A BLACK CHRISTMAS

            I TRIED TO IGNORE HIS MASCULINITY, but the sight of his black skin intrigued me.  Its appearance was intoxicating.  I tried to pay attention to his words, but as I glanced into his eyes each syllable dissolved into unintelligible sounds.

            What was he saying?

            He wanted my opinion on the opening scene of his screenplay?  I tried desperately to hear him, but my senses refused to obey me.  Instead, my ears only captured the texture of his voice as he spoke.  Its sound was so penetrating and hypnotic— seducing me with its mere tone.

            I stared into his eyes; they were truly alluring— huge and brown.  They were so soft and gentle.  He was exhilarating.  I wanted to savor his presence.  His scent was tantalizing— forcing me to become aware of him— of his nearness.

            I couldn't resist wondering about him.  Had he ever been in love?  Did he know what betrayal felt like?

            I did.

            As I continued to observe his eyes, I wondered what type of man Nile Ngugi was.  His name alone mesmerized me.  Its pronunciation excited my mouth, gracing my lips with its sensuous sound.

            I tried not to notice his throat as he leaned over me to point to whatever was written on the page.  I ignored his direction and instead found myself looking at the thick hair barely visible below the opening of his flannel shirt which prevented me from seeing more, but I would have liked to.

            He had to  be 6'9” and 26 or perhaps 27.  I leaned more toward the latter age.  His face was quite handsome.  I loved to witness his smile because then I was given the chance to see his dimple and beautiful teeth.  His laughs came seldom and I found myself waiting for them.

            “Professor Adkins?” his words were registering.  “Should we continue this at another time?  You seem distracted.”

            “Ah, no.  Please go on.”

            “Are you sure?”

            “Yes, continue,” I said directing my attention once again to the script on my desk.

            “What do you think of my choice in music for the opening scene.  I picked this particular rap, because I think it will emphasize the anger Thomas feels when he sees his cousin murdered.  I think the energy of the instruments and the words will draw the audience completely into the scene.”

            I hadn't heard the song, but I quickly read the lyrics.  I needed to put the scene into its proper context before I spoke.  His writing style never ceased to impress me; this man had talent.

            “I am not familiar with this particular rap, but I agree; the words are powerful.  They give me a feeling of hopelessness.  The cousin seems to be simply another murder victim in an increasingly long list of slain black men.  And I get the feeling that if things don't change drastically; the main character, Thomas, will die in a similar fashion.”

            “Perceptive,” he congratulated.

            “Its a strong script— consistent throughout,” I said basing my opinions on his earlier drafts.  “Why did you write this?”

            He deliberated for a moment, then said, “My brother was killed three years ago,” he became quiet.  The silence was painful.  I could see the desolate expression on his face.  He tried to stay composed.  “Over Timberland boots and a gold chain.”

            “I'm so—”

            “Don't be.  I'm dealing with it.  It hurts, but I have to survive.”

            I covered his hand with mine and squeezed it gently.  “I didn't mean to intrude on your privacy.”

            “You didn't.  I am going to have to talk about it at sometime.”

            “Was anyone caught?”

            “No,” he said turning away from me briefly  After several seconds, he looked back.  “No leads.  No suspects.  Just another open case among many.  It shouldn't have happened.  He was so young.  He had so much potential.  And now he's gone.”

            “How old was he?”

            “Fifteen.  Is that fair?  A black boy can't even make it to manhood.  I've got to change that— make them realize that they are slaughtering each other.  And over what?  Name brands?  We can't afford to be materialistic.  The price is too high.  I want them to see that.  And I think this is the way.”

            “I agree.”

            “The film's going to be dedicated to Chad and all of the other black boys and men deprived of a chance to contribute to this world.  I just wish I could have saved him— Oh God,” he said shaking his head and looking up at the ceiling. His grief seemed to instantly overwhelm him.  “I miss my brother—” he abruptly stopped speaking.  “I got to go.”

