In too many other films the female leads were bitter and angry, either slicing clothes in a fit of rage or lighting them on fire. And if they weren’t bitter, they were trying to steal a man from a woman who herself would soon be bitter. But not Meg. Meg was my girl. At least she was my girl. Wait—a movie with Meg and Denzel? Not Denzel! Tom Hanks and Kevin Kline you can have. Billy Crystal you can really have. But not Denzel. Denzel was holy, pure, set aside like the last swig of Kool-Aid or the last piece of grandma’s sweet potato pie. Denzel was sacred. Denzel was ours . Ya’ll already have Brad Pitt, George Clooney, even Sean Connery (who, I might add, is still one fine ponytail-wearing white man). But let us keep Denzel. You can’t have him.

He’s the soul stud of the ghetto. The black prince of the silver screen. Our generation’s Sidney Poitier. I mean, I’m down with a colorblind society, but Meg and Denzel together on screen getting it on was keeping too much hope alive! We wouldn’t see Angela Bassett and Brad Pitt together in a love scene. ’Cause trust me, they know. Once Brad goes black, Jennifer Aniston will never ever get him back.

A movie with Meg and Denzel I had to see for myself. I sat up in the bed, poised, ready to scream in protest. Picket signs standing by. Half an hour went by, nothing. An hour, nothing. The movie started and ended and there was nothing. They weren’t even on the screen at the same time. I sighed. I was relieved. He was still pure, sacred, and undefiled.

I called for a 9 a.m. wake up call and dozed off watching another movie. The next morning I headed to the airport for my 11 a.m. flight to St. Louis. My Saturday was pretty routine except for an irate passenger in first class. The situation with Damon kept popping into my head, as well as Sam’s words. Same actions, same outcome. New actions, new outcome. I realized my same action with Damon had led me to my same outcome but I kept trying to push it out of my mind.

That night, back at my hotel in St. Louis, I looked forward to my flight home in the morning, when I could relax and regroup. It seemed as if I had just fallen asleep and was in the middle of a dream date with Denzel when—

“RRRrrring!!!”

I had forgotten to turn my phone off. I hoped it wasn’t the airline telling me that my flight home had been delayed. I glanced at the clock and it was 4:15 in the morning, four and a half hours before my flight was scheduled to leave.

“Hello?”