NO LONGER THERE

STRAND TEN

BRYCE ALLEN PHILLIPS

Lillian still believed my project subject was trivial.

I could tell by the way she talked down my speech as she pranced around the Congressional Suite at the Four Seasons.

"Avery Grace, is this what you want your legacy at UT Austin to be, speaking about sad babies and fighting parents?"

Yet, there she was in all her glory. She wouldn't dare miss the chance to shine on my shine. And why should she.  My mother looked absolutely stunning in her black form fitting, off the shoulder evening gown with a left leg slit.

We know how much Lillian likes to show her legs.

"Would you zip my back, sweetheart?"

I smiled, pried myself off of that comfortable blue sectional and started to zip the back of Lillian's gorgeous evening gown. I smiled until I noticed a bruise. Watching my reaction, Lillian turned to face me with her dress unzipped.

"I tried to catch your father as he was falling," she offered as she moved away.

"That doesn't make sense," I replied.

"Avery Grace, you weren't there. I said I tried to catch your father as he was falling, So, that's what happened."

Clearly frustrated, she attempted to reached her back. This was ridiculous. I walked up, brushed her hand aside and zipped her black, off the shoulder dress with a left leg slit myself.

"Thank you," she said, then squeezed my hand.

We caught a glimpse of our reflections. Lillian with her light as white bread skin, high cheek bones, with her long, sandy brown hair in the perfect up do, wearing the hell out of her stunning, black form fitting, off the shoulder evening gown with a left leg slit.

Me, with my mocha skin, high cheek bones, long,  jet-black hair in the perfect up do, wearing the hell out of my fabulous black and ivory, over the shoulder cap sleeved evening gown with a sweep train and Roxy's tuition money blinged out, Louboutin red-bottomed shoes. We observed one another, then smiled. 

Making a silent pact, we moved on. She wasn't going to talk about that bruise, and I was definitely not about to mention my hair falling out.  After all, I was the student keynote speaker at UT Austin Annual Journalism Gala. Lillian and I had bigger things to focus on that evening than hair.

***

I saw him first.

Bryce Allen Phillips. I saw him, seeing me, see him first, but according to Bryce Allen Phillips, he had always seen me in his dreams.

Yeah, that corny line won me over too.

He wasn't supposed to attend the gala that night, but like Clarence, his father was incapacitated. I later learned he was inebriated. Either way, neither of our father's could attend.  Being the southern gentleman that he was, he forgo his Owner's Club Suite pass to the Houston Texans game and accompanied his sweet mother to the gala. I believe that was what really won me over.

After my speech, Bryce Allen Phillips was the first person to his feet for a standing ovation and the last person to sit back down. He made his way through the crowd of congratulatory UT Austin Journalism Alumni and benefactors, and he stood there, staring. Feeling awkward, yet  amused, I smiled.

"What a magnificent address, Ms. Reed," he said.

I stared at Bryce Allen Phillips like he had three heads. As the crowd dispersed, he peeped over his shoulder, then whispered in my ear. "That was a dope ass speech."

I spit water in his face, then had the pleasure of laughing like that the remainder of the night. When he met Lillian, she smiled.

Really weird, but okay.

We danced. My perfect up do came undid, my long, jet-black hair tickled me from my neck down to the bend in my back and my armpits sweat. It was wonderful. His limo driver took Lillian back to the Four Seasons, dropped Mrs. Phillips at home in Bouldin Creek and journeyed back to the Kerbey Lane Cafe'. We demolished plates of Chicken & Pancakes and Chilaquiles. I had a fantastic time hanging out with him until 5 am. Even if according to Bryce Allen Phillips, we weren't just hanging out because Kerbey Lane Cafe' was our first date.

"You have no idea how beautiful you are," he said.

I had been cheesing at this man for ten minutes with cilantro in my gap. The waitress was kind of enough to mime my embarrassment behind Bryce Allen Phillips' back.

"You seriously let me sit here, grinning at you with a tree top in my front teeth?" I closed my compact, then glared across the table.

"I would have told you before we kissed."

I tossed back my jet-black hair as it tickled me from my neck down to the bend in my back and said, "Cocky much?"

I know... goofy, but I had just cleaned a national forest out of my front teeth. I had nothing.

He smiled. "Do that again." 

I pushed my nearly empty Chilaquiles plate aside. Tossed back my jet-black hair as it tickled me from my neck down to the bend in my back, then replied, "Not on your life, Buddy."

Bryce Allen Phillips laughed and said, "Thank you."

When I figured out what was so funny, I laughed too. He told me how much he loved my long, jet-black hair. I told him apparently a lot of people did. 

I still followed the coffee pirate, Shannon, Little Miss Split Personality, Thing One and Thing Two on social media. That video was still getting likes and leading other teenage black girls and their mothers to my pages. I would have three hundred likes before I could lay down my phone after posting a pic or hair care routine. I joked with him that my hair was more well-known than I was.

We chatted until the sun rose, and I was upset, actually disappointed that I began getting tired. I could have stayed at Kerbey Lane Cafe with Bryce Allen Phillips laughing at me toss back my jet-black hair with cilantro in my gap, forever.

His limo driver dropped me back to campus. Bryce Allen Phillips walked me through the yard, pass the stairs, vending machines and to my dorm room door. He looked at me. I looked at him. He ran his hand through my long, jet-black hair, then pulled me in for a kiss. It felt wonderful, that tickle down my neck to the bend in my back. This time, it wasn't my hair. It was Bryce Allen Phillips. He smiled. I smiled. Neither of us wanted to be the first to walk away.

When I gathered the courage to enter my dorm room, Roxy was awake and pissed. I had never called her. I might be crazy, but this time, I think she was more worried about her shoes.

I told her about the gala, my speech, my mom, not the bruise, and I gushed on, and on, an on about Mr. Bryce Allen Phillips. She squealed, and in all my excitement, I think peed a little because I had just experienced the most amazing night and morning of my entire eighteen year-old life.

Happy as a lark, I jumped in the shower, pulled my long, jet-black hair up into a messy bun, donned my bonnet, then hopped into bed. It was only then that I thought about Imani, that clump of my long, jet-black hair that she held just long enough for me to see then scraped off her hand and into the trash.

For added security, I pulled my bonnet over my ears, then reasoned, maybe the pillow case and sheets were the problem.  I would buy a silk pillow over the weekend. Right then, I was on cloud nine and looking forward to showing up in Bryce Allen Phillips dreams.  As I drifted off to sleep, I remembered, Imani said to come back in six weeks. Exhausted, I promised myself that I would add that to may calendar when I woke up.