Red Ink, Chapter 1

The lights were dim as I crept into the bedroom, the sound of my feet muffled by the steady beat of the rain outside my window. Despite the downpour outside, I was determined that everything be just right. It had been three months since I last saw Terrell and everything had to be perfect for our reunion. I wanted to call the airline one more time to check and see if his flight was still on time despite the heavy rain and thunder, but I had already called twice and knew I was just anxious. Instead, I turned on a little Erykah Badu, closed my eyes, and tried to relax.

Just as I started to calm my nerves, my cell phone began to ring. Unconsciously, I quickly glanced down to see who was calling. I did not recognize the number, so I immediately pressed ignore. Didn’t they know I was waiting for Terrell to call and let me know he was in a cab and on his way home? I didn’t have time to waste talking to some random ass caller.

I gave up on trying to shake my anticipation and nervously looked around the room, checking everything once more. As I turned around our apartment, my gaze fell on an old picture of us sitting on the dresser.

Terrel was wearing a snug pair of dark blue jeans, a fitted white tee that accented his tight frame, and a trim chocolate sports coat that complimented his caramel complexion. Everything about him dripped of urban sophistication and you couldn’t help but get caught up in his brownie-tinged eyes and ever present smile. Even two years later, a photo was enough to get my blood pumping. With all of that Hershey’s goodness to gaze at, it was easy to overlook the guy standing next to him.

I picked up the frame to get a closer look. My hair was a lot shorter in those days. Just a small neatly trimmed afro; nothing compared to my now shoulder length locks. Clean-shaven except for a well-groomed patch of hair nestled on my chin. Skin the color of roasted almonds, I was all business in my navy blue dress shirt, black slacks, and tie.

My phone began ringing again. I reminded myself that Terrell’s special ring tone was Chrisette Michele’s “Love is You” and quickly preceded to ignore the phone, loosing myself in the picture.

I started to smile to myself as I remembered the day we took the photo. It was the beginning of my junior year of college and I was at a New Student Orientation event, tabling for the Black Student Association. I hated doing these events and would have much rather been at home curled up in a chair with a book and Lauryn Hill playing in the background. I had already been sitting there for two hours, when in walked Terrell.

“Helloooo everyone. My name is Terrell Davis a.k.a. Mr. Personality a.k.a. The Truth. Nice to meet all of y’all,” he declared with a slightly southern drawl.

Conversation stopped as everyone turned to take in our new arrival. To say he woke me up would be an understatement.

I could hear as everyone, myself included, shook their heads and mouthed “This Negro.”

Terrell was not to be deterred though; he confidently walked into the room and proceeded to parade around introducing himself to everyone. I watched as he walked up to each table tossing his brilliant smile and hugs around like M&M’s, allowing them to slowly melt and spread their sweet taste all over the room. I sighed to myself.

I could not stand him.

I can not help but laugh as I recalled that little fact. It’s funny to think about it now, but when I first encountered Terrell he urked my nerves. I generally did not have a problem with people with an abundance of confidence. I was a Black man at an elite university, I was used to encountering people with an over abundance of self-esteem, but I felt Terrell was just being extra and making the rest of us more mild mannered Negroes look bad. I was tired of playing the role of the welcoming upperclassmen and decided to call it quits before I had to deal with another outburst of Mr. Personality.

As I began to pack up my flyers, I was interrupted by a voice.

“Hi. My name is Terrell,” he said with his hand extended.

“Hi,” I replied while silently thanking the powers that be that he didn’t attempt to put me in one of those hugs he was tossing around earlier. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, in case you didn’t notice my mocha complexion, I am a Black student and you seem to be from the Black Student Alliance. I want to know how I can sign-up.”

“Sure, here is our e-mail sign-up sheet,” I responded and pulled out the paperwork I had been putting away. “Let me grab you a pen.”

I was reaching for a pen in my bag when a girl with a camera interrupted us and asked, “Can I take a picture of you two for the paper? We are running a story on diversity programming during New Student Orientation and I need to take a picture of all the ethnic clubs.”

Before I could object Terrell shouted, “Of course, girl.”

He slipped around to my side of the table and put his arm around my waste.  I tried to subtly slip from his grasp, but he had a firm hold on me and I did not want to make a scene.

“How is this?” he asked.

Ring. Ring.

“Shit!” I said to the empty room, my daydream ruined. “Damn phone.”

I set the picture frame back on the dresser and reached for my phone more than a little irritated that my moment of nostalgia was being interrupted.

