“You may shoot me with your words. You may cut me with your eyes. You may kill me with your hatefulness, but still, like air, I’ll rise.”  –Maya Angelou

VANESSA MONROE

Wednesday, June 28 at 8:55PM
I unlock the front door to my quaint, Spanish bungalow when I’m greeted by a loud beeping and a shrill yodeling. I flip on the light switch in the entryway and enter the alarm code into the keypad to silence the noise. I bend down and pet my dog, Cairo, as he continues his high-pitched greeting.
I adore Cairo, but sometimes I wish I had done a little more research on his breed. Had I known Basenjis yodeled and whined, then I would’ve considered getting something a little quieter. Like a Basset Hound. However, I can’t part with my black and white pooch. He’s been the most loyal male in my life, besides my father.
I turn on the lights as I pass through the living room. My heels echo against the maple hardwood floors. Cairo follows me as I continue illuminating the house. Once inside the kitchen, I open the sliding glass door leading to the patio, and Cairo bolts out to the small fenced-in backyard. I watch him for a few seconds as he sniffs the grass, looking for a place to mark his territory, before I head for one of the cabinets above the sink.
I grab a glass tumbler from the shelf and stick it under the automatic ice maker with my left hand while opening the refrigerator door with my right. I search the shelf for some orange juice. When I find what I’m looking for, I fill one-third of the glass with juice. I unscrew the cap off a bottle of gin and pour a generous amount. The amount of alcohol is more than I normally drink, but I’ve had a horrible night, and I need the gin to push the memory to the recesses of my mind.
Cairo is rolling around in the grass when I stroll onto the patio and sit under the pergola my sister, Alicia, and my brother-in-law, Nate, helped build. The sky is a yellow-orange as the sun begins its descent. I sip my drink while I watch my dog run around and stretch his legs. I unzip the back of my sandals and kick them off. I massage my left ankle from where the strap has dug into my skin. The alcohol warms my throat as I take another swallow.
I hope drinking and watching Cairo frolic under the sunset will keep my mind off one of the worst nights of my life. Sadly, it doesn’t. My eyes begin to well up with tears, but I quickly blink them away. There’s no sense in crying over a man I barely know.

 

