We went to lunch. Nowhere special, it was just a regular place where the food was average, not memorable. Just a burger and some fries and of course I washed it down with a diet something or the other. Yet, it was lunch with him.
It really was just a run of the mill lunch. The conversation was typical, for us. We discussed the recent events of the day. Do Black lives really matter? How unfortunate it was he is a Cowboys fan. No, I do not know how to make a real pound cake from scratch, and yes I do feel somewhat less of a Black woman because of it. The recent amount of rain, and the hope for sunshine in the future. The regular conversation two friends have over really hot, crispy, salty, good and fresh French fries.
Our respective days were going in typical fashion. A conference call or webinar, a meeting that would either be beneficial or a total waste of time. Morning rush hour traffic with the anticipation of an evening traffic jam to make it home just in time to clean, wash, cook or watch whatever was on that nights agenda.
As life would have it, time was not our friend. It was ticking and tocking the end of our brief moments together, so we were forced to get up from the table and slowly walked out of the restaurant. It was time to get back the real world. The world where there were we had responsibilities and people to be accountable to and for.
So we walked, in silence, to our cars. Thinking about our conversations, both of them, the one spoken aloud and the one that was captured in the nuances of our voice inflections and the expressions on our faces as we communicated the most basic of non-important statements.
As we found ourselves closer to my car, he pulled me close to him and whispered in my ear…”trust me?” I looked at him with slight fear, for he knows that I have issues with trust, and yet, there he was, saying those two words that can make me run away and flee even the warmth that just his voice envelopes me likes a warm blanket during a dreary day. Sensing my tension increase, he held me even closer and said this time, “Trust me”.
With nowhere to run, and no place to hide, my escape routes blocked, I surrendered and nodded my head slightly to say yes, but there were no words.
Then he pulled out one of his ear buds, put it to my ear, held me even closer, as if that were possible, and we began to dance. Yes, right there in the parking lot, we danced to Doug E. Fresh and the Get Fresh Crew’s “The Show”. We laughed as we rapped to the song aloud…
“Here we go…come on…Here we go…come on”
Clapping our hands to the beat, snapping our fingers to the rhythm that only comes from true Old School music. Laughing and smiling as if we were back in club somewhere late at night. Hair sweating, makeup fading, disco ball light flickering on the ceiling having a wonderful time, all on the parking lot.
People were staring and looking at us as if we were two nuts that had escaped the loony bin, but we did not care. It did not matter, it was just us…he and I with Doug E Fresh and the crew.
“Six minutes…six minutes…six minutes Doug E. Fresh you on”
And then, when the song ended, he opened my car door, made sure that I was settled in and said “Thank you for the dance – and for the trust”. I smiled and said, “you’re welcome”.
It was a great lunch.