by Mercy B
And I felt for her, which was why I hesitated on starting up a new group chat that included her new cell number. The last thing I wanted to do was shove my plans for the night into her face, knowing that her scars were still bleeding. She was still trying to adjust, knowing that the love of her life happened to be someone besides the man that she’d catered to physically, mentally and emotionally in the last few years.
I’m sure she’ll understand, I reasoned with myself. I’d redressed far too many times not to seek a second and third opinion. With her agony weighing heavy on my heart, I tried remembering the final four digits of her cell number while adding her to a new group that would also include our friend Sauni.
Ladies. He’s taking me to dinner. First date blues.
Quick question. Which one?
Black or Burgundy?
Before submitting the message, I attached a photo of myself in each dress with them side by side for comparison. I could always count on Brielle’s bluntness and Sauni’s subtleness. Together, they would finalize my decision.
Three minutes later, and I was still staring at my cell, wondering what either of them was preoccupied with that they couldn’t respond to my message. With Brielle having a new number and screening each call that came through, I’d expected her to be the first to respond.
Hello? Brielle. Sauni.
I needed them to understand the urgency of the situation. In less than twenty minutes, Tyler would be outside. The last thing I wanted was to keep him waiting.
Sauni: Sorry Buttercup, I had my hands full. Which do you like most? I’d like to base my opinion off that because they’re both amazing. I can’t exactly choose, either.
As I began to construct a message to Sauni, Brielle finally decided to join the party. Sighing, I erased the tad bit that I’d written, knowing she’d be the voice of reasoning. My eyes scanned her message as embarrassment flushed my cheeks.
Unknown: My name isn’t Brielle and neither is it Sauni, but if I had to choose then I would go with the burgundy jawn. As a man, I’d be thoroughly impressed if my date was coming like that. But then again, you’re not my date, so the black one feels more suitable.
“Oh shit,” I chastised myself, quickly exiting the short thread and accessing my recent calls. I’d replaced the final one in Brielle’s cell number with a seven. Returning to the group that I’d created, I began typing a new message, but Sauni had beaten me to the point.
Sauni: I’m assuming you’re single.
Unknown: Depends on who’s asking.
Sauni: I’m asking for my friend… Who is single.
Unknown: Then, yeah.
I watched the fuckery for as long as I could before interfering, having no interest in entertaining a stranger who I’d happened to misdial by accident.
Please, accept my apology. I didn’t mean to add you to the group.
I responded before deleting the thread and beginning a fresh one. This time, I was sure to save Brielle’s new number before sending the same photo and question. As expected, Brielle responded to the message right away.
Brielle: Burgundy, bitch.
It would’ve pained her to send a simple reply. While I was a mixture between bold and bashful, Brielle was the ultimate mouthpiece. Sauni was the quieter one of the bunch, which meant there was the perfect balance between us three.
Brielle. I warned her.
Sauni: That’s the one I think she should wear, too.
I wondered where Sauni had disappeared to that suddenly. As a notification pinged, alerting me of two new messages in the group that had been erased, I was quickly informed about her prior whereabouts. She was too busy keeping the other group up and running instead of sharing her opinion in the correct one.
With curiosity clouding my judgment, I returned to the messages to see what had been said in my absence and wished I’d just minded my business once inside. Sauni was up to no good, and the young man she was conversing with wasn’t either.
Sauni: Well, she’s sent a photo, so I think it is only right that you do the same.
Unknown: Only because I want to be the nigga she calls if shit don’t work out with ole boy tonight.
Attached to his last message was one of him covered in red. Denim shirt and shoes were all deep shades of red that complimented his brown skin. While he wasn’t necessarily the darkest I’d ever dated, he was definitely in second place. I’d have to give credit to Omi, the first-place winner, because he was undeniably African and exposed to unfathomable rays of sunlight every day as a child.
Whoever this gentleman was, he had the most heavenly features, large, round eyes, a wide nose, and lips that were too perfect in dimension. That smile of his was torturous as he posed for the camera, hand caught in the hairs of his thick beard. If I had to put a number on it, I’d say that he was between the ages of twenty-six and twenty-eight, but none of that mattered. I had a date to prepare for. Besides, he seemed like the type to have a plethora of women riding his bone, and I refused to be just another contact in his book.
Sauni: Brielle, I’m adding you to the other group she made. You must see this man whose number she mistakenly dialed.
Brielle: Put me in the game, coach.
I couldn’t stand those two, especially not now. Instead of responding to either group, I muted the notifications from both and continued preparing myself for the night ahead. Of course, whoever the man was in our messages was handsome, but he wasn’t necessarily my type.
The type with a legit nine-to-five and a 401-k in place. The tattoos that littered his body assured me that he hadn’t gotten hired anywhere in corporate America. It was hard enough as a young, tactful black woman to secure a spot on someone’s clock. The chances of him gaining employment were laughable.
