Submitted for Valentine’s Day Challenge — A LOVE[LY] Submission Call 2018
The White Season
Memoir By Anthony Cloe Huie
Love & New Beginnings
Aging, whilst healthy is the most interesting stage of being alive. As long as we maintain a sense of humor and grounded disposition of one’s own reality our bitter sweet reflections of life’s journey will not sour our aged perception of the mistakes made when once we were so very young.
With age many become purposefully exploitive of their melancholy moments by pretentiously reminiscing youthful exploits. Truthfully our pretense is but a key to open our masochistic, bitter sweet doorway exposing unhealed flesh wounds lashed upon our naïve hearts. As if to atone for our sins, now in our senior years our love pains have become guarded by guilt; our jaded depositions and desire to control the listener’s perception of our retelling our romantic childhood failures. Ironically revisiting of my version of youthful memoires is my knowing attempt to atone for an important one of those youthful romantic failures.
The summer of my Canadian arrival was everything White. Even the grass was a whiter shade of green. What were missing were the multitudes of very darkened sun red skin tones of White residents that I had become familiar with as a young boy in Port Antonio. White folks were no strangers to me. Every two weeks they poured off the attractive cruise ships docked in Port Antonio’s harbor. They were mostly dressed in short pants, white in color for females, dark blue for the males. Their colorful shirts and blouses were complimented by their oversize straw hats.
From a confident life in Port Antonio to being the lone Black Sheep in a herd of thousands of Whites I was alone and unfamiliar with the romantic expectations of my new neighborhood friends. The solitary unfortunate female having shown me compassion unwittingly became my first Valentine’s desire. Winning the hand of my heart’s first Canadian love would require my constructing a plan of her saying yes to be my Valentine. Her being older added to my confidence because she was more knowledgeable than her younger constantly giggling inexperienced friends. An additional fascination and wonderful challenge were the older boys having expressed their interest of her being their Valentines.
The evening finally arrived. It had taken weeks to build my courage longer to knock on her door.
Smiling with a slight hint of surprised she greeted me with “Hey!” Hello I responded. Then an eternally long silence! “Are you ok?” Yes, again I responded. The silence! Finally my words began to pour out like molasses moving over glass, smoothly, quietly but very slowly.
I wish you to be my Valentines! “That is very sweet but you are too young for me” Again silence. I may be younger but I have life experiences having had to do things on my own as a young man in Port Antonio. I am more mature than many of the older boys interested in you, I continued. “You are still too young for me” she responded. Looking back I can appreciate her compassion and possibly her pain knowing the eventual outcome of this conversation. There was the longest of silence! I said to her; well do something to show me you are not interested. I was begging her to rescue me from my shame, from my dying on the stage of romance.
“I am really very, very sorry!” she said softly as she reached forward and slapped me. Shocked as I was I knew she had done the most loving thing she could have by giving me something to walk away with. As she closed the door she again repeated, “I am so very sorry!” Door closed I walked into the night feeling I had for but a moment found my true first Canadian love.
@Anthony2018mdh30Vibes
