Cynique

Couldn't resist posting this. Of course, Democrats will get my vote by default. I can't stand Republicans.

Yes, like all of these award winners who thank god for snubbing all the other candidates who were also praying to win, believing they have been singled out for the honor, as if god is stooping to such triviality. We are all born with the god-given potential to achieve greatness but circumstances are random. The real heroes are, indeed, the trailblazers and innovators and justice seekers who persevere, endeavoring to make a difference in the world, as opposed to achieving fame and accolades.

Imagine a young person with the disadvantages of youth (naivety, inexperience, gullibility) and you have Cynique. It has been said youth is wasted on the young, this is why we age...

Humm, Troy, hope you meant to say "without" the disadvantages of youth, etc.

Seriously, the input from you and Waterstar is an incentive for me to stop using age to characterize myself. I am who, I am. Which I'm afraid is not necessarily a sweet person. The caustic Joan Rivers is my contemporary and my hero, and I agreed with all of the terrible things she said about everyone including herself in her latest book.

Debbie was a figment of my imagination. I never met any white person who actually expressed those ridiculous sentiments that appeared in the book. In advancing the plot, I used comedy as a wake up call for Troy. This was the only way I could portray Debbie without sounding like an irrational jealous black woman trying to put down white women. I do confess, however, that PETA people get on my nerves and I took this opportunity take pot shots at them.

Glad you enjoyed, "The Only One", writergirl. I especially appreciate your positive feedback because you're a writer, too. Yes, I considered changing the name of the main male character from "Troy" since he shared a name with AALBC's CEO, but this book was written a long time ago before I even knew Troy Johnson. And when updating this book to serialize it, I just couldn't bring myself to change the name. Also, the main character "Carole" was who the story led you to believe could've been killed by the serial killer. Anyway, thanks for your response!

Toni Morrison is not for everybody. She could be described as an esoteric writer. She does not dumb down her work, and she purposely makes it challenging. I suspect that with the obstinancy that sometimes come with old age, she couldn't care less whether or not people "get" her books.

Morrison has said things to the effect that not only are there good writers but, hopefully, good readers. A good reader, more often than not, is also a curious reader. If it is possible, a reader, ideally, should try to get more information about something in a book in which the author does not go into detail. This is one way people become knowledgeable. But, this is the age of instant gratification, and the idea of voluntarily researching a subject is not something that most young people are inclinded to do and which is why they are not that knowledgeable.

BTW, I think Morrison did describe how a zoot suit looked in the book, and did make a brief reference to the murders that occurred in connection with them. Anyway, I was just a young kid when the zoot riots occurred. I do remember young black guys in the midwest wearing these suits because some of my older brother's friends did. However, it was as a 20-year-old in a college sociology class, that I learned about these West Coast riots. Upon reading about zoot suits in Toni's book, just to make sure of my recollections about the riots, I looked the subject up on Wikipedia. I always refresh my memories by verifying them is some way. I am a curious person.

Tell 'em, boitumelo. Who cares about a bunch of multi-million dollar jocks bouncin balls for a livin?? Especially since they don't play for the Chicago Bulls. BOOOOOO. Bad as Obama taunting the Boston Red Sox fans at his last fund raiser about the White Sox acquiring one of Bean Town's veteran players in a deal. He loves to talk trash with opponents of Chicago's sports teams. He needs to talk about the trash that has Chicago's streets' running red with blood. The high toll of killings in this city every week-end is ridiculous. The hot weather is bringing out the violence in full force But all we get from the big "O" is a tax bill for the security required to keep him safe while he sweeps in town to attend the big high society wedding of his staff member Valerie Garrett's daughter.

The Gays got his same sex marriage endorsement; The Mexcans got his putting deporting illegals on hold, and us nigras got him expressing his satisfaction over a new White Sox player to a chorus of "boos" from his own supporters. I'm just sayin.

Well, Troy, trying to explain a Toni Morrison book is a slipperly slope because her intent always seems to be to make the readers work at figuring things out for themselves, or at least to their own satisfaction. I would say that your interpretation of the zoot-suited character was as good as any.

Me, I wondered if it was about the zoot suit riots during the 1940s when young Black and Hispanic men on the west coast were attacked and murdered by white U. S. service men for wearing these outrageous outfits during World War II. They considered this garb disrespectful to military uniforms. Maybe the ghost was acting as a muse to Frank, a reminder of the collateral damages of war.????

