Mike sat at the table across from his long time girlfriend. It may not have been that long, but it seemed like a long time. So, whenever he was asked, he referred to her as his long-time girlfriend. He looked into her eyes. They were brown, but a different shade of brown that made her look like she belonged on the cover of a magazine or walking down a runway. They sparkled when she smiled and even when she frowned. They were not sparkling that day. In fact, they had not sparkled in weeks.

She invited Mike over to talk. When he arrived, there were no pleasantries. No good to see you. No, I miss you. No passionate kisses. She asked him to sit. She directed him to the kitchen table, not the sofa where they had spent so many evenings snuggled together watching movies. She didn’t direct him to the bedroom where they made so many memories. She directed him to the kitchen where they spend the least amount of time. She rarely cooked and he never ate her food when she did.

Mike remembered their chance meeting at a free concert on the last day of August. Outdoors and nestled underneath the park’s oak trees, he asked her name. She said that she had a boyfriend. He was never able to determine if that had been the truth or not, but he persisted. He engaged her with jokes and charm. They enjoyed an intelligent and playful conversation while some new artist whose name he would never remember serenaded their first meeting like the soundtrack to a movie. Occasionally she would hum that tune when they were together. Mike would smile. She would smile back. It had been two years since then. She seemed to smile less each day.

She leaned back in her chair as she spoke. Mike surmised that she was pulling away, leaning back from him instead of leaning forward to be closer. She rambled while stuttering over words that were part of her everyday lexicon. She struggled to make meaning. She wanted Mike to understand and not be upset in the process. Mike knew he could do one of those things, either understand or not be upset. He was not going to do both. He chose to not be upset. At that point, he stopped listening to her run on sentences and broken fragments with no beginning or end. He did not need to understand.

She stopped talking hoping that she had made her position clear. She sighed and reached out for Mike’s hand. He shook his head and stood to leave.

“Do you have anything to say?” she asked.

“I think you said it all,” Mike replied. He spoke without malice or hurt. He spoke matter of factly.

“Do you understand why we have to break up? Do you understand how I feel?”

“No, but I’m not upset about it.”

Mike walked out of her spacious one bedroom apartment. His mind replayed scenes from the past two years. He really thought this was the one. He was wrong. He jumped into his Honda Accord and started the ignition. He looked back at her apartment building that sat in the middle of the block in a neighborhood he never knew existed until he met her.

“Damn,” Mike muttered to no one. “I’m going to miss that apartment.”

©2026

A Love Story in Parts

Part 4

E BLACK

©2026

REFLECTION

CJ pulled me close. We stood closer than we ever had before. I could feel his breath getting stronger and his heartbeat skipping. I froze for a second, then pulled away.

“Hey,” I started.

CJ looked at me with confusion. He started to speak, but paused. Then he finally said, “What’s up?”

“You wanna eat? I’m hungry. Are you hungry?”

“Sure,” CJ said reluctantly. He knew that something else was on my mind, but he also knew that he didn’t want to know what that was. “I’ll tell you what. Go pour us some wine. I’ll bring out the plates.”

I looked over at the open containers. Nothing looked familiar.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Food.”

“What kind of food?”

“Vegan food,” CJ said defiantly. “I’m a vegan.”

“You are a lie. We just had pizza yesterday.”

“Well, I’m a vegan today.”

I walked out of the kitchen smirking and shaking my head. I enjoyed that brief moment when it felt like I was just hanging out with my best friend and not someone who was in love with me. I swallowed my glass of wine and poured another. I found CJ’s glass and filled it with wine. I set both glasses down on the dining room table and sat.

I thought about some topics of conversation. I was disappointed with myself because I had never had to think of a topic of conversation with CJ in my life. Everything felt off. It felt forced and uncomfortable. I felt like I wanted to leave, but wanted to stay at the same time. I didn’t want to lose my friend just because he loved me. I was lost in that thought when I heard music seeping through whatever sound system CJ had hooked up in his condo. I looked around for speakers or a device. I found nothing. I thought CJ was smooth as a friend. He was even smoother as a boyfriend.

