Becomes Becoming: Day 3, 03 Nov 2012

Please note: If you are someone who does not want to read about certain details of my love life (like my mother), then please skip the passages I highlighted in grey or skip this whole post altogether. Love, Nichole

Our first conversation was a smile. We were stupidly grinning at each other and unabashedly checking each other out. Every time I ran my eyes up and down his body, I’d catch his eye and just grin some more. The shy girl who broke into sweats when holding contact with a guy was gone. I felt like a woman and it felt good. It only took me 22 years and a trip to Asia to get there. Robin smiled, rolled her eyes, and ushered us into the club.

At some point we actually had a conversation. About what, I shall never remember. But what still sticks was his laughter. It resonated with a deep baritone and wouldn’t leave you till you at least smiled too. The joy in his laughter was wrapping me right into his man hands. Even then I knew that laugh was his greatest weapon. It rang like a bell through your head, made you forget your worries, and left you with a smile and only a faint memory of what you were discussing. But I could tell he was equally enchanted and disarmed any time I put down my thank-you-braces, happy-dance smile.

On the dance floor, he could hold his own. It felt like 15 minutes on the dance floor but actually turned out to be two hours. We took a break. While he went to go get some water, Robin pulled me to a table.

“Soooo?” her almond eyes looked at me suggestively. Her black braids popped against her light skin. Her plump lips that were almost too large for her narrow face were twisted in a sly grin.

“What?” I tried to stall, hoping Oludayo would return quickly.

“Yeah, don’t play dumb, it’s not cute. I see you! I did good,” she said with a self-satisfied grin. She had been trying to hook me up with her friends all summer. Unsuccessful as she was, she still kept trying. Now I had four days left in Beijing and she finally picked the right guy; great timing.

“Yeah, you did good… really really good,” I laughed, propping my elbows on the table.

“I couldn’t stop staring at him at first! And he can dance! And he makes me laugh…” I rattled on, waving my hands around excitedly. I was facing her with my back to the crowd.

“And he’s so tall –,” I tried to jerk my hand up high and back trying to mimic his 6” 2’ frame against my 5” 5’ body. But it hit something high and solid and laughing. I had back-handed him in the jaw. Embarrassment was starting to leave pin pricks up my legs and down my arms. I didn’t know how much he’d heard. The I-am-woman streak was fighting the old habits of the shy girl. I turned around to see him holding our waters and a wide grin. He put the drinks down, kissed my cheek and propped his elbows on the table right beside mine.

He looked me in the eyes and simply said “I like you too.”

Something flashed in his eyes. It scared me. It literally felt like lightning striking my core. I was scared but intrigued too and more than a little turned on. I grabbed his hand and he kissed me. The electric energy continued to spread between our lips.

“Uh, I’ll catch up with you guys later. Let me know when you’re ready to go,” Robin interrupted as she left the table. We apologized and turned back to each other laughing.

“How tall am I again?” he continued with his belly laugh.

“Tall enough,” I said, laughing back.

“Dalia,” looking me again straight through my eyes, “do you want me to come home with you?”

My face contorted from the inward struggle between my heart, my body, and my good girl upbringing. “Noooo… I can’t do that,” was my weak response. The good girl advice of never bringing a strange man home with you the first night was barely winning this battle. I mean I’d already kissed him in the club; something good girls do not do.

“Really?” he didn’t believe me for a minute.

“Yeah, I can’t do that?”

“Alright,” he said, edging closer to me. I could feel his lips behind my ear. “If that is what you want, ok.” It took all my good girl effort to nod quickly and step away.

“Let’s go find Robin,” still unable to look him in the eye. “It’s late.”

Robin, Oludayo, and I squeezed into the back of the cab. I was the only one non-fluent in Mandarin so I let them do the talking. Robin rattled off three addresses to the cab driver: hers, mine, and Oludayo. Robin and I lived close to the club; while he was in the next district. I sat in the middle between Robin and Oludayo. I could fell his leg pressing against mine. Robin’s presence was the only thing tampering our current. She gave me a quick hug before jumping out of the cab at her stop. She reminded the driver to drop me off first, then Oludayo. As she walked away, he looked at me.