The bass is thumping loudly from the little docking station that’s holding my iPod. Jill Scott’s, “Golden”, fills the air while I move my hips to the beat.
“Are you going to get dressed for your date or keep dancing in your bra and panties?” shouts Tabitha, my best friend.
Skirts and sheer blouses are piled in the middle of my walk-in closet. I glance at the clock on my dresser. It’s almost six o’clock. I’m not supposed to meet Kento for another two hours, so I have more than enough time.
“I can do both,” I state, pulling a white buttoned down blouse off a hanger.
I turn to face Tabitha and ask, “What do you think of this top with the skirt beside you?”
She looks at the blouse, then down at the black pencil skirt laid out next to her, and shakes her head. “Nope, it doesn’t say ‘sexy’.”
Looking back at the shirt, I ask, “What does it say?”
“I’m a boring librarian,” Tabitha replies with an eye roll.
“But I’m not a librarian.”
Tabitha glares at me. “Exactly. You’re going out on the town, not a funeral.”
“You just said I looked like a boring librarian,” I groan, putting a hand on my hip.
“Is there a difference? You have a great figure, and you shouldn’t try to hide it. You should wear a fitted top to show off your tiny waist. He’ll love that. And maybe you should choose another skirt. This one’s a little drab,” Tabitha replies as she pulls her smooth blonde hair into a ponytail. She hops off my bed and strolls toward me to offer her services.
I cut my eye at my well-meaning friend and sigh, “I don’t want to be too over the top.”
Shrugging, Tabitha asks, “How is accentuating what the good Lord blessed you with too over the top?”
The tall fashionista slides tops and dresses back and forth on the clothes rack. I hang up the white blouse then cross my arms, waiting for her to emerge with something tight and colorful. Tabitha thinks my wardrobe is too cautious. I prefer to think of it as classy.
“Black, white, and shapeless is great for your work at the museum, but, V, you’re having dinner with a man. You haven’t been anywhere with a man in months.”
“Seven months, two weeks, and three days, but who’s counting?” I correct as I put the discarded blouses and skirts back on the hangers. Then I blurt out, “It’s actually been over a year since I’ve had sex.”
Tabitha’s eyes widen as her mouth falls open.
“Fix your face, Tabitha. It’s not that serious.” Even as I say the words, I can’t be sure if I’m trying to reassure her or myself.
“Who knows what will happen tonight?” I smile coyly.
“Vanessa! Is there a freak under all that dreary librarian gear?” Tabitha clutches her invisible pearls.
Giggling and winding my hips, I reply, “You know it!”
We toss our heads back in laughter.
Calming my giggling fit, I reach for Tabitha’s hand. “In all seriousness, I’m just happy to be having a meal for fun instead of work. I’ve had numerous lunches and meetings, discussing the upcoming exhibit, and I’m exhausted. I just want to relax and let loose.”
My job as a curator for the Museum of African-American Fine Art demands a great deal of my time. Between traveling to different exhibits, meeting with various artists, and working with fellow curators, I barely find the time to enjoy myself. Tonight, however, I hope that’s all going to change.
Tabitha pulls out a coral, sleeveless dress with the price tag still on it. She holds it up against me. Tilting her head, she says, “Yeah, this is the one. It’s sexy chic. It’s so you. I think you should wear it with your hair up or back off the shoulders.”
A touch of sorrow washes over me. I remember falling in love with the show-stopping garment, with its dramatic high-low hemline and waist cutouts. I first eyed it hanging in the window of one of the stylish boutiques in downtown Los Angeles. I bought it on sale over a year ago and planned on wearing it to my engagement party.
Sadly, that day never came, so I stuffed the dress in the back of the closet where I had forgotten all about it. Until now, when Tabitha pulls it out of its hiding place and suggests I wear it on my blind date with Kento.
I clear my throat, trying to recover from the ache of what might have been. I take the dress from Tabitha and shoo her out the door, “Out! I need some privacy.”
“Okay, okay!”Tabitha acquiesces then closes the door behind her.
I remove my bra and slip into the dress. Reaching behind, I pull the zipper midway up my back, then I reach over my shoulders to zip it the rest of the way. I adjust the top half of the dress. I’m grateful I have a modest bust because there’s no way I can conceal a bra, thanks to the cutouts in this outfit.
I try on a pair of gold high heel sandals. I check myself out in the mirror hanging on the back of the closet door. The dress material molds to my upper body and accentuates my narrow waist, then flares out as it rests on my round hips. The front hemline comes a few inches above my knees, and my heels play up my long legs perfectly. I’m showing just enough skin to entice any man while having an air of class.
I swing open the closet door and sing out, “Tada! What do you think?”
Tabitha confidently exclaims, “I knew it! You look amazing! Turn around. I want to get the full effect of my genius.”
“You’re so impossible,” I roll my eyes but oblige and twirl so Tabitha can continue patting herself on the back.
“You were right, this is the one. It really does look good on me,” I agree, looking down at the ensemble. “I hope it’s not too dressy for where we’re going.”
“Oh, I forgot! Where are you guys having dinner?” Tabitha inquires.
“We’re meeting at Mancini’s off of Melrose,” I reply, reaching for my makeup bag.
“Ooh, the fancy Italian restaurant! Nice.” Tabitha takes the bag from me so she can apply my makeup.
I sit on a stool, and with a flick of the wrist, she unfolds a towel, draping it across me to keep the makeup from ruining my dress. I close my eyes and tilt my face toward the light so she can see what she’s doing.
“So, I’m all dressed up with some place to go. Explain again how this blind date came about,” I request. “I really need to know what you got me into.”
“V, you worry too much. Kento is cool. You’re going to love him,” Tabitha assures me as she applies foundation to my light brown skin.
“You set me up on a blind date, so I have a right to be worried. Come on, Tab, I need details,” I pry.
“Well, he’s smart, and he looks pretty decent,” Tabitha offers while she lines, then fills in my sparse eyebrows.
“Hey, don’t move!” Tabitha cries in response to my furrowed brows.
“Tabitha, if you don’t tell me what you got me into, my sexy librarian ass is staying home and ordering a damn pizza,” I vow.
Tabitha smiles down at me then gives me what I want. “Let’s see. He’s super smart, and he’s an artist. He studied at Stanford University; and before you say anything, yes, he has a job. He’s not a starving artist. He’s an Art History professor at the University of Southern California, specializing in East Asian art. V, he can paint his ass off. He’s so talented. He’s tall and cute. Umm, he’s a bit of a loner, but once he warms up to you, he’s easy to get along with.”
“You had me until you said he’s a ‘loner’ who has to warm up to me. He seems a little standoffish, and that doesn’t sound promising,” I grimace.
“Kento’s hardly distant, but he does have a tendency to be a little shy. On occasion, he’s been known to put his foot in his mouth.”
I’ve been having second thoughts since Tabitha first mentioned she wanted to set me up with a friend. Unfortunately, this conversation isn’t easing my fears.
“What made you think we’d hit it off?” I ask right before Tabitha fills in my plump lips with a red matte lipstick.
“Well, you’re both artists, and it takes a special kind of person to understand the mind of an artist. Plus, you’re both single. He’s never been married and doesn’t have any kids. He’s a sweetheart; and for once, you deserve someone who’s kind,” Tabitha says softly.
I see the tenderness in her eyes. She knows how hard it’s been for me to date since I ended my engagement to my ex, Brandon Marsh. Learning to trust after I discovered he was cheating on me with his co-worker has been quite the challenge.
I let out a sigh, “I hate to say it, but you’re right. I guess I’m worried Kento won’t like me or find me attractive.”
“Sweetie, you have nothing to worry about,” Tabitha reassures.

 

