Jigsaw: Episode 2

Jason

We all have a fantasy, a dream guy or girl. You know what I'm talking about, the type of person who is perfect as far as you're concerned, even if they're obviously flawed. . .

Jason was my fantasy incarnate--Spiritual, successful, confident, and of course, unbelievably fine! That's all I had to go off of because other than those qualities, I didn't know a thing about him (That's usually the case with a fantasy). I'd known of him for months and had seen him around a few times, but on that night during my college's Homecoming Weekend, it was surreal how he, once a man supposedly so far removed from me, was the same man towering over me and boldly staring into my eyes.

Jason was art in motion. Hands down, he had to be one of the finest men I’d ever seen in person. Standing at 6’7, he had the body of a Spartan. His face, perfect in symmetry and complexion, boasted of a jawline that could slice through a sheet a paper. Now, I tend to be inclined toward the chocolate brothers, but I had to give this man his props. He was just glorious. I knew he had to have some super swag that night when he seemingly parted the crowd of hundreds, just walked up to me and started to converse.

I have a knack for determining someone’s sign before they even tell me, and he had to be a Scorpio. Sexiness and confidence, both blanketed under cool composure, oozed from his pores. He was sure I’d give him the time of day and he was right. I liked his confidence though. My mind raced as I noticed him approaching me. I knew exactly who he was, but tried to play it cool as if I’m approached by fine men every day of the week. I sensed that he was a modern-day Adonis type who looked good and knew it. He walked with a hint of regality, but I couldn’t hate because so do I.

Instead of the handshake that I expected, he greeted me with a warm, friendly hug he would give to a longtime friend. Though a bit surprised, I freely embraced him and took note of how perfectly his muscular frame enveloped me.

“Haven’t we met?” He asked with a sexy smirk on his face signifying that he already knew the answer. Deciding to play the amnesia game with him, I answered after a long pause, “Uh, yeah. I think we’re friends on Facebook or something, but we actually met briefly when you preached at Trinity church last December.”

I'd never admit it to him, but I remembered every detail of that day as if it were yesterday. I'd woken up on what appeared to be a usual Sabbath morning and proceeded to get ready for church service when a friend texted my roommate informing her that "he" was going to be the guest speaker at Trinity. Upon learning that information, we immediately abandoned all plans to attend our normal church of choice. With a smirk on my face, I sashayed to my "knock 'em dead arsenal," simply known as a closet to most, and pulled out the perfect "First Lady" outfit: a knee-length pleated satin skirt accented by an intricate velvet floral pattern and waistband, an H&M satin bolero jacket, fishnet stockings, 3 1/2 inch faux-croc pumps, and my authentic 1940s vintage clutch. I was a vision in all black. Sophisticated and a dash trendy--just my style. (Don't judge me--we've ALL gone to church dressed for someone besides Jesus at least once, so don't even front!)

My roommate and I arrived at church a little late, so we ended up having to sit toward the back. I didn't mind though because part of what (who) I'd gone to see was still in sight since he, of course, was seated on the pulpit. I rarely stand in line to shake the pastor's hand after service, even at my own church, but I decided to try and make the most of the opportunity. My heart raced as I inched my way closer to the receiving line and I found myself subconsciously rubbing on my clutch as it were a genie lamp as I silently prayed, Please Lord, don't let me stutter or say anything stupid. As the person ahead of me proceeded to the foyer, I, in the diva fashion, pulled back my shoulders and turned the wattage in my smile up to "blinding." As he reached out his hand to grasp mine, he smiled, slightly tilted his head to the side, gave me a look expressing distant familiarity, leaned in and asked "What's your name again?"

With all of the confidence I could muster, I proudly stated my name and managed to add a charming "Nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine." He replied so intently that it made the church's senior pastor, who was standing directly beside him, glance from him to me then shake his head while trying to conceal a smile.

I walked, no, floated into the foyer before melting into a puddle waiting for my roommate to come mop me up and wring me out in the car. Yeah, a sista was swoonin'.

“Yeah, that’s where I know you from." He admitted with a feigned case of sudden recognition. "It’s good to see you again.”
"You too." I replied trying not to sound a little too honest.
After about five or ten minutes of small talk, cheeky smiles and eyelash batting, we resolved that we would see each other around at some point during the weekend festivities. Before parting though, he reached out embrace me once again. During the expo on the last day of Homecoming Weekend, Jason miraculously spotted me amidst the sea of current and former students. I was impressed. He must really be interested. I thought, trying to keep my giddiness at bay.