I never was sure of who the man was that Frank and his sister saw being buried. But in any case resurrecting his body and giving it a proper burial seemed to be symbolic in some way, at least to the zoot-suited specter who faded away with a smile.

I did consider the short length of this book a plus because those are the kind of books I like, and the kind I write.

In retrospect, I would maybe give "Home" 3 stars instead of 4 because of how it stacks up against her other books.

“The Only One”, was a little self-produced book originally written 15 years ago, and in the process of updating and abridging it for the purpose of serialization, the result turned out to be quite different from the original version. Once I reunited with the characters via of them materializing in my imagination, they sat down with me and helped me re-tell their story. And what a surreal experience that was!

I’m someone who sometimes thinks of herself as a young chick trapped in the body of an old hen, and it was exhilarating to stretch out and embrace the freedom of expression that the anonymity of cyberspace allowed me. As my alter-ego took over, I had a good time channeling my inner “single lady”, drawing from my observations of the unsuspecting younger people who are a part of my extended family. I also relied on my own experiences as I plotted a story where I strove to make stereotypes unique, and familiar situations compelling.

If in spinning my tale, I “told” more than I “showed”, that’s because I am, first and foremost, a story-teller. Thanks again to everybody!

Anyone interested in critiquing “The Only One”, be my guest.

The Only One

Chapter 22

When Troy Briggs had shown up at Carole Everly’s apartment casually attired in a yellow polo shirt, tan dockers, and white Nikes, everything about this sensual, buffed, charismatic man reminded her of why she found him so irresistible, why she was so taken by someone she’d never even had, except in her dreams.

Idling there in the middle of her front room, grabbing her hand when she returned from the kitchen where she’d deposited the pizza he’d brought, it was if her reaction to him was a primitive one, - that of a female seeking a mate, instinctively drawn to an Alpha male.

“Do we have to go through a lot of drama about - this situation?” he’d begun. “I know I said that we need to talk, but - can my beggin to come here, and you letting me do it, speak for itself?

“Well, - I let you come here out of curiosity,” she’d informed.

“Would your curiosity be satisfied if I told you that seeing you yesterday- made me want to be with you tonight,” he’d stalled, his hungry eyes relishing how inviting she looked in the red, low-cut, tube dress she’d poured her body into. Even the painted toes that peeked out from her sandals whet his appetite.

“Maybe,” she’d answered, disarmed as usual by the foreplay of his scrutiny.

He took a deep breath. “How about I just plead guilty to bein a confused, crazy-assed nigga…so inhibited by…how vulnerable you made me feel that…I repressed my attraction to you…the very same attraction that finally drove me to…man-up.”

She could hardly believe her ears, and was almost afraid to take this “new and improved” Troy Briggs seriously. “You – you couldn’t have felt any more vulnerable than me,” she’d confessed, her emotions beginning to surface.

“That’s encouraging to hear,” he’d replied.

“So, - you had no idea that I had a crush on you?” she’d blurted, unable to hold back any longer as the words came tumbling out. “Couldn’t you tell what your penetrating glances were doing to my composure? How your ridicule stung me? Do you know how many days I sat at work envying Debbie Marlowe? How many nights I spent - thinking about you, - how I wanted to run after you and give you my phone number on your last day at my office, - how many weeks I struggled, trying to forget you!”

“You’re very good at concealing your feelings,” he’d declared. “That’s part of your mystique, Carole Everly. And when it came to stinging, you certainly gave as good as you got!”

“I wanted so bad for you to - like me.”

“Baby, I do like you,” he’d assured, squeezing her hand. “Why the hell do you think I’m here? Debbie Marlowe was just a phase, something I had to go through, a fling I needed to get out of my system. Now, I just want to put the past behind and, believe me, the past has a lot to do with my – insanity."

“We’re all affected by what we’ve gone through,” she’d relented after a pause, trying, but not succeeding in resisting his advances as he’d pulled her into him.

“Very true,” he’d agreed, making eye contact with her.

“And we’ve all experienced self-doubt and regrets,” she’d sympathized, returning his gaze as a connection was made that had the effect of an aphrodisiac casting its spell, arousing their libidos.

“Thanks, for being so understanding,” he’d responded, gently rubbing her shoulders.

