it has GOT to be me

This morning I woke up a little later than planned. I pushed my satin mask from my eyes to my forehead and could see through the large, open window that the sun was already high in a perfect blue sky.  I started the kettle for my tea and walked straight out the front door to feel the day’s warmth on my face. You will not believe what I saw.

Sitting neatly where a welcome mat ought to have been were three books: The Eat Clean Diet, The Eat Clean Diet Cookbook, and Brown Sugar 2: Great One Night Stands. Umm, WHAT?! A note between crisp pages said simply, “Ms. Lone, enjoy!! –Samuel”

Again, WHAT?!

Samuel is a tall, unassumingly handsome 30-something who lives in my building on the floor above me.  I hardly know him at all.  I run into him on occasion while heading to or from the laundry room, but most often, (and most recently) I’ve seen him on my way home from the gym. We exchange pleasantries and nothing more. As a matter of fact, although he’s been here for years, I didn’t even remember his name was Samuel until I read his signature on the note he left.

As for the diet books–I’m going to assume he believes me a health nut based on the fact that he almost always sees me sweaty, in my workout fits from Lululemon. Another option would be to presume he thinks I need to lose weight, but, for reasons I don’t even have to state aloud, that is an idea I refuse to entertain. The third option, is he just needed something to place on top of the sex book he left, so no one would know it was there.  I am inclined to lean toward option 1,  but this still only explains the presence of the first two books. Nothing about it gives him any reason to offer me a self-proclaimed “collection of erotic Black fiction.”

Are you looking for a one-night stand with me, Sammy? Did you want to create some erotica of our own?  Have you seen a White or Mexican guy leaving my place before and think you should prove to me that “once I go Black…?” Because I’m not really interested. Leaving a book like that was a really weird thing to do, and it’s not fair that now every time I see you around my own apartment I will feel awkward. I didn’t do anything weird. And for the record, I date plenty of Black guys.

If I wanted to make a statement, I could leave the books outside his place, with a note saying something like “thanks, but no thanks.”  If I chose to be perfectly frank, I could knock, and tell him that I found his gift entirely inappropriate.  The truth is, though, I don’t even know for sure which unit he’s in, and the more-than-likely embarrassing confrontation is something I would rather do without.  But just so it’s clear, internet, THESE are the men I attract. it has GOT to be me.

And so what if I might be kind of a tiny bit curious to know what’s contained in chapter 7, “Mister Good Lay”. Summertime reads are supposed to be trashy, right?

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