            He began to gather his papers quickly.

            I looked up in surprise.  I didn't want him to leave, but I didn't know how to stop him.  I could see he was still grieving. I also knew he was a private man.  He seldom revealed himself to anyone in the class.  His thoughts were always concealed.  His views seldom expressed until he began this screenplay.

            “I'm finished here.  Can I give you a ride someplace?” I desperately wanted him to say yes.

            “I can walk.”

            I grasped at anything which might make him change his mind, “It would be no problem.  And I know the roads are still treacherous.  The snow is accumulating inches again.”

            “I'll be fine.  I'm used to the weather—”

            “I really don't mind,” I almost pleaded.

            He looked at me intently for the first time almost as if he realized something.  I wanted to look away, but I met his eyes with a stare of my own.  I delighted in his preoccupation with me.  He gave a slight smiled, “Are you sure Professor Adkins?”

            “Ye—s,” I stammered. 

            “It's not that far. I can walk it.  I'm only on the other side of North Philly.  Susquehanna Avenue.”

            “I know how to get there.  Let me get my coat,” I said jumping up with an enthusiasm I hadn't felt in years.  Was this a crush?  I was 35.  I didn't experience things like that anymore.  I was too old.  Too mature.  Too intelligent.

            But still he excited me.

            I gathered my textbooks and other resource material.  I quickly stuffed them into my duffel bag.  I loved teaching script-writing, but sometimes I considered myself a perfectionist.  I lugged tons and tons of reference books with me to each class.  I never knew when a student would ask a question I wasn't prepared for.  Therefore, I tried my best to anticipate everything.

            I pulled on my leather bomber and watched him zip up his winter coat.  He draped a thick shawl over his head and around his neck.  Then he slid on a pair of extremely thick gloves.  His movements were slow and precise.  He picked up his textbook and black binder from my desk.  I enjoyed the way he moved.  The confidence he exuded even at such a minute task.   

            “Ready?” he asked glancing at me.  If he caught me staring, he said nothing.  He was truly a devastatingly attractive man.

            “Yes,” I said slinging my bag over my shoulder and walking past him.  I switched off the lights and released the lock on the classroom door as I walked through it.  I held it as he followed behind me and then I heard it shut.

            “Professor Adkins?  Why don't you make films?  You know so much about them.  And you've written a lot on the subject.  You're constantly reminding us of the need for more black filmmakers so I'm a little puzzled,” he looked down at me while he posed the question.

            “School,” I said truthfully.  “It took me a very long time to get my Ph.D.” I smiled.  “I also love teaching.  It's what I enjoy doing.”

            He nodded his head, “But you should consider making a feature film.  The world would benefit greatly from your unique method of storytelling.  I've seen your shorts,” he said referring to the films that the professor had produced.  Many of them  screened for less than 30 minutes, but were memorable. 

            “I didn't know I had a fan.”

            “But you do,” he confided and began to list my film titles.  “Ghetto Child was my favorite.”

            “Thank you,” I said tripping over my words.  The compliment  was unexpected. 

            He acknowledged my gratitude with a boyish smile and then asked, “What about now?  Do you have any projects in mind?”

            “Not at the moment.  I teach this course four times a week and I'm doing other things.  I volunteer at a local school high,” I confessed.  “I mentor a group of seniors once a week.  The talent in that class is incredible,” I said getting excited.  “I have 14 young men who are serious about their work.  They make me proud.  Strong black males growing into men.  They are so eager to learn about the independent film industry.  Right now we are looking at Spike Lee's film, Malcolm X. And in a few weeks we'll be studying the work of the first black filmmakers, Oscar Micheaux.  He's made over 40 movies in his lifetime. Within Our Gates,  The Homesteader— ”

            “Lying Lips, The Girl from Chicago, Murder in Harlem—” he interrupted me with his enthusiasm.  “I enjoy watching the black cinema of the early 1900's ,” he disclosed.  “The diverse films coming from that era are amazing.  Black crime stories, westerns, Comedies.  Even the love stories,” he smiled.  “You name it.  It existed in black film.”