And apparently, he was. For the rest of day, we stood amongst the throng getting to know each other better. His forthright flirting confirmed that his interest was not merely a figment of my imagination. Oh yeah, he was feeling me. But we all know that the first sign of a man's interest is his asking a woman for her number. As the day drew to a close, I got more and more anxious for him to "pop the question." And when he finally did, that moment officially became the highlight of my week--I'll keep it real, maybe even my month.

The following few weeks were filled with him texting and calling me non-stop. When we ran into each other again a week later, he asked me to accompany him to a play, and of course, I accepted. I was beginning to believe that he was someone I could start to really like . . . until things suddenly changed. Beside the fact that he canceled our play date due to "several board meetings occurring on the same day" (which I now believe was a lie), overnight, he became too "busy" to call me back when he said he would or see me when he came to town. I had a feeling that someone else was in the picture, and that was confirmed when my friend called me one morning reporting that he'd seen Jason sharing a very cozy breakfast with a pretty and newly single young woman who also attended my college.

A woman's intuition rarely leads her wrong and I had a very strong suspicion that he had opted to see "Miss PYT" every time he canceled something with me; I was going to call him out on that. Don't misunderstand me. There's nothing wrong, per se, with dating several people at once, but if a man is attempting to be a player (especially in an effort to protect his "good name"), he should at least spend an equal amount of time with each woman to decrease suspicion. Duh!

After not having heard from him in about two weeks, I gathered all of the self-respect I could and texted "You're not feeling this, so let's just charge this to the game." Hilariously, he immediately texted me back saying, "I'm so sorry . . . I've been busy. . .I still want to get to know you . . . Blah, blah, blah." Of course he did, just in case his little "love affair" with Miss PYT didn't work out.

I didn't text back.

Thinking that that was the end of that ordeal, I resumed my normal activities and threw myself into school work as I prepared for finals. Early one morning the next week, I was awakened by a call from him asking me to meet with him later that day since he was in town. I agreed (Ladies, we tend to give the fine ones a lot more leeway, don't we? A shame, but true), but resolved to keep my guard up and my eyes and ears open because he was a slippery one.

When we met up later that day, he suggested we talk outside instead of in the dorm lobby. As we strolled to the parking lot, he began. "Sooo, what was that text all about?"

You know what the heck that text was about, nigga. I thought, allowing a sugary smile to take precedence over the "Boy, stop playing" scowl that I really wanted to give him. "All I have to say is that things have changed and I don't think it's because you've been busy." I replied with a more serious look now replacing my smile.

Looking trapped for only a split second, he replied with "Because I'm young and a pastor, if people see me with a young woman, they assume that I'm trying to get with her. But I'm at a place in my life where I just want to meet people and make friends (Code for 'I'm dating around')."

I bit down on my tongue to keep from asking "Do all of your 'friends' look like me and Miss PYT from the snack bar?

Instead, I simply said "OK, I understand." And decided against probing any further because every sensible woman knows that players are going to play regardless. Plus, I didn't want to give him an opportunity to make me look thirsty.

"Listen, I hope we can still be friends and get to know each other." He offered as we walked back toward the dorm.

"Sure." I replied, though I knew that I was already over it.

"Great. I'll call you." He promised after hugging me and before walking toward the parking lot to his car.

He never called again.

I never expected him to.

It wasn't until more than a year and a half later when I was on the phone with a new friend that Jason's name came up and I learned that he is notorious for being a serial dater and for leaving a trail of tears and broken hearts in the wake of each of his relationships.

"Thank God I wasn't one of them." I breathed, grateful that I was smart enough to see past his looks and "credentials" and to not let myself get played.

A few months ago I visited a church on what appeared to be another usual Sabbath when my sister, who was seated next to me, gasped, nudged me and said. "You will not believe who's here."

"Who?" I asked, wondering whose presence could have excited my usually apathetic sister.

"Jason . . . and some girl."

As inconspicuously as possible, I turned my head to glance at the duo. The young woman (of course another PYT) looked blissfully happy sitting next to a man she obviously adored.

I wonder if she "knows" about him. I thought. Well, if she doesn't now, she will soon enough. I concluded before completely focusing my attention on the service and forgetting that he was even in the building . . .

Names have been changed to protect the innocent as well as the guilty;)