Adam and Eve: Blac Love

Is there such a thing as too much of anything in this life? I sure hope not. My name is Evelyn Kara Auberge. I am head over heels in love with a reformed player from the States. Here's a little bit about me. I was born in the town of Cap-Haitien in the island of Haiti but I barely remember it because I've lived in the region of Ontario, Canada, ever since I could remember. These days, I'm a recent graduate of Carleton University in the City of Ottawa ( I've got a Master's degree in Psychology ) and I also work as a Newcomer Issues Counselor for the Social Services Department. Since I speak like ten languages, and the Province of Ontario is a beacon for immigrants, they keep me around. I'm one of three non-White employees on the overcrowded first floor of the office headquarters. Nice, eh? When I'm not giving advice to people from places whose names I can't pronounce, I'm an amateur dominatrix.

Right now, I'm dating this great guy named Adam Herbert. I met Adam while visiting some friends in the suburb of Kanata, Ontario. He recently moved there from his hometown of metropolitan Gary, State of Indiana. Adam is six feet two inches tall, well-built and handsome, with light brown skin, curly Black hair and pale green eyes. He was born in the United States to an Italian mother and African-American father. I was pleasantly surprised to meet a good-looking Black man in Kanata because it's quite possibly the whitest part of the City of Ottawa metropolitan area. Walk around Kanata and they stare at you if you're Black, Asian, Arab, Hispanic, Aboriginal or pretty much anything other than White. Trust me, I know. I've lived in Canada for twenty six of my twenty seven years. When Adam told me he was from America, I was shocked. Why in hell would an American move to Ottawa?

Adam told me he came to the Province of Ontario for work opportunities. Things were BAD in the State of Indiana, apparently. We exchanged phone numbers, and got to know each other. By now I should know not to trust good-looking guys who have smooth operator written all over them. I did a bit of research on Adam Herbert. He was born in Gary, Indiana, on February 5, 1987. Damn. That makes him two years younger than me. I was born at Justinian Hospital in downtown Cap-Haitien, Republic of Haiti, on November 8, 1985. Adam was a real troublemaker in Indiana. A long list of petty crimes from theft inside Wal-Mart to joyriding and also indecent exposure. Yeah, Adam Herbert was bad news alright. How he managed to get a Canadian work permit with a list of offenses in his record, I'll never know. Looking into it, I found out why. All the stunts he pulled happened while he was still a brat. The grown-up Adam Herbert had a Bachelor's degree in Criminal Justice from Indiana University Northwest. Wow. I was impressed. Brother graduated with Honors and he was the valedictorian of his class back in 2007.

Adam came to Ottawa looking for work, and he was getting frustrated. It's not easy being a foreigner in Canada, even if you're from almighty America. And if you happen to be Black, it's going to be tough as hell for you. I can relate, believe me. I'm a Canadian citizen who speaks French, English, Spanish, Haitian Creole, Portuguese, Swahili, Algerian Arabic, Mandarin Chinese, Japanese and German. I've got a Master's degree in Psychology from Carleton University, one of the best schools in the Ontario region of Canada. I'm smart and sexy, standing five feet eleven inches tall while barefoot. I've got dark brown skin, a curvy body and what fools refer to as a ghetto booty. I'm a Haitian woman with a big derriere there's not much I can do about it because I've got African DNA. It's a gift and a curse, believe me. I look good in business suits, and I'm always rocking my dreads. I'm not getting rid of them because they don't look 'professional.' If the Arab chick at work can wear her hijab on the job, I can wear my dreads. Thank you very much.

I know I should be doing better things with my life than working at the Ottawa Department of Social Services, listening to immigrants whine about how tough life in Canada can be, all for a measly twenty bucks per hour. Before you cuss me out, listen up. In Canada, they tax you to death. Twenty bucks per hour is merely sixteen dollars after the government gets its taxes. In Canada, the minimum wage is ten dollars an hour. I don't make much more than people working at McDonalds, even though I've got degrees up the yin yang. Sounds like fun, eh? Yeah, believe me when I say I could relate to Adam Herbert's frustration with the system in Canada. I encouraged my new friend to enroll in Law School. I helped him with the process. First, we created an account for him with O.U.A.C. the Ontario Universities Application Center. Then he applied to the University of Ottawa's School of Law as an international student. He had to get his transcripts mailed from Indiana University Northwest, along with a study permit from the Canadian government.