            “I know,” I agreed laughingly.  “It was such a unique time in history for us.”

            I thought briefly of the segregation of that era.  The black movie houses.  The black schools.  The black libraries.

            “Yes it was,” he agreed.  “I am not from this country, but I understand the struggle.  South Africa has a similar past— apartheid was a system that racially separated my people from the whites in my country.”

            “How long have you lived in the States?” I couldn't resist the question.  I had wondered about his nationality, but was reluctant to cross that line of professional conduct until today.  This was the last day of the semester. 

            “Nine years,” he admitted and then he resumed our earlier conversation.  “You are a very busy woman, Professor Adkins.”

            “I know, but it doesn't matter.  I love what I do.  And at this  point in my life, I am entirely committed to the arts.  I know what's important— young people.  And, I'm focused on helping them grow and become independent.”

            He was listening to me so intently, I almost stopped speaking.  “I guess some of these realizations come with age and experience.  I know racism is always in our midst,” I continued.    “But I'm just going to have to deal with it. The Board of Higher Education  is watching my every move.  They think the film director, Spike Lee, is too controversial a person to study; but I disagreed.  I want to introduce him to the teen boys in my class.  Administration and I have been arguing  back and forth on the subject, but these are my students,” I stated.

            Nile stared down at me.

            Why was he looking at me like that?  With such admiration.              I had to look away. 

            Why was he having such an effect on me?  His penetrating look causing me to become confused. 

            I wasn't an adolescent.  I wasn't some giddy girl realizing for the first time that she liked a boy.  I was a woman and he wasn't the first attractive man I'd talked to.  But for some reason, he excited me.  He made me nervous.  These were emotions I hadn't felt in years.

            Not since Daniel.

            “I feel exactly as you do,” said Nile.  “Enjoying my work is important, but as a black supervisor things can become difficult.  Especially if you have to delegate instructions to a group of young white males.  They get offended when you suggest a more effective way of doing something.  They see you as exacting some type  of revenge on them from your  position of authority— it doesn't occur to them to examine what you say.  No, automatically you're a black man out to rule over them— I find that too often.  And its irritating.”

            “What do you do?” I asked.

            “Construction work.  But now I'm working for myself.  I got tired of the undermining.  And I'm not a timid man.  If I tell you to do something, you'd better do it.  Don't go to my supervisor complaining about me or questioning my directions, because it won't change my mind.”

            “How do you like working for yourself?”

            “It's fantastic.  I'm renovating a house for a man whose going to be married next summer.  His bride has no idea he's redesigning each room to suit her taste.  The man's truly in love.  At times, I find myself getting caught up in his happiness.”

            A sadness crept into my eyes, but I tried to hide it, “That must be nice.”

            He gave me a funny look, “It is.”

            I tried to smile and quickly looked away, “It's worse out here than I thought,” I said peering though a glass doors.  “My car is one block down.  The parking lot was too crowded, “I explained.

            We walked to the car in silence.  My feet crunched the freshly fallen snow as I made my way down the sidewalk.  He did likewise, but his mood quickly became pensive.  He glanced at me once or twice, but said nothing.

            I unlocked the passenger's door, but he refused to get in.  Instead he followed me to the back of the car.  I unlocked the trunk and removed the windshield scraper from  inside.  I hadn't expected him to take the yellow device from my hands, but he did.  I relinquished it.

            “Start the car up.  I'll do this,” he said with authority.

            I obliged him.  The snow blew past my face in a forceful gush.  Its white flakes blinding me for a moment.  This storm was gradually getting worse.  A frown touched my brow; I glanced down at my tires.  I dreaded the possibility of having to dig them out, but they didn't look buried. 

            The car hummed peacefully as Nile cleared the windows.  It took him no time to do that and place the scraper back inside of my trunk.  He returned to the passenger's side of the car, stooped down and slide inside.