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The year was 1996 and it was called Proposition 209. It was on the ballot for the world to see. We assumed it was just more political rhetoric, but it passed. The great State of California passed a law to amend the state constitution to prohibit state governmental institutions from considering race, sex, or ethnicity, specifically in the areas of public employment, public contracting, and public education. Anyway, that’s what the law said. What people heard was, “I don’t have to do what’s right anymore and you can’t make me.”

Those were crazy times. Bill Clinton won the presidency again and times were good. The deficit was eliminated. Unemployment was down. Bill Clinton rejoiced because he thought the good times would go on forever. And they did for a while, but times would not be good for Bill Clinton much longer. That is another story for another day. America was celebrating its first post racial experience. At least, that is what some Americans thought. So, they surmised that there was no need for any preferences in hiring or contracting or education. Most of us knew that wasn’t true. The rest of the world would learn this during the racial pandemic. That life changing experience would occur decades after the election of the first Black president and the last post racial movement. But I am getting ahead of myself.

Life happened. Days turned into weeks and weeks became years. Someone, who looked strangely like the person I used to be, showed up on the campus at the University of California, Los Angeles. The world knew it as UCLA. That guy, the one who had not been crushed by life and still had hope in abundance, glided onto that campus with a stride in his step. Shoulder length locks blew in the early spring wind. He was in awe of the campus itself, its history, its reputation, its ability to constantly reinvent itself.

By the time he had made it to the office in the College of Education that held his fate, he had grown despondent. Fear had entered his soul. While he was hopeful, he was aware that things may not go his way. He started his journey several months prior. He had found his calling in life much later than some, but still earlier than most. He threw himself into his profession. They called him a warm demander, a term he would grow to love and hate. He told himself that he was going to change the world. The last piece of world domination for the betterment of all mankind was behind that office door. He took a deep breath and knocked.

A lady, shorter than the fifth graders he taught, emerged from behind the door. Her wispy brunette hair looked as if it was grasping at her scalp for life. Her skin, red from too much time in the sun and white from not enough melanin, was bathed in abhorrence. Years later, the clinical term would be called “Karen.” She looked him up and down, took one step toward him, and closed the door behind her. She did this, presumably, so he would not try to enter the office. She stood defiantly between his dream and his doom.

“Yes,” she said stoically.

“Hey,” he said as jovial as possible. “I applied to the doctorate program. I didn’t get in. I was wondering if there is anything that I could do differently when I reapply.”

“Don’t bother,” she said.

He looked confused because he was confused. He said nothing because he knew that she would.

“You see,” she continued, “a few years ago, we passed a law.” She actually said we. “We don’t have to let you in our schools anymore. Preferential treatment is over. Besides, we already have one.”

She casually pointed at a picture of the last cohort of doctoral students affixed to a bulletin board in the center of the outer office. His eyes followed her crooked finger until they landed on a picture of one Black face among a sea whiteness. Her smiling face showed the sadness of being alone in a crowd. He knew that look all too well. It was the mask worn to appease those who sought comfort in the destruction of others. His eyes returned to the woman. She was smiling, reveling in her ability to destroy his dream. He surprised himself by smiling back.

“Well,” he sighed. “There is always something better.” He thought about turning to leave but stopped himself. “You see, better is something that you will never be.” With that, he turned and left the office. He did not wait for a reply.

He never reapplied. Instead, he applied to the University of Southern California. He attended, graduated, and became the person he was meant to be. Better.

©2026

A Love Story in Parts

Part 3

E BLACK

©2026

ANXIOUS

I took an early lunch. I saw her before she saw me. Even bundled up in the cold, I could spot Lakeefa as she sauntered across Michigan Avenue. I tried to call out to her, but the words got stuck in the frigid cold air and jumbled in my mouth. I darted across the street and rushed to catch up to my first ex-wife. As I came up behind her, she suddenly turned around. A look of menacing anger was on her face. It was a look that I knew all too well. It softened once she recognized me. She smiled.

“Boy,” Lakeefa said. “You almost got swung on. You know you can’t be trying to sneak up on me like that. That gets you hurt.”

She reached for a hug. I reciprocated. I felt safe and warm in her arms even through her coat. Lakeefa always made me feel like I was the only person in the world. She made me feel wanted. She made me feel love.

