Chapter 3

After eight hours of making phone calls, returning phone calls, and typing stories, I picked up my purse and headed down I-40 into the arms of my lover boy. As I listened to the radio, I mentally created a playlist for my big day.

Martin and I met at a party during my first year in college. He was a junior and vice president of the campus of the first black fraternity to established roots on campus. I was young and impressionable. He fit my demographics to a tee; country boy from a big family, a fraternity member, good-looking without being too fine, a hard worker, and most importantly, worshipped the ground I walked on. The fact he was easy on the eye helped keep my fires burning. At 6’1”, he was tall enough to keep me looking up from my 5’6” height, but not so tall that I got a neck sprain kissing him. A coffee-colored brother with strong, cable-like arms and legs, I just knew he would make all my dreams come true.