            He slammed the door and manipulated the seat belt.  He secured the safety strap around his shoulder and waist.

            “Do you mind listening to Luther Vandross?”

            “Not at all,” he replied.

            “I'm trying to get into the holiday spirit.”

            “Is it that difficult?” he asked looking across the expanse of the car and into my eyes.

            I wished he wouldn't do that.  His eyes were distracting, “At times.  I'm  spending this Christmas at home.”

            “Alone?” he asked.

            “Yes— I don't feel like traveling to New York.  My family's so big they won't even miss me.”

            “I find that hard to believe.”

            “It's true.  I'm one of ten children.  And once we start arriving with spouses and grandkids, that house can get packed.  Not to mention the uncles, aunts, cousins and friends.  The list can go on and on— no they won't even notice if I don't show up.”

            “Why aren't you married?” he asked glancing down at my hands.

            “Don't have a reason to be,” I said putting my arm around the back of his chair.  I put the car in reverse and cautiously pulled away from the curve.

            “Do you have a companion?  A mate?” he asked.

            “No.”

            “Why not?”

            “Truthfully?”

            “Yes,” he said.

            “I don't trust men,” I said looking at him.  I wanted to add how much I could hate them, but I didn't. 

            He challenged my stare with his beautiful brown eyes, “Who was he? This man that caused you to distrust  us all.”

            “It's not important.”

            “A man hurts you and he's not important?”

            “Are you my psychologist?  I asked jokingly.

            “Do you need one?” he sounded serious.

            “Probably,” I smiled awkwardly.

            Did he realize how lonely I was?

            I started to deny the fact that I had been hurt, but found no reason to lie. “If you lived long enough, eventually it will happen,”  I stated before becoming quiet.  I listened to the slow paced Christmas song that filled the car.  Its words caused me to long for a person I could snuggle up to during the holidays.

            “Are you over him?” asked Nile.

            “No.  I still carry some scars.”

            “I see.”

            “What do you see,” I asked trying to make light of the subject.”

            “That it is time for you to move on.”

            “Oh really?”

            “If not, then why I am here?”

            “Because of the snow,” I answered frowning.

            “That answer doesn't work.  Try again,” he smiled boyishly.

            My heart skipped a beat and I smiled— I don't know,” I said searching his face.  “Did I make a mistake offering you a ride home?”

            “Did you?” he asked.

            “I don't know— ” I repeated and thoughtfully considered my actions.  “I guess I got caught up in the Holiday Blues.  And, you are an attractive man—”

            “Tell me about him,” demanded Nile.

            “Who?  My fiance?”

            “Yes”

            “But why?”

            “I'm curious.”

            I looked at him intently.

            “Okay,” I agreed.  “He was an assistant professor.  I was engaged to him for nine years.  We were supposed to marry on January 1st, but things went wrong.  While I was in school, he married someone else.  He didn't even bother to tell me.  I had to hear it from friends.”

            Nile sat stoically.  He listened to my words, but made not indication of speaking.

            “He had been having an affair with the woman he married for two years I eventually discovered.  But I blame myself,  there must have been signs.  Everybody leaves signs.  So why didn't I see them?” I asked glancing over at him.  The roads were becoming dangerous.  I gripped the steering wheel tightly.  I could feel the tires sliding across the city street.

            “He's a fool,” declared Nile. 

            “And what does that make me?” I paused briefly.  “I picked  the man as my partner— why do we women give men such control over our lives?  Over our emotions?”  I shook my head.  “I should have admitted to myself that he wasn't going to marry me, but instead I deluded myself for all of those years.   I allowed the man  such free reign over me.  He came and left as he pleased.  I was the one waiting by the phone hoping he'd call.  Hard to believe, huh?”

            Nile said nothing, but listened.