Sighing, I reach down for my discarded shoes and stand up from the patio chair. I walk over to the back door and notice my dog digging a hole near the fence. I’ll have to put dirt in it one day this week so he doesn’t pull one of his disappearing acts.
I whistle for Cairo to come. The Basenji trots toward the sliding glass door, with his tongue hanging out, and bounds into the kitchen. At least one of us is happy.
I walk over to the sink, rinse out my glass, and set it inside before moving down the hallway. I unzip my dress, letting it fall to the floor as I head for the bathroom. I switch on the bathroom light and turn on the water in the shower. Then I stand in front of the mirror. Cairo walks around in a circle, lies down in the bathroom doorway, and licks his paws.
My bathroom mirror is littered with positive affirmations, written on pink and yellow sticky notes. I know I can do anything I set my mind to. I know who I am, but sometimes I need to be reminded. As I focus on my reflection, statements like ‘I’m fearfully and wonderfully made’ and ‘I am enough’, come into view. My eyes land on one of my favorite quotes from Maya Angelou’s Phenomenal Woman: “It’s in the arch of my back, the sun of my smile, the ride of my breasts, the grace of my style.”
I stand in the middle of the multi-colored notes and look intently at the face that looks like my mother’s. I am the spitting image of her, from my gold-tinged hazel eyes, to my round nose and full lips—even down to the high cheekbones and light brown skin. At thirty-two, I’m mesmerizing; but when I was eight, I was anything but. My appearance earned me several hurtful nicknames I care not to repeat and plenty of schoolyard fights that toughened me up. Thankfully, I grew into my looks.
While the water is running, I examine my face. My eyes move down to my chest, and I admire the body my mother gave me. My breasts aren’t too big or too small, they’re just right. I turn my back to the mirror and check out my backside, which appears to be bigger than it is due to my wide hips. Facing the mirror, I remove my black lace panties and really take it all in.
My mother’s voice plays over and over in my head. “You’re a beautiful child of God, Vanessa, and He doesn’t make any mistakes. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”
“I won’t, Mama,” I say aloud.
I know I’m beautiful. My parents and older sister have spent years helping me build up my self-esteem in a world that insists on telling me I’m less than. It’s been a struggle for me sometimes, but I hold on firmly to the truth of God’s word. However, this knowledge and my faith don’t lessen the hurt from Kento’s rejection.
I pull my locks up into a messy bun atop my head. After putting on a shower cap to prevent the moisture from frizzing up my hair, I step into the shower. The hot water beats down on my chest as I wash away the awfulness of the evening.

 

I walk into Mancini’s. The dining room is filled with people coming from work. I search for a hostess, but she’s nowhere to be found. Waiters and waitresses are scattered throughout the dimly lit room, taking orders and carrying trays of food. I decide to seat myself, so I can hopefully catch a glimpse of Kento before he sees me.
I spot him sitting at a table for two, tucked in the corner. He’s sitting with his back to the wall and has a clear view of everyone who walks past the hostess table. He’s busy looking at the menu and doesn’t notice me approaching. I use his inattention to observe him.
The pale blue, buttoned down shirt is snug enough to reveal the lean muscles in his shoulders and chest. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. A charcoal gray vest is paired with the shirt. I see his full lips moving as he reads the menu to himself.
Tabitha definitely downplayed his looks. This man is fine. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
His black hair is cut in a medium-length fade. His square jaw is accented with a stubble goatee that’s nicely trimmed. He looks up as I step toward the table. I look directly into his small, hooded, brown eyes, and I’m immediately drawn to him. He stands tall to greet me without breaking eye contact. His stare is so intense, I forget to breathe.

 

The hot water becomes lukewarm, signaling that it’s time to get out of the shower. Grabbing the yellow towel off the rack, I step out to dry myself off. Cairo is still where I left him, only now he’s playing with one of his chew toys.
I wrap myself in the towel, remove the plastic shower cap, and take down my dark brown hair. I run my fingers through it and shake it out. The auburn highlights shine under the bathroom light. I divide my hair into eight sections so I can easily detangle it. My locks, which hang to the middle of my back, are prone to knots, and because I refuse to cut it, I have to spend extra time grooming my hair in the morning and at night. I run a comb through each section, wincing in pain as the comb gets caught in a few tangles.

 

Kento’s dark eyes travel down to my waist and linger on the flesh revealed by the cutouts in my dress, to my hips, and down to my legs. His gaze travels back up my body, taking in any details he missed the first time, before resting on my mouth. I unconsciously bite my bottom lip. Suddenly he looks down and shakes his head. He moves forward to greet me.
“You must be Vanessa,” he says as he shakes my hand.
My pulse quickens at the sound of his deep voice. The heat radiating from the palm of his hand makes me weak at the knees. My reaction surprises me. I’ve never felt a strong attraction to a man I just met, especially one I’ve never met before.
“And you must be Kento. Tabitha’s told me a lot about you,” I smile.
Kento holds my hand as if he’s memorizing every line etched in my palm. His lips part and he leans forward like he is about to kiss me. I lean forward ever so slightly when he releases my hand and walks around to pull out my chair.

 

I braid each section of my hair absentmindedly, pulling all of the braids up into a loose ponytail above my head before securing it in a silk bonnet. My mind has been wandering off and on, replaying the events of my date with Kento. I need to snap out of it and go to sleep.
I have a long day ahead of me at the museum tomorrow. A fellow curator and I are putting the finishing touches on an exhibit that opens next week, and I’m writing a catalog essay on an up and coming artist. I can’t afford to waste anymore of my precious time on someone who doesn’t value me.
I flip the bathroom light off and turn the corner into my bedroom. The room is quite large for a bungalow-style home. The walls are Tiffany blue with white trim. A collage of black and white photos of my family, friends, Cairo, and me are scattered about on the wall opposite my queen size bed. There are several burgundy-colored accent pieces throughout the room that match the chaise lounge I gifted myself a couple of birthdays ago.
The covers on my bed are a little rumpled from Tabitha lying on them earlier. I slide underneath the crisp, white sheet and burgundy comforter. All I want is to fall into a deep sleep. The sooner I can close my eyes, the sooner I can wake up refreshed and anew, like nothing ever happened.
Cairo jumps onto the bed and curls up at my feet. I’m unable to get comfortable as I roll from my left side to my right. Finally, rolling onto my back, I lie in the dark, staring up at the whirring ceiling fan. A single tear rolls down the left side of my cheek, landing on my pillow.

