There comes a time in a young man’s life when he realizes that some people only care about what you can do… …when you’re doing it for them. That’s when a decision must be made: Do it to please the masses or look out for self.
So, there I stood, at the fork in the road…
Valentine’s month continues with yet another tale.
Cyrano de Burglar’s Act – aka – OnomatoSEEya!
Florida A&M University, Tallahassee, Florida 1985
The name of the group in which I was seeking membership is not important. What IS important is what went down during that period…
The Pledge Period: Silence and Obedience
As a grunt (the term I will use to describe myself and my fellow pledges) I was not allowed to talk to women outside of the organization during the so-called pledge period. In fact, I was not allowed to wear the name of the university, not even the colors. I was a nobody.
My pledge leader, knowing that I was a rapper and a songwriter, approached me one day and asked if I had ever written any poetry. He had already exploited my abilities, having me write and record a song of praise about him and our faction with the assistance of another grunt at a studio. One which he proudly played daily in the cassette player of his car in the presence of others.
Of course, being a grunt, it was important that we took advantage of any and all opportunities to find favor with the leaders. So, I quickly answered “yes, sir” to his question, adding that I had been a lyricist of sorts since I was 8 years old. When he laughed at what he thought was a lie, I clarified that I had written my first poem in 3rd grade and had been writing ever since. As I recited that child-level poem in front of him he smiled widely as he decidedly concluded, “Yeah, I gotta job for you.”
Seeing as how this was an assignment, I wasn’t the least bit worried that it would be anything humiliating, as most all other assignments had been: the stuff of entertainment for other college students. I assumed that he would either need help with a document for one of his classes or better yet, impressing some lovely young lady.
It was the latter.
Project LeSonia
He told me he wanted me to write a poem for a girl named LeSonia (once again, names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent). One deep and romantic enough to charm all of the composure out of her. So much so that she couldn’t help but show him her appreciation in her own special way.
Seeing and seizing another potential opportunity I quickly answered that I would need to see her face in her normal environment (translation: the dorms) and then deliver it myself. He said he was going to memorize it and deliver it orally when they were alone. I told him I could treat it like a Candygram and take her candied chocolates before reciting it to her in front of all, adding magic to the moment. I added that just as singers perform songs in their own way, my poetry should be presented only by me, with specific emphasis and cadence that would invoke the most emotional of responses.
After a slight pause, he agreed, which made ME smile widely.
It was an excuse for me to spend time in the girls’ dorm lobby, and without consequences.
It was no surprise to me to learn that he knew most of her daily routine (damn, stalker). This made it easy for me to find and get a good look at my so-called muse. Not that I needed to after someone else kindly pointed her out to me in the university cafeteria.
A Muse Revealed
When I finally did see her, all I could do was pause and admire. She had beautiful, honey-brown skin that cascaded softly around her 5′ 5″-ish curvy frame. Her mid-cut hair stood atop her head moderately, but with a slight curl that fit her head shape perfectly. It was accentuated by her trimmed eyebrows that smartly protected her bright, expressive eyes.
But what absolutely floored me about her was her winning, energetic smile and how her lips curved slightly in the corners, continuing her grin, even after she had stopped. Cap that with the hint of an impression in her cheeks that formed dimples and you had one attractive woman.
That bastard didn’t deserve someone that gorgeous.
Crafting The Perfect Poem: From Duty To Desire
I had already written a generic poem for her, sight unseen. But once I discovered how breathtaking she truly was, I knew that my work didn’t do her justice.
[I don’t have a copy of what I wrote, which is not like me because I keep written (and now electronic) copies of just about everything I’ve written in my life in a collection titled, “Like, Lust, Love and Loss: Which Is The TRUE ‘L’ Word?”.]
I slowly and carefully re-constructing my poem to illustrate not only how much I desired her, but how her distinct features made me feel. I even re-worked the title to set the tone for my ode more powerfully: “How Every Part Of YOU Moves Every Part Of ME”.
I decided to present it that Sunday, shortly after noon. Late enough in the day for girls to get up, make themselves presentable and head down to the cafeteria or their respective church, unless they were loading the Tal-Tran city bus or piling into one car, headed to one of the two malls in the city. It was the weekend and all the young ladies wanted to see and be seen.
Delivering More Than Words
Once I arrived at the dorms, I had someone go to her room and tell her that someone was in the lobby, waiting to see her. Although I never gave my name, it didn’t take long for her to come down, having heard that her visitor was wearing a purple (yes, purple – my Aunt bought it for me) suit and was waiting with flowers and chocolate.
