The man upstairs

Last week my roommate and I took unwanted groceries to our upstairs neighbor, O. After declining said groceries (he still had some from our previous drop off) he offered us a glass of wine. My roommate had just finished a 14-hour shift on 3 hours of sleep so she declined, but I said yes. As he started pouring I looked down at my pajama attire that I hadn't changed out of since the night before, covering up my unwashed body. "Hold on 5 minutes," I said as I ran back downstairs, rubbed my upper body with a clean wash cloth, applied good smelling deodorant, put on pants and a shirt, and ran back up, albeit still in my slippers. What commenced was a 3-hour long conversation so long and light like I hadn't had since I met T, the man who put my novel behind a glass case.

I met O the first day I moved in as he introduced himself to my aunt, uncle and me as we stood sweaty on the staircase with furniture and boxes. He looked at me with those "you're wonderful and amazing" eyes, and since he knew nothing about me I mistakenly mistook his enthusiasm for that of a gay man knowing that he has just met a kindred spirit in the minority department. After four months, in which he came to our game night (with me being sweaty after a shower and cooking), helped me put together my bed (with me being sweaty in pj's as I wrestled with the mattresses), and exchanged humorous emails with me in facebook (no sweat there!), it turns out that he is not in fact gay. Now, I can't be sure that these admiring looks he gives me have more than platonic undertones, but if they don't I'm doomed to never be looked at that way by a man who actually wants to "go steady." I'm sure I'll find out more after our date on Saturday where my roommate says she will laugh her head off at home while she pictures me golfing on an early morning in preppy clothes. But then again, I may be black but I've always been preppy. And, I've always wanted to golf.

While I like O for many reasons, one thing that works tremendously in his favor is that I don't have to worry about how to see him. As long as I can take a shower and put on perfume, I'm set. If I get in a flareup I can come back downstairs. If we go out like we are on Saturday he doesn't have to drop me off anywhere before coming back to his own house. Things are still up in the air with D, but I love O's grounded existence mixed with light humor, his closeness in age to my own, and the way, even though he is a Republican who is somewhat obsessed with sports, he makes me feel like I'm wonderful just the way I am.