 

The chair catches on a crack in the tile floor when Kento slides it back for me. I take a seat as he gently helps me pull it forward. I glance at him while he sits across from me. So far he’s been polite, even though I noticed him checking me out. I’m not bothered by it. As a matter of fact, I’m flattered. For the first time tonight, I feel at ease.
He gazes at me and chuckles to himself, “You’re exactly how Tabitha described you.”
Smiling, I ask, “Why do you still seem surprised?”
“Because she failed to mention you’re black,” he candidly replies.
I’m stunned. I feel like I just got the wind knocked out of me. That uneasy feeling I had just a couple of hours ago comes crashing back.
Confused by the sudden turn of events, I ask, “Is that a problem?”
He replies, “No, no, it’s just…” His words hang in the air.
Frustrated, I ask, “It’s just what?”
Leaning forward he whispers, “I don’t date black girls.”
My heart drops. Not so much because of what he said, but because I had gotten my hopes up for nothing. I should’ve trusted my instincts, but I was so thrilled to be going out with someone who I thought was on my level. Unfortunately, I’m seated across from an arrogant man. So much for kind and shy.
I’m not sure if I should get up and leave or endure what appears to be the start of an atrocious evening. There is no way for me to hide my anger and disappointment.
Kento reads my face and attempts to encourage me, “Oh, it’s okay. Tabitha probably forgot to mention it,” he shrugs, “We’re already here, so we might as well have dinner.”
I shake my head, chuckling from disbelief, “She knew you were a racist and set us up on a blind date anyway? Tabitha wouldn’t do that.”
“I’m not a racist,” he scowls.
There’s so much I want to say, but I try to keep my composure in the upscale restaurant.
“You don’t like black people, so you’re a racist.” My voice is unemotional, belying my true feelings.
Kento sips his water then sets it back on the table. He wipes condensation off the side of the glass and says, “You misunderstood me. I don’t date black girls. That’s not racism, that’s a preference.”
“You can’t be serious?”
“Yes. I work with black people. I teach Art History at USC. I have plenty of black students. And yes, I have black neighbors and friends, but I don’t date black women,” he casually sips his water. “Don’t get me wrong. You’re hot, but I can’t take you home to my parents. I’m sure you can understand. Your parents would want you to bring home someone who you can relate to.”
My hands are clenched in my lap as I try to keep my knee from bouncing up and down. I can’t believe this is happening. His indifference to the situation is galling. “With all due respect, don’t lump my parents in with yours. And don’t presume to know my parents. They didn’t raise me to be close-minded.”
“My parents are old-fashioned and want the best for me. As I’m sure yours do, as well. Why does that make them close-minded?” he asks innocently.
“Wanting the best for their child doesn’t make them ignorant. It’s assuming that the best can only be found in one particular race or ethnicity,” I clarify.
“Again, you’re describing preference, not racism.” He leans back in his chair and states, “I can see your feelings are hurt. You shouldn’t be so sensitive.”
I’ve been dying to eat at this restaurant since it opened. I finally make it through the front door, and now I have to leave because my best friend set me up with an asshole.
“I can’t believe I’m wasting my time talking to you.” I get up to leave.
“Please, don’t leave. I’m a little nervous. Sometimes I can be direct, and that tends to rub people the wrong way. I apologize if I’ve offended you.” He gestures for me to take a seat. “Tabitha has gone through the trouble of setting this up. The least we can do is have dinner. I haven’t eaten since lunch, and I’m sure you haven’t either. There’s no law that says we can’t share a meal.”
My stomach growls at the mention of food. He’s right, I haven’t eaten since lunch. I meant to grab a snack while I was at home, but I was too busy hanging out with Tabitha. Against my better judgment, I sit back down.
I can see why Kento is a loner, but I can’t understand how he’s made it this far in life with that type of attitude. He doesn’t seem shy at all. He’s so awkward that it’s uncomfortable. On one hand, he’s polite enough to stand and greet me and pull out my chair. On the other, he says the most asinine nonsense. His inability to comprehend how contemptible he’s being makes it so ridiculous. Regardless, I try to make the best of it.
Just in time, the waiter approaches and breaks up some of the tension. He introduces himself, sets down a basket of breadsticks, then reviews the specials for the night. I barely listen. I never had a chance to look over the menu. When the waiter asks what I’d like, I choose the first entrée he mentioned without thinking. Kento, adversely, orders a pasta dish and seems pleased with his decision.
Once the waiter is out of earshot, Kento tries to make small talk. “Tabitha tells me you’re an art curator. Where do you work?”
“At the Museum of African-American Fine Art.” I try to relax, but I’m on edge. I’m waiting for him to offend me again.
“Oh yeah, they have wonderful sculpture pieces,” he recalls.
Astounded, I ask, “You’ve been to the museum?”
Kento takes a breadstick out of the basket. He tears off the end then asks, “Why is that so hard to believe?” He pops the piece of bread in his mouth. “Oh, is it because of what I said earlier?”
“I’m trying to figure out why you’d go around a culture you don’t find attractive,” I state. My mouth waters for a breadstick, but I’m too upset to eat.
“I didn’t say I didn’t find your culture attractive. On the contrary, I find it fascinating. It’s the women I’m not too fond of.” His insensitivity is infuriating.
“The women? Are these the same women your friends and family try to emulate? The same women your people sell hair care products to? The women who raised the men you wish you could be like? The beautiful women who possess the physical features your women desire? The women you most certainly find desirable, but are too weak to admit it?” I’m exhausted with Kento and his antics. I’m more patient than he deserves.
“I agree there are some attributes within your community that are enviable, but that doesn’t change who I’m attracted to. And for your information, I’m half Japanese, not Korean. My people aren’t selling hair care products to your people,” he chuckles as he tears into another breadstick.
I can’t believe I’m entertaining this man. Why do I even care what he thinks?
“I don’t know what possessed Tabitha to think you and I have anything in common, but we have absolutely nothing in common. I don’t know how you can be a person of color and be so tone-deaf. How you can sit there and justify your behavior is beyond me. But I can’t subject myself to this, this – whatever this is – any longer.” I slide back from the table, and the chair legs loudly scrape across the floor.
“I’ve offended you again.” He reaches across the table for my hand. “I’m sorry. This isn’t going the way I’d hoped. I keep putting my foot in my mouth, and I don’t mean to hurt you. I’ve never gone out with a black woman before, and I’m a little thrown, which is unusual for me.”
He takes my hand into his and holds it as if my hand is the missing piece he’s been searching for. I’m close to gripping his hand in return when I realize what I’m about to do. My body is betraying me, and I don’t have time for it. I close my eyes, shaking my head as I exhale.
“Going out with a black woman really isn’t any different than any other woman. All you have to do is treat us with respect.”
I take my hand out of his and grab my purse. I walk out of Mancini’s hoping this is the last time I’ll ever see Kento.

