WHEN HE GIVE ME THAT LOOK... written by Sojourner Edmonson-Sealy
SEX...CIGARETTES...AND SEWING MACHINES © 2013
“As we became one on the dance floor, I could feel the alcohol, cigarettes, and lust become evident in the way I moved and the way “D” reacted to my movements. Hands were roaming and squeezing to the rhythm of the heavy bass of the music and I enjoyed every moment of it.” -WHEN HE GIVE ME THAT LOOK...
Dear Romantically Barren Readers Like Myself: The writing process for the piece “When He Give Me That Look…” forced me to reflect back to some of the happiest memories of my life in China, Spring 2013; which is surprisingly one of the hardest tasks that I have ever experienced in my life. I’ve been feeling guilty for my travels and for my happiness, which makes absolutely no sense…right? The moment I chose to write about is one of the very few moments that I cling to that still puts a smile on my face when I reminisce about the life I’ve lived thus far. This is a moment that not only holds my terribly romantic ideals, but also the most morbid possibilities that life could possibly be holding in its hand of playing cards for me. What if we meet again later on down the road? Will he even remember me? Will I ever feel this connection with another person in my life? What if I don’t? Then, what? Will I be forced to settle, for the rest of my life, with men who will never fully see my worth? Part of me still dreams the sad and mushy dreams of the little girl, with the big brown puppy dog eyes, still waiting for her drunken Daddy to come pick her up for what he promises her to be fun…and he never shows up. Sometimes you just have to tell that little girl that he’s not coming, but I don’t think she’s ready to hear that yet. When I met “D” he gave me a lot that night, like a higher self-worth, or plane of being. I was fearlessly confident in ever part of my body from that point on. As I read through the final draft of this piece, I really surprised myself with the use of the vivid language that I dispersed onto the page. I didn’t realize the overall impact my style of writing has on other people. I never realized the strength of my voice on paper. It felt amazing that people, who had no real knowledge of me, could relate to the ways that I visualize my surroundings and experiences. In summation, I am seriously considering starting a real blog for myself, just to tell the stories of my memories; The ones that I clench tight to at night as I sleep. It may even be my release from my guilt, which has led to broken friendships that were once so serious and full of undeniable love. I don’t know for sure where my life will lead; I just have an idealized version of the little girl’s dreams that play on rotation in my mind. When I write, the woman that society fears can take the stand…
Happy Romantically Morbid Dreams of Love, Sojourner Edmonson-Sealy
WHEN HE GIVE ME THAT LOOK... WRITTEN BY SOJOURNER EDMONSON-SEALY
Forgotten quarter-full glasses of Cranberry & Vodka line the platform edges of the elevated full-size bathtub, which serves as the mini-raison d’etre of the Geisha Nightclub. Geisha, which was conveniently located smack-dab in the middle of Shanghai, China, a 35-Yuan Taxi ride from my dormitory, had a two-floor foundation of sticky cement floors that were occupied by a substantially sized bar of Chinese Bartenders entertainingly shaking mixed drinks to serve its stumbling patrons. The bar was complimented by a comfy Disk Jockey Booth, front and center with a one-foot-high elevated stage attached for brave Twerkers, like myself. The perimeter of the Nightclub is bordered with VIP Tables filled with Chinese and African Socialites of many breeds, who order bottles that are brought out with blinding Bottle-Top Sparklers, by scantily dressed Bottle Girls, like Amateur Fourth-of-July Antics. Like any other “Hip-Hop HiJack” Friday Night at the Geisha, the dance floor was packed with the lovers of intimate beats laced with the words of Kendrick Lamar, Nicki Minaj, and Rick Ross. The signature Cobalt Blue accent lighting of Geisha, which was packed with Hip-Hop Heads from every corner of the earth, was being massacred by the experienced DJ playing continuous Hip-Hop and Jamaican hits.
