A Good Thing

by Stacey Evans Morgan

  I wiped away my tears, looked up and said thank you to God. Sometimes love hurts so bad, you would do anything to get rid of the pain. I was depressed and when depression had me to the point where I was not suicidal but I just didn’t care whether or not I took another breath, it was truly time to reclaim my life!

  Thankfully, there was no oncoming traffic as I carefully turned the car around in the right direction and proceeded to drive home. Out of nowhere, I started thinking about that story where God appeared to Moses in a burning bush and strangely enough I felt as if He appeared to me in the form of the deer and the duet Mary, Mary. “I hear you loud and clear, God,” I proclaimed and continued my drive while singing along with the radio, nice and loud.

  Since writing had always been my greatest form of expression, I decided to dust off my idea for a Blog called “This Thing Called Love” and from the moment I posted my first story, I gained a loyal following from all over the country in search of a deeper understanding of the real meaning of love. I decided to be transparent and share my journey and quest to discover love. I didn’t really know what to write for my first blog entry, so I just wrote from the heart: “Love has officially kicked my butt! I read somewhere, if you don’t like your circumstances, stop complaining and change it.“

  That was exactly what I decided to do... change my circumstances. I had lived on the east coast much longer than expected. After meeting and falling in love with Jonathan, I had to consider the reality of an extended stay. When he passed the New York, D.C. and Virginia Bar, it was clear that the next phase of life after college would be on the east coast as Mrs. Jonathan Bradshaw, Esq. Now that that reality had come to a halt, I had to do some soul searching, get back to what made me happy and whole. More and more, I found myself longing for the warmth of home. Not just because of the year-round, Southern California sunshine I grew up with, but more so for the warmth of my roots, my family and my friends. I didn’t realize how much the trip home for the bachelorette weekend really made me homesick. As Senior Director of Media Relations for Kerr Tech, Inc., a thriving

  D.C. based information communications and technology firm, I dealt with clients in both the public and private sector and had the opportunity to hob nob with the Who’s Who of Washington

  D.C. From VIP invitations to President Obama’s 2009 and 2013 inauguration to floor seats at the Washington Wizards games, and all the other perks: expense account, corner office on Capitol Hill, stock options and a promotion to vice president lurking in the near future, professional growth within the company was mine for the taking. But even with the job security, I developed an overwhelming urge to quit my job. I was ready for a life change which started with submitting a letter of resignation from Kerr Tech and giving notice to the landlord of my spacious fourth floor apartment located in the vibrant Adams Morgan area of the District.

  Of course, getting far away from Mr. Bradshaw was part of the deciding factor. The day I packed up my office and said goodbye to my colleagues was a tearful ending to a wonderful chapter in my professional development. Since my team and I had just wrapped up an intense three-month project with a major client, my departure did not leave the company in a bind and there would be plenty of time to find my replacement, more than likely a hire from within. Thankfully, I had a few solid leads waiting for me in California and although my boss wasn’t happy about my sudden departure, she was willing to make a few phone calls on my behalf.

  With the last of my things boxed up, I sat quietly at my desk and decided to write a letter to Jonathan. It was cathartic for me to pour out my thoughts and emotions, typing away in a rhythmic stream of consciousness. I was able to think about that man without shedding a tear and I felt the need to let him know what was on my heart, which was a lot. But I managed to condense it into a three-page letter. I found a random envelope in the office and placed the letter inside before I licked the stale back of the flap. I felt good as that long chapter was over.

  The final words were signed, sealed and ready to be delivered. With my box of belongings, I hugged a few co-workers and headed toward the elevator without looking back. Since I lived near my office, I took a cab that day and while riding through Jonathan’s DuPont Circle neighborhood on the way back to my home, I asked the driver to make a sudden turn off Connecticut Avenue. As we pulled in front of his condo, I instructed the driver to keep the motor running as I would only be a few minutes. I got half way up the stairs to the front entrance of the building, an entrance I was so familiar with. I couldn’t take another step, and although I had poured my heart out onto the pages of that letter, suddenly I no longer felt the need to give that man a second more of my time. He had moved on and he knew how much he had hurt me. It was time for me to move on too.

  I took the envelope containing my written emotions and ripped it to pieces. I threw the shreds of paper up into the air in an almost celebratory manner and headed back to the cab. Change was in motion.

  Days later, I stood in the middle of my empty apartment as the last of my boxes and furniture were being moved out by two movers. I spent many days and nights living and learning about myself and the woman I was evolving into. I remembered often laying in the middle of the living room floor, listening to old CDs, singing along content and happy, sometimes sad and tearful after Jonathan and I would have one of our break-up to make-up periods.

  I remembered early Saturday mornings returning from Eastern Market with fresh flowers and a unique piece of art, or another flea market find that would fit in my apartment personalizing it even more to my liking.

  In the spring, I loved leaving the French doors that led onto my balcony, wide open welcoming in the smell of spring flowers, various aromas from the many ethnic restaurants within walking distance and just the pure energy from the community was always alive and vibrant. My little bohemian sanctuary was my retreat from my corporate life, and I enjoyed entertaining friends with my impromptu taco parties, book club meetings, card games, movie nights and of course, it was my ex-man’s home away from home.