“You’re making it easy for me,” she’d sighed, smoothing his collar.

“And I’m really sorry if I hurt you, honey,” he’d apologized, stroking her hair, looking even deeper into her eyes. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“It’s not all your fault,” she’d conceded, holding his stare as she reached up and traced the cleft in his chin.

“You’re really sweet, Carole.”

“You are, too, ‘Boo’.”

“And I have this feeling that our being sweet to each other…is how it’s supposed to be.”

“That…would…explain…a lot…of…things,” she’d murmured, staring off into space…

“Yeah...it…would…” he’d mumbled, his eyes going out of focus…

“…I know I’m moving fast,” he’d finally said after they blinked themselves back to the present, and he tenderly cupped her face in his hands, nipping her ear lobes, planting lingering little kisses on her forehead, her lashes, her cheeks, and on the nose stud that had started it all, “ but, girl, if you don’t want to be seduced, you never should’ve worn what you have on.”

“That’s what you get for inviting yourself over,” she’d teased, thinking the same could be said about the cologne he was wearing.

“If that’s what I get, - when can I have it?” he’d purred.

“It?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“You,” he’d laughed. “Get it?”

“Gotcha,” she’d said, chuckling along with him, as her arms went around his neck and she met his lips, melting into the warmth of his nearness, surrendering to the promise of her dreams…

Then, making up for lost time …engaged in deep intimate kissing…they’d swayed there in the middle of the room… living in the moment…she caressing him…he fondling her…whispering sweet nothings to each other until…they ran out of words…and transported by desire…in the embrace of her bedroom…they came together…

“Ain’t this some crazy shit?” Wanda hooted, taking a swallow of her morning coffee, laughing into the phone as she finished filling her girlfriend in on the Albert charade, glad that the outcome of the Troy Briggs saga had turned out sooo favorably.

“All I know, - is that good things do come to those who wait,” Carole sighed, handing Troy a glass of orange juice.

“I’ll drink to that,” Wanda said, draining her cup, as her call-waiting clicked and the number that came up made her smile.

Thanks to all of you who hung in there. I hope you enjoyed my little excursion into the “contemporary world of black urbanites”, and had as much fun reading it as I had writing it. Thanks, too, to Troy Johnson for his indulgence in allowing me to serialize “The Only One” here on this site.

~ Cynique ~

Yes, it is common knowledge that the white plantation owners had their way with young black female slaves, something which subequently gave rise to the caste system, the amount of white blood which was determined by your skin color becoming a factor in whether you were a house servant or a yard one of a field one.

Yes, Chicago was one of the northern citities that was the jumpin off place for slave descendants leaving the south during the great migrations, a place where they sought opportunities for a better life, something that proved challenging but which over the years became the matrix of Chicagoland's black middleclass as many Blacks did improve their lot, obtaining high school diplomas and vocational training, obtaining mid-level jobs in the post office and civil service and among the Cook county patronage system, employment which enabled them to subsequently send their children to college where their degrees helped them to enter the professional ranks.

All of this is what makes up the unique, if typical, history of the African diaspora as it exists in this country. It may not be glorious but it is certainly a testiment to a hybrid breed of people who managed to survive and in some case thrive under the worst of circumstances. This is why I think it's noteworthy and something I can relate to because of my family history.

Bottom line, technically the first lady of America has roots in this country that date back 400 years, and is more authentic than most of those whites who resent her ascendancy.

Barack Hussein Obama might be considered a "synthetic" black American by some, but his wife, Michelle, is the real deal. Below are excerpts from an article about this subject written by Dawn Turner Trice, a black columnist for The Chicago Tribune.

Many Americans are fascinated by the family history of Michelle Obama, a descendant of slaves who is the nation's first African-American first lady.

Now, add to that a new book due out Tuesday, "American Tapestry: The Story of the Black, White, and Multiracial Ancestors of Michelle Obama."

Dawn Turner Trice:

I recently talked to author Rachel L. Swarns, 44, a Washington, D.C.-based reporter for the New York Times. Here's an edited version of our conversation:

Q: You really seemed to admire Phoebe Moten Johnson, Obama's paternal great-grandmother. She was born Dec. 17, 1879, and grew up in Villa Ridge, a small town in southern Illinois. Before she turned 20 she hopped a train heading north. She eventually lands in Chicago as part of the first wave of the Great Migration. She had no money, no property, no husband. Tell us more about her.

