A Good Thing

by Stacey Evans Morgan

  “Well, I was recently told by the man I thought I was going to marry, that he loved me but wasn’t in love with me.”

  “Uh huh, all men are dogs,” one girl insisted.

  “That was so mean” Sydney sympathized, with a sorrowful look in her eyes.

  “I thought so too. But, after a while, I realized he was just telling the truth. I’m learning a lot about love myself. There are different levels of love and it’s not just a feeling, it’s an action word. It’s an emotion that can’t fully be described because it is so unique. You want to know how to make that cute boy in your class love you and truth is, you can’t. We can do things to try to make someone love us, and I pray to God you haven’t done that.”

  Sydney shook her head.

  “Good. I also pray to God that He would use me to encourage your hearts today because I don’t want to bore you.”

  Their deadpan expressions left me searching for ways to keep them engaged during the time I had left. I took a couple of cleansing breaths and went for it. “Anyway, let’s start with ourselves. How many of you can name things that you love about yourself?”

  A few girls raised their hands.

  “How many of you take the time to tell others what you love about them?”

  Not as many hands go up.

  I spotted some art supplies nearby and gathered them up. Then, I handed out paper and pens to the girls. “Let’s do this. I want you to write a love letter.” “Yes! That’s what I’m talking about,” exclaimed Jordan, followed by Sydney teasing her. “Dear LaMar, you are so fine and...”

  “No, that’s not what I’m talking about. You’re going to take the time to write a love letter to yourselves,” I explained to the confused group.“You have to love yourself before anybody else has a chance at loving you. Write down all of the things you would want to hear in such a letter, including everything you love about yourself. Make yourselves blush!”

  The girls giggled and I started to feel a little more comfortable. “Okay, there’s plenty of paper, colored pens, and stuff to decorate your letter and make it truly special. When you’re done,

  I’ll get some envelopes for you to address to yourselves.”

  The girls began writing their letters, but I noticed an awkward, soft-spoken, girl who hadn’t moved. I went over to introduce myself and she told me her name was Jayla.

  “Why aren’t you writing, Jayla?” I asked, trying not to be overbearing.

  “I don’t have anything to write.”

  My heart sank hearing her say that. “Don’t you love yourself? Surely, there’s something you love that makes you uniquely you.”

  “Um, not really. That’s weird to say you love yourself.”

  I didn’t want to assume but I could sense that there was some legitimate reasoning behind the low esteem that hovered over that young lady like a dark cloud.

  “No way, girl. Do you love God?”

  Jayla shot me a look of slight annoyance. “Yes. I raised my hand earlier when you asked us that.”

  “Well, do you realize that you are made in God’s image? So to love yourself is to love what God created.”The beautiful, awkward young woman had never thought about it like that. She started to warm up, asking what I loved about myself. I think I threw her off-guard by telling her that I love my height.

  “I used to hate being the tall girl in school, but now, I love it. I feel like a model/WNBA player who can grab hard-to-reach things stored in high places. I feel like a super hero.”

  At that moment, I felt super corny but it seemed to resonate with Jayla. “Um, I can’t really think of anything about me.” A bashful smile appeared on her face.

  “Really? Well, I love your smile. Braces and all. That’s a good place to start, sweetie.”

  Jayla flashed an even brighter smile and began to write.

  That was a very special moment for me as I really felt the definition of Agape love in effect. Robby had talked about Agape being the highest form of charity and God’s unconditional love for man. It felt amazing helping Jayla and the young women understand love a little better.

  I gave Miss Jayla a hug and told her to take her time with her love letter. As I looked around the room, the love letter project seemed to be a success and I had to give God the credit because I had no idea that activity would be happening, but clearly He knew.

  “Okay, ladies. While you’re still working, I wanted to remind you that you are all so precious in God’s eye. His word tells us that we are fearfully and wonderfully made.”

  “What exactly does that mean?” Sydney asked.

  “It means that God was extra careful and almost nervous when He made each one of us. We are like His... individual works of art.” I glanced over at an attentive Jayla, and winked.

  Weeks after the “Love Letter” project, I received a call from Robby who expressed his gratitude for me having such a profound effect on the young women from the conference. He received numerous calls from parents who told stories of their daughters excited about receiving their letters in the mail.

  I thought about various girls from the workshop receiving their letters, thrilled because some of the envelopes were quite elaborate with decorations and fancy writing. I imagined Jayla retrieving her letter from her family’s mailbox and her brace-faced smile as she opened and read her words of self-love while walking toward her home.

  This challenge of learning to love has been a true life changer. As much as we craved the love of another, God’s love, Agape love, really completed me and I could truly say, with all confidence... I loved myself!