Now that Adam's application to one of Canada's best law schools was underway, he had to get himself a job. Adam applied to work with the Canadian Department of National Defense, since he had a Criminal Justice degree from the States and he was once in the U.S. Army National Guard. They told him they couldn't hire him because he was American, not Canadian. THAT really bothered Adam because the U.S. government hires foreign contractors from places like Canada, Australia, New Zealand and England all the time to work for government agencies. Unlike the American government, Canada was closed to foreigners. Adam grew semi-depressed after this and several other setbacks. Finally, I encouraged him to apply for work with an armored truck company. After all, he had a gun licence from the State of Indiana. Adam had to get a gun licence from the Province of Ontario, and that wasn't easy. He also had to undergo security guard training. Next came the security clearance process. His personal information was analyzed by the FBI on the U.S. side and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police on the Canadian side. After a grueling few months, he made it. He now drives an armored truck for G4S, a private security company, along with other armed guards on overnight shifts.

I let Adam know that in Canada, they charge international students a lot more than local ones. He began working for G4S, making twenty five bucks per hour on eight-to-twelve hour shifts. It's always fun when a man rises above a woman in pay and accomplishment after she sacrifices so much to help him get where he's at. Isn't it? Throughout this lengthy and tedious process, I stood by Adam's side. He started making money, more money than me, in fact, and I told myself I was happy for him. The day he got accepted into Ottawa University's Law School, we went out to celebrate. My sexy American stud took me to this neat little restaurant called East Side Mario's, and we had ourselves a good time. I really enjoyed talking to him about his plans for the future. Adam was really optimistic. He thought he could make something of himself in Canada. I liked being with him, and the restaurant was neat. The food was delicious. Afterwards, we took the bus and walked around downtown. Just a well-dressed, happy and smiling non-couple.

That night, Adam and I sat inside Confederation Park, looking at the stars. Yes, you can see them in the Ottawa night sky. I had so many thoughts swirling about my head. Throughout dinner and the entire outing, Adam mainly talked about himself. His plans at the University of Ottawa Law School. His goal of being an international lawyer, practicing both in Canada and America. Him. Him. Him. Oh, my. I sat there, silently wondering why I always chose these guys. At work, I help all kinds of people. Sometimes it's rewarding. Often, they don't even remember me five minutes after I've done everything I can to help improve their lives. That's always been my problem. I take care of people. I send money to my parents in Montreal, Quebec. They're enjoying their retirement. I send money to my older brother Jose, who does nothing with his time except chasing and impregnating fat white women. Why he bothered getting a Master's degree in Art History from Carleton University, I'll never know. I take care of everyone. Who takes care of me?

I thought about my ex-boyfriend Lars Henderson. He seemed like a dream come true at first. Tall and good-looking, with alabaster skin, blond hair and blue eyes. A native of Heidelberg, Germany, he came to Ottawa, Ontario, to study civil engineering at Carleton University. We met during my last year in the psych program. I date men of different races and cultures. Black men, white men, Hispanic men, doesn't matter as long as the chemistry is right. I fell for Lars. He seemed like he was out to conquer the world, and he called me his Black Goddess. I'm tall, chubby and nerdy. Nobody ever called me a Goddess before. Yeah, I fell for him. And he cheated on me with a Chinese bitch. Yeah, I've got lousy taste in men. Doesn't matter what color they are, I tend to fall for men who love themselves.

Here I was, sitting on the park bench with Adam, listening to him talk about himself. Argh. I seriously felt like screaming. What stopped me? Adam gently took my hand. That made me freeze. He'd never even touched me before, except playfully and teasingly, in a buddy kind of way. Adam took my hand and looked into my eyes. Smiling, he brought my hand to his lips. When he did that, a tingle spread from the top of my hand to....well, everywhere. Adam smiled, and thanked me for helping him. Locking eyes with me, he told me that he'd be nothing without me. He would have given up on himself and his dreams if I hadn't been there, helping him along the way. I smiled at him. Adam smiled cockily, and then he kissed me.