*takes a deep black
breath*
Like I legit had a waiting to exhale
moment in 2019. *queues up soundtrack because that whole thang slapped* I have seen that movie 50-11 million times, including my watching
it on network television with all the commercials last week.
Man, listen. A whole exhale.
I have so many favorite
parts of that movie/story/epic series of events in the lives of 30-something
black women. However, my favorite (even above Robyn throwing that orange at Troy’s leather in the
summertime wearing ass) was Bernie and James. Angela and Wesley. (but at
some point we are going to have to talk about how
Patricia (janet) came through with the most excellent
remix of Bernie and that burnt car tho #ItIsTrash #ThatGolfClub
#YouKnowHowMadYouGottaBe? *queues up Tweet* pass
me a cigarette Bernie #iDigress)
How many of us have found
ourselves in a completely vulnerable, devastatingly silent, and extremely
public place dressed impeccably in the shambles of our life? Example: At the
bar of a hotel looking at the remains of your broken marriage while a couple is
taking wedding photos in the lobby. That was Bernie. If you're me *hypothetically, of course
... in my lyfe jennings voice* you're crashing a
conference and you meet someone else who is crashing the conference too, and
you go hang out together because the friends you're with are conferencing, and
well, you're crashing. Anyway, later that evening Bernie and James would make the night beautiful and then return to their lives, to grieve the dead (her
marriage) and dying (his wife). An isolated moment in time with reverberations so strong, they
needed to be written, double enveloped, mailed, and well, read.
I’ve waiting as long as I could to contact you. I’ve been thinking
about you a lot, Bernie. Every day. All the time. I’m embarrassed to even write
that down, but it’s true.
Bernie, I fell in love, in one night. You know what’s even harder
for me to understand – is that what I feel for you has never undercut the love
I have for my wife. Now, how is that possible?
I still watch her every day. So beautiful. So brave. I just wanna
give her everything I’ve got in me – every moment. She’s hanging on, fighting
to be here for me, and when she sleeps, I cry over how amazing she is, and how
lucky I’ve been to have her in my life.
You’re the only person in this world I ever knew I could tell this
to – and even if this never finds you, and we never speak again, you’ve changed
my life.
I know it was the 90’s but
this man wrote her a whole letter, y'all. He used all his words; he used all
his real words. Have you ever felt that with someone? You tell them something
you haven’t told your family, parents, spouse, or even closest friend. Sure,
there may be something to the we’re never going to see each other again quality of the interaction, but that isn’t why you said it. You
actually never planned to say it, but there you are, face to face, exchanging
real words with each other. And everything about what is happening makes
complete sense.
You know what inspiration is? It’s someone who lets you know life
will go on and something beautiful can be waiting somewhere. Somewhere, when
you least expect it.
I spent an entire day with
a man who was absolutely curious about me, because me. The End. He looked at
me, in both mine eyes, absolutely
focused on me. He engaged with me in a
way that showed me my life was going to continue, and something beautiful was
waiting on me somewhere. When something dies, that thing that was everything, you
begin to see the eventual death in everything living around you. We believe in
the pain before we believe in peace because hurt is a more trustworthy emotion
than happiness. Why is that? (hello, hello, hello
heartbreak)
But he looked me in my eyes
wrought with death and offered me real living words. He did it promising me
absolutely nothing. Much like James never leaving his wife under any
circumstances, what he offered me that night was basically las vegas, by way of
los angeles (I mean, they are close enough, in distance and distraction). Though calculating and crisp with his words, he did not say it
that way. He carefully remarked that he had one job, and we fist bumped because
he did that job well. Splendid.
It was a good ass night. And you know me so you know
that I have collected (and conspired) plenty a random of good ass night in
my time with super great people that I literally just met as the night
commenced. But everything about me now, about who I am, is a life after death experience *big ups to biggie* There was the time prior to mid-2017,
and then there is all of this here. I have not had a good ass night in any of
this here. What's worse than not having one, is believing with some certainty
that there wouldn't be one ever again. Not because I was undeserving or
unworthy, but because that's just what this here is all about. I couldn't see
it as being possible. I mean, do you know how hard it is to see mustard seeds,
fam? My faith-sight ain't what it used to be *somebody grandma pray for me...i need a fan wavin, control top
stockings wearin, wig shakin prayer*. But he, doing his one job
exceptionally well, shared the good rev. dr. line brother’s word about
believing when we aren’t seeing, huddled over his sermon notes captured in a “smart
device” likely done using this thing called “y-phi”... They help you work when
you're far away from the office.
So, I went on and got some nerve. I did it. I closed my eyes. And I exhaled.
There is no guarantee that I am ever
going to see this man again, I had a wonderfully innocent experience with him,
and I’m certain that it changed my life. All imperfect pieces in a puzzle that
we made fit, in just one night. We kind of left like Bernie and James,
grieving, in a good way. Who we were beginning to pass to make space for who we
are becoming... *so’which’one’a’yall gonna send me that book tho, #treysongzvoice*
He inspired me. And in
turn, we made the night beautiful, in an old fashioned way.
