Raven and I had been partying all day. The spring air was crisp, making for a perfect night. Memorial Day weekend was always an exciting time in Detroit. There were art fairs, festivals, and numerous activities to partake in. We started off our day early by going to the African-American festival.
“Nya, I cannot believe you spent so much money on those pictures,” Raven said to me.
“Girl, I love art, especially this piece,” I said unashamedly.
Raven had just purchased a painting of a shirtless black man with dread locks that hung down past his shoulders. His head looked toward the heavens as he stood with his arms outstretched beneath an array of earth-tone hues from the heavenly sky. In addition to purchasing a few pieces of art, I bought jewelry, shea butter, and body oils.
After we left the festival we walked the streets of Greektown. We followed the sounds of a live jazz band to the Pegasus Tavern. I walked in and immediately strutted to the dance floor. My 5’ 8” frame melted and blended to the sounds of every beat. All those years running track in elementary and high school paid off; my lean, muscular physique was apparent in my crocheted halter top and hip-hugging skirt. No doubt, that is what caught his attention.
Raven and I were dancing to the groove when I felt someone staring at me. I locked eyes with his. He was all that. As he walked toward the dance floor I could feel my temperature rising. He stood at about 6’5”. His skin was as dark as cocoa beans and as smooth as silk. His teeth were as straight as a razor’s edge, and were white enough to light up a pitch black room.
“Pardon me,” he said. “May I please have this dance?”
My cousin winked then nodded as she exited the dance floor. He wrapped his arms around my waist and started mirroring my moves.
“What’s your name,” he asked.
“I’m Nya,” I said with a smile.
“Very nice to meet you, Nya.”
I turned around so that I could feel what this Mandingo brother was working with. As I was backing that thang up, he moved a bit closer and whispered, “My name is Chazz.”
“Excuse me,” I said.
Dumbfounded, I realized that I had not gotten his name.
“Oh. Okay,” I said, slightly embarrassed.
He motioned me off the jam-packed dance floor and over to his table. Such a gentleman, he handed me a napkin to wipe the sweat from my face. We talked for a couple of hours, until the bar closed. We exchanged numbers and went our separate ways. I knew what it was like when meeting guys at bars/clubs. Most guys, if not all, wanted one thing. And I wasn’t buying it.