The first week in November is my favorite time of the year. It's the time of the annual Savannah Film Festival and my own personal time for indulgence. I just pack up a bag and head down to Savannah where I'm transported to a different place in time. If I'm lucky, I can catch the fall foliage colors, hit the museums, and listen to some great jazz while I'm there as well. Usually, I go as a spectator, taking in the film and surrounding myself with culture. This year was going to be particularly special for me. I was going to be debuting my first erotic short film. Upon leaving last year, I decided I could do the same thing some of those other people I had done and set out to tell my story on celluloid. I was nervous because there was no "genuine" Black erotic film out there and I was afraid of how it was going to be received. I didn't want people to think it was porn and I didn't want intellectuals overanalyzing what I was intending to do. I wanted to present to the world twenty minutes of cerebral dialogue, intense emotions, and exquisite lovemaking between Black people.
I was disappointed because it was yet another milestone in my life where I didn't have a partner with whom I could share my accomplishment. I couldn't dwell on it; I had to expose myself to the world. I knew most people wouldn't be able to appreciate it, so I just meditated on staying grounded. I spent the morning in Forsyth Park right across the street from my Bed and Breakfast. For me, staying in the Magnolia Inn was a far different experience than the other guests. For me, it was a reminder of the slaves that labored to build its opulence while they lived as less than humans. I thought of the black women that had been the possessions of white genteel masters that had to entertain late nights in the very chambers where tourist now casually laid their heads and long for the days of old. No, for me, Savannah was the vehicle to my history, a dark and painful past that came alive to me in the tortured whispers of my ancestors.
The Lucas Theater was relatively packed. I held my breath and recited my brief introduction like I had rehearsed 52 times in my bathroom mirror. I was praying that people would not be able to tell that I had never directed a community play before, let alone an erotic film. I closed my eyes and let the entire thing play out in my head, I knew every second of that film by heart. By the time it was over I had finally exhaled. The kudos and the backslapping reigned down supreme. Everyone was congratulating me on a job well done and talking to me about features and a whole bunch of movie industry terms I had never heard of . . . but I played along like I had.
I saw him lingering in the periphery, waiting to make his approach. He looked nervous almost, or hesitant might have been a better description. The crowd thinned out and he made his way to me. "I loved the fact that you gave him a sense of responsibility. He was selective with whom he slept, I appreciate that commentary. So many sexual representations of Black men make us out to be callous and indiscriminate with our partners. Thank you." He turned and started to walk away without further introduction.
"Wait . . . thanks . . . wait . . ." There was something about his demeanor that, while soft spoken, was genuine. "No one else got that. Everyone else thought it was just about the sex." He turned to face me and I couldn't tell which one of us was more unsettled. I didn't want him to walk away but I was scared to appear too eager. He was beautiful, there was no denying it, but more than anything I wanted to ask him what he thought, how the movie made him feel. We stood in silence and stared at each other in awkward pause. "My name is Robert, I really loved your work." We grinned and exchanged pleasantries through the awkwardness.
