A Good Thing

by Stacey Evans Morgan

  Lance’s whole demeanor started to change. I later learned from my friend, Bridgette that Lance was creeping behind my back, with some girl named Monique from nearby St. Catherine’s. St. Catherine’s, better known as St. Cathy’s or St. Cat’s, an all- girls high school where some of the students wore skirts just as short, if not shorter than cheerleaders. His pimped out Nissan with the tinted windows, booming sound system and smell of Wild Cherry car wash air freshener was a chick magnet, attracting girls who had no problem giving it up to my Lance. That was the case with Monique, who according to Bridgette had become known to the guys as Mo’freak. Although I came very close, I was so glad I didn’t lose my virginity to Lance, who proved to me that he was far from worth it and I was no longer a priority to him.

  My mom’s simple advice on priorities saved me from a lot of extra drama throughout the rest of my high school experience, and she turned out to be a very effective listener. She had a way of letting me know she knew there was more I had to share, without saying a word. Her facial expressions spoke volumes.

  “Mom, I’m also on this quest to learn more about love. Pastor Robby’s message really struck home with me.”

  That was her cue to chime in. “I bet it did, honey. Look, I know you were hurt by what happened between you and Jonathan, but trust me. One day, you’ll look back and you won’t even remember the pain.”

  “I just feel like I wasted so much time, energy and my heart on the wrong person.”

  She brushed the dirt from her hands and stopped to give me her undivided attention. “He wasn’t the wrong person when you met him. Every experience is a learning opportunity, Pilar. Don’t look at it as wasted time, instead tap into what you learned about yourself.”

  “I know I have a lot to learn about love,” I responded. “Honey, you never stop learning about love. Your father and I have been married over thirty years and although he gets on my nerves daily, we’re still learning how to love each other.”

  My parents married when they were barely out of college, which was not unusual, especially when many young women were in pursuit of their M.R.S. degree. That was not the case with my mother and her ambitious circle of friends. Ramona Camille Winters was dead set on becoming an educator and although she and dental school student, Alan Davenport had fallen in love, and married months after her college graduation, graduate school remained a priority.

  I remember asking my parents years ago about their decision to get married so quick, and if they were scared?

  Always eager to share insight especially in the area of marriage, Mom had no problem with transparency and answered “Yes. But strangely enough we knew after a few months that we wanted to marry. So, as young newlyweds, we decided the key to a successful marriage would be to continue to court and date after saying “I do.” We struggled in those early grad school years and date nights were often as simple as riding bikes to get ice cream cones, but two successful careers, two grown children and three grand babies later, I’d say it worked out.”

  I told her times were different now and I didn’t think people were as family oriented as they were back in the day. “Marriage is more like a business deal. If it works it works and if it doesn’t, there are pre-nups and contingencies to fall back on.”

  “Pilar, when you decide to get married, and I’m sure you will, love, respect, faith and friendship should be at the core. You can’t know everything about a person before saying “I Do” but if those four factors are in place, you’ve got a strong foundation to build on. Girl, you’ve got me out here sounding like Oprah.”

  “You sound like wisdom to me,” I told her.

  “It’s time to open up your heart to new possibilities. You are a good woman, so that means there are a few good men left out there.”

  She resumed turning the soil as I watched and cautiously told her that I met a guy right before Jonathan and I broke up.

  “Oh Lord, don’t tell me that had something to do with…” “No, no, Mom. Nothing happened, he was just nice. Ironically,

  I ran into him again in Canada.”

  My mom tuned in ready for a juicy story. “Go on.”

  “We actually hung out for a day and got acquainted. It was cool, especially since neither of us were looking for a love connection.”

  “Honey, men are always looking for a love connection or as you guys say, a hook up.”

  “Ma!” I yelled as I wasn’t trying to talk about hook ups with my mama.

  “I’m just saying. Go on,” she smirked.

  “Well, he had a little mishap on the slopes, and I stayed with him at the hospital the rest of the day because I didn’t want to leave him hanging. Once he got all bandaged up, we hung out and we just… vibed.”

  She knew me well so she knew there was more and “And...” “And nothing. I saw Jonathan there with another woman and that just ruined the trip for me.”

  Looking over her glasses she asked “Was he with a white girl?”

  “Mom! No.”

  “Oh, I’m just asking. Not that it makes any difference,” she tried to reassure me.

  But it made a difference. My parents raised me to embrace all races and cultures, but I knew they were hopeful that I would marry a black man in the same way many of her Jewish friends wanted their sons to meet and marry a nice Jewish girl. At this point in my life, though, I thought any man would do as my folks just wanted to see their daughter married with children.

