Sorrow

I held her hand. We were sitting across from each other at the Cracker Barrell. She had driven quickly from an airport two hours away to get to the Cracker Barrel in time to eat. Thankfully their weekend hours are extended by an hour.

She was upset, and I was glad that I could be there for her, glad that I was there for her, and that over the next 24 hours I would be her constant companion.

I was struck again by her beauty. The complex mix of genes and possibilities had swirled themselves together into a creation that is simply beautiful. Mixed of two races, she somehow ended up with all the best of both. Shapely legs, a lovely butt, a torso and breasts that could not have been more perfect on a sculpture, and it all rises to a beautiful smile on a beautiful face, framed by what I have often called "good hair."

And always stylish. Always. She just had to order the chicken and dumplings. And we talked, and talked and talked. She would stay with me, and we would make the drive, slightly over an hour and a half in the morning, to a family home to begin the afternoon.

I took her hand and told her solemnly, truthfully, "I am so sorry for your loss. I'm glad I can be here for you." And then I told her what we both knew, "I am so excited to be going to a Black funeral I just can't stand it!"