 

The blaring from the alarm clock grows louder and louder with each passing second. I don’t budge. I lay sprawled on my back. My chest rises and falls as I breathe. My dog’s name tag clinks against his collar as he sits up and steps toward the head of the bed. I refuse to move. He lays his head next to mine, sniffs my cheek, then commences to licking all over my face, including my mouth.
“Ugh! Stop Cairo!” I sputter, reaching up to push his muzzle away.
I roll over and turn off the alarm on the nightstand. I rest my head on my forearm, not quite ready to start the day. Then Cairo rests his head and front paws on my back. I know I need to get up and let him out before he starts whining. I wipe at the mucus that’s crusted in the corners of my eyes, and then sit up to begin the day.
Staggering out of bed with a pounding headache, I wince from my hangover and the realization that I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday.
Cairo runs down the hall toward the back door, beating me to it. I slide it open as he dashes outside. My head is throbbing, so I grab a bottle of ibuprofen from the junk drawer at the end of the counter. I pop a couple in my mouth, swallowing hard.
I’m in desperate need of a green smoothie, so I walk over to the stainless steel refrigerator and take out all the necessary ingredients to make it. The blender is set to high, and the noise aggravates the pain, but there’s no turning back. When the fruits and vegetables turn into a creamy mix, I stop the blender and pour myself a glass, gulping it down.
I glance through the glass door at Cairo. To my surprise he hasn’t gotten into anything so I head into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face.

 

I step out into the warm, Los Angeles night. My date disrespected me, and I can’t believe I took it. I’m embarrassed and hurt. I’m pissed with Kento, Tabitha, and myself. As I trudge down the sidewalk, so many questions flood my mind.
Why didn’t I trust my gut when Tabitha first suggested this blind date? Did I honestly think I was ready to date again? Out of all the men in Los Angeles, how the hell did I manage to sit across from someone so uninformed? He looks so normal. He’s an artist for heaven’s sake! He’s supposed to be more open-minded. What the hell was Tabitha thinking?
I reach in my purse for my cell phone and call the mastermind.
Tabitha answers on the third ring, “So, how did it go?”
“Why did you set me up with an arrogant, racist son of a bitch?” I shout.
Several people who are meandering along the sidewalk stop to look at me. I avert my eyes, hiding behind my hair as I hurry toward my SUV.
Stunned and dumbfounded, Tabitha stutters, “Wha-, what? Kento? What are you talking about? He’s not racist!”
“Please don’t start with that preferences bullshit. I’ve heard enough of it from him,” I say tightly. I unlock the door to my burgundy 2013 Hyundai Santa Fe Sport and slide into the leather seat.
“Whoa, V, slow down. Start from the beginning.” Tabitha attempts to make sense of what I’m saying.
I merge onto the main street, then start from the beginning, leaving nothing out of the horrid tale. Talking about it only causes further hurt and disappointment. I attempt to regain control of my emotions and fight back the looming tears.
After listening to me recount the date from hell, Tabitha sighs empathetically, “Oh, Vanessa, I didn’t know he was like that. I swear. I set you guys up because you have so much in common. I never mentioned you’re black because I didn’t think it mattered. Honestly, now that I think about it, I’ve only seen Kento with white girls. V, I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen.”
I sigh. I know Tabitha wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.
“It’s okay,” my voice softens, losing its fight.
“I can’t believe he behaved that way. He’s always been a gentleman when I’ve been around him. I’ve met some of his friends, and they’re a pretty diverse group.”
I roll my eyes and snort, “Yeah, so I’ve heard. Do you want to know what’s frustrating? When I first saw him, I was attracted to him. When he looked at me and spoke to me, I could see us together. Ugh! I was so stupid.”
I come to a stop at a light near my home. I shut my eyes tight to keep the tears from rolling down my soft skin.
“V, you’re not stupid,” Tabitha consoles.
Attempting to smooth things over, Tabitha says, “I’ll talk to him. He owes you an apology.”
“No, please don’t.” I sniff. “I don’t want anything to do with him.”
I pull into my driveway and turn off the engine.
“I made it home,” I tell Tabitha. “I’m going to grab a drink and go to bed. It’s been a long day.”
“Okay. Don’t let this get to you. If he can’t see you for who you are, then it’s his loss.”
I appreciate Tabitha’s kind words, but I know she’ll never understand what this truly feels like. Tabitha is a slender, blue-eyed blonde who fits within the European standard of beauty. I know Tabitha has no control over society’s views on women’s looks, so I try not to hold grievances like that against her.
“Thanks Tabitha. I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight.” I end the call before she can respond.

