Quebec Woman Loves Haitian Dude

Every time he comes to me like this, my heart nearly breaks. I'm always glad to see him, but always saddened about the circumstances. Raphael Courville comes to me with his head down, when things are absolutely at their worst. I already suspect there's a woman involved in it this time. He tells me that he had yet another disastrous date with a young Black woman. Another one of those 'sisters' who thinks he's not tough enough to hang with them. I wonder why he keeps going back to them. He's an intellectual, the type of Black man that they can't stand. Seriously, sometimes I don't get men. It's almost as if they crave pain. My name is Rebecca Richelieu, and I was born and raised in the City of Montreal, Province of Quebec. This is the story of how a certain knucklehead became the love of my life. After I worked out the kinks and fixed him up, of course.

I've known Raphael since our early days at Saint Jean High School. Fast forward five years later and we're both studying at McGill University right here in the City of Montreal. I'm taking up journalism and Raphael is majoring in civil engineering. Anyone looking at us finds it puzzling that we're the best of friends. I'm around five-foot-nine, slim, with short red hair and pale green eyes. One hundred percent French-Canadian. I am a pure Quebecoise. Raphael is big and tall and Black. Easily over six foot three, brawny and very dark-skinned, with a bald head. A proud son of the Republic of Haiti, though he was born and raised in Montreal-Nord. Raphael is dreadfully naïve, and has lousy luck with women. He likes them Black, loud and mean. Seems to be his type. Like many foolish men, he thinks he can turn a bad girl around. As if.

I was sitting in my dorm when he came to me. Shaking my head, I invite him inside. I just know I'm going to miss an episode of Supernatural, my favourite television series, over his latest romantic disappointment. Why, just last week he was going on and on about her. What was her name? Denise Robert or Denise Moper. Or some shit like that. A short, chubby Black chick with a big butt. Straight from the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I warned Raphael about her but typical males never listen to the women in their lives. Raphael sits on my couch, and I mute the TV. What is it now? I thought as I sat across from him.

Raphael tells me that Denise just dumped him over a white dude named Brian, or was it Ryan. I feel like shrugging and saying "I told you so" but the look on Raphael simply breaks my heart. We go way back, me and him. Usually, I'm the most sarcastic twit you've ever met. I think I was born that way. Raised in a family of all guys by a single father after my mother's death. I joined the men's wrestling team in high school and had to be really tough just to survive on the mat. The guys on the wrestling team didn't exactly make me feel welcome. I had to earn their respect the old-fashioned way, by beating male wrestlers on the mat in front of everybody and occasionally making them cry. Raphael was on the wrestling team at the time. Out of all the guys, he's the only one who was nice to me. Ever since those days, we've been best friends. It's the only reason why I hold my sharp tongue instead of lashing out at him for allowing some hussy to dupe him yet again.

Look, I'm sorry but I hate foolish people. They bring a lot of crap onto themselves. Like the Trojans in the Illiad, or the United States of America during the Recession of the late 2000s and early 2010s. Acting foolish isn't funny, it's a bore and it brings you pain. In the case of my dear friend Raphael, he foolishly believes that every pretty Black chick he meets is his potential wife. Any random slut who comes calling. And he treats them all like princesses. Small wonder they walk all over him. My brothers Joseph, Stanley and Eric all have 'chick problems' and I usually set them straight. Hell, sometimes I have to set my dad straight about some of those dumb broads he keeps bringing home. Trailer trash straight from the bars. Ugh. Us women aren't angels. Guys have to watch out. I say this all the time to all my male friends and relatives. Raphael didn't get the message.

I sigh and look into his moist eyes as he goes on and on about Denise. Man, for this I'm missing Supernatural. That's awesome. That's absolutely fantastic. I sure hope to catch the rerun online at a later date, or maybe I can TiVo it. Hmm. Where was I? Oh, yeah. I was sitting across from Raphael in my dorm room couch as he whined about his latest romantic failure. Look, sorry if I sound cold but I kind of saw it coming a mile away. I'm tired of Raphael coming home to me after yet another disastrous relationship with the big-booty Black slut of the week. Once he's done talking, he looks at me. I smile at him, and gently tap his shoulder. Then I tell him to snap out of it. My voice is cold, even though I'm smiling. I'm sorry but I don't have a maternal bone in my body. Probably a side effect of being a motherless tomboy raised in a house full of men. I firmly believe in tough love.