            “I gave up my identity for him.  I changed so many things about me.  My friends.  He didn't like them so I stopped dealing with them.  My appearance; he thought I should lose weight.  I did.  If he'd told me to give up my job, I think I would have.  When I think about it, I get angry,”  I said squeezing the steering wheel.  “If he asked me to move in with him, I would have done that too despite any religious beliefs that I held.  I would have given him my all if he'd just asked.”

            “You did,” he stated quietly.

            “I know.  I thought I needed a man in order to be a complete woman.  I couldn't be happy unless, I was attached to some man.  I walked into that relationship as a very needy woman.”

            “You could have married him,” he warned.

            “Yes, I could have.  But he even made that decision.  Not me.”

            “How do you feel about  him now?”

            “Numb,” I said in a matter-of-fact tone.  “I can't say I hate him, because I was forced to start all over again.  I was forced to pick up the pieces and reconstruct my life, but I did it.  I've changed quiet a bit in the past fives.  I'm more independent now.  I decide if I want to see a man— I take the initiative.  I don't wait for things to happen to me.”

            “Does that include me?” he asked.

            “What do you think?” I tried to sound bold and confident, but inside I was scared.  I was afraid to expose myself to the possibility of more rejection.

            “I could have gotten home on my own,” he informed me. “However, I am very  grateful for the ride and the attention,” he smiled licking his smooth, full lips.

            “I needed to do this,” I admitted.  “You are the first man I'm taking the initiative with.  So you'd better be nice to me,” she warned jokingly.

            “Oh I plan to?” he said as his face broke into a broader smile. 

            “Really,” I smiled before becoming quiet.

            The heat was finally making its way up through the car vents.  I felt the chill leaving my body.  The Christmas songs were adding to the comfort of the car ride as I relaxed.

            “Bernethea?”

            His use of my name startled me.  I didn't realize he knew it.  I looked at him in puzzlement.  My eyes questioning his.

            “What?”

            He decided against saying whatever he had intended, but instead said, “Don't go past Susquehanna Avenue.  It's coming up next.  Make a left.  Then drive up to 22nd Street.”

            I tried to adhere to his instructions, but the side street was much more difficult to turn onto from Broad Street.  The snow plows hadn't made it this far north.

            As I eventually made the turn, I cautiously approached a SEPTA transit bus. Its hazard lights were on.  It was almost impossible getting around the  city vehicle and the reluctant passengers as they exited the disabled bus. 

            I could hear the back tires spinning as the driver tried to free himself from the built up snow once the bus was completely empty. 

            “It's the fifth house from the corner.”

            I drove up to the row house and then stopped.

            “Come inside,” he suggested as he gathered his belongings. 

            “No, I'd better get home before these roads become impassable.”

            “I think that's already happened.  I don't want you getting stuck out here in this weather.”

            “I'll be alright once I get onto a main road,” I declined reluctantly. 

            “Please, come inside.” Nile repeated his request.  “The thought of you fighting this weather makes me feel uneasy.  You could even stay here until Christmas,” he suggested causally.

            “What?” I gawked at Nile as he turned toward me with the offer.

            “Spend the Holidays with me, Bernethea,” he encouraged with a slow smile.

            “I— can't do that.”

            “I haven't decorated the tree yet,” he tempted.  “Or baked cookies for that old white guy.  You could help— I know you'd enjoy it.”

            I stammered, “Are you serious?”

            “Completely.  You just admitted to having no plans for the holidays.  Why not spend it with me?”

            “I hadn't expected this,” I remarked almost tempted to accept.  “No— I can't.”

            “Why not?  School is out.  You don't have anything to go home to.”

            “But I'm your professor.”

            “We're on the streets now, Bernethea.  School politics have no place here,” he paused, then said.  “I want to spend Christmas with you.  It hasn't be a pleasant holiday so far.”

            “You don't know me,” I declared.

            “Yes I do.   I know about your fiance.  I know you care about children.  I know we've been seeing each other on Tuesdays and Thursdays for a semester.  And, I know that I've read practically everything you've written.  Is that familiar enough?”

