When I Close My Eyes...

Dang. Y'all gon' think I just blog about guys... it's not true. I swear it's not ;)

[Ed. Note - The picture has changed because Marlo Girl couldn't bear to read my blog with Will's face all up in her grill as she doesn't think he's attractive. So, this picture is more to her liking. See, I'm a good blogging friend ;)]

Friday morning, my girl sent me one of those ‘get to know you better’ e-mails. One of the questions was: Do you have any regrets?

Honestly, I don’t really regret any of the decisions I’ve made. Some of them haven’t been too smart, but for the most part, I’ve done what I’ve thought best and I’m happy with the majority of my decisions.

But, Friday afternoon, as I sit at my desk and listen to Jon B.’s Cool Relax CD, I’m taken back to the winter of 1998 when I moved to Toronto and I can think of one decision I regretted.

All those years ago I moved to Toronto – an eager, new graduate – full of excitement and determination, but shy as heck. So, I was happy to land a job with Tandemar Research, a market research company at Bloor and Sherbourne that treated its employees like crap.

It was my first job in the big city and I was just happy to be making some money to contribute to my sister – seeing she was pretty much supporting me at the time.

Anyway, one morning, after being threatened with unemployment, my new friend Carol and I went downstairs to Select Sandwich for a bagel and to cuss our boss, Hala.

As we walked over to the restaurant, my eyes caught the eyes of this very cute – ok, I’m not going to beat around the bush, he was HOT. Like gorgeous, HOT, yummy and I nearly fainted when he smiled.

I half-smiled, ‘cause really I thought he had to be smiling at someone behind me and rushed into the sandwich. I got my grub and walked out to find him waiting outside the door. He caught my hand.

“Hey, can I talk to you for a second?”

Like I was going to say ‘no’?

“Sure,” I said shyly.

“My name’s Will. What’s yours?”

"Urban Sista."

"Well, Urban Sista, can I have your phone number? Maybe we can catch a movie or something."

Lawd, give me strength. I wrote down my number, trying to control my shaking hand, and gave it back to him. He took my hand and held it.

"I'ma call you."

"OK."

"Bye." He headed off to the back entrance and Carol, who had since gotten her bagel came over to investigate what had happened.

"Do you know him?" she asked. Carol was a nice Lebanese girl who didn't know the intricacies of Black culture. A perfectly strange man could approach a woman and talk and end up with her phone number -- if he was cute/polite/funny enough. If he was rude or busted, he may get told off. Don't blame me, that's the truth and you know it.

A cute man chats you up and asks you for your number, you call that flirtation.

A NSA (not-so-attractive) dude chats you up and asks you for your number, you call that harassment.

That night, at home I couldn't wait for the phone to ring.

Unfortunately, it didn't. By 10 o'clock that night, I had written Will off as a 'typical' guy. Ask for your number and then act the ass. Whatever.

Friday, Carol and I went back to Select Sandwich for our morning bagels and guess who was chilling in the same spot. I looked over and said a very cool, "hello."

"Hey, sorry I didn't call last night," he said.

"Right," I said.

"No, really. I was working."

"Oh, what do you do?"

"I'm a model." Right. He's hot, yes, but a model? A model? "I was in the latest Sears catalogue."

"Oh. Cool."

"I'm just waiting on my boy -- why don't I give you my number and we get together and go to a movie?"

I thought about it. I would be in control. I could call or not call at my discretion... but then the onus was on me to call. Oh Lawd! Too much stress...

"OK, I'll call you." He wrote his number down on a slip of paper and passed it to me.

"Call me," he said. Then he swaggered off with his equally hot friend. Wow.

"So, what did he say?" asked Carol.

"He's a model," I said.

"A model?"

"Yep."

"Wow."

Now, that weekend, my girlfriend Marianne was visiting from Montreal. My sister and I picked her up from the bus station and I was telling both of them about Will.

"I'm going to call him tomorrow!" I said, after rattling off the entire story.

"You're going to call him?" My sister said in her usual 'my-sister-has-no-sense' tone. "Why didn't he call you?"

"He was working."

"What does he do?" asked Marianne.

"He's a model."

"A model?"

"A model." The more I said it, the more it sounded like a load of hooey. Why would a model just be chilling in Greenwin Square at Bloor and Sherbourne? Really.

"He probably has a woman in every port," said my sister. That girl has a way with words, doesn't she?

"I don't think you should call him," said Marianne. "You don't know anything about him." Once Marianne had said that, I should have just ignored her backside. This was the same chick that would travel back and forth to Toronto to visit a man she barely knew. But, I started to doubt myself and whether or not I should call Will.

a) why couldn't he call me?
b) maybe he does have women at every port -- especially if he is a model. (I want to say 'male model' but that's so Zoolander-esque.)
c) if he is a model, why would he be interested in me? He's got to be lying. (Can you say no self-esteem?)

So, I never did call Will. And I never saw him again, either -- until about a year and a half later.

I was no longer working at Tandemar Research. I had lost contact with Carol (which was a shame). I was working at Young People's Press and had taken a mental health day. I was sitting at home watch videos on BET and Shanice Wilson's new video, When I Close My Eyes came one.

And I nearly fell off the couch. A solitary tear fell out of my eye and rolled down my cheek.

Will -- in all of his hotness -- was on the screen.

And a wave of regret washed over me.

I should have called.

He didn't lie. He was a model.

I didn't regret it because he was a model or because I think I missed out on anything (OK, maybe there is a tiny bit of regret associated with him being a model), but what I regret is that I let someone else influence my decision to the point that and I didn't call him. I didn't do what I wanted to do because I was worried about what other people thought and I didn't have enough confidence in myself to think my decision was worthwhile.

Yeah, he could have been a disgusting bugger and I may not have liked him. He may have been wonderful. But I have no idea what kind of person he is or was. If I didn't call Will, it should have been because I didn't want to call him, not because anyone else thought it was a bad decision.

So, I sat there and felt miserable about a lost chance.

That is my regret. I haven't seen him since and I'm sure things wouldn't be the same -- I'm a completely different person and I'm sure he is too -- if I did run into him on Bloor and Sherbourne. Although, I think I'm doing pretty well if not calling Will Lemay is my greatest regret.

Will, if you're reading this, sniff, you're still hot ;)