The first day I met him, was unexpected.
I was outside cleaning the car in July’s sweltering heat. I can’t remember what I had on but you can equate it to a flimsy worn out shirt and a wrapper. When I was 18 my sense of style was questionable and to make matters worse, I had no regards for how I looked in the comfort of my home.
Often, I would prance around, unbathed, with hair that looked like it’d been in a war and cloth fit for a help. That day was one of those days.
It was his voice I heard first, before I saw him.
“Hey, how you doing?”
I turned around and saw the sweetest chocolate skin boy with the kindest warm eyes. He was tall, beefy and had on a white shirt that molded perfectly to the curves on his arms. His face was crowned slightly by a white baseball hat but you could still see the fullness of his cheeks and the way they tugged when he smiled. I looked at him, questions crawling over my face but before I could ask, he reached out and pulled me in for a hug.
It wasn’t one of those sanctimonious side hugs you give to brethren after Sunday service or the disrespectful ones that pull tight enough to feel the rise and fall of your boobs. This was a real hug: his arms circling my waist, mine, crawling up his back. We were close enough for me to see where his baseball cap hung just above the nape of his neck and the scent of his cologne at this point settled provocatively at the tip of my nose. It was THE hug. Those protective ones that make you feel really safe.
“Is everyone inside?” His unfamiliar voice, reminded me that this warm embrace belonged to a stranger.
“Yes” I responded.
“Okay I’ll see you inside”
I watched him as he walked, shamelessly. My face was a mask of curiousness, confusion and awe. He was a fine piece of man no doubt, tall in the way I like them, but it was his warmth that struck me.
The truth is, I had just moved to the US from Nigeria and almost all the conversations I had had to this point were burdened by a culture shock that left me in a constant state of loneliness. This was the first time I felt welcome, truly seen and it was because of him. Our interaction was barely a few minutes long but it left me wondering… wanting… more.
That night as I tossed and turned in my bed, I thought of all the numerous things I wanted to say to him. But as my thoughts nudged me farther into the abyss, I fell… into the warm embrace of sleep… knowing fully well that if I ever saw him again, I would be too shy to even say a word.