A Good Thing

by Stacey Evans Morgan

  “After trying every possible way to spell that brother’s name, I got nada,” I explained.

  She reminded me of her theory of no last names meant no cyber stalkers later on.

  But in my case, I wasn’t a stalker. “I enjoyed his company and I felt bad that I left him hanging in Canada.”

  She told me there was no need to feel bad. “His sprained knee turned out to be a serious chick-magnet for your boy. Women were catering to him the duration of the trip.”

  I had to laugh when she said she caught Kendall’s friend, Taylor trying to limp around for sympathy. “Well, good for him. Kendall’s a nice guy,” I said and she made it clear that he looked comfy and cozy with one particular chick.

  Reminiscing about the conversation he and I had on the ski lift, I asked if they were eating pancakes and her puzzled expression brought that discussion to an end.

  I quickly changed the subject, asking her about the young frat boy she was all over last night at the club. “Oh no sweetie, he was all over me and can you blame him? Please don’t hate because I exude an extra amount of sexiness. It’s a blessing and a curse.”

  Karma always kept me laughing and I had to ask exactly how young the guy was. “Let’s just say, he’s a recent college grad but professor Karma may have to teach him some post-graduate lessons... rrrrrroar!”

  That girl was too much and as we continued to discuss her young cub, she got a text from him. “Speaking of my little frat boy toy, looks like somebody wants to take me out to dinner tonight,” she shared as she read his message.

  “Don’t hurt him, Karm,” I joked as she shot me a serious look. “Don’t worry… I will, only in a good way.” She started toward the door and looked around. “When you get this place decorated, I think you should cook for me real soon.”

  “I think you should go home and take a nap before your little friend wears you out,” I warned.

  “Oh, by the preview pic he sent me earlier, there is nothing little about him. But still, I’ll be the one wearing him out.” Karma giggled as she hugged me.

  “I love you too, bye!”

  I giggled at my crazy friend. Although it was still early, I was wide awake so I decided to make some tea, grab my laptop and do some writing while sitting on my balcony. As the ocean breeze kissed my cheeks, I put the laptop down to watch the parade of people and free entertainment strolling the beach boardwalk. I took a seat and began to type: I love L.A.! My city gets a bad rap for being phony, but the real deal is that many of the people who migrate here to become something they weren’t at home, are often the phony ones. Although I know that I will miss the fast pace of the east and the distinct change of seasons, I am happy to be back in California and L.A. natives are actually down to earth people. I am thankful for my friends, as crazy as they are. They love me unconditionally and that kind of love is rare. As I spot a couple strolling the boardwalk, I am determined to explore what makes love so complicated and why Pat Benetar’s old song is so true. Love is a battlefield.

  Music had always been a motivator for me and the day my things arrived I committed myself to shutting-in until all boxes were unpacked, furniture moved in place, pictures and artwork hung, and my place started to feel like me. I played DJ for my unpacking party mixing D’Angelo’s first album, Brown Sugar along with a few others as I continued sorting through the remainder of boxes and reminiscing over various items. I will say, my appreciation for my home state was intensified looking out onto the beautiful sunset over the ocean that served as a welcomed distraction from decorating and unpacking.

  As I danced around to India Airie’s song Cocoa Butter the doorbell rang, and without missing a step I cha-cha’d myself over to open, ready to fuss out Sunny who promised to come earlier to help. Swinging that door open, a multitude of emotions swept through my body as Jonathan was standing there looking sexy as hell.

  “I brought these for you, baby,” he had the nerve to say presenting a beautiful bouquet of my favorite flowers from behind his back.

  I was over Jonathan, really I was, but this fine man who could melt my heart with just a glance was suddenly in my personal space and I was unprepared for how to handle this unexpected visit.

  “I know you’re wondering why I’m here,” he said as he entered my home.

  “Uh, yeah” I responded as I took the flowers and sat them on a nearby end table.

  He took a moment to assess my new place and tried to make small talk while offering compliments on my California décor.

  I looked him dead in the eye. “Don’t try to change the subject. Not only do I want to know why you’re here, but more importantly, how did you know where to find me?”

  He stepped close to me, and simply said, “It’s not hard for me to find what I want.” He leaned closer and whispered in my ear, “And I want you, Pilar.”

  I almost lost my composure. I had to push away because this man had an effect on me but I was not going to be deterred. In the sincerest tone, Jonathan Bradshaw expressed his heart and how huge a mistake it was letting me walk out of his life.

  “Correction. I didn’t walk out of your life, you made that decision, honey,” I said as I snapped back into reality.

  “It was pretty much the worse decision of my life,” he said with the saddest sack eyes ever.

  Not that I cared, but I nonchalantly asked about his friend from the ski trip and as he tried to explain, I cut him off.