            “I don't want to make a mistake.”

            “I think you want me in your life.  Am I wrong?” he questioned.

            I spoke cautiously, “No.”

            “Then come inside,” he urged.

            “But this isn't right.”

            “Why isn't it?” he asked.  “I do not have anyone in my life and neither do you.  We are both two free adults.  If we want to spend some time together, it isn't wrong.  We aren't breaking any rules,” he whispered playfully.  “I have completed your course.  I'll be transferring from Community College to a four year university this spring.”

            “I want to— ” I admitted.

             “Then park the car.  Or do you want me to do it for you?”

            “I can do my own parking,” I smiled deciding to take a chance.  I chose a space in front of his house.  When I got out, I could see my tail-end was at an angle.  It wouldn't interfere with traffic, but I returned to the driver's seat and realigned the car with the rapidly disappearing pavement.  The snow was really coming down.

            “Is this your house?” I asked in amazement as we stepped onto the porch.  The entrance of the building looked like a mansion.  It was at least three stories high.

            “Yes.  I'm merging this house with the one next door,” he said pointing to the abandoned property beside his home.  “I still have a lot to do.”

            “But it's beautiful,” I said admiring the marble steps barely visible beneath the down coming snow.  The banister gave off the impression of being make of 14 karat gold.  It gleamed in the evening light; it was breathtaking.  The front window was massive and bordering its top was a stained glass design of two boys playing basketball.

            “It's magnificent,” was all I could say.

            “Come on,” He said unlocking the storm door and undoing several locks.  “It's much nicer inside.”

            “I'm sure,” I teased.

            “I mean it's warmer.”

            We passed though a foyer which smelled of freshly cut wood.  It was stacked on both sides of the wall and a circular iron holder contained a large amount of fire logs.

              Nile clicked on a light and I waited for him to open a third door.  This one led us into a gigantic living room.  What instantly caught my eye was his fireplace.  Even in the dim light, I could discern its ivory brick front.  The bricks surrounding its base were also ivory, but the equipment used for stoking and maintaining the fire was a startling red.  The fireplace dominated the entire room.

            “You can take a seat while I start a fire,” he said setting down his keys and his school books.

            “Let me help,” I said depositing my bag on the floor and gathered additional wood from the pile.  “Did you do the construction work in this house?”

            “My brother Chad helped.  It's nowhere near finished.  I got two more stories to go.  And I don't even what to think about the basement.”

            “Is this floor finished?”

            “Yes, it is.  Everything we need is down here except for the bathroom.  That's on the second floor.  But, you'll have no problem getting to it.  Just don't go upstairs for anything else.  Then it could get dangerous.”

            “Don't worry about me.  I follow warnings closely.”

            “The floorboards are solid, but I still have a lot of reappears to do,” he said exiting the room in order to retrieve fire logs.

            I wanted to ask where he slept, but that question could sound leading so I left it  alone.  I instead handed  him the wooden logs and then brushed my hands together ridding them of any sawdust.

            Once the fire was going good, he turned on several other lights.   He then left me to admire his craftsmanship.  His wooden floors gleamed immaculately.  The man had taste.  His furnishings were sparse, but what he did have was showcased to its best advantage.  He had a tangy buffalo leather couch opposite the fireplace and an extremely long glass coffee table. 

            A matching loveseat stood on the far side of the room and its mate sat in the corner leading upstairs.  His staircase was impressive too. 

            There was a black oak  banister and gleaming wooden steps that disappeared from sight as I tried to look pass the second floor landing.  I was tempted to walk up the staircase, but Nile's cautious words brought me back to reality.

            In another corner of the room, barely visible, I noticed what looked like the remnants of colorful Christmas wrapping paper.  A pair of scissors were lying on the floor next to a wooden chair.  Its size looked like it could easily accommodate a big man like Nile.  I assumed he had made it himself.

