I have a lot on my plate these days. Though my time may be monopolized by "work", the monster still finds time to sneak out of his confines and find things to get into. That's what brings me here. There is something that has been nagging at me and I have to unburden myself of. So, are you ready? Okay, here it goes....I got played by Marsha Ambrosius. There, I said it (For those of you who don't know who she is, that's her in the picture up there). I know, it's both hard to believe and overwhelming at the same time. Let me start at the beginning and explain.
So, I have this “thing” for the chanteuse Marsha Ambrosius. Her debut album came out a couple of months ago and by happenstance I ended up going to see her live in concert. She walked on stage, opened her mouth, and I fell madly in love with her…passion, sexuality, and ear for music. It can be a strange thing falling for someone’s art as it sometimes blurs the line between their product and who they are personally.
I know it all sounds very crazy, me falling for a famous singer who doesn’t have the foggiest notion that I exist. Believe me when I say that I know that this scenario is neither original, nor particularly intriguing. However, about a month ago this sad, clichéd story took a dramatic turn when I met Marsha working at the gas station up the street from me.
Yeah, I said that I met a beautiful and popular singer working at a local gas station. I know what you’re saying to yourself, “Why is Marsha Ambrosius working at a gas station in a small town in the rust belt”. Obviously, I don’t have the answer to that. My only response to that inquiry is to remind you that stranger things have happened. In fact, anyone familiar with my back story could tell you that I’m kind of a curator of strange occurrences. My life’s like a “Ripley’s Believe it or Not” reality show.
I don’t know, maybe Marsha wanted to take some time off from touring and being high profile. Maybe this is her way of staying grounded and keeping things in perspective for herself. Maybe, blue-collar work inspires her song writing process, I honestly don’t know. What I do know is that one day when paying for my gas, a woman who has a shocking likeness to Marsha Ambrosius was behind the counter. She flattered me by calling me handsome (and being the mirror image of my musical obsession). I gave her my number on the spot and something seemed to spark between us.
Without cataloguing our every interaction and day-to-day exchanges, lets just say that we became friendly and flirtatious. She told me that her name was “Stephanie” and that she was in town temporarily, “to get herself together”. Her secret was safe with me. Every time she spoke to me it was like deciphering code. I felt like I was serving my country by keeping her identity a secret, I was an urban sentinel in her employ as she was hiding in plain sight.
One day I got bold and asked “Stephanie” if anyone had told her how much she resembled Marsha and she laughed hysterically. “Funny, I have heard that”, she said. “Only not since I’ve been in this small town.” What exactly did that mean? I looked at her skeptically as she laughed my inquiry off. I told her that I preferred calling her Marsha to Stephanie and she embraced it. She called it “our little thing” and we carried on that way until we were to eventually depart.
After a couple of phone conversations and some heavy flirting in the gas station, she began acting funny. She got “busy” all of the time and never had time to talk. Then, one day I got a phone call saying that she was working her last gas station shift, as she was going to be moving the next day. Marsha or no Marsha, all of the cryptic behavior can be off-putting and unnerving.
I understand that people don’t always behave in the manner that you may desire. I also have no problem in saying that it’s possible that my game wasn’t tight enough to draw her closer to me. Maybe my approach was wrong. I know from experience that not every woman wants to be engaged in intense and insightful conversations. Maybe I moved too fast. Maybe I seemed too intense. Maybe I just wasn’t her type.
Long story short, I show up at the gas station and she was from beaming ear to ear. As I walked up to the counter there was a strong tension between us that anyone within a half-mile radius of that place could feel. I got to the counter, opened my mouth, and you know what came out? “$20 on number 10 please. Thank You”. I never batted an eyelash. I put the money on the counter, turned, and walked away. Marsha or no Marsha, I’m dogmatic when it comes to "holding the line".
Like Bunk from The Wire said to Omar, “A man must have a code”. As such, a distinct part of my code is that I don’t make myself available to be shelved or play the background for anyone. I give no one my time who doesn’t value and treat it with the urgency that they give their own. I value my self, my time, and my goals too much to compromise on that issue.
Well, then Marsha disappeared without a trace. A month passed and as I walked into my local colonial pantry, a woman screams as if Gerald Levert just came through the door. Yeah, I know he’s dead (big homey r.i.p). What I meant was that she screamed like she saw the big homey Gerald without ever having any knowledge of his untimely passing. This isn’t a zombie story. It was Marsha. She rushed over and hugged me and as we stood in the middle of that store, she explained she was back again (albeit “temporarily”). As things would have it, I looked online and saw that her tour with R Kelly and Keisha Cole had just wrapped in Chicago. What a coincidence.
We reestablished contact but in light of what happened previously, I refused to pursue her (even though I’m starting to think that she really is Marsha). Finally, the other day while driving through my little town I saw what resembled her car parked in a random driveway. As I passed the house I looked up and saw her getting creepy with some goon looking fellow on a porch swing. All you can say to that is that my instincts were spot on, the game is the game no matter who’s playing. Never compromise...I don't give a fuck who it is.
EPILOGUE:
There are people who follow a rational calculus approach to relationships, for these people relationships are not organic - they're contractual exchanges. Still others follow their hearts and go with what "feels right". These people rarely find happiness, as they lack foresight, reflexivity, and usually any sense of what "feels right" for the other person. Then there are those who respect what is commonly known as "the game". I'm not referring to corny pick-up lines or how to fashion yourself to attract women. We'll get into more of the specifics of that another time. What I'm referring to is what we might call a "conduct of conducts". What I am referring to is a code by which one abides in order to protect their best interests, their feelings, and ultimately their good name. I recall the late Asa Hilliard saying that our good name is all that we really have. As the fictional character from "The Wire" (yes, again), Marlo, once said, "My name is my name". In light of all this I am pleased that I wasn't taken off my square even after being tempted by celebrity. My previous statement therefore bares repeating, "the game is the game no matter who's playing".