  Besides mailing all of those letters to the girls from the workshop, I decided to show a little love to my girls, who always have my back. Sunny received a beautiful just-because floral arrangement at her office, and Karma received hers at her home, both with attached cards from me.

  BLOG ENTRY: It’s no secret that women love flowers. But why wait for a guy to send them just to tell you that you’re special? I firmly believe in sometimes sending a letter, candy or flowers to yourself and those who are special to you... just because. Hell, take yourself out on a date, a romantic excursion even.

  As I completed my blogging for the day, I closed my laptop, took a sip from my glass of wine, then walked over to admire and smell a beautiful arrangement of roses sent from a very special admirer… me.

  Summer...

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I entered the Air France plane and took my seat in row three of the First Class section. Once seated, I started browsing through a magazine and staring out the window. I noticed a couple cuddling a row up, across the aisle and I went back to browsing the magazine and daydreaming before giving any thought to what if that were Jonathan and me?

  Suddenly, I was snapped out of my daydream by a male voice. “I would say we’ve gotta stop meeting this way, but I’d be lying.”

  I was stunned and nearly speechless. “Kendall!” I said with apparent shock in my voice.

  “Correction, Kendall, the guy who injured his leg on a snowy mountain in an attempt to get to know you, only to be left high and dry.”

  He was right and all I could offer was, “Just for the record, that had nothing to do with you. I had an unexpected emotional breakdown and it wasn’t pretty.”

  You know that feeling from childhood when you’re going on a school field trip and you secretly hope the boy you’ve had a crush on comes to sit next to you on the bus? That’s how I felt when I saw Kendall.

  “This isn’t your seat, is it?” I asked.

  “What, a brother can’t fly first class to Paris?” he responded followed by a warm smile that assured me that he knew I didn’t mean it like that.

  “It’s just that, I was originally supposed to be flying with someone else and when I cancelled that reservation...”

  “The last person you imagined flying seated next to you was me?” he finished for me.

  All I could do was smile. “Not in a million years. But I couldn’t be happier.”
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  A woman approached my row ready to take her seat next to me and my smile quickly faded.

  Kendall pointed to the seat across the aisle and tried hinting to the woman, “Actually, that’s my seat but I am hoping this lovely woman won’t mind switching with me.” Kendall turned his back to me, and it was clear by his gestures that he was pleading with the woman.

  The woman winked at us and kindly took Kendall’s assigned seat. He flashed a big grin as he sat next to me. “Glad that worked out,” he whispered.

  “Me too,” I whispered back.

  Normally my nerves were on edge upon take off on an airplane, but I think I was so happy my long lost friend was sitting next to me that I forgot about being nervous. Twelve hours until arrival into Paris and I was hopeful that Kendall and I could pick up where we left off in Canada.

  As we chatted a flight attendant approached asking what we would like to drink. We looked at each other and I blurted out, “I’ll have some champagne.”

  Kendall nodded and answered “Why not? I’ll have the same.” After the flight attended walked away, our conversation shifted from safe chit-chat, to Kendall saying, “So, I’m guessing the only reason you’re flying solo to Paris is there’s got to be a lucky man waiting for you on the other end?”

  “As romantic as that sounds, this is my half of what was supposed to be my honeymoon. Instead of wasting an amazing trip to the most romantic city in the world, I thought I might as well experience it for myself,” I explained.

  Since he already knew the story about my almost wedding, he simply responded, “Good for you.”

  Now it was my turn to get nosey and I asked, “What about you? Why are you traveling to France and by way of Los Angeles?” I noticed a sad sincerity wash over him as he softly answered, “I’m going to say goodbye to a very special woman. My mother.

  I was here in L.A. on business when I got news that she passed away.”

  My heart sank hearing that news and I shared my condolences just as the flight attendant returned with our glasses of champagne. He thanked me for my words of comfort, then brightened up trying to encourage himself.

  “Pilar, if you knew my mom, she would tell us to raise our glasses and toast to life. She truly lived it to the fullest.” As he raised his glass, I joined him. “A toast. A ma cher maman, elle a eu une belle vie, salud. To my darling mother, she had a beautiful life. Cheers.”

  I admit, I was a little mesmerized when he started speaking French. I clinked my glass with his, offering a simple, “Salud.” As we sipped, I asked if she was on vacation in Paris. He told me that she actually lived just outside in Marseille and added that once upon a time, he lived there as well.

  This man named Kendall was getting more and more interesting by the moment. I wanted to know all about him and he felt comfortable enough to share. “After my folks split up, she decided to pursue her part-time passion as a jazz singer, full- time in Paris. I had the choice of staying here in the states with my father or going with her and since I was a mama’s boy, off to France I went from age ten to fifteen.”

