Ashley Charisma

Two years.  That’s how long it took us to have our first date.

For months we’d run into each other and pass by with matching smiles.  Maybe it was the unhealthy relationship that I was in that made me think about him everytime we passed each other.  He was a work of art, I called him Chocolate City.  His dark chocolate skin, clean-shaven look, business attire impressed me every time.  Strangers don’t stop and talk.

Then one day, I met with a friend of mine for lunch and Chocolate City was seated at our table.  We shook hands and I swear my friend had to unlock our grasp.  Neither of us could believe it or stop smiling.  His smile was incredible, like he’d splash white paint across them before lunch.  My friend insisted on telling him how amazing I was with relationship and life advice.  I dodged that suggestion every chance I got, but Chocolate City was curious.  He wanted me to advise him, I refused.  I didn’t want him to know Ashley Charisma.  I’m funny about that.

Maybe he took that to mean I wasn’t interested at all because we only exchanged work emails.  Months passed. Nothing.

As fate would have it, we began running into each other again.  Same time every day.  Each time we stopped.  We flirted, we laughed – we passed.  Until finally, he caught me in the parking lot and asked me out for lunch.

Two things scrolled across my mental marquee: 1) I’m too naïve to believe he likes me like that and 2) I’m kinda in another situation (lol), nothing serious but the possibility was on the table.  So I invited two of our mutual friends.  We sat at lunch and discussed the modern role of men and women.  Once my friend shared that I’d done radio before, he insisted on meeting back up to discuss creating a show together.  Business!  He wants to talk business.  I can do business.

For months we scheduled and rescheduled a meeting.  The snow storm came and maybe it was the boredom that made us exchange endless conversations about digging out and meeting each other halfway.  All along, it was still normal conversations.

Meanwhile, my situation ended completely. Worse Valentine’s Day ever (hahahaha).

I scheduled an official meeting.  Of course I had to cancel.  We counted how many times we each rescheduled and when I realized that I had one more than him, I insisted that I’d meet him on his turf.

He was leaving town in the morning and needed to do laundry and pack.  He doesn’t usually invite people over and I don’t usually visit people’s houses—but we had some history.  So there we are.  His condo was amazing and he had on a Dunder Mifflin t-shirt (He loves the Office just as much as me!)  Somehow in between getting ready he prepared appetizers and dinner and wine.  We talked for hours.  I mean, we lied for hours.

We decided to lie to each other and fit truth in it when we felt like it.  So I told him I was born in Ghana and that when I was three my mother saved up enough money to get us tickets to fly Armastead Airlines, I moved to Baltimore and graduated from Morgan.

He was worse.  First he was born in Canada, then Ghana after I claimed it.  He had four children by five different women, was a Kappa and a felon.

We laughed.  We went through his entire Hip Hop collection and raced each other to finish our favorite rapper’s songs.  I glided my hand across his book collection and said you should check out this novel called School of Black Love.  He picked up a pen and wrote it down on a things to do list.

Hours passed with no dull moment.  But he had to leave in the morning. We hugged.  We said good night.  I drove home and realized, “Oops! We forgot to talk business.”

He was a perfect Black man.  Tall. Attractive.  Professional.  No baggage.

Yeah, that was until he insisted on giving me eight reasons why he wouldn’t sleep with me…

Would you look at the time?  I need to return some phone calls. Oops!

Note:
1. What are the odds that Chocolate City will read this blog?
2. Honesty…its gonna create some problems. Ha! Thanks Chole Shaw!