumps, sweaty palms and
knocking knees heralded by a sense of relief, as
the Divine in my vision, silently whispers, “Thank
you Je-sus!”
In
my haste to get to the computer in my home office,
adjacent to my bedroom, the fate of the magazine
went unnoticed as it hit the floor.
I logged onto one of the websites
referenced in the Ebony article, Blackplanet.com. Upon
running a search, I sat mesmerized as I viewed
with awe the works of God’s hands in all their
multicolored glory.
They came in all shapes, heights, sizes and
sexual preferences.
Occupations listed as blue collar to
executive level.
Profile after profile, each one more
tantalizing than the next.
I
pulled an all-nighter, yes I did.
I wouldn’t bet money on it, but I might
be willing to swear that I heard strains of “So
Many Men, So Little Time…How Can I Choo-oose”
playing faintly in the background as I set about
launching a full-fledged assault on the men of
Blackplanet, affectionately referred to as (BP).
To
Be Continued…
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