The Great Blac Ing

Night fall, and my boo still isn't home. I am starting to get worried. He hasn't been answering his cell phone. It's been a stormy week in the City of Ottawa, Ontario, and the roads are still fucked up. That's February in Canada's Capital region for you, I guess. My name is Nikki Dalton, and I'm a young Black woman who just found out I'm pregnant. I was born in the City of Toronto, Ontario, to Jamaican immigrant parents. I moved to Ottawa six months ago after I got hired by the Canadian Revenue Agency as an auditor. At the time, I was just another excited yuppie in the Capital, excited about my new job.

Two years ago I graduated from York University with my Master's degree in business administration. I thought I would find a job shortly after graduation but I was wrong. Nobody told me what the job market was really like. I spent so long looking for a job that to make ends meet, I found myself working at Starbucks. I also worked as a security guard and as a library assistant just to make ends meet. The world isn't kind to recent university graduates, especially with today's crappy economy. You'll find plenty of people with MBAs, MFAs and all that working at Starbucks, Tim Horton's and Wal-Mart. Getting hired by the C.R.A. was a stroke of luck. I went from making twelve bucks an hour at Starbucks to earning sixty six grand a year, after taxes. Not bad, eh?

I've always been a hard worker. I couldn't get by on my looks, which are exactly average. I stand five feet ten inches tall, curvy and big-bottomed, with dark brown skin and short kinky Black hair. It's not easy being a tall, large Black woman in a world that worships skinny white women. Women like me have to work twice as hard, at every level. I remember realizing this the day this white chick named Brittany beat me for class president at my old high school in Mississauga and then had the nerve to offer the job of secretary. I told her I would never serve the likes of her, and walked off the podium where they just announced the results. I did go to York University on an academic scholarship, and the last time I saw Brittany, she was a shampoo gal at Super Cuts. How times change.

I am a smart woman and a hard worker, but I am seldom given my dues. The world isn't kind to women like me. At York University, I thought I found my knight in shining armor when I met Timothy Henderson, a tall, red-haired and green-eyed Englishman who moved from Gloucestershire, England, to attend Queen's University in Ontario, Canada. I don't know why an Englishman would come to Canada for school when Oxford University, the world's most prestigious school, is in England, but what do I know? I found Tim charming, and he was handsome, charismatic and smart. He liked Black women and pursued me relentlessly. I had mostly dated Black guys up until that point but that all changed when I met Tim.

Never say never, that's the truth of many things in this life, ladies and gentlemen. I had never met anyone like Timothy Henderson before. This sexy white dude swept me off my feet. He treated me great, he was wonderful, patient and respectful, and he was really good in bed. Six months after we met, he proposed to me in a crowded restaurant with a shiny diamond ring. I thought I hit the jackpot. He wanted to marry me! Of course I said yes! And then I found out that Tim had a darker side to himself. We were hanging out at a bar in London, Ontario, and he got into an argument with a pair of guys, one Black and one Hispanic. They didn't like the way Timothy was looking at them and challenged him. He should have ignored them but he didn't.

I had been in situations like this before and I knew usually they weren't worth it. So I tried to get Tim to walk away from these two roughnecks but he wouldn't listen. They confronted him, and that's when Tim drew his pistol and shot them both. He was arrested, put on trial in front of the Ontario Provincial Criminal Court, and found guilty of murder. He was sentenced to twenty five years in prison, to be served at the Kingston Penitentiary. We got a new lawyer and she tried to appeal the case but the crown prosecutor and the judges wouldn't budge. The incident was considered a hate crime, since several of the patrons at the bar stated in court that they overheard Timothy uttering racial slurs right before he gunned down the two guys.

One day, while visiting Timothy in prison, I got the shock of my life. He had shaved his long locks, and had swastikas and other Aryan symbols written all over his neck, arms and chest. While in prison, Timothy joined the Aryan Brotherhood, the most racist organization since the Ku Klux Klan. That was the day I saw Timothy for what he truly was. A racist. Oh, he insisted that he wasn't really a bigot, that he only joined the Aryan Brotherhood for protection, since the Black guys, Hispanic guys and Asian guys were at war with the white guys behind the prison walls. I didn't want to hear anymore of Timothy Henderson's lies. I took off the engagement ring he had given me not too long ago. Gosh, those were different days. It felt like a lifetime ago. I threw the ring at Timothy, my eyes filled with tears. That's when he got mad at me. He called me a Negro slut, an ape woman and all kinds of slurs. It took several prison guards to haul him away from the visitation room. Even though we were separated by bulletproof glass, I felt frightened of him. Who knew this man I once loved had such hatred in him?

After Timothy, I focused on school and work, and didn't feel like giving any man, Black or White, the time of day. Until I met Jean-Francois Heureux. A tall, good-looking young Black woman originally from the island of Haiti. Jean-Francois moved to the City of Montreal, Quebec, with his parents a while back. He graduated from McGill University with a Law degree and was now working for a big firm in the City of Gatineau, Quebec. At the time we met, I really didn't feel like letting a man into my life but Jean-Francois was persistent like only a Black man could be. He pursued me doggedly, and eventually I relented. I agreed to have coffee with him, and he proved himself so funny, charming and pleasant that I agreed to go see a movie with him. Next thing I know, we're living together!

Yeah, I got swept off my feet by a good Black man. Jean-Francois was just what I needed. He's the kind of Black man that many of us sisters doubt still exists. He's a God-fearing ( dude goes to church twice a week ), hard-working, law-abiding, university-educated, disease-free and gainfully employed heterosexual Black man who loves Black women. Oh, and he's got no brats or ex-wives either. I checked. Yeah, I am lucky to have found someone like Jean-Francois. Not that I'm putting him on a pedestal or anything but he is a good man and he treats me great. Of course, I told myself I wouldn't get too attached to any man no matter how wonderful because I still remember what Timothy Henderson did to me. But that was before. I'm carrying Jean-Francois's unborn son or daughter. This changes everything.

I head to the kitchen and take some tea from the fridge. I sit in the living room and turn on BET. They're playing Coming To America, along with other Black romance movies, in honor of Valentine's Day. I get so absorbed into the movie that I don't hear the door open. A loud, masculine voice utters a greeting and snaps me out of my movie-induced reverie. I turn around, to see my boyfriend Jean-Francois. He's standing there, all six feet two inches and two hundred and ten pounds of him. A fine-looking brother in a dark gray suit, blue silk shirt and tie. In his right hand he holds a bouquet of flowers, and a small red box. My heart leapt at the sight of him. I rushed to my feet, and threw myself into my boo's arms, nearly tackling him. I kiss him full and deep, then playfully smack him. I demanded to know where he's been. Jean-Francois smiles sheepishly and tells me that his phone battery died, but he can make up for not calling me.

I look at him and smile as I glance at the bouquet and red box. Hmmm. I am going to get some chocolate, I think as he opens the box. Be still my heart, it's not chocolate. Instead, it's a small ring. Jean-Francois grins, and my heart flutters as he gets down on one knee. He barely opens his mouth before I shout yes, and kiss him again. In all the excitement, I almost forget to tell him that I've got some news of my own. I look at my boo, and tell him that he's about to be a dad. I look into his eyes, wondering how he's taking the news. Jean-Francois smiles, and kisses me, then he sweeps me off my feet. I kiss him and hold him tight. Thank God for this wonderful man. This Black queen has found her Black king at last.