The Greyhound terminal was alive with activity even though it was well after midnight. I made my way through the crowded terminal to the restroom and the smell of urine that had missed the toilet bowl greeted my nostrils. An old lady-my first bag lady- was busy cleaning her underarms with a paper towel and eyed me suspiciously as I tried to pick out my matted fro.
Some of my initial excitement at being in tinsel town had subsided as reality set in. After all, it was after midnight and I didn’t have any place to go. No one was waiting outside to take me home. To welcome me after a long, hard bus ride.
It was too late to call Brian. What was I going to do? I could feel the panic slowly welling up inside me. Ok, ok get a hold of yourself Maya. This is what you wanted. You’re here so just calm down and think/think/think. I eyed my full, black afro slowly regaining its Angela Davis shape in the dirty mirror and my thoughts drifted back to home.
Kurt. That sorry brother. He was really one of the reasons I was out here all alone. Him and his revolution. Power to the people… butthole. I can’t believe I actually married him.
I should have known the Creator was sending me a message when my wedding ring fell in the gutter as I was getting out of the car in front of the wedding chapel.
I watched it wash away in the steady rain that had greeted us when we crossed the border into Elizabeth City. High and happy, we both giggled at the omen and disregarded it as we laughingly made our way into the chapel.
Later, I often wondered if that union was legal since we were both so high, we didn’t really know what we were agreeing too. That lost ring was the beginning of a 2 year long odyssey to hell and back.
Short, dark and with muscles in all the right places. Kurt was H. Rap Brown/Stokeley Carmichael and Don L. Lee all rolled up in one neat package. He literally (and figuratively) charmed the pants off every girl he met.
Spouting revolutionary rhetoric as he swaggered around the campus, Kurt was definitely considered a catch. Plenty of revolutionary and counter revolutionary sisters wanted him.
I hear you’re the sister in charge of the black culture show. I looked up from my half-eaten tuna sandwich. His deep brown eyes had a hypnotic quality that made me catch my breath.
Yes, can I help you… trying to sound business-like, but I was sure he could hear my heart thumping. Yeah, sista my name is Kurt and I’m the minister of culture for the BSU. Just left a meeting where some of the brothers were talking about your cultural programs and thought I’d come by and offer my help. That is, if you don’t mind.
He sounded so innocent and little-boy-like I couldn’t resist smiling. Hmm, you’ve got a beautiful smile, he whispered. It’s a good thing my skin is so dark. Otherwise I would have been beet red. I was blushing so hard.
No, I don’t mind. I could use some help. I knew I was acting foolish but the effect this brother had on me was unbelievable. Flirting boldly, he leaned closer burning his eyes into mine. Well, I’ve got a class right now, so maybe we could get together later and work on this thing, he said. Okay, I nodded feeling the heat slowly make its way down my body.
How about if I meet you back here in the café around six? I’ll be here, I replied. His eyes traveled the length of my body as if he were on tour. I think I just met the woman I’m going to marry. Smiling, Kurt turned and swaggered off in that sexy, thigh hipped walk that made several girls in the café put their forks down and stare.
I tried to look cool and unconcerned as I sat waiting for him to show up for our meeting. The cafeteria was noisy with the fraternity/sorority crowd lining up for the dinner meal. I took a seat near the door so Kurt would be able to easily spot me.
Engrossed in my Afro American history text, I looked up to see his eyes searing through my free Huey t-shirt. Well, my beautiful black queen have you decided when we’re going to get married? I smiled broadly. Kurt was dressed in light blue jeans that emphasized the huge bulge in his front and a cut off jean jacket revealed a shirtless, very hairy, very muscular chest.
Married? I laughed. I don’t even know your last name, I retorted. And besides it may not go good with my name. Hmm, it’s Goodman…Maya Goodman. I think I like that. Don’t you? he said easing his sexy body next to mine. Yes, I think I like that just fine…unless of course you are one of those sistas who wants to keep her own name. Defiantly, I said, And what if I am? Kurt touched my hand. It’s fine with me. Just as long as you give me beautiful, black babies that can carry on my line.
This brother is not only fine. But he is bold with a capital B. I could feel myself falling hard for his charm and I knew he could feel it too.
Copyright 2019. Part 3 coming next week.