Because I’d be wearing the burgundy dress, I grabbed my black booties and black studded clutch. The two complimented each other well, in addition to my dress. Within ten minutes, I was fully dressed and spritzing my body with perfume my father had gotten me for my birthday this year—Flowerbomb, which had quickly become my favorite fragrance.
Five minutes prior to our scheduled pick-up time, I unraveled the spirals that I had rolled my hair with. At the sound of my alarm, I fluffed my hair to my liking and was ready to walk out of the door. The issue was no one was outside. I’d been peeking out of the window for the past three minutes to be sure that I wouldn’t keep Tyler waiting.
Women were known procrastinators, but fortunately, I didn’t fall into that category. Very punctual, I couldn’t remember a single event or engagement I’d attended and was late to unless it was completely out of my control and due to others. But personally, I was a stickler for time, knowing that every second could be useful.
Five minutes elapsed before I began contemplating the dreaded, “Where are you?” call. The thought that not everyone was as punctual as me weighed heavy on my mind like a ton of bricks, so I rested my limbs on the couch and decided to wait at least another ten minutes before calling. Ten minutes turned into twenty when the urge to reach out overcame me. With my cell already in my hand, I called the number associated with his contact and waited to hear his voice.
Instead, I received his voicemail. “The person you are trying to reach has a voice mailbox that hasn’t been set up. Please hang up and try your call again later.”
Sighing deeply, I tried finding comfort on the couch without the risk of ruining my curls before conjuring a decent text message. The certainty of our pending union didn’t dwindle as I pecked my perfectly manicured nails across my phone.
I had been preparing to go on this date for at least twenty-four hours with Tyler reiterating the fact that he couldn’t wait to see me again. I’d refused any form of physical contact unless we commenced with a date. During the Netflix and Chill era that we were currently in, I was desperate to set myself apart from the rest.
Tyler was agreeable with my revelation, or at least I considered him to be. That was until I realized I’d called him three times in th
e last thirty minutes, and he hadn’t answered a single call. In fact, it seemed as if I’d been placed on his blocked list by the repetitive voice of the woman on nearly everyone’s voicemail I’d encountered over the last few years.
“Shit.” Frustration was apparent as I tossed my cell toward the other end of the couch.
Suddenly, ruining my curls wasn’t as devastating of a thought as it had been afore the shame of being stood up overpowered me. As it seemed, I couldn’t win for losing. This entire dating realm was a pile of bullshit that I had been stepping foot in since I decided to reenter.
I could feel the folds of my face scrunching and disfiguring as I thought back to our conversations and tried processing the fact that it was all smoke that had quickly blown over. While I considered Tyler to be above the handful of maniacs that I had encountered in the last few months, I’d like to go on the record by saying that neither of them was a coward. They hadn’t stood me up or discontinued my calls.
Instead of blaming myself for his immaturity, I allowed the muscles of my face to relax along with my speeding heart rate. There was no point in drowning in sorrows that weren’t rooted within me. It was Tyler who seemed to have lost his damned mind. As I began to unwind, exhaustion swooned me. I hadn’t taken the time to consider how cluttered it was with tasks that required both my mental and physical competence.
Absentmindedly, I found myself falling into a light slumber that I was unaware of until my cell phone began chiming. The slob running down the right side of my mouth assured me that I’d needed the quickie. Only in instances I woke with saliva on my pillow were when the day had beaten the crap out of me. This one was no exception.
“Shit,” I fussed, fumbling with the decorative pillows on the couch to find my cell.
Strangely, I felt it in my heart that Tyler had come to grips with his foolishness and was calling to apologize. More than likely, he’d attempt to schedule another date, but I wasn’t giving him a second chance to stand me up. That shit was history.
Upon retrieving my cell, I noticed the unknown number while simultaneously furrowing my brows. “Why is this man texting me?” I questioned.
The time displayed on my phone informed me that I’d been asleep for two hours. It had only seemed like a few minutes, but the best naps always did. It was after ten, which really had me questioning his timing.
Chapter 2
Gauge
Unknown: Your friends are checking for you in the lil group shit you put me in.
What do they want?
The other conversations were muted, so the notifications weren’t coming through. I could imagine what was being said about me amongst those two.
Unknown: To know how your date went.
I got stood up.
There was no need to dwell on the situation. He could relay the message, and I’d follow up with my girls in the morning. I wanted to return to my bedroom and prepare for bed.
There was a lengthy pause, the gray bubble appearing and then disappearing. Unknowingly, I’d held my breath until his message came through. I considered shutting down the entire thread between us, but the rejection I had received earlier caused his attention to be a bit more appealing.
Unknown: You still dressed?
Yeah.
Shit, what more did I have to lose? My pride had already been bruised enough for the night.
Unknown: Share ya location. I’m on my way.
Share my location? I don’t even know you.
He couldn’t have been serious. I mean, he was a complete stranger that I’d misdialed. Wanting my location was a bit intrusive.
Unknown: Did you know the motherfucker that stood you up, tonight?
