Two Days Later

It was mid-September. I had just moved back in with my parents, waiting for my apartment to be ready.

My dad had already called in a favor. One of his friends showed up with a truck, and just like that, my life was stacked in the garage. Boxes. Furniture. Pieces of my life I was trying to put back in order.

For days, I packed and cleaned like I had something to prove. Refrigerator wiped down. Oven scrubbed. Closets empty. Bathroom spotless.

This time, I wanted my security deposit back.

Not casually. Not “we’ll see what happens.” I had already spent it ten different ways in my head. Moving costs. Something new for the next space. Something that felt like I was getting it right this time.

And right in the middle of all that, it was McLain High School’s homecoming weekend.

Before moving back to Tulsa, that wouldn’t have been on my radar. I was loyal to Grambling. That was my homecoming. But a few Class of 1990 meetings, a little peer pressure, and suddenly I had a T-shirt, paid dues, and plans to show up.

Friday came, and I pulled up around six.

The parking lot was alive. Tents lined up. Music loud. Food on the grill. Drinks flowing. Everybody had somewhere to be and somebody to see. It felt like time folded in on itself.

And you could see it on people.

Some folks looked like they had been kind to themselves. It showed.

Still, it was good. I laughed, ate, and hugged people I hadn’t seen in years. For a moment, everything felt easy.

The night moved to the after-party at Osage Casino. Wall to wall people. Booker T. McLain. All mixed together. Loud, crowded, familiar.

By the time I got back to my parents’ house, I was done. I dropped on the bed and didn’t move.

Saturday, I finished the last of the move. By evening, I had nothing left in me. I skipped the second night of homecoming without guilt.

That night, I stayed in bed. No plans. No energy. Just me, scrolling through Facebook, watching everybody else continue the party.

Then my phone rang.

Weenie.

Now, Weenie was known for a lot of things, but what stood out to me was his heart for those boys and the wrestling team he built. My nephews were part of it. So I answered.

I had just seen his post. A picture of him and a man I knew, but hadn’t seen in a while. Long enough for it to feel unexpected.

He had asked Weenie if I was there.

Weenie called to check.

I wasn’t.

I was in bed, hair wrapped, minding my business.

But somehow, that didn’t stop the conversation.

We talked longer than I expected.

Then we made a plan.

Two days later, we sat across from each other at Yokozuna for dinner.

From that night to this life.

A quiet table tucked off to the side. Plates between us we barely touched. A pleasant conversation about life.

What I didn’t know then was how easy it would feel.

How familiar.

How right.

We reconnected without forcing it. No pressure. Just presence.

And that was the beginning.

So today, I celebrate the man who was curious enough to ask about me.

The one who followed up.

The one who showed up and stayed.

Happy Birthday, Love!!

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