  “It just hurt to see that Jonathan had moved on so soon, mom.”

  “Well, you needed to get your butt over Jonathan and I think you should let your new friend help you. Have you called him, Pilar?”

  “Unfortunately, I never got his contact info.”

  She shot me a look as if to say ‘now you know I taught you better than that, girl.’ Mom was on a mission. “Just Google, Facebook, Tweet him, something. However you guys connect these days.”

  “I don’t even know his last name.” I was actually sad that I’d left that poor guy sitting in that crowded sports bar, wondering where I had suddenly disappeared to.

  “Pilar, maybe the reason you met this guy was simply for you to see that there is life after your ex.”

  Once again, my wise mama with the right dose of encouragement. “You’re probably right, mom.”

  “I know I’m right.” She paused and gave me a side-eye that rivaled any of the looks Karma or Sunny had ever given to me. “I can’t believe you didn’t get the man’s number!”

  Before I could offer a sheepish reply, my daddy entered the yard interrupting our conversation. “Hey, who’s car is that out front in my space?”

  Of course he knew it was mine and I ran over to hug him. “Guilty. Hi, Dad.”

  “Hey, pretty girl. Your mom giving you the breakdown on how to end world hunger with her gardening tips?”

  “Somewhat. Actually, she was breaking down love and marriage to me.”

  “Oh Lord. One thing I will say, Pilar. A man would be a fool not to love you, but I’m glad you didn’t marry that cat, Jonathan.”

  It was a well-known fact, my dad was serious when he referred to folks as “cat.”

  “Daddy, I thought you liked him,” I inquired because there was never an indication otherwise.

  When I brought Jonathan home during spring break to meet my parents, they instantly warmed up to him. He came from a good family, similar upbringing and he said all of the things a girl’s parents wanted to hear from their daughter’s new beau.

  “He was all right. Smart cat, ambitious, headed in the right direction. But, I never saw a spark between you two.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Because, you’re my daughter, I love you, but you’re stubborn like your mother.”

  My mom shot him one of those don’t-start-none, won’t-be- none looks that he purposely ignored as he continued.

  “And, I know you wouldn’t have listened to me. It’s what you do. I tell you to go left, you’re going to go right just to p
rove your point. The hardest thing about being a parent is allowing your child to grow up and make mistakes. I hoped it would work out for the best, and you know what? I believe it has.” He kissed my forehead. “You’re going to be all right. You’re a Davenport. Now, how’s that bog thing working out?”

  Mom just shook her head, as she was used to my father’s attempts to stay current. “It’s called a blog, Alan. You need to get up to speed.”

  “My speed is just fine, Mona.”

  Before they could get started, I said, “It’s going good, Dad.” “And you say, they actually send you a check for writing your thoughts?”

  “Something like that. Since I have a large number of subscribers, advertisers pay me for exposing my readers to whatever they’re trying to market. I’m also writing for a travel website that actually pays me with all-expense paid trips to write about my travel experiences. I’m headed up to Napa Valley next weekend to write about a new winery that opened a few weeks ago.”

  I could see my dad’s mental wheels cranking trying to wrap his head around the concept. “Maybe I should start a side-hustle blogging. Shoot, they could pay me to travel and write about playing golf!”

  “Maybe you should stick to being a dentist and leave the blogging to your talented child, Dr. D.”

  My dad was an avid golfer and I could tell he was serious about trying to figure out how he could parlay his love for playing at the most amazing courses around the world in exchange for the written word. I could see my mom getting slightly annoyed at dad’s suggestion and I quickly changed the subject. “Hey, maybe we should go inside and eat.”

  “Good idea. Go pick some of those greens over there so your mama can cook them,” He joked.

  “Better yet, why don’t you take us out to dinner? All this gardening has made me hungry.”

  “Mona, isn’t that the purpose of you doing all this gardening?

  So we don’t have to go out to eat at a restaurant?”

  I knew this discussion could go on and on so I intervened and grabbed both of their hands, ushering them upstairs as the sun was starting to slowly set.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I kept my word to Pastor Robby, and arrived at Park Hills Church ready to share any wisdom I could impart at the annual Young Women’s Role Model conference. When I entered the fellowship hall, I was thrown off guard at seeing the large number of teenagers.

  Pastor Robby ran over to greet me and escort me off to an area away from the crowd.

  “Robby, I didn’t know the young women were going to be this young. I thought it was maybe a group of college aged women,” I whispered.