A: There are many fascinating people in Michelle Obama's family tree. But I was really moved by Phoebe's story. I remember sitting in the archives in southern Illinois, and there was a map, and I realized how far it was from Villa Ridge to Jackson County, where she got married. She was so young. And I thought, "Oh my goodness, she was moving as soon as she could." It was the late 1800s and early 1900s where there were many obstacles confronting a young African-American woman who had lost both of her parents. She appeared to have a vision of a life for herself that was quite different from the one people might have assumed that she might have expected.

Q: Years later, Phoebe's family lives in various neighborhoods around Chicago — and later in Evanston, which seemed like heaven compared to Chicago. One thing that struck me was that she worked really hard to shield her children from the racism of the day. Two of her sons were wildly successful. Do you think it was because she shielded them?

A: Secrecy and shame regarding slavery and race intermingling are major themes within this family. In fact, (parents) told their children they wanted them to move forward and the (parents) didn't share the hardest things they experienced. Several of Obama's relatives told me that (their ancestors) didn't want their children to be burdened by the past. In some ways maybe it did help. But it also made it in some ways harder for them to look back and understand their history.

Q: Fast-forwarding a generation, each of Michelle Obama's grandparents had his or her own compelling story about arriving in the city and learning it wasn't the Promised Land. Purnell "Southside" Shields, Obama's maternal grandfather, had such a strong presence. He came from Alabama and was drawn to Chicago's jazz scene. You write that he loved jazz so much that he blasted the music on speakers in rooms throughout his house, including the bathroom. But talk about Fraser Robinson II, Obama's paternal grandfather, who came from South Carolina.

A: Fraser Robinson II was the golden boy from the South who everyone had such high hopes for. Everyone I spoke to who knew him described him as such an intelligent man they thought could have done more.

Q: He loved words and language and aspired to use his math prowess as an electrical engineer. But his dreams weren't realized, and he became bitter.

A: He arrived in Chicago at such an unfortunate time. The Depression was hitting, and he struggled and couldn't find work to support his wife and children. (His relatives) believed that from the bits and pieces they could glean, he was a very proud man and didn't talk about his failed dreams.

Q: Fraser Robinson II and his wife, LaVaughn, split up, and he leaves Chicago to serve in World War II. When he returns, the couple lives apart for a few years. One of my favorite moments was their reconciliation. You write: "It was sometime around 1950; he walked through the front door, settled into a chair, and opened his newspaper as if he had never left."

A: The war, his children say, was enormously liberating. It was a place where his skills and talents were recognized, and this, I think, gave him something he'd been missing in Depression-era Chicago. He came back (from the war) and still couldn't do what he wanted as an electrical engineer. He worked for the post office, and it was a good stable job, but it wasn't what he really wanted. His son Nomenee (Robinson) said he never spoke about it. As a child, Francesca (the daughter born after the reconciliation) never knew her parents had been separated.

Q: Circumscribing these stories of the past is a present-day drama involving Jewell Barclay, an elderly black woman who lives in Cleveland, and Joan Tribble, an older white woman who lives outside Atlanta. They both took DNA tests. Barclay wanted to see if she's related to Obama's great-great-grandfather, Dolphus Shields, a former slave. And Tribble was hoping to learn if she's a descendant of slave owner Henry Wells Shields. Why do you think Tribble participated?

A: In the end, several members of the white Shields family agreed to do DNA testing. Several did it anonymously. At the end of the day, I think people were just curious. Joan wanted to know whether that was a part of her history. And she was open to what she would find out even if that meant confronting the possibility that one of her ancestors had raped a young girl.

Q: What does the diversity of Michelle Obama's family tree say about who we are as Americans today?

A: I really think it reflects our story as Americans, whether black or white or something in between. Many modern families have origins in slavery. I think that in Mrs. Obama's family, people in both black and white branches of her family tree took pains to distance themselves from that time. It is a painful period of American history. Now with genealogy and DNA testing and the passage of time, people are beginning to confront it by connecting to relatives across the color line. We're in a period where it's easier — though it's still not easy — to explore that and to get answers we need to complete our stories.

dtrice@tribune.com

The jokes were just jokes, - jokes as in laughter, something that's a good respite from the woes of the world. I don't write em, I just post em. As a widow who was married for 50 years, I refrain from making references to empty boxes when discussing this subject.

