It's getting late...Why you gotta be here?--Floetry

12:49am Cell phone rings...

me: Hello?
Unknown caller: Wassup?
me: Nothing...what's goin on?
Unknown caller: Nothing
me: (clearing my throat) I'm sorry...who is this?
Unknown caller: Jamaica...we met at Colours.
me: Okay...(silence)...when?
Jamaica: You wrote your number on a napkin. Home and cell...
me: What do you look like?
Jamaica: Light skin Jamaican from Jersey...buck sixty...six feet tall...
me: Hmmm...I don't remember meeting anyone...When was this?
Jamaica: It's been a minute...my moms passed...i went back to Jersey.
me: Okay...I don't remember...so wassup?
Jamaica: What time you work tomorrow?
me: Going in around noon. why?
Jamaica: I thought we could get together. Get some tea.
me: (thinking to myself: "Just like a damn Jamaican wanting some damn tea at this time of night") At one in the morning?
Jamaica: I mean we can meet up and figure it out.
me: I don't even remember you.
Jamaica: You will when you see me...promise
me: (smiling and laughing like a naive lil' girl) Whatever, yo.
Jamaica: I live in Lil' 5 Points

Jamaica's house phone rings in the background. I am put on hold for approximately 6 minutes as he answers. Why I hold? I don't know. Something is intriguing me.

Jamaica: Sorry. My best friend is going through something. You rolling through?
me: I don't know. Directions? Lemme take a shower. I'll call you back.

TSB: Hello?
me: Hey!
TSB: I called you earlier...
me: (interrupts) Why this guy called me saying I gave him my number at Colours and I have no recollection of any said guy?
TSB: You are so tired...
me: I need to stop drinking so much. Well, he asked me to stop by...
TSB: But you don't remember him...
me: Well, I haven't been as active as you and Gianni these pass two weeks, so...
TSB: Whatever! This could be a set up!
me: What?
TSB: The Ex...
me: You stupid! Why you trying to scare me?
TSB: (laughter)
me: Umma take a shower and pray on it and call you back...
TSB: (more laughter)

1:40am Driving to Jamaica's house. Baby Boy calls, I don't answer. The mystery has me excited. I arrive and he greets me with housephone to ear and beckons me inside. I DO NOT remember him. He's just as he described...cute in an average kind of way...accent a bit thicker in person. I sit on the couch. He continues the phone conversation. I watch CNN for about 10 minutes when he pauses to see the Strom Thurman/Black daughter story with commentary with whomever he is on the phone with. I listen too. Segment ends. His conversation continues.

me: (TSB's voicemail) I made it. That's "tired" that you're not answering your phone, but I'm safe.

I look at the decor of the apartment noticing family photos, mail on the coffee table, how all of the lights are on, the huge safari plants, and the smell of Patchouli inscense. Finally he tells the caller that he's being rude. (duh!) It is approaching 2:30am and he begins to tell me about his friend's drama...blah...blah...blah. And then he also tells me about his brother driving into Atlanta from Alabama at that moment and he is up waiting for his arrival. I listen. Then he gets quiet. We both stare at the television out of awkardness. I think to myself, If he makes a sexual move I guess I will cooperate...he's kinda cute...DAMN I'm tired...why am I here?... Then he tosses a napkin on my left knee. Sure enough...it's my name, home, and cell phone numbers in my very own manuscript.

me: (laughter) But I still don't remember you.
Jamaica: (laughter)

More awkward silence and television watching.

me: You're wide awake, huh?
Jamaica: Yeah, I usually work nights at the Marriott...Accounting...and I'm waiting on my brother. Are you tired?
me: (nodding yes slowly while my face is turned in the direction of the TV) Yep.

More awkward silence and television watching.

Jamaica: Are you asleep?
me: I think I dosed off.
Jamaica: You wanna call me tomorrow? I get off at 11.
me: At night?
Jamaica: Yeah.
me: That'll work.

I stumble to the door wondering why I came over to this boy's house? Then I wonder why he invited me? Inside I get angry for wasted time. He opens the door. I exit.

Jamaica: Call me when you get home.
me: (shaking my head in disgust, giving no response)

I drive home complaining about wasted time and then get in the bed and drift away. And it is only until now that I realize that I am the "tired" one for having such a low expectation for him and myself by simply considering the situation a booty call. I am so embarrassed. I probably won't call him tonight.