I tell Raphael that Denise fat ass wasn't worth his almost-tears, or his hard-earned cash. He smiles, and nods. I grin, gently pat his thigh, and go back to watching Supernatural. I can't get enough of those brothers, man. I love watching them take on everything from angels to demons and vampires and all that jazz. I haven't liked a television series that much since Angel and Buffy in the early 2000s. I love my science fiction and horror shows. No, I'm not into fucking twilight. Blade and Underworld are the way vampire movies should be. Twilight sucks ass! I'm sorry, I digress. I was telling you people about Raphael finally ceasing to whine and actually cheering up a bit. I was engrossed in the remainder of the episode. It involved renegade angels, my favourite topic in horror, so I was all ears. The episode ended, and I turned to look at Raphael. I was about to ask him if he wanted a beer. I've got some Alexander Keith's beer in the fridge. It's really good stuff, folks. Straight from the Province of Nova Scotia. Eyes still riveted on the screen, I called out and Raphael didn't answer me. He didn't answer me because he was snoozing. Right here on my fucking couch.

I was about to nudge him awake, when something kind of made me freeze. For a moment, I was almost distracted by how, um, good, he looked while asleep. Sometimes, I find myself thinking some really surprising thoughts about my favourite bozo. Raphael, my charming, naïve and annoying guy friend. He's like frigging Steve Urkel from Family Matters, only bigger and taller, with slightly less nerdy glasses. And like that TV character, he's obsessed with mean-spirited Black chicks who won't give him the time of day. Sometimes, I think he chases those broads because of his mother. I've met his mother, Elsie Courville, and we've even talked a few times. She's a schoolteacher in Montreal-Nord, the heavily Haitian section of Montreal. And she let me know in no uncertain terms that she didn't think much of Black guys with White women every time I came over to her house. And they say Black people can't be racist! Raphael's father, Quebec Ministry of Corrections Officer Stephen Courville is a really nice man. He always made me feel welcome at their house. Sharply contrasting with that is the fact that my dad and my brothers liked Raphael. He used to come over to our house all the time and play hockey with my brothers in the driveway when we were growing up. Raphael's mom only came over to our house once, and only because Raphael was sick that day and my dad called her. She was cold to all of us the entire time. Honestly, I think Raphael's mom hates White people. You can't tell Raphael that, though. He's the original mama's guy. Dude thinks his mama's shit don't stink.

Anyhow, all those thoughts from the old days came rushing back as I beheld Raphael in his sleep. I smiled to myself as I remembered that time when he kissed me after winning his first hockey game against some guys from our neighbourhood. Lucky for both of us his mom hadn't seen us. Yeah, Raphael had kissed me. And I kissed him. That was a long time ago, though. We've both matured since then. Maybe. He keeps going out with mean broads with big butts and no souls and I seem to attract guys who are about to go gay. I'm serious. Three of my ex-boyfriends turned out to be gay. Sometimes I think I made them go gay. Maybe it's me, you know? Alicia Ruiz, my only female friend, told me that my pussy was so bad it made guys go queer. I almost smacked my favourite Venezuelan when she said that. I seem to have the same problem as Raphael. Neither of us can keep someone for long. He attracts big-booty sluts with little or no conscience and I attract guys with queer tendencies. How awesome is that?

I try to nudge Raphael awake, but he doesn't move. He's really tired, I guess. McGill University is one of the toughest schools in the Confederation of Canada. If you don't pace yourself it will fuck you up. Add to that the stress of our personal lives and you've got an environment of high pressure. Raphael was obviously close to cracking. I pulled the blanket over him, knowing fully well that I was about to have yet another 'nuit blanche'. When he comes over, he complains about girls a lot, and eats my food, and doesn't pick up after himself. I tolerate it because I l...whoa, because I love him? Did I really think that? Now, don't get me wrong. I care deeply for Raphael. We're best friends. I'm not in love with him or anything. I know him too well. We're talking about a guy I once forced to go buy me tampons on a dare...and he followed through with it! Nope, we're way too close. I'm not in love with him. I do care for him and I really wish he were smarter than it came to women. Especially those big-booty Black women he's always chasing. Honestly, what does he see in them?