Afri-Ware in Oak Park, IL. appears on your list. This is where my book club holds its meetings and I know the owner who is a very dedicated to keeping this venue alive. She'd be a good candidate for your project.

Besides death and taxes and Republicans harassing Obama, there are other certainties in life.

COSMIC LAWS

Truer words were never spoken.

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1. Law of Mechanical Repair - After your hands become coated with grease, your nose will begin to itch and you'll have to pee.

2. Law of Gravity - Any tool, nut, bolt, screw, when dropped, will roll to the least accessible place in the universe.

3. Law of Probability - The probability of being watched is directly proportional to the stupidity of your act.

4. Law of Random Numbers - If you dial a wrong number, you never get a busy signal - and someone always answers.

6. Variation Law - If you change lines (or traffic lanes), the one you were in will always move faster than the one you are in now (works every time).

7. Law of the Bath - When the body is fully immersed in water, the telephone rings.

8. Law of Close Encounters - The probability of meeting someone you know INCREASES dramatically when you are with someone you don't want to be seen with.

9. Law of the Result - When you try to prove to someone that a machine won't work, IT WILL!!!

10. Law of Bio-Mechanics - The severity of the itch is inversely proportional to the reach.

11. Law of the Theatre and Hockey Arena - At any event, the people whose seats are furthest from the aisle, always arrive last. They are the ones who will leave their seats several times to go for food, beer, or the toilet and who leave early before the end of the performance or the game is over. The folks in the aisle seats come early, never move once, have long gangly legs or big bellies and stay to the bitter end of the performance. The aisle people also are very surly folk.

12. The Coffee Law - As soon as you sit down to a cup of hot coffee, your boss will ask you to do something which will last until the coffee is cold.

13. Murphy's Law of Lockers - If there are only 2 people in a locker room, they will have adjacent lockers.

14. Law of Physical Surfaces - The chances of an open-faced jelly sandwich landing face down on a floor, are directly correlated to the newness and cost of the carpet or rug.

15. Law of Logical Argument - Anything is possible if you don't know what you are talking about.

16. Brown's Law of Physical Appearance - If the clothes fit, they're ugly.

17. Oliver’s Law of Public Speaking - A CLOSED MOUTH GATHERS NO FEET!!!

18. Wilson's Law of Commercial Marketing Strategy - As soon as you find a product that you really like, they will stop making it.

19. Doctors' Law - If you don't feel well, make an appointment to go to the doctor, by the time you get there you'll feel better. But don't make an appointment, and you'll stay sick.

--

******

Something to take your mind off the economy and the race to see who will be the next cripple in the white house.

And to think that Gays are fighting for the right to enter the blissful state of matrimony.

Why MARRY?

You have two choices in life:

You can stay single and be miserable,

or get married and wish you were dead.

__________

At a cocktail party, one woman said to another,

”Aren't you wearing your wedding ring on the wrong finger?”

”Yes, I am. I married the wrong man.”

__________

A lady inserted an ad in the classifieds:

”Husband Wanted”.

Next day she received a hundred letters.

They all said the same thing:

”You can have mine.”

__________

When a woman steals your husband,

there is no better revenge than to let her keep him.

__________

A woman is incomplete until she is married. Then she is finished.

__________

A little boy asked his father,

”Daddy, how much does it cost to get married?”

Father replied, “I don't know son, I'm still paying.”

__________

A young son asked,

”Is it true Dad, that in some parts of Africa

a man doesn't know his wife until he marries her?”

Dad replied, “That happens in every country, son.”

__________

Then there was a woman who said,

”I never knew what real happiness was until I got married,

and by then, it was too late.”

__________

Marriage is the triumph of imagination over intelligence.

__________

If you want your spouse to listen and

pay strict attention to every word you say – talk in your sleep.

__________

Just think, if it weren't for marriage, men would go through life

thinking they had no faults at all.

__________

First guy says, “My wife's an angel!”

Second guy remarks, “You're lucky, mine's still alive.”

__________

A Woman's Prayer

“Dear Lord,

I pray for wisdom to understand a man; to love and to forgive him; and for patience, for his moods.

Because Lord, if I pray for strength I'll just beat him to death!!”

__________

AND NOW FOR THE FAVORITE!!!

Husband and wife are waiting at the bus stop with their nine children. A blind man joins them after a few minutes.