No.
Well, he had a point. I hadn’t known Tyler long, possibly four days, give or take a few hours.
Unknown: Location, then.
Where are we going?
Since he was demanding answers, I needed some of my own. In addition to sharing my location, I requested it.
Unknown: You’ll see when we get there.
Rude. The arrogance attached to street niggas was sexy as shit, but I begged to differ tonight. Tonight, I needed straight answers.
There isn’t much open this late. Maybe we can reschedule.
Hello?
His responses had discontinued. No gray bubble. Nothing.
Can I at least have your name?
I tried a gentler approach to get him talking again.
Unknown: Sosa.
Damn. Sosa.
Sosa, where are you taking me?
I waited inevitably for a response that would never come. Upon realizing this, I scurried to our group message in order to review the photo he’d sent. My friends had a slew of messages within the thread that made me groan in agony. I could only imagine how frustrated he was with the constant notifications.
“Sosa.” I repeated.
In all honesty, I loved the name. It was becoming of him. The deep, dark-brown skin, rugged yet splendid appearance, and the overall bad-boy demeanor he possessed was all conclusive in his simple and unique title. He looked like a Sosa, or to me at least.
Immediately, I exited the messages and accessed my social media folder. Instagram was the first to receive my attention. I typed his name in variations to see if I’d stumble across his account, but I came up empty-handed. The same was for Facebook, Snapchat, and Twitter as well.
I chalked it up to him being a bit clever with his user ID and made a mental note to ask him about his social media handles before the night ended. It wasn’t that I cared to keep up with him. It was simply because I wanted to know all that I could about him. Social media said a lot about people these days, whether true or false.
Time had gotten away from me as I attempted to investigate this intriguing being. The knock on my door startled me and brought me back to reality. Suddenly, nerves that my body had been absent of began sprouting and causing for clammy hands. Sure not to ruin my dress, I opted to wipe my sweaty palms on the end of my couch before checking myself out in the mirror. There was a second knock, prompting me to lose the bashfulness I’d encountered in the last few seconds and not keep him waiting any longer.
Goddamn. I nearly closed the door in his face. A man this fine was nothing but trouble. Quickly, I came to the conclusion that red must’ve been his favorite color because he was draped in it tonight as well. And the fit that he wore before me wasn’t in resemblance to the one in the photo he had sent. I’d studied it like an exam the night before testing.
“You chose burgundy, huh?”
The fact that he was standing on my porch instead of honking the horn or texting me to let me know that he was outside spoke volumes. I’d heard what Sosa had said, but the immense pressure I felt in his presence kept me quiet and staring back with the possibility of looking like a damn fool. Smitten, my sight trailed from the top of his head to the soles of his feet.
Sosa was wearing a red V-neck, simple as hell, but he made it look three times as exclusive. He’d probably gotten it from the corner market in the hood, but one would think it came straight from the runway. His denim didn’t hug his ass, neither did they sag. The belt around his waist wasn’t for show but was actually doing its job by maintaining the weight of his pants and keeping them from falling.
The red designer sneakers stretched for quite a bit, causing me to wonder if he was a member of the hood wood tribe—a tribe that my friends and I had made up full of men from the hood who were slanging serious wood. Jewelry clung to his body—neck, both wrists, one ear, and his teeth—lighting the darkness that consumed us. I was a lengthy girl, standing a proud five feet seven without heels, yet this nigga seemed to have an entire foot on me. In my heels, I was barely shoulder length.
“You finished?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your examination,” he replied, feet gapped and legs spread. He was definitely a part of the hood wood tribe. My mind was completely in the gutter.
“I’m sorry.�
� Panic stricken, I stepped onto the porch and turned to lock the door. “So rude of me.”
His silence was vexatious. I hardly wanted to return to him because I was sure he was checking me out now. Double standard, I know. It was completely okay for me to fuck him with my eyes, but I was haunted at the thought of him doing the same. I’d have to get better at that, but tonight wouldn’t be the night.
“Uh.” Of course, his eyes were wandering.
“Listen.”
Sosa stepped forward and had no intentions of halting until my back was against my front door, and his body was pressed up against mine. In no way did I feel threatened, which was highly unlikely for me. As an assault survivor, I was leery about men and their closeness. It always rubbed me the wrong way and caused anxiety to rise in my chest.
My breath somehow got lodged in my throat after inhaling his intoxicating scent. While I’d expected to smell something delectable on his frame, I was addressed by the boisterous scent of marijuana and jolly rancher. His stained blue tongue that I watched with intent as he spoke was evidence that he’d been eating jolly ranchers to remove the fogginess and funkiness from his breath that weed tended to leave behind.
“Before we leave this porch, I need you to drop that shy shit. I’m just some ole hood nigga. Ain’t shit to be conflicted, confused, or questioned. I’m just here to make your night right after a fuck nigga nearly sent you to bed with a frown. No pressure. No expectations.”
