Man Finds His Way

IT'S BEEN ALMOST SIX MONTHS SINCE MARCY AND I started seeing each other, and it's time to take our relationship to the next level. So tonight I'm going to tell her. She needs to know that she's the best thing to come into my life in a long while. She deserves to hear that she's the sun that shines on my face. In her lies the promise of my better, brighter future. She's becoming the center of my world, the joy in my laughter, the sweet contentment filling my heart. And I want to be with her only. Once we've finished dinner, slipped into our comfy clothes, and snuggled together on the couch to kill the last of that gallon of chocolate chip ice cream, I'm going to cut off the TV, look straight into her eyes, and confess the truth of what I'm feeling. I carefully position a small portion of parsley next to the salmon fillet on Marcy's plate, sprinkle some chives onto the steaming red potatoes, smooth a thin coat of butter onto the asparagus, and set the plate down in front of her. "My goodness, Darius," she says, looking beautiful behind the burning candle. "Your culinary skills are enough to make a woman swoon." I place my finger beneath her chin, gently lift her face upward, and brush my lips across hers. "Not just any woman," I say softly. "But you." Right on cue, the DJ on the jazz radio station puts on a classic cut by the late great saxophonist Junior Walker, who belts out a sexy tune that adds more steam to the moment's building romance. I hurry and fix my plate, sit down across from Marcy at the small dinette table, and take hold of her hand. She squeezes mine tenderly and I kiss her palm. "This is the highlight of my week," I say. "I'm really glad to be here with you." Marcy half smiles, then looks away. I'm disappointed that she doesn't affirm my statement with a similar response of her own, but she said she'd had a rough day at work and is probably just tired. Today was an overloaded Thursday, so I know how she feels. After giving two lectures at Erie Pointe University this morning, chairing a panel discussion this afternoon, and making a presentation to the Cleveland Black Historical Society this evening, I was whipped. But I wanted to see, smell, and feel Marcy so bad, I persevered through my exhaustion. I sent out an e-mail canceling Friday's classes, fought through the construction forever clogging Ohio's lousy highways, got frisked three times at Cleveland-Hopkins Airport, and endured a claustrophobic sixty-five-minute flight, sitting between a fat man, a bulkhead, and a screaming starboard engine. Minutes after landing at Baltimore-Washington International I plowed through the meandering human herd, rented a car, and tore down 95 South to Marcy's home in Fort Washington. It was a hectic, stressful journey, but the sensual tigress staring out at me from Marcy's eyes offers strong hope that my efforts will be rewarded with lots of rambunctious lovemaking. I pour us some more wine, and we start eating. Marcy picks at her food, sighing every now and then. "Is everything all right?" I ask. She looks up and smiles. "Yes and no," she answers, shrugging. "Is there anything I can do to help?" She shrugs again. "Not really. I've just got a lot on my mind. It'll be all right." I take a swig of wine, dab the corners of my mouth with the cloth napkin, get up, and step quickly over to her stack of CDs. I search through them, find one filled with the smooth, sultry tunes of balladeer Peabo Bryson, put it on, and hurry over to Marcy. I wait till the music begins and extend my hand to her. "What's this all about?" Marcy asks. "It's about me trying to bring a smile to your face." I bow slightly and say, "Can I have this dance?" Marcy's eyes glisten as she smiles. "Yes, Darius. You mJohnson, Freddie Lee, III is the author of 'Man Finds His Way', published 2003 under ISBN 9780345445988 and ISBN 0345445988.