  “You know what? I don’t even care because I’ve moved on.” I guess he felt the need to confess. “Like I said before, she was just a friend. That’s it. I called myself trying to get over you, but all I felt was a void in my heart. I need you, Pilar.”

  Here we go I thought to myself right before I started to break it down. “Jonathan, you don’t need me. You just want what you want. And right now, you don’t want to be alone. You’ve never liked being alone. Here’s a news flash… sometimes it’s good to fly solo for a while, to take some self-inventory and learn how to be content with yourself.”

  I was proud of myself, then this man hit me with, “Hey, I’ll admit, I’ve never been good at that. I work better as a team. You know that. Look at how good we used to be together.”

  He was right about that, we were good together. We were an attractive couple, well-connected, stylish, educated, on the road to wealth. Socially, I was the ying to his yang and vice versa. We finished each other’s sentences and shared the same ideologies. A D.C. power couple we most definitely were.

  He wanted to see my ocean view that was unobstructed from my balcony and as he made himself comfortable stepping out onto my deck, I had to stand my ground.

  “If you go from relationship to relationship without ever taking time to heal your mind and your soul, you’ll never be whole, Jonathan.”

  The waves crashed in the background as he moved close to me. “I want to be whole, with you. I miss you.” He gently kissed my hand and pulled me even closer, this time kissing me.

  It was one of those slow, deliberate kisses, tasting every inch of my top then bottom lip.

  “I know you miss me,” he said before kissing me more passionately. I melted in the moment and weakened, kissing those lips I had missed so much. He started kissing my neck and shoulders and proceeded to move down. It was about to go down right on that balcony, putting on a show for all on the boardwalk taking an evening stroll to witness.

  We were all over each other, unbuttoning, unzipping… he was wearing those jeans that I loved on him, and as he tried to lift me up to straddle his waist, somehow, I managed to slip out his grip and come to my senses.

  Adjusting my clothes, I looked him in the eyes. “You need me, you miss me, but you’re not in love with me, honey.” Telling me that he was not in love with me was the hardest thing for me to hear him say. “But guess what? I thank you, because that came from your heart and as much as I would love to enjoy some good ol’ make up sex on the beach… well, on the balcony overlooking the beach, your honesty caused me to search my own he
art and you’re right.” I took his hand and escorted him to the front door. “I deserve real, true love. Goodbye, Jonathan.”

  I closed the door, leaning up against it and after a moment, my cell phone rang. Of course, it was Jonathan but I refused to answer.

  Startled by my ringing cell phone, I was awakened thinking, Really, Jonathan? Give it a rest. As I squinted looking at the phone screen, I noticed my alarm going off. It was at that moment, I realized my visitation from Jonathan was a dream. It was also a wake-up call that it was over this time for real, mind, body and spirit. There wasn’t much time to analyze the dream because I had set my alarm to wake up in time to meet my parents at church and I had to switch gears to get ready quickly.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I arrived at Park Hills Community Church just in time to find a decent parking spot and make it into the sanctuary before service started. I spotted my parents and tipped down the aisle to sit with them. They were happy to see me, mom a bit shocked whispering, “Glad you made it. You’ve been hanging with your friends so much, we didn’t think you had time for us.” I just kissed her on the cheek softening the moment. “Morning, Mom, and the most handsome guy sitting in this church.”

  My dad blushed. “My girl. You need money for the offering?

  They take credit cards now, you know.”

  I loved my father and moments like that reminded me of how much of a Daddy’s Girl I truly was. Ever since I was five years old, he always gave me a dollar to put in the offering plate. I leaned over to give him a peck on the cheek as the Praise Team took their places in front of the choir on stage officially opening up the service with the upbeat song, “Every praise is to Our God,” and as the song came to an end, a young pastor stepped into the pulpit greeting the congregation.

  “If you know that this is the day, the Lord has made, then please continue to stand, rejoice and be glad in it!”

  While the congregation gave praise, I couldn’t help taking a good look at the pastor. I leaned over to my mom. “Is that little Robby Hudson?”

  She corrected me. “He’s now Pastor Hudson.”

  Dad chimed in, “He became Senior Pastor when his father retired.”

  I couldn’t believe little Robby Hudson, the pesky kid I used to babysit was now the pastor of the church I grew up in. As the sermon began, it became clear that Robby had a true calling on his life. He was charismatic, warm and comfortable filling his father’s shoes. Later in the sermon, he instructed us to turn to first John, chapter four, verse seven and eight as he preached, “We are instructed to love one another. That love is of God, and everyone that loves is born of God and what? Knows God.”

  I joined the rest of the congregation with a heartfelt, “Amen.” Pastor Robby continued, “Three simple words… God is love.

  Some people search their whole lives trying to find love, when true love starts first with God.”

  He had my complete attention as I whispered, “Amen” under my breath. I really liked his style of preaching. It was more conversational and relatable than his father’s more traditional style.