“One stop or two?” he asked.

Sometimes it’s good to be bad. “One,” as the cab started moving to my destination.

After Oludayo paid the driver, we entered the university hotel that had been my home for the past three months. The bright lobby was deserted as we crossed the faux marble floor arm in arm. The ever present lobby attendants, of whom I had grown used to the daily stares, were looking extra hard at the company I brought. It was 3 in the morning and I had never brought a man home the whole summer. I think they were happy to see me getting it in. I had learned over the past months that China was not prudish about sex like America and boasted birth control pills as their highest transacted drug. To them, I was finally fitting in with the standard.

We were silent in the elevator, in the hallway, and when I entered my room. The room was cluttered with clothes, gifts, food stuffs, and life. For living in what I classified as a studio for an entire summer, I had done pretty well. The room was not messy but cluttered. Looking at the bed, I started to feel uncertain; uncertain and stinky. The funk from dancing hard for hours was blocking all of the electricity from earlier.

“I’m going to take a shower,” I said decidedly.

“Good, I will too,” he responded.

“Alone.”

“Oh,” he said, looking a little shy himself. Showering together is for the movies. Someone always ends up cold in the back and my hair always gets wet. Plus, I was really funky; like playing soccer for 90 minutes straight funky.

I looked at myself naked in the bathroom mirror. I looked good; I felt good, time to smell good. I returned from my shower wrapped in a towel. I found him waiting on the bed watching some show. I tossed a new towel to him.

“All yours,” nodding towards the bathroom. Musty nuts are not welcome here, I thought as he passed me on his way to the bathroom.

As I waited in my towel, I started to get nervous. Was I really going all the way the first night? Does that make me a slut?

I knew I wanted him here but I didn’t know this person and sex was a serious thing. What kind of spirit did this person have. I truly believed, and still do, that you inherit a part of a person when you sleep with them. Something transfers and something locks you to them. More than my Christianity has kept me to a 6-month no-sex rule. And I was about to break it.

I heard the water turn off. I quickly threw on my pajamas. I figured I could reason better if I had more clothes on than a tiny towel.

He came out in the tiny towel, bare-chested. Damn, he looked good. My pajamas started to feel unnecessary.

“Hey, um, do you have some extra clothes?” he asked pausing after every word.

“Do you really need them?” I asked. He blushed!

“I feel a little underdressed,” pointing out my clothes. I rummaged around the closet to find him some oversized sweats. I handed them to him.

“No shirt?” he asked, teasing me.

“No, you can remain topless,” I said matter-of-factly. He shook his head and chuckled as he went back in the bathroom to change.

For all the boldness we had in the crowd, we found ourselves quite hesitant alone. We sat next to each other on the bed, leaning against the headboard; close but not touching. We were watching the nothing show and making general conversation.

“So, Oludayo, you’re from Nigeria, right?” I asked.

“How’d you know?”

“I have a lot of Nigerian friends back home. Let me guess your tribe,” I said, scrutinizing his face. “Yup,” nodding my head in agreement to myself, “definitely Yoruba.”

“How could you tell?”

“Yoruba people tend to have something open and happy about their face. And they are loud!” I laughed.

“So you’re saying I’m too loud, abi?”

“I like it. It’s like listening to thunder.”

Pause. The nothing tv show had ended and chatter of Chinese commercials filled the space.

“So, you’re from America and you’re Afro-American,” he stated.

“We say African-American or just Black,” I corrected.

“But you look Nigerian, sha.”

“Everyone from Africa tries to claim me as from their country. You won’t be the last. I don’t know where I’m from originally. It’s somewhere in Africa but America is my home.”

“That’s too bad,” he frowned. “Regardless, you look Nigerian.”