When the bus arrives, they find it overloaded and only the wife and the nine kids are able to fit onto the bus. So the husband and the blind man decide to walk.

After a while, the husband gets irritated by the ticking of the stick of the blind man as he taps it on the sidewalk, and says to him, “Why don't you put a piece of rubber at the end of your stick? That ticking sound is driving me crazy.”

The blind man replies, “If you had put a rubber at the end of YOUR stick, we'd be riding the bus, so shut the hell up.”

Well, again, Troy I chose to experience this book, and to me this was easy to do because Morrison provided the settings for you to immerse yourself in. I personally didn't have a need to know more about the characters because they were not compelling people, but simply products of their dreary environments. And this is where Toni's technique and style come into play. She requires the reader to transcend the circumstances and to distill what can be learned from the journey. In this case the message to me was that "happiness is relative".

In reading "Home", I didn't really compare the Korean vet of yesterday to the Iraqi/ Afghanistan ones of today because that was too easy to do. I'm never shocked by how history repeats itself because I've lived long enough to expect this. Life does what it does. This is a hard realization for some to accept, for those who think they can manipuate rather than navigate the obstacle path of their existences.

As for how this book stacked up against the other ones I have read by her, it's somewhere in the middle. But I did like "Home" better than the long overwrought "Beloved" for the simple reason that it was shorter. I don't think "Home" will harm the body of work that is Toni Morrison's legacy.

I wouldn't dispute that Morrison's publishers depend on Toni getting by on her reputation, but then she's earned the right to do this. Just like Maya Angelou. As for comparing Toni to Ali, I'd just say that rather than being a pathetic figure - a ghost of his past self, she remains aloof and in tact, changed only by her gray hair.

The following is an except from a speech delivered at a high school graduation ceremony by David McCullough Jr., an English teacher at Wellesley High School in Massachusetts, and has created a national stir.

"You are not exceptional. Contrary to what your u9 soccer trophy suggests, your glowing seventh grade report card, despite every assurance of a certain corpulent purple dinosaur, that nice Mister Rogers and your batty Aunt Sylvia, no matter how often your maternal caped crusader has swooped in to save you… you’re nothing special...Yes, you’ve been pampered, cosseted, doted upon, helmeted, bubble-wrapped...  But do not get the idea you’re anything special. Because you’re not."

To me this controversial speech was right on the money. I have always cast a jaundiced eye at the idea of sending clueless youngsters who have been insulated from reality and inflated with an elevated sense of self esteem by their doting parents, into an arena where there is the distinct possibility that they will be blind-sided by a cruel world that is over-loaded with "special" people. An extreme example of this are all those rejected contestants on TV talent search shows who make fools of themselves on national television because nobody ever told them that they couldn't sing.

Those who claim this generation of parents have failed their children might take into consideration that much of this failure stems from them not instilling in their off spring the idea that being special is not automatic; not an entitlement but is something that has to be earned. Parental perspective had to be kept in perspective.  

So many drive-by shooting and street disputes among our young black men have their origin in brats masquerading as thugs unable to deal with someone dissing them and dismantling their  "specialness". Rejection is a bitch.  Police and society like to attribute this violent behavior to gang bangers, but the gang hierarchy of elders claim these "shorties" are out of control and such killings are random and unauthorized.

Eastern religions caution the individual about the insidiousness of the ego. It has to be kept in check because the need to be admired can not only be seductive but destructive. In the final analysis,  specialness takes on a life of its own because cream eventually rises to the top.

I checked my copy of "Home" out of the library, Troy because I was there browsing and much to my surprise came across it on the "new releases" shelf so I snapped it up - for free.

I would concur with the blurb you included. "Home" was not a character-driven book, and its plot was sketchy, but I gave it the benefit of the doubt, because I figured who am I to diss Pulitzer prize-winning, Nobel laureate Toni Morrison?. No pun intended but when discerning the intent of aToni Morrison book, you and her have to be on the same page.

Happy Father's Day to all of you Daddies who have been the kind of a parent who deserves well wishes! Hope you like your ties!

I hear ya. You're a gracious person and have been a positive presence on this forum. So hang around.

Gotcha. Keep up the good work and keep posting! Hopefully my challenges will strenghten your convictions.