  “That explains why uh... vous parlez francais tres bon,” I tried to offer in my terrible French dialect.

  He was impressed. “Oh, je parle aussi, Pilar?”

  I knew enough to understand that he was asking if I spoke also, and I hit him with the safe answer of “Je parle une petit peu. Emphasis on peu!”

  He laughed sweetly indulging my ramblings as I told him that I took French in college but never mastered it conversationally. “That’s another reason I’m going to Paris. The best way to learn a language is to fully immerse yourself in the culture, right?” “Amen. That’s how I learned” he responded. With each sip of champagne, we became more relaxed and talked up a storm. He told me that after a few years, he came back to the states to live with his dad for his high school years, but France would always have a special place in his heart.

  I like this guy and looked at him with admiration. “I knew you were different. There’s just something about you.” I sounded like a mack daddy and quickly shifted the conversation. “So, would I know your mother’s music?”

  “She wasn’t a household name but well respected in the jazz community,” he answered.

  I told him that I grew up listening to jazz, thanks to my dad. Then he questioned, “You ever heard of Carmen Galloway?”

  And my loud mouth blurted out, “Carmen Galloway was your mother?”

  Kendall was impressed that I was familiar with his mother’s music.

  “I love her. She sang one of my favorite songs, Soul Dance.” I guess the champagne gave me permission to spontaneously break out in song singing, “Time and space, cannot erase, the beauty of two strangers, an unexpected romance, the sensational chance of a soul dance.”

  Kendall joined me singing that last refrain, then in a reflective mode, simply said, “Yep, that’s her.”

  I started to get a little teary eyed. “I’m sorry. You should be the one with tears in your eyes, Kendall.”

  He calmly said, “Beautiful.”

  I agreed, “That song really is beautiful.”

  He looked deep into my eyes. “I meant, you.”

  I couldn’t stop my tears and explained how that song always got to me, because I believed that we encountered people in life who perhaps our souls once danced with.

  “Soul to soul,” he agreed.

  I looked at him, he understood and I whispered “Exactly.”

  There was a quiet moment between us and suddenly he took charge of the direction this conversation was going. “ Okay look, Pilar. We’ve got an extremely long flight ahead and seeing that we’ve managed to see each other once per season this year, let’s get to know each other. Cool?”

  I was down with that so I suggested we just go for it and ask random questions. Kendall asked if he could start.

  “Okay, since you’re so eager to get all up in my business, go ahead,” I said.

  He leaned in close to me. “Have you ever been a member of the Mile-High club?”

  That was his first question? “What? No. What made you ask that?”

  “That couple two rows up. You know they’re in that restroom right now, earning their wings.”

  I peered over the seats in front of me and noticed they were indeed empty. “Nawww.”

  In complete confidence, he asked, “Where are they?”

  Now, I was a little curious, but still refused to believe there were people in that small lavatory having sex. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe people did such a thing. Hell, free-spirited Karma was a proud member of the club, which is one of many reasons she was fired from her job with Trans Global Airlines. The quickie with that fine NFL player during a flight to Minneapolis, cost her the job, flight benefits, along with my endless surplus of buddy passes.

  According to her, they wouldn’t have gotten caught if her foot hadn’t unlocked that door. How that happened, one could only use their kinky imagination, but when an unsuspecting co-pilot opened the ‘Vacant’ door to see them twisted up like a pretzel at the point of ecstasy, she knew her career as a flight attendant, all but brief, was over. To let her tell it, that pilot was just hating since he probably wanted to get with her. She couldn’t prove it but his awkward, lingering stares whenever they worked together often led her to believe he wanted to make a move and she made it clear that she had zero interest.

  It wasn’t a total loss, she had fun while the job lasted and even got VIP tickets to the Super Bowl that year from her NFL friend. I was intrigued by Kendall’s accusation and told him he was crazy, rationalizing that there were two restrooms in first class. The woman was in one, and her male companion in the other. At that moment, the suspects exited, one after the other from the same restroom, with a sly expression on their faces.

  I looked at Kendall. “No way!”

  He looked at me as if to say, “I told you.”

  “Kendall, as much as I’ve flown in my life, I’ve never witnessed Mile High club acti
on.”

  He explained,” Most people don’t, but you can bet on a long flight, there are some freaky flyers traveling with you.”

  “You sound like you’re a member of that club,” I inquired. “Me? Nah. I tried once, but a panic attack plus some mean turbulence put the brakes on that. Shoot, I’m claustrophobic.”

  I laughed so hard, other passengers started looking in our direction.

  He laughed along with me, but tried to look serious. “That’s not funny.”

  “Uh, yes it is,” I said and took over the questioning. “Okay, my turn. What are your favorite movies?”