Women, Men, Relationships, Breakups

*Subject’s name has been changed

*Marvin is a good brother. He’s a clone of the gentleman in the movies who doesn’t hesitate to ruin his trench coat by draping it over a puddle so that his lady love can cross the street without damping and muddying up her feet or more importantly, her stilettos.

Plain and simple, he exhibits chivalry—something that my girlfriends and I have sworn on our ancestor’s graves was dead. He opens the car door for me every time we go out on a date; in which, he’s always on time. He sends me flowers at work on my birthday and sometimes for no reason at all. He calls just to say he’s been thinking about me or simply to say goodnight. For that matter, he calls when he says he’s going to call. He’s kind, reliable and considerate. Yes! *Marvin’s all of that. Not to mention—he has a decent job, owns a home, is smart, funny, knows his way around Home Depot, looks good in a suit and tie and has his one-baby-momma in check. And while no one is perfect and everyone has their quirks, *Marvin is as close to perfection as any other brother I’ve dated.

Like I said, *Marvin’s a good brother. There’s just one problem; an enormous one. When we kiss and our tongues dance I wait for “it” to come. But sadly, “it” always fails to ignite. I’m referring to that spark of passion that sends shock waves up a woman’s body straight to her heart and has women like me who can’t boil water desperately trying to learn how to make biscuits from scratch—shifting flour while clad in a lace Victoria Secret assemble. I’m talking about the desire a woman has for a man that consumes her daydreams and has her ditching a long anticipated girl’s-night-out to spend time at home with her man. “It” is passion. “It” is desire.

So, although *Marvin is a good brother (damn near perfect), I am breaking up with him—unwilling to accept reliability and stability at the sacrifice of passion and desire or in my eyes…true love.

I will invite *Marvin over to my place. We won’t have dinner because—remember—I can’t boil water. We’ll settle on my plush pewter-colored couch and I’ll start the conversation by apologizing. I will tell him that I’m sorry while shrugging my shoulders and trying to explain to him that even though he treats me like a queen, he’s not my king. I will waltz around the hardcore truth—that when I kiss him, sparks don’t fly and when I see him, my heart doesn’t patter. I will feel terrible. No, horrible. *Marvin will tell me that he understands. He’ll stand up, straighten out his khakis and head for the door. On his way out he’ll turn around and say, “I’m so tired of Black women saying that they can’t find a good Black man.” And, I’ll just stand there with my hand on the doorknob with no rebuttal.

Closing the door behind him, I will hope and pray that he doesn’t end up hating me or refusing to date another Black woman because of me. And for the remainder of my life I will no longer be able to say that there aren’t any good brothers out there because I know of one and his name is *Marvin.

Ladies, what’s your choice…stability or true love?

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