The Only One

Chapter 21

Determined not to give a lot of weight to Troy Briggs’ mention of the White Sox, Carole Everly had, nevertheless, turned to the channel where their Saturday afternoon contest was being televised. She wasn’t going to sit in front of the screen and watch, but would check the score from time to time while she went about her weekly chores, which included doing her laundry and tidying up her apartment. What did she have to lose? Only her sanity.

Troy Briggs, as usual had left her hanging, never approaching her again at the company meeting yesterday, only offering a quick salute from across the crowded room as things were breaking up and there was a mob scene as everyone was hurrying to beat the traffic. Glad she hadn’t driven, she was left to scurry along with Carmen Hernandez, her friend and co-worker with whom she was riding.

Yet, like the fool she just could not stop being, here she was, grasping at straws, wondering if the end of the Sox game would be the beginning of something else. Whatever Troy’s strategy was, it was working…

When a third out in the 9th inning racked up a victory for the home team, Carole tried not to get her hopes up. 15 minutes later busily engaged in folding her freshly-dried clothes, she took her time answering, when her phone went off, assuming it would be Wanda calling for an update.

“So what’s on the menu?” a voice greeted, and Carole couldn’t believe her ears.

“How – did you get this number?” was all she managed to say.

“I have ways,” Troy Briggs answered. “A man has to know how to be - resourceful.”

“Don’t we all,” she remarked.

“Right. And if anybody ever called for a person to be resourceful, - it’s you, Carole Everly.”

“You’re not exactly a piece of cake, yourself, Troy Briggs,” she retaliated.

He chuckled. “Yes, I am. If you invite me over tonight, - you can have a bite of me.”

“Oh really? And what are you snacking on nowadays? Lost your taste for - white meat?”

“Why is it that we always have to engage in a battle of wits? Just shut up and ask me over, woman! We need to talk!”

“About what? The 3-hitter just thrown by the Sox pitcher?”

“Good game, wasn’t it? Lucky for you they won or - I wouldn’t be tryin to score a free meal with you.”

“What makes you think I want to see you?”

“Do you?”

“How do you know that - I don’t have a boyfriend!”

“Do you?”

“What if - I don’t feel like cookin a meal?”

“You don’t have to. I’ll bring a pizza. And some wine.”

“I - already have wine.”

“Good. What time should I come?

There was a pause while she gnawed on her lip, struggling with her better judgment.

“What - time do you want to come?”

“Is - 8 o’clock good?”

“I - guess.”

“See you then.”

“Don’t you - need my address?”

“No. Unless you’ve moved, I already have it.”

Not wanting to spend her Saturday night doing nothing, Wanda was hangin out with a couple of her friends from work, experiencing mixed emotions about Carole’s plans for the evening that included a house call from “Doctor” Troy Briggs who specialized in broken hearts. But, she’d just have to hope that her friend was handling the situation without getting hurt. In any case, she would be there for Carole, - to either console or congratulate her…

Seated there in the crowded softly-lit singles bar, nursing a drink, watching her 2 companions circulate, hoping to get lucky, Wanda decided to take her chances and strike up a conversation with the guy seated on the stool next to her, eyeballing her cleavage.

“If you wanna keep checkin me out, you gonna have to buy me a drink,” she flirted, deciding he looked OK. Nothing special but at least the glasses he had on weren’t nerdy, and he wasn’t overweight or missing any teeth.

“I guess I should ask you if you come here often,” he said signaling for the bartender. “I’m rusty when it comes to pick-up lines.”

She chuckled. “Don’t tell me, let me guess. You’re just coming out of a long relationship.”

“Not exactly,” he said, then told the barmaid to give Wanda another of what she was drinking.

“Tell mama all about it,” Wanda coaxed after ordering a rum and coke.

He chuckled and slowly shook his head. “Where to begin?”

“At the beginning.”

I just don’t know how to deal with you black women.”

“I’m listening.”

“Well, for example, - a few months ago, I was browsing around Best Buy, flippin through some CD albums that were on sale, and this real mellow lookin chick caught my eye, - in fact, she looked a little something like you, - except slimmer.”

“You can dispense with those details,” Wanda advised dryly.

“I don’t have a problem with thick women,” he said, casting another glance at her size 42 double-Ds.

“OK, you’re forgiven. Continue.”