She hurried downstairs with a sizeable group of women, all curious about her mysterious wannabe “gentleman caller”. The moment she arrived, I stated her name and then the title of the poem before reciting my piece as the group around quickly grew in size, all the while giggling and moaning in delight.
As I reached the end, tears rolled from her eyes as I handed her the flowers, followed by the chocolate. Hank hadn’t ordered me to add on the gifts, nor did his cheap ass give me any money to pay for them. But as my father always taught me, if you’re going to do something, make it memorable.
The Shift
They sighed and “awwww”-ed collectively as I said, “From Hank.”
That was all I said. Just “From Hank.” Why make that bastard look good?
(No, that ain’t his real name either. Remember, names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.)
“Did he write that for me?” she asked in amazement, recognizing that I was one of his grunts, merely performing a task.
I looked at her and paused, slowly dropping my smile.
If I’m going to be subjected to harassment and humiliation by him no matter what I do, I might as well get something out of it. Why the hell should I always be matchmaker? Cyrano de Bergerac, for everybody else??
“No,” I said flatly yet softly, projecting in the most deep and resonant tone my vocal cords could muster. I wanted to sound like Billy Dee Williams, but I knew that failure to do so would only make me look silly. “He told me to write you a short poem. I took one look at you and decided to change it. I wanted you to know how the sight of every part of you makes every part of ME feel. He can take the credit all he wants, but those were and will always be my words – to you. Have an unforgettable day.”
The last I saw of her was the curve of her lips, being the final part of her mouth to form a perfect O-shape as the onlookers squealed and yelled “Whooooooo” and “GIRRRRRRRL” at my closing words and departure.
Never once looking back.
Who cared what horrible fate awaited me for my actions? Then again, who’s to say anyone would ever tell him what happened? Certainly not her. She wasn’t his girlfriend, from what I knew. If anything, she would probably thank him for the gift, all the while remaining silent about the rest. Like I said, whether I was safe or not, I didn’t give a damn. I had left my mark.
If it’s one thing I learned after getting hurt in high school, if ya ain’t got it, use what ya got…
An Unforgettable Encounter
Two Months Later
Having found and pulled the books I needed; I slowly stood up from my seated position on the floor at the far end of the aisle of the FAMU library. As I turned to exit, I noticed her standing there.
The first recognizable thing was that gorgeous smile beneath her alluring eyes.
“Hi Kenny.” She said softly as I paused, unaware that she knew my name. “I thought that was you in here.”
“Hello, LeSonia.” I answered, stunned, hiding it poorly. “How are you? How’d things go with Hank?”
LaTavia chuckled quietly, but hard enough to make her upper body bounce. “I never got with him. I wasn’t really into him. I did thank him though.”
“You mean I wrote all that for him for nothing?”
“Did you write it for him?” she asked, skillfully guiding my next answer.
“No. I didn’t.”
“That’s what I remember,” she said convincingly as she stepped towards me, disappearing in the aisle entrance as she gave me a tight, lasting hug. I expected her to pull away, but she only leaned her shoulders and head back, just enough for her eyes to look upwards and meet mine during the continued embrace. “Thank you, Kenny.”
Before I could answer, she stood on her toes and pressed her curvy lips firmly against mine, kissing me softly for 7 or 8 seconds, hidden behind the safety of the books. Neither of us opened our mouths as our lips glided against each other. It was as a passionate as a kiss could get without introducing each other’s tongues. It was my favorite kind of kiss, one I often used to show how I truly cared for someone. But in this case, I was following her lead.
We were near the back of the library, out of sight. And thank God, not a soul was near that could see or hear.
She pulled away slowly, taking my hands and holding them close to the front pockets of our jeans.
“That’s how your words made every part of ME feel.”
I stood there frozen, as she walked away silently. Although the floor was carpeted, I didn’t hear a single step.
Not knowing whether I should call out or chase after her. I figured it best to do nothing, although every fiber of my being begged for action. If she wanted more to happen, I was sure she would have made her indications known. Then again, she might have given me the opening. Lord knows it seemed to be an inviting enough gesture.
If anything, I figured she enjoyed having her own “mic drop” moment as she disappeared around the corner. Better to leave it at that.
Epilogue
I saw LeSonia from time to time over the years and we actually did get together on occasion, neither trying to make anything more out of it, which for the life of me, I never truly understood. But that was probably a good thing because I wasn’t looking to be tied down by anyone.
Even though being “tied down” by her would probably have been a whole helluva lotta fun…
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