“How you been?” I asked, teeth starting to chatter.

“You know, everything is everything. Ain’t nothing changed.”

“Where are you headed?”

“I’m going to grab some coffee or hot chocolate or something. It’s freezing out here.”

“Can I walk with you? I’m on my lunch break. I might as well get some coffee too.”

“You look like you need a sandwich. Damn near skin and bones. That coat is falling off you. You losing weight? Come on. Lunch is on me today.”

Lakeefa and I walked in silence to a nearby cafe. Ice and packed snow crunched under the soles of our shoes. We were careful as we watched for the spots of hidden ice that could send us falling to the pavement. The sound of the city echoed around us. It was the backdrop that filled in the spaces where words were not enough.

We reached the cafe. It was nearly empty. We ordered. Lakeefa ordered a coffee for herself and a hot chocolate and pastrami sandwich and fries for me. Lakeefa paid and we grabbed a table. Lakeefa slid out of her coat. She looked amazing. Her voluptuous frame was accented by a tight fitting gray sweater and matching form fitting wool pants. Her hair was in the braids that she often wore in the winter so that she wouldn’t have to worry about getting her hair done. I looked her up and down several times.

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“You look great,” I said.

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It was a Friday and I was standing in line at the grocery store. I remember it was a Friday because the grocery store had these incredible sales on Friday. Whole cakes were five dollars. I was always tempted to buy one. Rotisserie chicken was on sale, but I had given up meat years ago. Sixteen ounce pre-mixed bottles of old fashioned were five dollars each. Old fashioned was the drink that consumed me at the time. So, I was at the grocery store to swoop up a bottle or two or three of old fashioned.

I was drinking a little more than usual because, you know, I was still a Black man in America and things had gotten to the point where there wasn’t a moment in my day that I could forget about the struggle. I tried to drink enough to give me a little bit of peace. It was never enough. If I went to bed drunk and woke up the same way, I was still faced with stark realizations. Those realizations were filling most of my days. It was becoming more difficult to be strong all the time. So, I felt entitled to have an old fashioned every now and then.

Anyway, I was standing in line. I couldn’t use the self checkout because I was buying the stuff that the comic/singer used to blame it on. I had surveyed all of the lines. Shorter didn’t always mean faster. I mean, that one cashier was going to talk to everyone like they were old friends. The other one went so slowly, I once threatened to ring up myself. So I settled for the new person. She seemed nice, not too chatty, but still learning how to tap the register keys and toss the item at the same time. I chose her. It was working. Step. Step. Step. And then I was the next person in line.

Then, something to my right caught my attention. I briefly saw it out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head and came face to face with my sister. I think I said out loud, “What are you doing here? At the grocery store? You came to town and didn’t tell me?” I thought that I said that out loud, but I wasn’t sure until she spoke back. She said, “The question is what are you doing here?”

I didn’t have an answer. You see, my sister passed away a few months back. Breast cancer. I had spent the following months going through all types of emotions. Anger. Hurt. Sadness. I went through all the stages of grief. Along with dealing with being the only Black man at my job, I also felt alone for the first time in my life.

“I’m getting something to drink,” I struggled to say. I was slightly embarrassed because my sister did not drink nor did I ever drink around her.

“That’s not going to help,” she replied. “Besides, you can’t drink it, not anymore.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because you are not here. You’re at home in your bed.” She smiled. It was the kind of smile where only the sides of your mouth go up, but no teeth are showing. “Brother,” she paused. “You died last night. Heart attack. They sent me to get you.”

“They?” I questioned.

“You’ll see,” she said. “Come with me.”

“You’re not a monster or anything, are you?”

She laughed, “No. I’m your sister.”

“How do I know that?”

“Because I promised.”

And that’s when I woke up. I was both happy and sad when she appeared in my dream. I slowly got out of bed, stretched, and remembered that it was Friday and I was out of bottles of pre-mixed old fashioned.

©2026

A Love Story in Parts

Part 2

E BLACK

©2026

RETREAT

We rode home in silence. My silence seemed louder than CJ’s. I tried not to look at him. I tried not to breathe. I didn’t want to make any sounds. We had eaten the rest of our pizza without saying another word. I ordered and drank two more martinis. I can’t remember how many CJ drank, but I remember thinking that his declaration could only mean that he had already had too many. What was he thinking? And how long had he been thinking it?