“Well, I noticed she was hangin out in the jazz section, so I decided I would try and impress her. I skimmed over the notes on the back of this 'Best of Contemporary Jazz' CD right there in front of me, then eased on over to where she was, and struck up a conversation. I started repeatin what I’d just read, makin her think I knew somethin about jazz.”

Wanda cocked her head and raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Go on.”

“After that, she started expoundin on the subject, herself, and I just kept on noddin like I knew what the hell she talkin about. Then, I got her number by suggesting that we get together and check out a jazz club sometime.”

Wanda stared at him.

“I didn’t care nothin about jazz. Kanye and Jay-Z are more my speed, but I decided I would do the Wikipedia thing and bone up. I also googled some jazz musicians I’d heard of, and checked out some of their work on YouTube. After a while, I was good to go, even kinda likin what I was hearin. Meantime, I was givin myself a do-over, tryin to be a cool brother, talkin proper over the phone, complimentin my girl on her smarts and looks, not tryin to get in her pants or nothin.”

A confused look slowly spread over Wanda’s face.

“Then, after some setbacks, we finally made plans to go see this new jazz artist,” he continued. “I freed up some credit on my Visa, put my good suit in the cleaners, bought me some new glasses, had my hair trimmed and lined up the day before so I could make a good appearance and show my girl a big night out on the town, then - the broad stood me up!”

Wanda took a gulp of her drink.

“I waited outside the club for 2 hours and she was a no-show. And that was it. When I finally called and all I got was her voice mail, I was done. I kinda wanted to see this Esparanza chick, too.””

Wanda spewed out her drink. “Nigga, what is your name?” she choked.

“He frowned. “Are you OK?”

She nodded her head.

“Tyrone,” he answered, gawking at her. “But – I used my middle name with her cause I didn’t want to sound too ‘ghetto’.”

Wanda could hardly stop laughing. “Tell me something, Albert! Why didn’t you ever give Carole a good phone number?!”

His eyes bulged. “Do you know Carole Everly?”

“She’s my best friend and she confides everything to me.”

“I’ll be damned! Small world. Well, what the hell’s up with her?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

“Just curious,” he said and took a swig of his beer. “I guess I got what I deserved for tryin to be somethin I’m wasn’t, so I ain’t mad at her. And by the way, what’s your name?”

“I’m ‘Wanda’, and Carole didn’t really stand you up that night. She was involved in a car accident but couldn’t call you because the only number she had for you - was not in service.”

“Wow. Is she OK?”

“She’s fine now. She really wanted to apologize to you but, like I said. She had no number for you. It was all just one big missed connection!”

“I called from different numbers ,” he explained, “cause my buddy at work told me the worst thing a dude could do is to provide a chick with a way to keep track of him.”

Wanda grunted. “Yeah, if you a playa.”

“Whatever. I finally decided that since there were always so many obstacles to us hookin up, she just wasn’t for me, so now - I’m just back sittin on the bench, watchin the game.

Wanda scrutinized him a little closer. “What you need is a - coach.”

He gave her a slow once over. “You available for the job, Miz Wanda?”

“I might be. I like your potential.”

“I like you, too. You ain’t stuck-up.

“Plus, you got a - steady gig.”

“Been workin as a computer repairman for 5 years.”

“And you ain’t cheap.”

“Right, but this place ain’t happenin for me so I’m fixin to head out. Gonna go buy me sumpin to eat. I gotta taste for some Mexican food. Wanna come?”

Wanda considered his offer a moment, and then found herself smiling. “Can I finish my drink? I…don’t wanna waste your money .”

“Take your time. Them tacos ain’t goin nowhere.”

“By the way, what should I call you? Albert? Or Tyrone?”

“You can call me anything you want,” he grinned.

“OK, Baby,” she winked.

- to be continued, as the final chapter awaits…

While I am undoubtedly a supporter of pan-Africanism, I am also a supporter of the coming together of those who are sincerely tired of these miserable conditions (though often pacified with perks) all around this globe to invest time, energy, talents, money, etc. in the building of a better day.

What is it your are doing to alleviate the woes of the world and have you had any success? Didn't somebody try this once and end up asking his father why he was forsaken?

I don't know why you seem to think that you are the only one who reveres pioneers in black history. Who doesn't?

I think the issue in the Trevon Martin case was racial profiling. What happened to him after he was killed happens quite frequently among both black and white victims; certainly around Chiiicago. Police departments are notoriously inept and flawed.