THE PROMISE

(The confession of a lover)

By Omari Jackson

I could not remember the last time I had a promise worth recollecting. And here was I, before Shaki, a dear one, making me a promise that I am yet to disclose to you. Her eyes flickered, and her 5 -2 frame waited for my response. I was not supposed to give any hard and fast response but I could sense that she was willing to make the kind of sacrifice any man would be glad to have.

Remembering that the promise was made on a Friday, my mind went directly to Friday the 13th, and though I was not the superstitious type, I could not help but grin at my friend, Shaki, and several thoughts came to my mind. In truth, Shaki was a stunning kind of woman, and while I am not ashamed to confess it, I felt it was too soon a time for me to show clearly that she was someone in my heart. She had a cheerful face, which was complemented with her ebony black color. Her voice was low and softer, and it sounded like a melodious tunes of Christmas.

I felt it would be quite unfair, to admit to a woman I had not known in many days that I had the greatest feelings for her, though I could understand that a limited level of confession could serve the purpose. But, could I be blamed for entertaining feelings that seemed I had no control over? I would not give the impression that I was so obsessed with love that I was prepared to chase Shaki around, with my head hung so low, declaring that she was everything I had seen up till that time.

I had heard it being said that love is blind, a declaration that I felt had little support as far as I was concerned. My position is, love possesses qualities, which include self-sacrifice, forgiveness, overlooking of the other's weakness, and considering it insignificant physical appearance of the other, among others. Which means love is not blind but rather infatuation could be. And infatuation, the instant attraction, in the present case, allowing the woman's physical beauty to attract me and to make decisions for me.

I was no fool and I knew that to deal with a woman of such beauty, I needed some care, and a reasonable amount of time to communicate my feelings to her. I know, yes, I know, you may be thinking about the works of human nature, and would be suggesting or saying in your heart that when the heart decides, there can be no turning back.

But at the same time, I felt I needed time to come to know her. On few occasions that I had worked briefly with her, I had stolen some glances, at her, and had always prompted her to talk with me.

I am not sure she even observed my subtle actions, but being a woman of superior beauty, I could not fail to imagine that she would just open herself up to me, without even presenting any opposition. In truth, Shaki’s plump body was in all practical purposes black with that kind of face that sometimes sings melodies to a person in love, if you know what I mean. Her hair was long, wavy, and dark brown. Then what seemed to accomplish her make-up were her grey-green eyes. Her beauty made me wonder about the creation of God and how delicate the man up there might have seen his handiwork and be proud of it. And again how pleased He was when He fashioned the first man and his wife with clay! I must confess that the beauty in human nature has always been a source of inspiration and wonder to me. And truly this is the moment that some sentimental melodies would flutter in my heart and mind. I would be at peace with my self.

There was no argument that I was enchanted at the young woman's beauty. And a subsequent event confirmed my expectation.

She was deciding to take her lunch and either by accident or design, our eyes met. She flushed, and I could see a dimple on her left corner of her mouth. I was not sure but she resembled a certain woman that I had known when I was in Africa. All the same, Shaki appeared to me a perfect woman, the kind that one could offer praise full of admiration and gladness.

Then one day, which was the same Friday the-yet-to-be-known-promise was made, she was busy with one of the three slicing machines that we usually used at the store. I was then in search of a kit, like a roast beef kind for a customer. I was not sure why I went to the very slicing machine she was standing behind, and whether I was confused or I had lost my mind, my gaze centered on her, and found myself, slicing what I didn’t need.

It became apparent to me that she realized my confusion and made an effort to rescue me from it. I could feel her breath so close to me, and lifting up my eyes, my soul entangled with hers. I was not sure if she felt the kind of emotional sensation I felt, but in an instance, she had brought me up to my senses, and I was sane again.

I am not sure if I was being realistic with the inner sensations that seemed to dictate my reactions. And I must confess that those sensations were moving me in a direction that I fantasized would create the possible avenue to give me some level of satisfaction.

In truth the young woman made a great deal of impression on my mind, and it was apparent that I was love-struck.

With that said, how could I not have loved her? Her 150lb frame matched her easy slithering movements, and when she walked, her behind responded to the steps she took, moving this way and that way. Her hands sat proportionately by her sides.

Her voice exuded the kind of tenor, in the classical fashion, which the gods in ancient Greece had always fought to capture by using violence. And completing her shape was the perpendicular stretch of her shoulders. It always reminded me of a woman whose presence on this earth was to pronounce how majestic the creative act of God was, since the fall of Adam.

It could be reasoned that I had been over descriptive of the young woman’s natural beauty, but this could be understood since in fact I had the opportunity to observe her closely with the eye of an eagle, and therefore I deserved the honor to paint my fair lady with the kind of descriptive word painting that I could command to my assistance. For, it is not my intention to send a wrong message.

And since I do not intend to create any wrong impression I can only point out that my friend Shaki made an elegant promise, based on another promise that if she found my narrative about her interesting and also consistent with her nature and personality, she would deliver to me, without any strings attached, the most valuable gift, worth offering to a beloved friend.

And to be honest, as I write these lines, my heart palpitates, unable to conceal its anxiety for the gift that only Shaki could give unconditionally, on the morrow, or when we would meet in the future.

Truly, I could not wait to meet her again!