“I’m doing my thang, you know. Pimping this record game. Trying to do it to them, before they do it to me.” Taking a pause, his eyes became pointed, as he seemed to direct all of his attention toward me. “It’s no coincidence that we bumped into each other at the airport.” I smiled to myself, knowing what he didn’t.

“No, for real. I’m starting to think things happen for a reason. You know, like maybe bumping into you was a sign. Like maybe we was meant to be.”

Looking into his eyes, it didn’t matter that his subject verb agreement was always wrong. Or that port is a dessert wine to be sipped after the dinner and not before. What mattered to me was that he was real. And, from the look in his eyes, he was sincere.

“On the real, the streets ain’t like they once was. All the players got a woman, one woman. Russell got Kimora. Puffy had J-Lo. Master P., Uncle L., Dr. Dre, Snoop, they all married. Days of being solo are done. Brothers are locking down, trading in their player cards for models and movie stars.”

“Yeah, but Jennifer Lopez is Hispanic, and Kimora is Asian. So that means that you would need an international woman, right?”

“Naw, that’s them. I like having a woman that looks like my momma. I don’t want to be hanging out with the in-laws for Thanksgiving and they serving enchiladas, or shrimp fried rice. I want some ham, some collard greens, and some corn pudding. You know what I’m saying?!”

We laughed. Damon could always make me laugh. He was fun. He was young. And he was real. For a second I wondered what it was that had torn us apart in the first place.

“Hello, Damon. Didn’t you get my two-way?”

Okay, now I remember. Standing over our table was a beautiful woman, her hair in a fly twisted up-do, dressed in tan leather boots and a body-hugging wool dress. She flashed her eyes over me, looking as if I had something that belonged to her that she was now ready to claim. Then she locked firmly on Damon, waiting for his response.

Yeah, now it’s coming back to me. Damon was a ladies’ man, and there was always some woman approaching us like a chef, seasoning and ladle in hand, all too eager to stir up some drama. Drama that eventually led to me being upset, him getting upset, and both of us promising to never call each other again. Though for a while our promises were empty, the last time they were honored. We just stopped calling each other. I thought maybe years later, things might have been different. Unfortunately I was wrong.

“Montana, meet Janine. Janine, meet Montana, the woman that I had hoped would one day become my one, my wife.”