 

It’s almost quarter after six, and the sun is beginning to break through the clouds. I enjoy running in my neighborhood this time of day. It’s normally quiet as my neighbors are just waking up to get ready for work. It’s the end of June, and schools are out for the summer, so the children are sleeping in. The street is practically empty, with the exception of some cars parked along the curb.
I jog at a steady pace, as my body begins to warm up. My headache is gone. I hope this morning’s run will be a great start to the day. I run about three blocks when I spot Tabitha stepping out the front door of her house. She notices me and jogs down the walkway into the road. We jog alongside each other down the peaceful street. Neither of us says a word.
Our breathing intensifies as our pace picks up to a run. We run like this for five miles. We take this stretch every morning, but never in silence.

 

 

 

“Nothing can dim the light that shines from within.”  -Maya Angelou

 

My earlier run with Tabitha couldn’t have gone better. I took in everything around me, from the warmth of the early morning sunrise to the light breeze that cooled my body. I filled my mind with the beauty that surrounded me in hopes that it would drive out any detrimental seeds that may have been planted the night before. We ran our usual route, waving at familiar faces that were on their way to work. I was grateful that Tabitha was giving me some space and made no attempts at small talk.
Now, I walk into my office at the Museum of African-American Fine Art. It’s rather small, but luckily there’s a window that lets in enough light so it doesn’t feel so cramped. Between talking to the museum director about the latest art exhibit and meeting with my assistant to discuss upcoming projects, it’s been a busy morning. I’ve never been more grateful for such distractions in my life.
I plop down in my chair and stretch my back and legs. I close my eyes as I breathe in deep then exhale through my lips. I relish in the few moments of quiet when my office phone rings. I let it ring a few times before reaching for it.
“Hello, this is Vanessa Monroe. How can I help you?”
“Yes, you can tell me why my baby sister didn’t call me last night.”
I chuckle at the sound of my sister’s voice.
“Hi, Alicia.”
Alicia pretends to be insulted, “Hi, Alicia? Is this how you treat the one who makes you homemade lasagna every week and watches those creepy horror flicks with you in total darkness?”
I shake my head, laughing at my sister. We’re seven years apart, and Alicia takes her big sister role very seriously. She’s always calling to check on me or inviting me over for dinner. Whenever Alicia feels ignored, she playfully makes me feel guilty.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you last night,” I begin, “but I didn’t have the energy.”
“Energy? Wow, sis, you don’t waste any time,” Alicia teases.
I sigh, “That’s not what I meant.”
“That bad, huh?” she asks softly.
“Bad doesn’t begin to describe it,” I reply, then proceed to discuss the lows of the night before.
When I’m done, the next thing out of Alicia’s mouth is, “Do you want Nate to kick his ass?”
I laugh, “No. Right now I want to forget about it. This isn’t the first bad date I’ve been on.”
“Umm, Ness, I wouldn’t call that a date.”
“Then what would you call it?” I roll my eyes, “Please don’t call it –.”
“Some bull!” she finishes. We both laugh.
I hear my nieces and nephews giggling and playing in the background. Alicia has four children ranging from three to ten years old and she home schools all of them. The thought of being around little ones for most of the day is overwhelming to me. I don’t know how she does it.
“Langston! Helene!” Alicia shouts near the mouthpiece. “Stop running through this house! This isn’t a playground! You know better. Go into the family room and take Everett and Amina with you.”
I chuckle under my breath. I love my nieces and nephews, but there’s no way I can handle all that energy.
“It sounds like you have your hands full. I’m going to let you go. Hug and kiss my babies for me, and tell Nate I said hi.”
“Alright, Ness,” Alicia says. “Hey, listen. I know this guy really hurt your feelings, but I don’t want you to let it dim your light. You’re a wonderful woman. Any man worth his salt can see that. You’re something special, and you deserve to be with someone who values you.”
“Thanks, sis.”
We say our goodbyes then hang up. My sister’s words replay in my mind. Alicia always knows what to say. I’m so grateful to have a sister like her. I make a note in my calendar to call the florist and have flowers delivered to her home.
I get up from my desk, straightening my yellow fitted dress. I stroll out into the corridor, peering out at the expanse of the first floor of the museum. Visitors are scattered throughout the area, talking to each other, observing different sculptures and paintings. A group of children walk slowly with their mouths open and eyes wide as they take in the exquisite artifacts. I love seeing the people’s thirst for knowledge and their desire to experience culture through someone else’s creativity. It’s moments like these that make the stress of the job worth it.
I head towards the veranda when I see him. I suck in a breath as I come to a halt. Even in a sea of white, yellow, and brown faces, Kento still stands out. He searches through the crowd while I look for a place to hide. I move to the right for the restroom, but I bump into an elderly woman, almost knocking her down.
“Oh!” I exclaim, as I catch the woman by the arms. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
I reach down to pick up the woman’s cane and hand it to her.
The woman smiles and says, “It’s quite alright. When nature calls, you have to answer.” She gestures to the restroom.
“Yes, ma’am,” I agree as I realize the woman thinks I’m in dire need of the restroom. “You’re absolutely right. Excuse me.”