Whoa, there! My own thoughts surprised me. I went back to watching TV. I'm an insomniac, and I usually fall asleep when I'm close to passing out. I work twenty five hours a week as a gopher for Le Journal De Montreal. The world-famous Montreal newspaper. That's on top of taking four classes per semester at McGill University. I'm barely scraping by academically, unlike my brainy friend Raphael here. He won top honours from the Royal Canadian Society of Engineers, which awards numerous scholarships to the top engineering students at universities across Canada. He's got offers to study at frigging Oxford University in England, for crying out loud. Yet he can't seem to see through the dull, boring, and just plain dumb big-booty sluts who comes calling. It's like he's got a different one every couple of months, and he's got the nerve to cry when they leave. Men!

I'm not sure at which point I fell asleep but I did. The human body isn't a machine. What surprised me is where I woke up. I didn't wake up on the other living room couch where I sat watching Space, the Canadian science fiction channel. Nope, I was in my bed. Hmm. I don't remember getting there. I got up, attracted by some noise in the living room slash kitchen area. Guess what I saw? Raphael stood in my kitchen, touching my stuff and acting like he owned the place. And he was cooking! I smelled the omelette and bacon before I even saw what he was making. Hands on my hips, I smiled and asked him what he was doing. Grinning, he told me that he was making breakfast. He also thanked me for tucking him in and told me the least he could do was return the favour. Hmm. So he's the one who took me to bed last night, in a manner of speaking. Okay. Smiling, Raphael told me to grab a seat. I shrugged, and sat down.

I watched Raphael intently. He seemed really jolly. He came over and put a plate of bacon and eggs in front of me, and some orange juice. I smiled, and asked him why he was so happy. Raphael grinned, and told me he had a good night's sleep for the first time in ages. He also told me he had a new lease on life. I grinned, and told him to continue. He laughed and told me he wasn't going to limit himself by only dating Black women anymore. He was now open to dating any ethnicity. His mother's wishes for him to find a Black bride be damned. I smiled, astonished at this chance of attitude in him. Wow. All this in one night? I ate my breakfast, and found myself laughing with Raphael. For the first time in ages, he looked happy. I don't know what came over him, but I think he's going to be okay.

After breakfast, Raphael insisted on not only doing the dishes but also cleaning up. Another big surprise. I was really digging all these changes in him. Wow. I sat on the living room couch where he slept the night before, and watched RDI. My favourite news program. It was nine o'clock and I didn't have class until eleven. Raphael sat next to me, and my attention shifted from the TV to his face. He was still giggling. I slapped his thigh, and told him to fess up. What in hell had gotten into him? Raphael smiled, and told me he'd come to a shocking realization at some point last night. Something he'd been keeping to himself for so long. And he felt like unburdening himself. I gently touched his shoulder, and told him he could tell me anything. My favourite big guy smiled, leaned closer to me, and then...he kissed me. Yep. He planted a big one on my lips. Wow.

When Raphael's lips left mine, I stared at him, stunned. What the hell? A strange expression filled his place. In rapid, staccato words, he told me that he liked me and just wanted me to know. Impulsively I grabbed him, and then I kissed him. A real kiss this time. With actual tongue. None of that sloppy stuff he laid on me moments before. When our lips parted next, we were both smiling. I looked at Raphael and he looked at me. My, this was a surprise. A really pleasant surprise. We began the kisses again. You know what, I didn't make it to class that morning. And neither did he. Something new and wonderful had come into our lives, surprising the both of us in the most pleasant of ways. Raphael and I loved each other, though neither of us had ever uttered the words. All those times I was seething with anger at him for chasing those other women, I was really jealous rather than annoyed at him for unburdening his problems on me. And he had just realized that I'm his only constant, the one woman who stands by him no matter how trying he may be. And that's how we became an item, folks. I think we're going to be happy together. I also think Raphael's mom is going to have a heart attack when she finds out her son is with a White woman, me. She was out of the country for a bit but she's coming back in a few days. Man, I can't wait till she sees us together, hand in hand!