While “on-stage” imitating the brandish and provocative lyrics of a classic Nicki Minaj verse (A$$), I wore the curveaccentuating outfit of a CreamColored Long-Sleeve Fitted Lace Top, I borrowed from my friend Melissa; My Gradient BCBG Bondage Skirt, Black Lace Stockings, and my Infamous Jeffrey Campbell Black Coltrane Platforms. I saw an attractive stranger come up behind me and start blending with my gyrations. His name was Daniel, but I called him “D”; Mainly because a classmate that I’m totally un-attracted to bears the same name, and I didn’t want to be reminded of him every time I said that name. “D” was from LA and was strenuously training athletes for battle on the basketball courts of China. He was a taller version of the rapper Big Sean, with big brown eyes that could make any woman embarrassed by her thoughts. A bit tired from “performing” for an hour straight onstage, mid-verse, on a track I didn’t care too much for, I chose to go back to the VIP table with which my friends were occupying, which was adjacent to the stage. Once seated, I grabbed an empty glass and filled it with Ice, Ciroc Vodka, and Cranberry Juice. As I sipped the glass of tasty poison, I looked up and saw “D” piercingly staring at me with
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jealousy and lust burning in his pupils, standing in front of the velvet ropes placed in front of my friends’ table. I smiled and slowly batted my eyelashes at him, while knowingly tempting him harder. I took one more sip just to prolong his wanting and crossed the velvet rope as I walked over to him. Once I approached him I asked, “Why you looking at me like that?” His reply, in a seducing and Boss-like way, was “What you doing over there with them dudes, when you should be over here with me?” The smile that ran across my face betrayed my thoughts. I was impressed and taken aback by the bold statement, and had been wanting a man to show his power through his words towards me for so long. So, I obliged and let him pull me to the dance floor. As we became one on the dance floor, I could feel the alcohol, cigarettes, and lust become evident in the way I moved and the way “D” reacted to my movements. Hands were roaming and squeezing to the rhythm of the heavy bass of the music and I enjoyed every moment of it. Leaning against the elevated bathtub, Melissa had become fatigued from the antics of the night; I realized she was ready to leave. As I walked away from “D” to ask if she was ready to go, before I had the chance to one step he firmly pulled me over to him as he leaned against the bathtub as well. As soon as he pulled me over to him he gave me this penetrating look that said everything I needed to know about love and life in that one moment. It was lustful, but romantic; dominating, but sensi-
tive; Confident, but humble. There were no words, just feelings. He looked at me like his superpower was reading my impure thoughts. It left me soft inside for the first time, reminding me of the Nicki Minaj verse in “SuperBass” {He just gotta give me that look/ When he give me that look/ Then the panties coming off—off…uh}. No man had ever looked at me with such adoration in my life. I had never felt so wanted and appreciated by a man; this was a high that held nothing but good intentions. As a result, I couldn’t control my actions, which led to me invading his space. Even though my friend was inches away from us, and begging me to leave, I still had the urge to grab “D” and runaway with him. I felt a strong loyalty to this man; A man that I had randomly met within the past hour. Was I insane, desperate, or just plain slutty? At that point, I could care less, because the look “D” gave me held no fear and absolutely no judgment. I took, what I thought was, the only chance in my life to be romantically fearless in my actions when I caressed his cheek while I looked him dead in his dark and entrancing soul before I kissed his lips. I remember smiling so hard when our lips parted. He was mine and I was his golden trophy. My hands roamed his installed six-pack, while our surroundings melted into the blur of my imagination, until…it was over. With Melissa restless to leave, we exchanged our Chinese numbers and parted ways. When Melissa and I got back
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to the dorm I received a call from “D,” which instantly made me blush and sink into my inferior, but tough; shy girl persona. The next day we constantly texted each other trying to figure out whom this other person was that had had the power to intrigue, in such a seductive way. He told me I was the “Baddest” Woman he had met in Shanghai; when he said this I was literally feeling like the “Baddest” Woman in the World! As we continued to text throughout the day, he mentioned that in a few days he would be boarding a plane back home…to his girlfriend in LA. The fairytale was over. My romantic thoughts were shattered into dust and he became one less man in the population of men that would be able to save me from imagination. That night, the look “D” gave me snatched my soul. To tell you the truth, a piece of it has been with him since then, even though he may not even realize it.
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