I need the restroom, but not for the reason she thinks. I make another attempt to get away when Kento appears before me. I turn to the left to head in the opposite direction when he places his hand on my left shoulder.
“Please, don’t go,” he pleads.
I slowly turn toward him.
“I know I don’t have a right to be here, but I want to apologize. I want to tell you how sorry I am for being a jerk.”
My voice is tight as I glare at him. “You have a lot of nerve showing up here. This is my job. You just don’t pop up out of the blue.”
I lean closer to him, dropping my voice merely above a whisper, “You are an asshole, and I don’t want to have anything to do with you. I don’t want an apology from you. I just want you to leave.”
“I know I’m an asshole, but I’m sure I’m not the worst person… Is there someplace private we can go?” he asks. His eyes implore me, but I don’t budge. Those kind eyes tricked me last night, but I’m not falling for it now.
He murmurs, “Vanessa, please.”
I cut my eyes and sigh. This is the last place I want to draw any attention. I march down the corridor as Kento follows.
We walk into my office, and I close the door behind him.
“Say what you need to say, then leave.” The air is claustrophobic. I can’t tell if it’s due to the cramped space, but I need to put some distance between us. I cross my arms over my chest and wait.
He sheepishly peers down at the floor, chewing on his bottom lip. He’s taking his time, which may be good for him, but it’s only making it harder for me. The longer he’s here, the more time my eyes have to look at him. Staring leads to thinking, which leads to fantasizing, which can only lead to…Hurry up, Kento.
“I’m not a racist,” he begins.
“You said that last night.”
Kento shakes his head, “I’m serious. Last night my behavior was inexcusable, but the man you met last night isn’t who I really am. I was nervous. I said those things out of fear.”
“You were afraid?” I ask sarcastically. “What were you so afraid of? Did I pose a threat to you? Were you afraid of being seen with me? Afraid of what your friends would say? Oh, that’s right, you have black friends and they’re not the ones with the problem. It’s your old-fashioned parents.”
I hope my words wound him; but if they do, he doesn’t show it.
“I wasn’t afraid of you or being seen with you.”
He closes his eyes for a brief moment. “It’s true; my parents don’t want me to get involved with a black woman. All I’ve ever dated are white women, but I’ve always been attracted to black women. I’ve never dated one because I knew my parents would have nothing to do with me. They’re my parents. I can’t take that kind of rejection.”
“So instead of being polite and getting through the date, you took it upon yourself to disparage me,” I say. My eyes well up with tears. Damn it! Why is this bothering me so much?
Kento looks away and nods his head. He inhales deeply then explains when he first saw me, which seemed odd. As far as I know the first time we met was last night. According to him, he first laid eyes on me a month ago. I listen as he describes where we were, what I was wearing, and his first impression of me.
“I don’t understand.” My eyebrows knit together. “If you saw me a month ago, then you knew I was black. So why act this way? Why put me through that when you could’ve simply left me alone?”
The tears come back. I’m more pissed at my inability to keep my composure than at Kento. He hesitantly reaches up and brushes away my tears. His gaze is kind, and I wish I could’ve met this Kento first; the one who laid eyes on me several weeks ago.
“You didn’t deserve my actions last night and I truly regret the way I behaved. You’re a beautiful woman. I wanted a chance to meet you. When I saw you last night, I was afraid if we hit it off and were in a relationship, you’d want to meet my family. I know how they are and I didn’t want them to hurt you. Even though I was an ass, I thought I was doing you – us – a favor.”
“You do realize I’m a grown woman,” I declare. “I can take care of myself. If we’d hit it off, you could’ve prepared me to handle your family in a way where I’d still have respect for you. Instead, you took the coward’s way out.”
“You’re right. If I could take it all back, I would,” he says, regretfully. “I’ve been trying to be myself in addition to pleasing my parents, but I can’t be someone I’m not. I want to be comfortable in my own skin and for some reason, I feel like I can relax around you. I can’t apologize enough for what happened. All I can do is ask for another chance to show you I’m not the horrible guy you think I am.”
I glance at the ceiling then look back at him. “I appreciate the apology and the explanation, but this isn’t something I can easily forget.”
His chiseled features distract me. I stare out the window briefly, trying to find the right words. Once I’ve settled on what to say, I give him my attention. “Do you have any idea how it feels to be disregarded? Any idea what it’s like to brave a world that rejects you every chance it gets? Then you meet someone you’re attracted to, and for a brief moment, you think they would understand what it’s like. You think you can finally relax. But, instead of them connecting with you, they try to break you.”
Kento shoves his hands in his pockets and looks down at his feet.
I continue, “I get that you didn’t want to cause any problems with your parents. Fortunately, I don’t have parents that would do that. I’m free to date whoever I want as long as he treats me right. The problem I’m having is that you chose to mistreat me when you didn’t have to. If you can easily reject me on a first date, then you’ll have no problems doing it in the future. And I deserve better than that.”
“All I can do is ask you to forgive me. Tabitha told me that you’re a Christian. Aren’t Christians supposed to forgive?”
Is he serious?
I smirk, “Wow, you’re persistent.”
“Some people would call me stubborn,” he replies.
“Yeah, that too,” I agree.
“I made a mistake. Yes, it was foul, but as I said before, I was nervous,” he shrugs. “I fucked up.”
