Locks of Love
By Cousin Kim
I was jazzed when I walked in because I could see him out of the corner of my eye; six feet tall, captivating megawatt smile, body like a NFL wide receiver, chocolate brown skin, and long locks.
Instead of looking at him directly, I signed in and greeted those nearest the table. It was Monday night and I was at my salsa class lesson at the church I attend.
So much to do when you're a single girl in L.A. -- so little time.
Speaking to those I recognized along the way, I walked the row of grey padded folding chairs searching for an empty seat that didn't have people on either side of it. I'm big on personal space. It's something I demand.
Luckily, there weren't any seats that met my space requirement except the ones down on the end where he was sitting. Cool.
"Oh hey, you made it," I said casually as if I'd just seen him in that moment. The previous day we'd run into one another at the African Marketplace held in the heart of Black Los Angeles.
His sister was visiting from Ohio and he wasn't sure he'd make it to class that night, but there he was. We had seen each other at service that morning as well. We seemed destined to cross paths.
"My sister decided to take my niece to Disneyland", he revealed. I liked his sister already. I decided then that he was my dance partner for the night, whether he knew it or not.
"Let's pray in", our instructor announced. Our classes always began with prayer. Usually the gist of the prayer was that we were acknowledging and celebrating spirit through dance. Of course, as everyone moved into a circle to join hands I strategically positioned myself next to him. When the prayer was done, we secured floor space next to one another in the rear of the room for warm up.
The warm up always involved some type of hip gyration; a perfect opportunity for me to show off the wealth that God gave me. As he danced on my right, I hoped he noticed my exaggerated movements; after all, they were punctuated for him. The previous week he had complimented me on how I move. I wanted to give him a reason to compliment me again. That was to come later.
"Let's all partner up" our instructor announced. How convenient to have a male partner standing right next to me. Beautiful. I couldn't wait to see his locks sway flirtatiously when he moved with me on the dance floor.
He expertly steered me by pressing his left hand against my right hand and his right hand against the lower part of my waist.
Our instructor said that leading at the top of the body was like throwing a football, so I guess that made me his pigskin for the night!
'Locks man' picked up new steps by watching other men in class and incorporating some of their moves into his spontaneous routine. We glided, we swayed, and we rolled to the music; sometimes with our bodies pressed together with just the right amount of tension and sometimes with our bodies apart as we showed off for one another. That's when I got that compliment I was waiting for. "Damn. Go ahead, girl."
After an hour of separating and coming together we were both gleaming with sweat, but we had smiles on our faces. Finally at the end of the "game", he asked me if I'd like to go dancing outside of class and practice some of what we'd learned. Of course I said yes.
I like my space, but I also like the coming together part. Sometimes being a football isn't so bad.