Met Him on a Thursday - First in a Series

This is the first in a series of blog entries that tells of a prominent period of my life - which has recently resurfaced - see below post titled Obsession.

I'll be back to normal blog entries in the meantime, so if this isn't your thing, check back.

Met him on a Thursday. Cumulous clouds, 84 degrees. He was brown, deep… said he wanted to talk about my mission, listen to my past lives… word? Took me on long walks to places where butterflies rest easy. Us was nice and warm. No jacket, no umbrella, just warm. At night we would watch the stars, and he would physically give me each and every one. Love rained down on me. – Jill Scott

It was actually a Friday. It was July. I danced with random men for the fun of it and for drinks. Tina was always close by, but we didn’t smother one another. Men feel intimidated by flocks of women, so we always appeared separate, although either one was ready to swoop in at the sign of any trouble… like an unfortunate stinky dance partner.

He smelled bad. Like worked all day and didn’t want to go home to his girl, so stayed out and borrowed some clothes from a homeboy and went to the club without showering bad. The night was fairly young, as I recall, and it was always good to be seen dancing a lot so other men wouldn’t feel so intimidated to ask for a dance. So I danced a fast song with Stinky. He didn’t dance well, and Tina was giving me the eye over his shoulder like, “Beck! What are you doing? Damn he stinks! Woo!”

I told Stinky I was going to the ladies room. I turned to walk away and out jumped a man dressed all in white. When I say jumped, I mean jumped. He was in my face in a flash, blocking the path to the ladies room. He started dancing. I asked, “Are we dancing?” surprised at the ballsy move. He nodded and pierced me with some amazing light brown eyes.

I had never seen him before. I would have known if I had ever seen him. He was extremely well groomed. His hair was tight, his skin looked soft and he moved rhythmically on the dance floor in a way that I was very comfortable with. I could dance with this man for a long time.

I looked at the corner he had jumped out from and saw his group watching us. One in particular gave him a wide-eyed look, like he couldn’t believe he was dancing with me. Looking back, I think he had been planning to dance with me, and the one I was dancing with swooped in before he could.

The handsome man all in white asked my name. I told him, and he introduced himself as Richard. Richard. I asked Richard how many children he had. No one that fine and that young and sweet could be childless. I asked him how many and not IF, because it is easier to get a man to tell the truth when it’s asked like that. Sad, but true. He said he didn’t have any. I asked how his girlfriend felt about him being at the club dancing with pretty ladies. This is also an effective question. If you make it seem alright, they sometimes confess. He said he had no girlfriend.

After a few songs, he brought me to another area of the club that was always quieter. I felt very comfortable with him and somewhat protected. He called me “Blondie” at one point, and I asked him if he had forgotten my name. He nodded, embarrassed, and I told him it was okay. After a few drinks and countless dances with several men, I rarely remembered names myself.

Richard asked for my number and I didn’t give him my usual fake one. He wrote it on a dollar bill, and I told him not to spend it as I walked away to find Tina. He laughed as if it was the best joke he’d heard all day.

Tina interrogated me about the new interest. She seemed a little jealous, as she is sometimes prone. She asked his name and all the details, and tried to place if she knew him or had heard any gossip about him. I was also cautious. Rule #1 has always been: Don’t date anyone from the club.

Richard and I met up outside at the end of the night. We sat in my car for a bit. Thinking of Tina, I asked his last name. He told me to guess. I asked what the first letter was. I heard his accent, and I wasn’t sure where he was from. I suspected Haiti, so I decided I would guess with French surnames. He said “M”. I said, “Marcoux?” His eyes got very wide and he said, “close”. I was indeed close. It was probably about that time he decided I was a witch.