“So why should I believe things will be different? Are you willing to sacrifice your relationship with your parents for me? Because that’s what it sounds like you’d be doing.”
“I can’t be with someone I don’t have feelings for in order to please my parents. I don’t want them cutting me out of their lives either, but if it means I get to spend the rest of my life with a woman I can’t live without, then I’m choosing her.”
“I’m sure it took a great deal of courage for you to come here, but I can’t choose you.” I shake my head. “You have a lot of growing to do, and I can’t stop my progression and wait for you to catch up. If you really want to be with a black woman, then you have to handle everything – good and bad – that comes with it. You can’t flake out on me.”
I turn to open the door.
“I know I said this before, but you really are a beautiful woman. Not just your outward beauty, but the essence of you. That’s what shines through more than anything. That’s what drew me to you and why I chose you the first time. I only wish I’d kept choosing you. You’re worth the risk. I’m sorry I didn’t realize that until it was too late.”
He gently kisses my hand. “Thank you for hearing me out.”
As he proceeds to leave, my heart snatches my brain out of the driver seat. I need to know if what I felt last night was real.
“Kento, wait.”
He turns, his eyes flickering with anticipation. Slowly I approach him, stopping within four inches of him. I gaze into his brown eyes. For a moment, neither of us moves. I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him softly. Kento leans in placing his hands on my waist. He draws me closer to him as I wrap my arms around his neck.
My heart races as my skin tingles. Our kiss quickly becomes more passionate and consuming. He holds me tighter against his chest. His hand slides up my back. His muscles contract under his shirt. Initially, I had control of the kiss, but now he’s taken over, and my heart is happy.
I run my fingers through his hair. His hands glide down my waist and rest just above my hips, before pulling my hips against him. This is definitely not how I saw this day going.
Suddenly, I overhear my boss, Lewis Witherspoon, talking to an older woman. Their voices become clearer as they get closer to my office. I instantly break away from Kento and my heart is not pleased with the interruption.
“My boss is coming,” I whisper frantically as my hands smooth down my dress.
Kento backs away from the open door while I check out my reflection in a picture frame of my nieces and nephews that was sitting on my desk.
My hand covers my forehead when it dawns on me. “Oh, my god. I forgot I have a meeting with one of the museum’s most generous donors. You can’t be here.”
“They’re just outside the door,” he murmurs as his eyes widen. “Where am I supposed to go?”
I spin around looking for a place to hide his tall frame in my tiny office.
“Stand behind the door,” I say.
“What if they come inside and close the door?”
“I’ll make sure they don’t,” I promise.
I open the door so that it’s just ajar. I try to head them off in the corridor.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Witherspoon and Mrs. Pemberton,” I greet. “I was just on my way to meet you.”
“I was bringing Mrs. Pemberton by your office so you can bring her up to speed on next month’s project,” explains Mr. Witherspoon. I think of a black Santa Clause whenever I see his jovial eyes and smiling face.
“I’d be happy to go over it and any ideas you may have,” I say. “But might I suggest we meet out on the veranda? It’s such a lovely day outside. It would be a shame to stay cooped up inside my tiny office.”
“That sounds wonderful,” replies Mrs. Pemberton. She looks like money, from her diamond studded earrings down to her fresh pedicure. She’s supposed to be in her mid-sixties, but I swear she looks to be in her early fifties.
“Great. Let me get my notes and I’ll meet both of you outside.”
I back up toward my office while my boss and Mrs. Pemberton set out for the veranda. When they’re out of sight, I enter my office then shut the door.
Kento walks toward me, takes hold of my face and plants a deep kiss on my mouth. When he breaks away, I stare into his smoldering eyes, knowing what I felt was real.
“So, what does this mean?” he asks.
“I have to get back to work,” I say, reaching for the iPad on my desk. He stands immovable, waiting for more than I’m prepared to give.
“I don’t know what it means,” I admit. “Right now isn’t the best time to try to figure it out.”
His shoulders drop as disappointment washes over his face.
“Do you at least forgive me?” he asks.
Can I forgive him for a horrible first date? I’ve been through worse, so it’s not the end of the world. Besides, forgiveness is really for me not him.
I swallow. “Yes, I forgive you. I won’t forget it, but…”
“Will you allow me to make it up to you?” he asks promptly.
His persistence doesn’t annoy me as much as it probably should, but I need time to think.
“Can I call you? I really have to get to this meeting.”
I start to leave when Kento takes hold of my hand. He pulls me toward him. Surprisingly, he places a trail of soft kisses from my lips to my ear and whispers, “Let me make it up to you.”
He leans back and waits patiently for my answer. Why does it always seem like he’s in control of his emotions while mine are all over the place?
“A second date?”
Can I put myself out there again? If I say yes, will I come across as desperate? I’ve already kissed him, so it’s too late to worry about that. My heart takes over as soon as my brain begins analyzing the pros and cons.
“As long as I get the real Kento, I don’t see why not. Everyone deserves a second chance.”
My mouth curves into a smile when I notice his face light up. The desire to stay a little longer kicks in, but I have to go. Reluctantly, we head out of my office. The door clicks behind us as I walk away. I feel his eyes on me. He’s still standing at my office door when I peek over my shoulder. I wink at him as I turn the corner.

 

To be continued…