            “I see you've been wrapping presents!” I said.  “Are you always so messy?” I demanded knowing that was not the case.  One glance at this house told me that he was indeed a very orderly man. 

            “I was in a rush,” said Nile as he walked up behind me.

            “Oh,” I said turning to face him.

            “Here,” he said handing me a cup of cocoa.  “I don't know your taste preference, but try this.  Maybe we drink our hot chocolate the same way.”

            I took it and followed him back to the fireplace.  He indicated the couch, but the floor in front of the crackling fire was more inviting.

            “I'd prefer here,” I said placing the cup on the floor and sitting down beside it.

            “Wait,” he said setting his cup next to mine.  “I have a rug and blankets if you like to sit before the hearth.   You can hang your coat in the foyer.”

            I did so and returned to find him seated before the fireplace with a blanket thrown over his shoulders.  He left a small space for me and my heart skipped a little.

            “Your cocoa is getting cold.”

            I didn't care— to just look at him was enough to keep me warm.  His head was now uncovered and I was once again able to admire its baldness.  He was such a sexy man.  I couldn't help but to stare at him.  His dark eyes curiously glanced at me; I could feel myself swallowing hard.

            Could I be this lucky?  Could this man be mine for the taking?  I found it hard to believe.

            “Should I come over there and get you?” he probed.

            I walked toward him; I crawled into the space he allotted me. 

            “I can't believe you bookcase,” I said allowing my eyes to wander the room.  “It takes up the whole wall.  You must have an extensive collection of hardbacks.  You are an impressive man.”

            “To some people, I might be,” he commented.

            “Oh?” I let the sound escape my lips before I began to speak.  “Are there people out there who aren't affected by your accomplishments?  This house is stunning.  Your writing skills are amazing.  I expect to see your work on the big screen one day.”

            “Thanks.  I'd definitely want you in the audience,” he said graciously. 

            “I wouldn't miss the opportunity to witness the success of a former student,” I said taking a sip from my cup.  “Mmmm this is good.”

            The room was warm, tranquil.  If I wasn't careful, I'd fall a in the presence of this attractive man.

            “Do I impress you?” asked Nile looking down and into my eyes.  There seemed to be laughter in his eyes as he waited for my answer.

            “Ahhh— Yes,” I trailed off.

            “Then that's all the counts,” he smiled taking another sip of his hot drink.

            “Why are you alone?” I asked.  “I know it's not because the woman aren't interested.”

            “It isn't.  I'm simply too picky.  American woman and I do not agree with each other relationshipwise.  Most of them are too self-centered.  All they seem to want is a man to take care of them.  A man who's going to buy them things.  I'm not after that kind of woman.”

            “What kind of companion do you want?” I asked nervously. 

            “Someone strong  A woman that processes some of the qualities of my mother.  She raised seven children by herself.  Five of them are still in South Africa.  She made sure that all of us had the foundations of a good education— no matter how hard she had to work.  So I can't see me talking care of a spoiled woman when my mother endured so much with many of her rewards still unforeseen.  I'm bringing her to the States next year,” he confided.  “I've tried to convince her to come to America permanently, but she won't hear it.  She only wants to visit.”

            “She sounds extraordinary.”

            “She is,” he said and then paused.  “And so are you.”

            “I haven't raised any children.” I said self-consciously. 

            “You still have time.”

            I practically choked.  I didn't know how to answer him, so I instead asked, “Where— is the Christmas tree?  I didn't  see it when I came in.”

            “Afraid of  the future,” he teased.  “I expect to have lots of children.  All  by one woman.”

            “Don't be shy about speaking your mind, Nile,” I taunted.   “Tell me how you truly feel.”

            “I will every time,” he remarked.  “And the tree is up against the wall,” Nile pointed to it.

            “I can't believe it will be Christmas in two days.”

            “But it will be,” he smiled.  “Would you be surprised to know that I have a gift for you?” he asked.  “I don't believe you.”

