All In The Game

A few months back I'm standing in a crowded room of familiar faces. Liquor is everywhere. There's a nice spread of chips and appetizers in the kitchen. Music plays to the beat of the rhythm of the night. Just another outing in the neighborhood.

But the vibe is mostly couples, and though my crew is deep I'm getting that feeling of isolation, one of those "What the fuck am I supposed to do now?" sort of moments. Then she appears, dough-eyed and reserved, seeming as if she's in the same boat as I. We talk. We talk some more. We step outside of the venue and into the night air. Things are discussed like politics and existentialism and cooking and food. Next thing I we're sitting on my stoop talking. Then we've walked over to hers. There's this sense of both hesitation and urgency in her movements, as if she's waiting for the clock to strike midnight. She has to leave the ball before I know who she really is. There are hours of intimate chatter before she interjects that she has a man, followed by some bullshit about how she does what she wants to do. We brush against each other in that way we all know. Hands wander. Friction commences.

Part of me wants to not give a fuck about the man in question. Testosterone kicks in and I want to be one of my homeboys, the one who'll seal the deal without considering violations of trust and the like. They don't think about karma or repercussions or any of that shit. They would've just tightened their grip on her lovely dark chocolate derriere and pushed the envelope until it went through the slot. But that ain't me. I say my goodbyes and head off into the night. Even though we live in the same hood I manage to never see her again, until today.

There's no better place to run into people than the supermarket on Memorial Day. There I am, trying to get some chicken legs for my friend Keisha's barbecue, a quick in and out and there she, standing there, with her man in tow. Our eyes lock and there's the awkward moment where we both try and figure out how we're going to play this. I look her up and down and remember why I hate having scruples sometimes. Her man is behind her, completely oblivious. While I could easily cut left I meet her halfway. We have this very vague conversation, the kind you have with folks you loosely know but don't really want to talk to, empty words to get you through it all more easily. Then I pass her and head towards the meat section. I don't look back. There's no point.

I'm trying to stop thinking about what could have happened in my life to focus only on what is. It's a Zen approach to things that keeps distractions to a minimum, that keeps the mind from making mistakes in the name of fleshly pursuits. I never want to end up ensnared in someone else's trap, a victim of impulse instead of intuition. When I entered the world of solo I was made out of cookie dough, but with each passing day I've learned how to sheath both heart and soul in their own protective casings. I continue to make the best decisions that I can for me. I cannot fix what I didn't break. I cannot tell myself that things that are there are not. I can no long fly through the skies in search of damsels in distress. My Superman days are finally over. Happy 31st Keisha! Out.