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By Emmanuel Williams

Today’s commute was breeding grounds for a personal essay. From the young couple who’s boyfriend couldn’t keep his hands from her lower body, to the strange double date I saw. All of whom took both of my trains into Denver today, forcing me to find distance from them but never completely succeeding.

The double date was strange in that one couple was an all too common young and thin but adult white pair sitting across from an athletic black man with a plus sized latina woman, though the couple was straight edge as could be. They all were really, I suppose that’s how they got along.

I tried to avoid all three couples because a couple of weeks ago I chatted up a girl who ended up being too lesbian to prefer to date men. Quit fine. “Lucky her,” I said as I returned to my work at the time.

But lately my colleagues have begun to giggle in support of my changing look, I even caught one staring at me in an approving linger. Then last night a couple of neighbor girls happened to be out while I was smoking on the porch. Likely having a drink. I heard them say loudly enough, “where’s your lady?” The other said “right here.” Though I just finished my cigarette and walked inside.

I learned a year or so ago not to sleep with one’s neighbors. You give her too much opportunity to scream profanities at you if things go sour and you live close enough that all she has to do is walk out the door to awkwardly bump into you.

I digress a tad.

The real question is: where am I?

I’m obviously ready to date but I need to fix my finances first in all honesty. I don’t like dating with too many restrictions in my spending. I have to sort things out before I even know what is available for outings, gatherings, concerts, and restaurants.

Although, thankfully the movies and fast food is reasonably priced.

And my issue with being smothered by couples is how much of a temptation they are to me. I’m a huge fan of love and I won’t be pressured into it if I’m not ready. 

Though it would help immensely if I didn’t size up someone’s girlfriend in public, so common for me, and more if she didn’t enjoy it.

But back to the double date which highlights an interracial dynamic I cannot stand. Beautiful white women who seem nice, but are on the arm of a white man… and not a black man.

Here’s why that bugs me:

I’m sorry if I exclude a dozen types here, but the kind, beautiful white woman is like the holy grail to me.

I’ve been a bachelor for a good 12 years with only a few gfs within that time. And while I’m open to any race of woman, there is no woman so fair, from her hue to her long soft hair.

And on a more intimate note, usually I’m a cute butt guy (“ass man”), but with this type I’ve been known to crave her from the legs up. 

Like I said, holy grail.

Usually a guy like me ends up with a white girl who has runaway or fallen from grace. And I’m happy to be with them while it lasts, but another part of me knows that I’m no worse than the white men I usually see holding the hands of these “white angels” so painfully often.

It feels like a betrayal.

As if angels don’t date blacks. Unless the angel has fallen.

I’ve had more short term, sexually focused events – let’s call them trysts – with, thankfully, more than a few white angels, than I’ve had formal dates with even one of them.

I wish I knew the remedy.

I wish I knew the cure.

It seems we are being judged by a common reputation built by the Black Thug, and those sweethearts like myself who are lumped into the thug category once we become capable of defending ourselves (almost a selling point frankly, considering how strong some of us end up) and our loved ones are not considered any different than our shadow culture simply because that shadow has become larger than the minority of kind, albeit big, black men.

If there is work to do to be worthy of these angels, what’s to say that once the (pseudo?) work is complete, that we won’t be refused so that her children will be white instead of mixed. I mean, aren’t we entirely screwed if she just wants her children to be as white (and she’ll likely assume, as beautiful) as her?

Don’t ignore the seed/genetic factor.

Children born by two black parents are not easy on even my own eye. But both of my sons are mixed with white. And though I could not keep their mothers by my side, they are both the color of rare golden skin without flaw even in bone structure.

I hope I get married soon.

And if a White Angel cannot take a chance on someone who loves them, I will accept any hue of skin lighter than my own Hazelnut & Toffee blend.

What a day!