Thursday, May 27, 2010

Naturally Beautiful: "Good Hair" by Benilde Little

Always stumbling upon good books in the library. this time my eyes tripped upon this beautifully written 1996 love story about the odds and ends of a relationship forced to deal with black class differences. Must Read.


I looked out of the window, looking for a distraction, and I saw someone who looked an awful lot like Miles coming out of Royce's with a woman dressed in a citron-colored spandex dress, white pumps, and hair or a weave down to her butt. My eyes followed them as they headed toward the red Porsche Carrera parked a few feet from the entrance. He put the key into the lock. I turned away from the window and faced the Plexiglas separating me from the driver. I wanted to ask him to turn the drug-hazed cardinals back on. I needed something, anything, to tune out the noise in my head. One tear began to fall, another one caught up. By the time I got to Upper West Side, my face was moist. I overpaid the driver and got out.

"Dank you, lady," I heard the driver say before he sped off. I ran upstairs to my apartment and called Miles before I took off my coat. He wasn't at his office and he wasn't at home.

I sat on my sofa bed, still wearing my coat trying to make sense of what I'd just seen. I thought of a line I'd read somewhere: Coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous.
-Good Hair by Benilde Little; (pg. 65-66)

"Rochelle: You know what? I'm gonna change your name from Chrissy the Black to Chrissy the Black and Blue."

Everybody hates loves Chris 

Love this show.

"Standing in the front yard, telling me how I'm such a fool, talking bout how I'll never ever find a man like you. You got me twisted."-Beyonce

Sometimes I miss the chiptole on Wednesdays. the curry cooked by somebody else. the loud Caribbean music.

the kisses that tickled my back. the reassurance of security. the notion of having a love for tomorrow even if it wasn't mine next June.

I miss it.

Until I remember my dignity and self-respect.

And then I don't miss it anymore.


Windy City

the wind crept past me like an old friend. Who wished not to speak because their was simply not much to say. the wind rushed pass me as though it had forgotten all our memories. the ones scattered about in our heads, earnestly trying to find a familiar piece. 

I swear it looked at me. 

Searching for a spark of desperation. Hoping for my emotions to rise to the ocassion. they didn't. 

So the wind continued to breeze pass me. Un-apologetically, sending chills through my body. Chills that remain when its gone. When the bright light silences the rain and forceful breeze. 

Silencing, like when love presents itself, on a windy day.