            “Really,” he declared.  “I had it with me all day.  I was trying to figure out when to give it to you.  Then you offered me a ride home.  So that took care of that.”

            “Stop joking!”

            “You don't believe me?” he pretended to be hurt. “Do you want to open it now?”

            “Are you serious?” I was utterly shocked.

            “Let me get it,” he said attempting to get up.

            My hands pulled him back onto the rug,” No!  It isn't Christmas yet,” I said feeling excited about the new revelation.  This was going to be the first time in years that I'd received a gift from a man who wasn't related to me or a co-worker.

            I continued to examine Nile, “You do not carry a bag so it can't be that big,” I joked.

            “The best things come in small packages,” he said referring to me.

            “Or larger ones,” I said daring him to kiss me.

            He bent down and touched my lips with a brief kiss.  I did nothing, but held my breath.  I wanted to remember the exact way his lips caressed mine.  I wanted to see every expression which crossed his face as he did so.  His breath was sweet.  It smelled like cocoa.  I parted my lips slightly to taste his kiss.  He did not reach out to grab me as I allowed the kiss to linger, but  gradually backed away.

            “I've been attracted to you for a long time?” he said in a husky voice.  His emotions were entrapped in each word he uttered.  “But I never thought this was possible.”

            “I— don't know what to say.”

            “No words are necessary,” he said examining my face.  He draped the blanket around my shoulders.  “We don't need to talk.”

            I had an intense desire to rest  my head against his chest.  I thought about it for several seconds before I did so. 

            Nile did not pull away this time, but watched my every movement.  As I became more comfortable, I felt his lean fingers gently stroke my hair.  They were long strokes that caused me to close my eyes and pressed my face deeper into his chest.

            “You are beautiful,” he said lowering his face to mine.  He delivered another brief kiss which sent my heart racing.  I knew my eyes were wide, unblinking; but I couldn't help it.  Every time his mouth touched mine, I didn't know how to react.

            I wanted to mention our age differences, but was it really a factor?  I did not think so.  I pushed the thought away quickly.

            “What are you looking for in a man, Bernethea?”

            “That's an unusual question,” I smiled while considering an answer.

            “I'm an unusual man.”

            “Are you planning to fit the criteria?” I couldn't help but ask with a playful attitude.

            “'Absolutely,” he said in a cocky voice.

            “Then there's no need to answer the question.”

            “Go ahead anyway.  I want to hear it.”

            I paused briefly then spoke, “I want a man committed to me emotionally— sexually,” I said noting how soft my voice was becoming.

            “Speak up,” he teased.  “What did you say?”

            “I want commitment,” I repeated altering my words slightly.

            Nile smiled again noting the different words I used to express myself this time.

            I laughed and continued, “The man I'm with has to feel comfortable allowing me to pursue my aspirations, but who won't feel threatened by them.”

            “And what about children?  Do you want to have them?”

            “Only if the relationship is what I expect it to be.”

            “And then?  How many would you like?”

            “Seven,” I admitted after thinking for a moment.

            “Just like my mother?”

            “Exactly,” I said hoping he'd kiss me again. 

            I didn't have to wait too long.  He lowered his head again, but unlike earlier in the evening; I did not need to ignore his masculinity. 

            The sight of his black skin was mine to enjoy.  I could let its appearance intoxicate me.  I did not have to worry about his words, because his lips were all I was interested in.  I gladly kissed Nile Ngugi.

            He released a moan that seemed to deepen as our kiss continued.  I gradually pulled away not wanting to move too fast.  I glance up at him and caught my breath.

             His stare was truly seductive.  His eyes were soft and gentle.  He was exhilarating.  I delighted in his presence.  His smell was tantalizing.

            I relaxed in his arms and reached out for my hot chocolate.  As I sipped the peppermint flavored cocoa, I began to simply enjoyed the unexpected holiday cheer of this winter season.

The End