“I like being from America, so I don’t see anything bad about it,” ignoring the Nigerian comment. I’d been called Nigerian, Ghanaian, Liberian, etc… throughout my adult life. My mother took this DNA test some time ago and it said we were from the Mandika tribe in Senegal. But I never really trusted those tests beyond the marketing ploy I believed them to be.

“Ok, so what brings an American to communist China?”

“What brings a Nigerian to communist China?”

We both laughed.

I explained that I was there on a research grant funded by the American government. Basically it was a fully funded trip, with a stipend, to conduct research at a Chinese university. The government’s goal was to bridge research between the East and the West; my goal was a free trip to China. He explained that he was there teaching Physics at a college preparatory school. The pay was good, the hours minimal, and they paid for housing. Physics, I thought, must be smart.

We went on like this for an hour, sharing surface-level stories about ourselves.

“So what does Oludayo mean?”

“It means ‘joy arriving’.”

“Seriously?” flashing a smile.

“Seriously. But you can call me Dayo.”

“Ok, Dayo. I’m ready to go to sleep.” I arose to switch off the light and TV, and slid under the covers next to him. I had read somewhere that you should never sleep with anyone whose last name you didn’t know. “Dayo, what is your last name?” I asked. He switched on the nightstand lamp and reached for his wallet. He gave me his ID.

“Ee-song,” I pronounced, reading his last name of the card.

“Wow,” he was impressed. “Most people say I-song cause that’s how it’s spelled. I knew you were Nigerian,” he smiled and leaned down to kiss me.

We woke up late in the morning. My eyes fought against the sun. I retreated to his chest to snatch some more moments of sleep. I didn’t want to speak for fear of morning breath, but I was not ready to get up and face the day either. I listened to his heart beat and tried to match my breathing to his. I wonder if he’s trying to match his breathing to mine, I pondered. I often wondered if men did this but I suspected this was just a woman thing.

I felt him take a deep breath and wrap his arms tighter around me. Yup, definitely not going anywhere, I thought. Since this was my last week in China, I didn’t have to do anything but attend some banquets. I figured he was on some sort of break too because it was the middle of the week and he seemed in no rush to get back to his school.

He squeezed me again and rested his chin on my forehead.

“Can you extend your stay?” he asked. I had told him I was returning to America on the coming Sunday.

“Why?” I murmured, trying to angle my mouth down so he would not catch the morning breath. Again, I suspected this was a female thing because he seemed to have no problem speaking directly above my nose.

“I don’t think I can let you leave me so soon,” he stated simply. He raised my head and kissed me again. I burrowed my head back down into his chest to respond. Damn morning breath!

“I can’t. My family’s expecting me to be back this weekend. My birthday is on Monday and I have to be back home for that. We have till this weekend anyway. So let’s enjoy it till then.” My practicality had returned with the sun. There was no way I was going to change my travel plans, upset my family, and pay sums of money just to spend a couple more days with this guy I barely knew. I took a long look at his chest again and sighed. This was just lust, not love, I assured myself. I didn’t believe in love at first sight.

He paused. “About this weekend…” I could feel his head angling to watch my reaction, “I’m actually scheduled to visit a friend down in Wuxi. My train leaves on Saturday.”

“But last night you said you would be around!” I looked at him in confusion, morning breath forgotten.

“Yeah, I didn’t know you then,” he confessed.

“So you lied!”

“Yeah,” he watched my reaction. I wasn’t even that upset because I did go home with a stranger. I guess a little lying came with the territory. But I didn’t want him to go so soon either.

“Change the tickets then.”

“They’re for this Saturday,” he tried to explain.

“I don’t care. You said you’d be here this weekend, so you need to be here this weekend. Change the tickets,” I said looking him dead in the eyes.

He held my look. I could see him reasoning and working things out in his mind. Finally, he gave me a wry smile, “Ok.”

“Good.”

There was a knock at the door. It was noon and I was still undressed. I jumped out of bed to see who it was. As I walked, I felt his eyes on me. I looked back and saw his admiring stare. “Nice ass,” he said and laughed.