“Hello. This better be important,” I growled.

“Is this Mr. Dupri?”

“Yes. Who is this?” This had the makings of a telemarketing call and I had no time for that shit tonight. My beau was on his way home.

“Mr. Dupri. Sir, there has been an accident. We are going to need you to come to the hospital.”

My heart froze and the phone tumbled from my hands.

“Mr. Dupri? Mr. Dupri, are you still there sir?”

Surprises

Last week I went on a short vacation to visit family and old friends on the left coast.  It had been several months since last I'd seen anyone from my old stomping grounds so I was anticipating a trip full of spontaneous gatherings, excessive photos, and generally good vibes.  For the most part that is what I got.  There were a few exceptions including an awkward day with Waru (more on that later), but by my last day in Cali,  I had escaped any large scale drama and thought I was going to be able to leave with a pocket full of joy.  Enter my sister, Pandora. 

Pandora doesn't always intend to cause trouble, but as her name impies, it usually follows her whether she wants it to or not and this vacation (unfortunately) didn't end up being an exception.  BUt, I get ahead of myself.

On my last night I was planning on a nice night with the women in my family; my mom Isis, my youngest sister Confusion, Pandora, and I were all going to be home for dinner.  My brother's Blackbird and Bigger couldn't make it do to some obligations they couldn't get out of, but I'd spoken with both of them earlier that trip and it was all good.  (Look for a future post for explanations to the family's psuedonyms).  All in all, it was shaping up to be a nice farewell dinner until Pandora thought that this would be a perfect to time to invite my father Red.  

Now, one of my New Year's resolutions this year was to reconnect with one person that has drifted out of my life every month.  It could be someone I got into a fight with and never forgave, a friend who moved away that I don't get to see regularly, or that old mentor that used to inspire me that I kept meaning to write.  It seemed like a relatively simple task, but karma consulted with fate and decided to throw me a curve ball.  I didn't anticipate Red making it to this list.

My father and I have neither spoken nor seen each other in 6 years.  Pretty much the entire time I have lived on the east coast he has been nothing more than a ghost.  Ever since he and Isis got divorced when I was a little kid, he has not been actively involved in my life.  Only slipping in and out, sometimes with years in between.  In the last year or two however, he has been trying to reconnect with me and my siblings.

Personally I stopped looking for a father figure a long time ago and came to resent the notion that I should have to make room for him in my life when he felt it was important.   My mom and Pandora have both been advocates of me establishing a relationship with him, but everytime I asked them (and myself) why should I, all I got was blank stares and vague comments that he is my father and that is reason enough.

I am not sorry to say that I harbor a mix of ambivalence and anger.  The man fucked up and instead of being there for me when I really did need him, he disappeared.  I do not feel like I owe him a damn thing.  Some may say this is a selfish stance, but fuck it.  He was pretty damn selfish when he walked away from his family too.  All I am doing is serving as an agent of karma.

I still remember very vividly the last time I saw him before he went on his first hiatus.  Me and Pandora were maybe 10 and 11 years old respectively and we were waiting outside on my front porch for him to pick us up.  In those days I used to worship that man and was a daddy's boy through and through.   Bags packed two nights before, me and Pandora waited on the porch with great anticipation.

We waited all that morning, skipping breakfast because we didn't want to be running late when he showed up.

We waited into the warm afternoon and started to pick through the snacks my mom had packed for us to take over to his house.  Neither of us wanted to leave the porch in case he'd gotten lost and couldn't remember which house was ours.

We waited as the warmth of the day faded into the creeping chill of the evening.   My sister started to shiver a bit, her jacket in the house (why would we need to wear our jackets during the day), so I draped my arm around her to warm her up.  

I could hear my mother at the door looking out on us huddled on the porch steps.  I turned back to face her as she began to speak and the words dried up in her mouth.   She looked at us in silence and turned away, returning a few moments later with a blanket.

We waited until the street lights came on and my sister gave into the rumble in her stomach and went into the house to grab leftovers.

We became I and still I waited.

Little did I know that I would have to wait for years to come.  Wait for the excuse, the apology, the visit, the call, the letter.  Something, anything to explain why.

I waited for years until I forgot why I was waiting.  The image of the man everyone said I resembled began to blur around the edges and I went back into the house, to the people who loved me and didn't make me wait in the dark.

Pandora didn't mean to bring trouble in her wake and perhaps her forced encounter with Red will lead to a reconciliation in the future.  For now, he can take my place on the porch; I am already home and am done waiting for a ride to see the people I love.