CJ pulled the car over to the curb. He let out a sigh and said, “You good?”

I looked straight ahead. “No,” I snapped. I slowly turned my head to face CJ. He was looking at me with his golden hued face and almond brown eyes. I looked deep into his eyes and saw something that I had never seen before. Affection.

“Sorry about that,” CJ said rather nonchalantly.

“What was all that about?” I was irritated.

“It slipped out. Kinda.”

“So, it’s true. You weren’t joking?”

“I don’t joke. I’m a lot of things, but a joker is not one of them.”

“So, who are you, Batman?”

“Probably. Maybe. I’m probably more Superman, but never the Joker.” CJ’s mood changed. He became more somber. “I’m sorry Trey. I wish I could take it back.”

“Me too, I think.”

“You think?” CJ asked with a quizzical look on his face and a furrowed brow.

“I don’t know. You are my best friend. This is my longest friendship. I have known you longer than I have known myself. I’m confused. The person who knows me best just said that he was in love with me. Not to mention that the friend that I have had all my life just told me that he was gay. Like damn, you couldn’t have told me that like decades ago?”

“I’m not gay. I didn’t say I was gay. I said that I was in love with you. That is not the same thing.”

“It sounds like you are gay.”

“I’m not gay. I don’t identify as gay. Work on your understanding of the culture.”

“What culture!” I said a little louder than I wanted to.

“My culture,” CJ said calmly. “I’m not gay.”

“Then what are you, bisexual?”

“I identify as pansexual.”

“What the hell is that?”

“I’m attracted to whomever I’m attracted to. I love who I love.”

“Sounds like a bisexual to me.”

“It’s not. Do you want to go upstairs and talk?”

“No. I mean, not right now. I have a lot of questions, but I can’t do this right now.”

I wished my exit was more dramatic, but I bundled up before I stepped out of the car and into the frigid weather of the young winter. After I made sure my gloves were secure on my hands and my skullcap was tight around my ears, I looked back at CJ. He looked both like he wanted to talk and he was over the whole situation.

“I’ll see you later,” I said.

“Dude,” CJ started trying to sound as sincere as possible. “Don’t sweat this. Don’t overthink this. I know you. Don’t do too much. Just let it be.”

“Yeah. Alright, I’ll try.” I opened the car door and immediately felt the cold air beating my face like a prizefighter.

“And don’t slam my car door. This ain’t an old Buick.”

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A Love Story in Parts

Part 1

E BLACK

©2026

LOST

I was lonely. I was thirty years old and ending my second marriage. I felt like a two time loser. I wanted to give up on love because it seemed that love didn’t love me back, but I still believed in love. I wanted to be in love. I tried to make my marriage work. Actually, I tried to make both marriages work, but I still failed miserably. Loser. Both marriages ended with my wife putting me out. I didn’t understand how I could fail twice. I did all the things that I knew would make me the best husband. I was faithful and attentive. I asked about their day. I showered them with kisses and affection. I presented them with flowers. I brought my paycheck home, as meager as it was, and let my wife control the money just as my father had done with my mother. My parents were my role models. They loved each other and were never afraid to show it. They always looked like they were in love. Their marriage lasted for thirty five years until my father died last spring.

After my second marriage crumbled like the feta cheese my wife loved to put on her grilled chicken salad, I rented a small one bedroom apartment on the South Side. The apartment was not only small, but empty. Boxes with clothes still inside were stacked on one side of the bedroom. I purchased an air mattress so that I wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor. The air mattress was fully blown up and located in the middle of the bedroom. Other than that, the bedroom was empty. The white walls were bare. The wooden floor was slightly scruffed and cold to the touch. No rugs or carpet provided the needed warmth or protection for the late night trips from the bedroom to the bathroom. In fact, there was no warmth or protection emanating from the room where I slept. The bedroom was the only room that held anything more than sadness. Every other room was empty and cold like the center of my broken heart.