  Although we never lived together, Jonathan and I had both marked each other’s territories with our personal items: toothbrushes, extra clothes, and other random items that allowed us both to feel at home. If the walls could talk, they would reveal our passion shared in apartment 401, hours upon hours of deep discussions and debate on everything from politics, to sports, faith, work gossip, our deepest frustrations and vulnerabilities. Those walls would reveal the love and spontaneous sensual interludes that took place in various locations around that apartment often accompanied by the music of Sade, Groove Theory, Musiq Soul Child, Erykah Badu, Eric Roberson, Miles Davis, Pat Metheny, John Coltrane, WHUR’s Quiet Storm and more playing on full volume.

  So many memories flooded my soul as I stood there and thought about the sadness I felt over the past few months and as the last box was carried out of the apartment, I took a deep breath, left the keys on the kitchen counter and gently closed the front door, never to return.

  Spring...

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Although I loved the Cherry Blossoms that lined the roads surrounding the Tidal Basin overlooking the Potomac River in the nation’s capital in the Spring, it was good to be back home. As I exited Terminal Seven at LAX, I was greeted by Sunny and Karma who held a sign with my name on it.

  “The three amigas are back in action!” Karma yelled out. Sunny added, “Just in time for your birthday. Welcome home, chica and feliz cumpleanos, aqui!”

  I ran to hug them both, wasting no time asking what was going on in the land of La-La. Karma already had my first night home planned. She kindly informed me that in honor of my thirty-something birthday, we were getting our Kiss ‘N’ Grind on. From the curious look on my face, Sunny cleared up any confusion. “Relax girl, Kiss ‘N’ Grind is a bomb touring club hosted by DJ Vikter DuPlaix and that’s all you need to know for now, ‘cause you’re going!”

  I had no arguments with my girls. I was excited to start a new chapter in my li
fe. All I wanted to do was get to Mom and Dad’s because I knew they had a home cooked meal and the keys to my new temporary spot waiting for me. Karma thought it was cool that my Dad took one of his investment properties, the little beachfront condominium he had leased out for years off the market for his princess to live in.

  After college, I think he had hoped I would return to California where I could resume my California lifestyle on the beach. Who wouldn’t jump at that opportunity? Me. I think Daddy was so happy to hear I was moving back to L.A., he contacted the selling realtor to take down the vacancy listing. I started telling the girls how Dad was trying to sell the place, but my return was a sign for him to hold on to it, at least until I got back on my feet.

  “Can we finish all of this chit chat on the way to your parent’s house, girl? I’m hungry.”

  I couldn’t blame Sunny for asking. My friends all loved my mother’s cooking.

  “Yep, let’s roll,” Karma commanded as we all hopped into her champagne gold convertible Audi and drove out of the congested airport. As we took the scenic route, riding through Playa del Rey alongside Dockweiler Beach, I breathed in the ocean air with a slight tinge of smog. Heading east past the Culver City Shopping Center (which will always be known to LA natives who grew up in the 70’s, 80’s and 90’s, as the Fox Hills Mall) we then drove up Centinela Avenue past Ladera Shopping Center, home of the infamous Magic Johnson Starbucks, notorious for the large groups of men sitting out front, talking, debating, flirting, playing chess and scoping every woman that entered or exited the coffee establishment, also immortalized in the movie Something New.

  Once we drove past Simply Wholesome Restaurant and store on Overhill Drive and Slauson Avenue, I was in my old stomping ground and less than ten minutes away from home. Passing by the old jogging park located on Mount Vernon Drive (the same street where my shower took place), the beautiful sunset put on a show as silhouettes of joggers and dog walkers circled the trail of Reuben Ingold Park, the renovated track and exercise park, first built in 1976. As we turned onto Kenway Drive, the street I grew up on, and pulled up into the driveway of my parent’s home, a flood of emotions fell over me. We could smell Mom’s cooking from the front porch and when my father opened the door and extended his arms, I knew everything was going to be alright.

  After feeding our faces with a meal that consisted of red beans and rice, grilled chicken, greens, corn bread and my mother’s bread pudding, I felt too stuffed to squeeze my butt into something cute, tight and fitting. But after relaxing for a bit, visiting with mom and dad, my girls helped me lug my bags over to my new condo. The very condo my dad purchased back in the early eighties that my friends and I as kids fantasized about living the bachelorette life in one day and we were there long enough just to get ready for a fun night out in the streets. I put together a cute little off the shoulder ensemble, L.A. night scene worthy, whipped the hair into shape, let Sunny do my makeup, since she declared herself as the beat face queen, and we were ready to go. I would have plenty of time to get acclimated to my new spot, especially after my furniture and other personal things arrived. For now, it was time to celebrate my birthday.

  We were already in party mode blasting Beyoncé’s Flawless loud enough for two drag queens on the corner of Santa Monica Boulevard and LaBrea Avenue to join us singing, “I woke up like this, I woke up like this,” and of course they were giving us vogue poses for life.

