5c

i laughed at that statement. he laughed too, but his laughter had the thread of something else in it. i was close to asking him outright if he wanted to fuck me. i mean, he'd given me about as many hints as was possible. i'd have to be an idiot not to know what his intentions were at this point. instead i played it cool, cuz i wasn't really sure if i even wanted to have that conversation with him at this point.

i noted just how different this exchange between he and i was from the kind i'd had with black men. i flirt without hesitation with those brothas, confident in my ability to handle the situation with them. that's familiar ground right there. this wasn't. he came up in a totally different environment, one where black people weren't an oppressed entity in his country, enslaved or lynched or denied basic rights based on skin color. i tried to see myself as he saw me and drew a blank. it was hard to believe this white guy wasn't looking at me and thinking about how my race had been treated in america. i realized then i still had some evolving to do, as my mind was unable to embrace the concept that outside of america, black folk were seen by many other folk as being human beings with darker skin, not a lesser race.

mikhail had called the waitress over with a napkin so i could wipe the stains on my t-shirt. i was kind of self-conscious doing it in front of him. for some reason my breasts seemed even larger than usual in that damn t-shirt and the idea of rubbing a napkin on them made me think he was gonna end up with a chubby, so i just dabbed at a couple of the spots and set the napkin down. he called for the check and paid the bill. we left and headed back towards the car.

"what are you doing for labor day weekend?" he asked.

"i have no earthly idea," i answered, "probably go chill out with my parents."

"we could go to new york," he said with a laugh, like he was joking, only there was a hopeful look in his eye that let me know he wasn't really joking. what the FUCK? are all russian cats this forward? i was expecting him to just tell me outright he wanted to fuck me, cuz why else would i be going to new york with him? that's shit lovers do, not platonic friends, and we weren't even friends yet. shit, we were still acquaintances!

i just played that shit off like he was joking, cuz in my mind it WAS a joke.

"yeah right," i responded with humor, "let's hold off on that until AFTER i know where you live."

"i live in norcross," he said, the twinkle back in his eye. i could tell he understood what i was saying though.

"uh, i mean when i've actually BEEN to your house and have met your next of kin so i know whom to notify if you get mugged in central park."

we both laughed as we came to the car. i was walking around to the passenger side when...

a. he grabbed my hand and slowly pulled me towards him.

b. i heard him exclaim "SHIT!" angrily.

c. he tripped and fell over a crack in the pavement.