When I was in high school and in college, I had a fantasy boyfriend. A guy that I imagined would be like my definitive soul mate. A man that I wanted to meet, but never did.
In my mind, he was tall, slim, with a smooth pecan complexion and long dreadlocks that varied in length. Sometimes they were just below his shoulders. Other times they reached past the middle of his back. He had fine, keen features, a slight gap in his teeth, dark penetrating eyes, and thick eyebrows. (I've always had a thing for eyes.)
He lived in Brooklyn, in Bedford Stuyvesant or Fort Greene in an apartment with a view. He worked as an engineer and/or architect, something professional and very scientific and mathematical, as he was very studious. He was strong and protective, loving and warm, but firm---not the overly sensitive type.
He would come to Harlem and swoop me up in his SUV and take me about the town. We'd hang out in Chelsea and the Village. Catch a movie in midtown after dinner in Soho. Go to a spoken word show out in Brooklyn or curl up in bed or on the couch and listen neo-soul or jazz or conscious hip hop (think Talib Kweli, Mos Def, and Common).
We connected on a deep level. We discussed anything and everything from politics, to sociology and economics, music, the arts and the list goes on. We'd travel to foreign places, places that I'd always long to visit---Paris, Venice, South Africa, the Caribbean…
We'd marry and have a gang of children that we'd raise in my native Harlem or his Brooklyn, in a brownstone that overlooked a neighborhood park. Our family would be a happy one and we'd be in love even when we were gray and old and our kids had kids.
A pretty good fantasy, wouldn't you say?
*Originally Written November 2005
*Note the man in the picture, while handsome, it is purely coincidental that he matches my description.