Harlem Knights Pt.2 : Reunited

Harlem Knights Pt 2. Reunited

“Good morning beautiful,”. He said.  Every morning I’d received a greeting from Harlem since we last parted in Atlanta three weeks ago. I had to endure only one more week of hell in Youngstown before I was to be reunited with my prince.

“Hey,”. I said, well texted. I wasn’t really into mushy lovey-dovey text message lingo back then, so my answers paled in comparison to his Shakespearian diction.

“I miss you, Yo,”. He said. “I just wanted to tell you I hope you have a wonderful day, and I can’t wait to see your gorgeous face soon,”.

“Thanks,”. I replied. “I can’t wait to see you either,”.

I was stunned. I felt like that line from Jay-Z’s, Excuse me miss, either she the one or I’m caught in The Matrix.  I asked myself what I had done to make this New Yorker fall, seemingly, head over heels over me. Who was I, and was I that special?

I’ll admit I was a smidge naive, but I was not dumb. I learned the perils of dating early, and I was not getting played again.I was in like, but not in love, and I was planning on keeping it that way. Besides, he was miles away chartering a popular metropolitan city so I wasn’t expecting much. To be honest, I don’t know what I was expecting. We texted all day, and talked all night, but I really didn’t know what I planned to do once I actually arrived in Atlanta in a week. Would we fall so madly in love he’d ask for my hand in marriage? Would things go terribly wrong, and I waste my entire time taking this expensive trip that I had completely funded myself, or would we just share a summer together? There were many possibilities, and I was quite nervous, but I would just have to see for myself.

My last week of high school went by like a breeze. I don’t know if this was due to my excitement about my trip, or the fact I would no longer have to deal with such mundane incompetence of my senior year. Either way, I was just happy it was over because I was long overdue for some kind of change.

It was 4am, and I had worked up a sweat  fighting with my suitcase. I was more than ready. I had three more hours before my aunt would be there to take me to the Akron Airport when I got a text.

“Go outside and look on your porch,.” Mister demanded.

“Is he crazy,”?. I thought.

“Why,”. I replied.

“There’s something out there for you,”. He said.

I am not going to lie (believe me I want to), but I was extremely thrilled. I had made a personal boycott against Mister due to a confrontation involving him, me and Mrs., a few weeks prior, (which is a complete blog in itself) but I still wanted to see what was going on. I expected he would be sitting out in front of my house in his car with that candid camera smile like he’d done before. (I watched way too many teenaged romantic comedy movies I guess).

 I ran as quickly and as quietly as possible trying not to disturb my grandfather because if he heard me, let’s just say, I needed to avoid that situation. I carefully opened each lock slowly until the door was open. Unfortunately, when I went outside I saw nothing. I looked left, and I looked right, there was nothing. I was frustrated and a tad bit humiliated. Did Mister know that I had just preformed a 007 slash Mission Impossible task to get outside, and if my grandfather caught me I was dead? Was he determined to piss me off until the very end? “Damn,”. I thought.

I went back inside. I almost called Mister ready to unleash an earful of insults, slurs and snide remarks, but I was headed to Atlanta, and nothing was going to ruin that.

It was time for me to go. My aunt pulled up, and came in to help me with my thing. “

“What’s this,”. She asked?

“What’s what,”. I responded.

“This card I found on the porch with your name on it,”. She said.

It read.

“I’m sorry for everything. I know I hurt you, and that was not what I was trying to do. I’m sorry I lied, and you had to find out the way you did. You are my homie, and I you keep me on my P’s and Q’s. I can’t imagine not having you in my life. I love you,”.

Mister was such an incredibly sweet S.O.B.

I arrived at Atlanta’s airport at 9am sharp, but it took me, at least, an hour to figure out where the hell I was, and how to get to my luggage. I have no sense of direction. I felt like I was in stranded in the desert with no food or water, and so, I sat full of exhaustion.

“Yo, what up ma,”. Harlem’s voice was reminiscent of rain drops on a roof top that rocked you to sleep.

“Hey, Harlem,”. I replied with a smile large enough to expose my wisdom teeth. To this day, I don’t know how Harlem and my cousin Brucey found me because I didn’t have enough reception in that airport to call Jesus.

We headed back to my cousin’s house so I could change clothes. I put on my ripped blue jean Bermuda shorts, a form fitting white tank-top, my black, yellow and white retro Jordan sneakers (the sevens) and combed my wrap. I was ready to go see what Atlanta had to offer.

“I see you don’t wear heels a lot,”. Harlem asked.

“No. I’m a sneak fanatic,”. I replied. I don’t know whether it was annoyance, or intuition, but for some reason his comment on my chose of shoes offended me. I mean, I had traveled far and wide to see him, and that’s what he says to me.

I shook it off. I figured I was being a little too emotional and up-tight, and this was neither the time nor the place to do so.

The entire day was excellent. Harlem and Brucey had taken me to every inch of Atlanta, and back. I had spent over $300 in one afternoon, and I wasn’t the slightest bit upset about it.

Later that evening Harlem had made plans for us to go out for dinner and  a movie. My older cousin dolled me up for my date, and I have to admit, I clean up well. I had my nails done and my hair pressed and curled by the best stylist in the ATL. I was gorgeous!

Harlem, like the gentlemen he was, came in and promised my aunt he’d have me back at a decent hour. He escorted me to his car, and we drove off.

His eyes were lit up like Christmas lights.

“You look good girl,” He said. “You should dress up more often,”.

Now this was the second reference he had made to how I dressed. I don’t know, but I was a little perturbed at this point, so I asked “Do you not like the way I dress,”?

“No. I think your style is dope. I just like when girls are dressy,” he said.

I nodded, and made a mental note because I was no prissy southern belle, and if that’s what he was looking for he had the wrong one.

We headed to a chic spot downtown. It was so enchanting. Orange, red and green lights dimly accented the small bar, and the music was on fire.

He said he wasn’t much of a drinker and asked me if I wanted anything to drink. The 21-year-old must have jumped out of me because I ordered that margarita like I was a senior alcoholic. The waiter never even attempted to ask for my I.D.

“We made small talk, had a great meal and headed back to his place. He had a lavish apartment with a picture perfect view of the city off his balcony. I loved it, and I wished I could stay there forever.

“How you like ATL so far,”. He asked. “Is that a real question,”? I asked. “I freaking love it here, and I wish I could move here,”. He said with no hesitation. “Maybe go to Spellman, and stay here with me.,”.

I had just met Harlem, and he was asking this! I could never just up root myself, and move, or could I? I had graduated from high school, and I felt the sky was the limit, if not Spellman, maybe Clark Atlanta University, or Georgia State. My mind raced. All my life decisions had been made for me perhaps it was time to make an executive decision for myself once. Could I start a life here in ATL with Harlem?