  “Oh, that group is here” he said. “Lisa’s working with them in the main sanctuary.” My expression prompted him to add, “You’ll be fine, Pilar. Just speak from your heart,” he encouraged as he walked to the front of the room to introduce me.

  I was nervous, more like petrified because I was prepared to talk about career development, dressing for success, and other things in that vein, but these young women ranged from age thirteen to sixteen and the majority of them were all preoccupied with their cell phones. The expressions on their faces let me know the last place they wanted to be on a Saturday morning was at a church conference.

  Robby stepped to the microphone and a few girls had the good sense to put their phones away. “Good morning, and welcome to the Young Women’s Role Model Conference. I am excited that you are here and thrilled to know that God is going to do something amazing in your lives today.”

  They offered a polite applause.

  “Today’s speaker is an old friend of mine. We actually grew up in this neighborhood together. She is professional, dynamic, smart and loves the Lord. She also used to babysit me when I was a kid, and since I don’t want her sharing a bunch of horror stories about when I wasn’t so saved, I want you to show her some serious love and give her a big Park Hills Church welcome... Ms. Pilar Davenport!”

  The girls applauded as I walked up to the podium. I could feel their judging eyes examining me from head to toe rating my sense of style. I even heard one girl whisper, “Her shoes are kinda cute,” to one of her friends as I passed by.

  Kinda cute? I thought before reasoning with myself that any compliment from this group of Mall Fashionistas was actually a score for me.

  “Thank you for the kind welcome, Pastor Robby. And don’t worry, your secrets are safe with me,” I joked as the girls laughed and I even heard a few “Awwws” as Robby exited the building as if he were making a narrow escape.

  Suddenly, it was quiet. In my professional life, I had done tons of presentations but addressing teenagers was a whole different challenge. I tried a laid back, Ted Talk conversational approach as opposed to the typical lecture or stale, out of touch approach I was sure they were used to.

  “I was told the theme of this conference is Learning to Love.

  How many of you love God?”

  All of the girls raised their hands.

  “Good. How many know God loves you?” Hands went up again.

  “Okay, so, love... Is a beautiful thing. Uh, everybody wants love but do we really understand it?”

  I was in total freestyle mode when one girl asked me “Have you ever been in love?”

  So, they’re going there, huh? My heart is still healing from the breakup and these girls want to talk about love.

  “Yes, I have. But I don’t think we’re talking about that kind of love today.”

  The same girl asked “Why not? Love is love, right?” and a few of the girls chimed in, “Yeahhhh” in support of her question.

  “You’re right, love is love, but...”

  “You don’t really have a speech prepared, huh?” another girl asked.

  Was I that transparent?

  “Well, honestly, I just thought I’d be speaking to an older group of young women on the subject.”

  “Are you in love with somebody right now?”

  Those nosey girls didn’t waste any time getting in my business. “We just want to know what romantic love feels like,” the girl continued.

  That struck a chord with the group and soon a flood of questions came, one after another.

  “I want to know what I can do to make this cute boy at my school love me. How do I do that?” asked one girl who looked like an H&M model.

  Another girl suggested sexting, insisting that all boys loved that.

  “Whoa, whoa, ladies.” I held up my hands. “Let’s slow down. First of all, stay away from sexting! Your bodies are too precious and not meant to be shared with a boy who will most likely share with another friend, cyberspace and so on. Don’t do it, it’s not worth it, it’s dangerous and can cause serious problems for you down the line.”

  I knew from personal experience that it wasn’t worth it. Not that I was going to share with the group, but sometimes margaritas and smart phones make you do stupid things and that was the case when I decided to send a topless pic of myself to Dexter Townsend, a rebound boy-toy I met during one of my breakups with Jonathan. Thankfully, it was a below the neck shot, but it managed to go viral among his circle of friends and to this day, I had no way of knowing if he really deleted the photo as he said he would after we stopped hanging out.

  Before I could lecture further on the subject, Parker, a 16-year-old, shared a personal story about how her one sexting experience almost ruined her young life and attracted a 40-year- old online predator masquerading as a 17-year-old boy. Coming from a fellow contemporary rather than 30-something year old me, I think the other girl, whose name tag read Sydney, quickly dismissed sexting as a way of expressing love.

  All of a sudden, our discussion had taken this very serious turn and I felt the need to bring us back to the question that sparked the conversation.

  “Ladies, to know what love feels like is to... love yourself, first. You asked if I am in love and to be perfectly honest, I was supposed to get married a few months ago. So, I thought I was in love.”

  Sydney’s
eyes widened. “Supposed to get married? What happened?” She leaned forward and the other girls leaned in too, to hear what they thought were going to be juicy details.