I was a junior at Norfolk State, trying to wade my way through life as a future journalist. Spring semester was almost over, but I played hooky one spring morning in 2013, just needing a break from it all as exams were on the horizon, and Jermel, my boyfriend of three years, was stressing me out.
It was a Friday, and I woke up at 5 a.m., thinking I would leave my apartment in nearby Portsmouth, dodge the Navy traffic and head east to Virginia Beach, going for a good jog on the boardwalk, then catch the sunrise before a light breakfast. I was out of the house by 5:20, as I put on my gear which included my favorite sports bra, running shorts, and my Asics before hopping into my Honda Civic for the 27 minute drive. The temperature was already around 60, maybe 65 degrees, as the air was crisp while the night sky was turning blue as I cruised down I-264, listening to soft jazz. I just needed to clear my head completely, and once I parked in a spot off Atlantic Avenue, I was at peace, putting on my iPod, pumping music, then quarters into the meter, walking to the infamous King Neptune statue, then trekking for a six mile jog.
Once I finished the sun was beginning to rise, and I caught it for the first time in my 20 years, as growing up in Brooklyn, New York, I'd never seen anything like it. I'd planned to leave and head to a nearby diner not too far from the oceanfront, until I went to my car and realized I enjoyed the serenity of the beach, as the only people that were present were other joggers, far and few in between, and the city workers cleaning the beach in all-terrain vehicles. I paid three more quarters, and grabbed a beach towel I happened to have in my trunk, before I trotted back near the statue, and copped a squat to catch the morning sun. I put on my sunglasses and laid back, taking off only my shoes and socks, then laying flat on the surface when I felt the presence of someone.
"Hello, gorgeous," said the older, Caucasian male.
Right as I closed my eyes and inhaled the breeze, I noticed the scent of a male cologne, then heard that voice, as he hovering directly over me, smiling ear to ear.
"Relax honey, I'm not here to hurt you. I just wanted to let you know you're a beautiful soul. I saw you from my hotel room," he said.
At first I was startled, but then I noticed he, too, had a New York City accent as that brought me some comfort.
"Where you from," I asked.
"Ouch, I just gave you a compliment young lady, and you repay me with a question. If you must know, I'm from the same area as you, and that'd be New York City, young ma'am," he said.
"You're certainly not from Bed-Stuy. There's no Italian men in the part where I grew up," I told him.
"Italian? How do you know I'm not Finnish or Polish, or maybe even Native American," he said with a sly smirk.
"Because you're from Brooklyn, and probably from Bensonhurst most likely," I told him. "And what are you doing?"
He took my words as an invite to sit down to chat further, as I was slightly appalled at this older man, with his brown and black hair, and struggle goatee choosing to rest on my towel.
"Amber, I just got out of the shower, I'm fresh. Judging from you jogging up and down the strip, I can guess you're not. In fact, you may just fit in well in the surf with the guppies," he said brashly, as his way of joking.
I smacked his foot as we both started laughing, as this older, white man, perhaps in his late 50s to mid 60s and in great shape, found it easy to strike up conversation with this brown girl who was running, minding her own business.
"My name is Tameka, and you must be John or Gary, or something to that effect," I told him.
"Tony, will do," he said as he extended his hand for a shake and dug his dark brown eyes into mine.
Certainly, I'd never really talked to an older man, albeit a white one, for my Jermel was as black as tar on the road. There was something with Tony to where I couldn't divert conversation, or cancel the meeting altogether as he had this charm, a voice that was meeting the mood I was in, as well as the serene morning. His tone wasn't too strong as he spoke with me, showing me he knew how to handle a woman who was in her own stratosphere.
"Tameka, when's your birthday," he asked.
"Well, if you must know, April 21st," I told him.
His face lit up.
"So is mine. We're both Bulls, baby," he said as he high fived me.
I might've been too damned trusting but I liked Tony, for he seemed like a guy who paid attention to his women. He didn't have a ring, and was free spirited enough to where he wanted to treat me to a hearty breakfast.
"Young lady, with a body like yours, you have to absolutely stay on track. I know a place that has biscuits and gravy that will stick to your ribs, sausage to fill your belly, and just food that will fill you up, yet provide you the energy to continue to be as beautiful as you are," he said as he looked me up and down.
We made it to a place called Mary's, a traditional diner that served American breakfast.