I stared out of the dirty bedroom window. Snow flurries skittered around the paved alley just outside the window. It was cold outside. It was cold inside too, but outside looked cold. It was usually cold in Chicago in December, but that year seemed colder than ever before. It was that time of year when everything was going to die and you weren’t sure if it would ever grow again. It matched the feeling deep inside me. Cold with skittering flurries. I stared out the window and let out a loud sigh.

In a way, I felt fortunate. I had some money saved. I had decent credit. I had the ability to rent an apartment, however cheap. After my first divorce, I had nothing. I was forced to return to my parent’s home. My father gave me disapproving looks every morning over breakfast. He shook his head as he said aloud that he wondered how I couldn’t keep a woman satisfied. “I’ve been with your mother since time began, but I still know how to satisfy my woman,” he said daily. “Whatever she asks, I do. Whatever she wants, I get it for her. You don’t know how to do that?” I was sad that my father was no longer here. I missed him more each day. But I was relieved that I didn’t have to hear his commentary on how I couldn’t keep a woman. I had two chances at love and marriage and they both ended the same way, in divorce. I wanted to redeem myself, but I wasn’t sure that I would ever get another chance. How many loves of your life can anyone have? I was thinking that the limit was two. I had used all of my chances. I didn’t have any left.

My attention returned to the alley. Nothing was moving except the wind. I noticed a plastic bag that had gotten caught in the swirl of wind that made its way down the alley. I ran my hand across my scruffy beard. I hadn’t shaved in a week. I hadn’t eaten in days. I hadn’t felt the warm tenderness of love in months. I missed that the most. I needed a hug. It started to show in my appearance. I lost some weight. It was only a few pounds, but some of the people at work noticed. My clothes weren’t fitting the way they used to. My saddened face drooped. I had not been to the barber. My hair looked like I had given up on life and I had. Then there was the scruffy beard that no one liked, but I didn’t have the energy to shave.

I was served divorce papers at work. I was sitting at my cubicle doing a job that I hated, but paid the bills. I remember thinking that I had a college degree. I should have a better job. I looked up and some guy was standing over me with a white envelope. He was tall and somewhat menacing. He wore a black overcoat and black fedora. His bushy mustache took over his top lip. His eyes glistened and a smirk appeared on his face. He looked like he enjoyed creating chaos in the lives of others. In fact, he looked like chaos in a human form. I looked at him with wonder and surprise. He said something like, “You’ve been served.” And then he was gone. I wondered how he had gotten past security and the front desk. I wondered how he knew where I sat. I opened the envelope and found out that I was getting divorced. Again. I read the notice briefly and shoved it back into the envelope. I was embarrassed. I had hoped that no one saw the interaction with the stranger who knew my name and handed me my doom. I knew I was going to have to answer a million questions about who that was and what he handed me. I wasn’t prepared for that.

I quickly walked out of the office. I took the elevator to the first floor and walked outside into the autumn breeze. It was windy, but unseasonably warm. Suddenly, I felt so cold. I rubbed my hands together and blew into them for warmth. I pulled out my cell phone and pressed the contact for “wifey”. It rang endlessly before going to voicemail. I pressed end and called again. It went straight to voicemail. I called a third time. Voicemail again. I was confused. That morning, I made my wife breakfast, reminded her that we were having dinner with her friends that evening, and kissed her goodbye. I assumed the paperwork was meant for a different Clyde Ellison III, but I couldn’t confirm that until I spoke to my wife. As far as I knew, I was in a happy and loving marriage. Divorce wasn’t anything that we talked about. We had never had a disagreement of any kind, not even about what we should eat for dinner. As far as I knew we were happy. If not happy, we were at least content. At least, I was content and I figured she was too. Then I thought for a quick second that maybe content wasn’t something that you strived for in a marriage.

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I’ve always wanted to be a writer.

I had a career in education. I had a family. I raised children.

Now, I’m a writer.

Life Operatic Remix

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Today I Feel Fly

I woke up this morning

Like I had nothing to lose

I woke up this morning

Feeling fresh to death

With a strut in my stride

And a bop in my step

And the wind at my back

And a smile on my face

And a feeling like I belonged someplace.

Today I feel fly

Like I’m earning miles in the sky.

6/2016

Substack 1/2026

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