  Arriving at the Arena Nightclub, the packed parking lot let me know this event was going to be major. Apparently, I was on the late freight with regards to all things hip and this guy Vikter Duplaix, a Grammy award nominated singer, songwriter, party impresario started rocking the LA night scene with his Kiss ‘N’ Grind dance party tours that featured guest DJs from QuestLove, DJ Jazzy Jeff, D-Nice to artists/DJs such as Common, Idris Elba and Mr. Duplaix himself. I vaguely recalled hearing about his tours in D.C. and Baltimore, but it wasn’t on my social radar.

  We walked into the club, which was packed and in full motion. Vikter Duplaix was on the turntables and the atmosphere was bumping with an intense gumbo musical mix of everything from R&B, reggae, neo-soul and hip hop.

  This was a bonafide dance party for sure, and as we danced our way to the middle of the club, Karma grabbed my hand and escorted me to a private VIP area, complete with bottle service and a dozen of my old friends who yelled out, “Surprise!” as soon as they saw me.

  I was tearfully shocked to see so many folks there and I hugged Sunny and Karma who once again looked out for me, making sure their girl was celebrated in grand style. As the non- stop musical mix continued, I noticed DJ Kid Capri was now on the digital wheels of steel and he even gave me a birthday shout out. We did a champagne toast, danced, laughed, and I felt a sense of happiness flush through my body.

  Then, I heard a deep voice behind me “Well, happy birthday, Ms. Davenport.”

  I turned around to see an old friend, Tony Barnes who was still just as tall, dark and fine as I remembered. As we hugged, it felt good to be in his embrace. He stepped back to glance at me up and down, checking me out slow and deliberate, and I giggled as I greeted him, “Tony Barnes, it’s good to see you.”

  He shook his head. “Not as good as it is to see you. Damn, you look… ummmph!”

  I joked that he always had a way with words as he hugged me again.

  “So, you back for good?” he asked in a hopeful tone.

  I told him I was back for now and in classic Tony Barnes style, his mack mode kicked in. “Let me guess, either that east coast weather got too tough for you or you missed me?” The fact that I had been engaged was not even mentioned. Tony always tickled me and I just kept it short and sweet.

  “Let’s just say, it was time to come back home.”

  As if he read that response as code for: I missed you, he grabbed my hand. “Yeah, I missed you too. Welcome home. C’mon girl, let’s dance.”

  As we exited the private area to join several of our friends on the main dance floor, we were immediately drawn to the seductive, pulsating beat of the music and began to dance close, sensual and familiar. Tony was always a good dance partner. He could flip from the latest dance moves to a sexy salsero commanding the dance floor with ease.

  In true Latin lover style, he took every opportunity to hold me close, twirl me around, and before I knew it, we were moving in sync, my body spooned up against his. He wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed my shoulder. In my ear, he whispered, “You’re still fine as ever.”

  The music blended into NeYo’s Champagne Life and I looked in the direction of our booth where Karma and Sunny raised their glasses and grinned at me and Tony as if to say “Get your groove on, y’all!” followed by a precocious fist bump.

  As the party continued, Kiss ‘N’ Grind became personal on and off the dance floor for me and Mr. Barnes.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  After a night of early morning, non-stop partying, the last thing I wanted to hear was the incessant ringing of my doorbell. I rolled out of the bed, disheveled and half asleep, stumbling to answer the door to find a perky Karma who invited herself in. I was so groggy I could barely even speak, but managed to mumble, “Hey, Karm.”

  “Well, hello yourself little miss bump and grind. Is he still here?” Karma asked as she sneakily tried to look around.

  “Girl, who?” I asked and she shot me a you-know-who look. “Whatever, crazy,” I said, blowing her off.

  “Oh no, I saw you and Tony getting all reacquainted last night,” she said trying to get the scoop.

  “It was good to see Mr. Barnes,” I told her hoping that would be the end of her nosy interrogation.

  That was wishful thinking. “Did Mr. Barnes get to see more of you last night after we dropped your fast ass off?”

  Karma was persistent and I finally broke it down explaining that we were just reminiscing and having fun. “Reminiscing with a little remi-kissing! That’s cool.”

  She didn’t need to know that Tony had actually st
opped by later and had just left prior to her arrival at my door. He was always cool being a “friend with benefits” and our little secret rendezvous was truly beneficial.

  “Karma, you are so nosey! Did you really wake me up just to get all up in my business?”

  She explained that she had an early morning personal training session with a new client nearby and decided to come check on her friend. “I will say, you and Tony did look good together last night,” she added.

  Looking good together… strangely enough that was the same story with Jonathan.

  “I need more than that, Karma. What about a soul connection?”

  As if I touched on her favorite subject, Karma began her lecture on how there are a trillion souls on this planet and if we waited for our soul to collide with just that right soul mate, we’d be dead and gone. “That’s where my so-called soul mate would have to find me, in the afterlife. Move on, Pilar.”

  What she didn’t realize was that I had moved on and even tried to see if I could find my ski buddy, Kendall, online. The fact that we only knew each other’s first names made my search even more challenging.