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Jream Writer

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Member Since: Jun, 2007

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By Jream Writer
Sunday, June 10, 2007

Rated "PG13" by the Author.

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· The Check-Out Line
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A woman stumbles upon her first love, only to discover, he is now gay.

Imagine a New York City street corner, polluted with pedestrians during evening rush hour. Picture a Hispanic woman with two small children at her hip, waving her hand through smog that’s rising from the side crevasses of a manhole cover as she suffers an unavailing effort to hail a yellow taxi from the bypassing array dashing down the street in front of her. Find me among the crowd, trying to jaywalk through a congested intersection, like many native New Yorkers do, like we are impervious to being struck by an ill-tempered motorist. Zoom in on me, among the crowd, and see what I see. Visualize the truck, the one that took a pothole dip and trembled the concrete, startling still, halting my stride across the crosswalk, forcing me to take notice of the words “Wash Me!” which were finger-etched into the grimy thick film of filth that saturated the vehicle’s corroded eggshell white paintjob.
Nevertheless, despite with all the distractions and commotion abounding, the madness of Manhattan did not hinder me from noticing Alfie.
Nine years had past since I had last seen him, the love of my youth. At first, from afar, about one hundred yards away and still separated by the myriad of obstructions that congregated the four-way intersection, the distance between us prohibited me from making a definitive facial identification. However, because I was able to distinguish his signature thuggish bop from the treks of the clods of other men that strode along the corroded southbound sidewalk, everything inside me knew it was Alfie. A woman always knows what is, or what was once, hers. A woman can decipher her man from a sea of men, as if his scent, his essence, or better yet, his pheromones silently attract and beckon her.
Alfie had come out of the bodega on 149th Street and Broadway in Harlem, the corner opposite mine, and had begun walking southbound in the direction of 148th Street. “Excuse me. Pardon me. Excuse me.” I said to a several attitudes as I tried to maneuver past this person and that person in a desperate attempt to maintain a visual of my first love from the northbound side of Broadway.
Vehicles driven by unrelenting motorists vvvroomed past me, seemingly, purposefully, interfering with me getting to Alfie, who was moving farther and farther out of view on the other side of Broadway. For panic, I gave into the notion of jaywalking and crossed over the tree-line center median, as oppose to hightail it down to the 148th Street northbound corner and pray that the green [WALK] signal would illuminate just in time for me to run across the intersection.
When I finally made it to the other side of the street, Alfie’s moving position was between 148th Street and 147th Street, still walking southbound. However, as Alfie approached the 147th Street corner, another crowd of pedestrians filled the crosswalk along with him and Alfie became camouflaged by the mob, just as a lion would blend into the tall yellow thatching grasses of the Serengeti in Africa. He’s gone, I thought, and I began to fret. How could I have been so close to him and have missed such an opportunity to orchestrate a reunion with my first love?
Just then, as I was about to give up and turn away, I noticed his thuggish bop again, prominent through the sea of heads and an excited nervousness came about me. I felt like a love struck teenager again and before vanished from view again, I yelled his name to the top of my lungs. “Alfie!”
I saw his broad-shouldered body halt in the distance and, as if my voice was still familiar to his ears, he turned to face the crowd behind him and squinted to find the face letting out the cries, “Alfie, wait! Wait for me! It’s Asha!” When I announced my name and in heart-fluttering second in which our eyes met, Alfie jaw dropped, as a child would after finding a prayed for gift under the tree on Christmas morning.
Once face-to-face, I was captivated by Alfie’s maturity and beauty. The boy I had fallen in love with as a young teenager was now a man. A delectable piece of eye candy, Alfie looked good enough to eat. His dark complexion made his pearly whites stand out and I melted as I stole a moment to remember our love as I gazed into his chestnut colored eyes. I extended my arms to caress Alfie, and almost nervously, he took me into his arms. “Asha,” was all he said and he exhaled as though he were in Heaven. After the embrace, we reluctantly stepped away from one another and I took in yet another visual of him. Alfie was like a giant in comparison to my memory of him, he had to stand over six feet, two. He wore a skin-tight T-shirt that accentuated the bulge of his massive, muscular arms. The sight had me craving him to embrace me once more but I was blinded when I took a step towards him. The sunrays that had pierced around the buildings standing behind him, suddenly gave him the aura of a god and I was breathtaken.
Short lived, yet never-the-less special, were those few moments I shared on that corner with Alfie. I enjoyed gawking over his physical improvements, his changes. However, the abrupt nature in which we parted led me to ponder over what other alterations, changes, may have taken place in Alfie’s life.
Maybe I didn’t want to notice that his T-shirt was two sizes too small. Maybe I wanted to believe he hesitated towards our greeting with a hug for reasons of shock over seeing me again. Maybe the very handsome man that took Alfie by the hand affectionately, all the while issuing me a possessive glare as he led my first love away from me on the corner of 148th Street and Broadway was his brother. Maybe.
I cannot be certain that every man that who starts out being attracted to only women, remains only attracted to women throughout the rest of their lives but regardless of what changes Alfie may have undergone in time apart, my thoughts and wishes will always be in favor of his happiness, but that politically correct statement doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t have loved a second chance at love with him.

       Web Site: Jreamwriter's - Alfie

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