  He caught my attention when he asked, “What is this thing called love? Well, today we’re going to explore the four different types of love.”

  And like an eager college student, I immediately opened the Notes app on my phone, ready to learn the answer. As I jotted down notes, my Dad asked me if I was texting in the middle of the sermon and I just chuckled, showing him what I was doing while mom shhhh’d him reminding him that, “It’s a new day.”

  Pastor Robby continued his message on love. “There’s Philea, where the city Philadelphia gets its name and meaning: The city of brotherly love. Loving thy neighbor, showing care and compassion for your fellow brother and sister, a love for your friends ... that’s Philea.”

  Mom nudged me and whispered, “Isn’t he good?”

  I nodded in agreement as I continued to hang onto his every word.

  “And speaking of brothers and sisters, the second type of love is STORGE, which is literally the affection for your family.”

  That word caused me to instantly grab my parent’s hands.

  Pastor Robby was on point with his message of breaking down the meaning of love. I had never heard the explanation of the four types of love until now. Robby moved onto EROS, explaining that is where the word “erotic” comes from. “I don’t think we need to go into details on that one, but often people skip the other types of love choosing to fast forward to Eros and end up broken after the fleeting passion or the sense of being in love fades.”

  There were loud, “Amens” from the congregation and all I could do was whisper “Speak Lord” as he continued.

  Next thing I knew, Robby was asking, “Are there any lovers in the house? Before you answer that, understand the levels of love. Because last, but most important is AGAPE love, which means God’s love. That is a level of love many of us need to learn and apply to our lives. God so loved the world, that He gave his only begotten son, Jesus, that we would have life abundantly.” He suggested that most of us would not give up our children to save the souls of folks we know, let alone strangers, and by the laughter of the congregation, we were all in agreement.

  “But in its purest sense, Agape love means God’s unconditional love. No strings attached. He loves you just the way you are. Question is, do you love you? No one else can truly love you until you learn to love yourself.”

  The waterworks were on as tears began to stream down my face. The choir stood to sing, “I Need You to Survive,” and all I could muster up was, “Thank you, God.”

  Pastor Robby encouraged us all to turn to our neighbor and tell them, “I love you with pure agape love,” and I hugged my parents. Mom lovingly wiped my tears away. She knew my heart had been broken severely and she looked me in the eye advising me to stop chasing love, let it find me.

  I never heard the four aspects of love broken down in laymen’s terms the way my friend did in the pulpit that morning. My soul was lifted and I prepared to leave Park Hills, and as I noticed Robby standing at the door greeting members as they exited church, I stepped behind my folks hoping to surprise him. He greeted my parents and they complimented him on a great sermon.

  Mom blurted out, “We brought someone you might know, to say hello.”

  That was my cue to step into view and Robby took a closer look. “Pilar? I haven’t seen you in ages!” He gave me big bear hug. “You still look the same.”

  I couldn’t say the same for Robby. The last time I saw him, he was up to some typical teenage boy mischief with a mouth full of braces. I was guessing the way I was looking him up and down was what caused him to snicker, asking, “This is a trip, huh?”

  “You as Pastor? Oh yeah, but what a pleasant surprise. You were good,” I responded.

  He thanked me and reminded me of the days when he used to terrorize me and my friends, but we didn’t mind that much. Plus, we knew he had a crush on each one of us at various times growing up, especially my girl, Lori Francis. We reminisced about his crushes and he reminded me “You and your friends wouldn’t give the kid the time of day, so I went for one of the little sisters and that crush spilled over into marriage.” He yelled off to a woman in the distance to come over to join us.

  As she approached, my eyes widened. Turning to him, I said, “You married Lisa Francis?” right before a very pregnant Lisa waddled over and gave me a hug and hearty greeting.

  “Hey girl!” Little Lisa was far from the little scrawny, awkward girl who would threaten to tell her parents if her big sister, my running buddy, Lori, wouldn’t allow her to hang with us occasionally during one of our many hangouts.

  “Aww, look at you, little Lisa,” I said admiring her baby bump, yet toned physique.”

  “As you can see, I’m far from little now,” she joked while rubbing her belly.

  I inquired about her sister and we made brief small talk. When I asked if this was their first child, Robby answered, “No,” and placed his hand on
his wife’s belly. “These two make number three and four.”

  “Oh wow, twins!”

  Before I could go on, Lisa excused herself explaining that the twins were using her bladder as a pillow…again. “I hope to see you before you head back east, Pilar,” she said as she started to head down the hall to the Ladies Room.

  I told her I had moved back to L.A. and I could tell the only thing on her mind was getting to the restroom. Still, she yelled over her shoulder, “Good, let’s catch up. Gotta go!”

  I smiled watching Robby as he watched his cute, preggers wife waddle away from us.

  He turned back in my direction. “I didn’t know you were back.

  I heard you were doing big things on Capitol Hill in D.C.”