Caught Between Love and A Hard Place

Part One

The pattering of four small feet running across her hardwood floors woke her from her much needed sleep and it took everything for her not to yank the covers from her fatigued body, march out into the hallway where her twins were playing and yell at the stop of her lungs, stop fucking running in the house! I’m trying to sleep! Instead, she lay in her wooden canopy bed, snuggled deeper into her imprinted body position on her therapeutic mattress and took a deep breath, trying to forget the huge fight she and her husband had the night before. The image of him slapping her was on repeat in her mind; she still felt the sting from his large hand. Staring at his side of the bed, it was empty and cold; she wondered where he was.


Jazmine is 5’5, petite with the body of an athlete. Her almond shaped, hazel eyes resembled those of a cat though uniquely beautiful; she is insecure about them. She grew up with kids calling her cat girl and she developed a complex. It wasn’t until she got older that she started to appreciate her uniqueness, but something about her eyes still bore the insecurity of being different. She wore a short, funky haircut and was very well put together: manicured nails and toes, perfect post braces teeth and flawless caramel skin, thanks to her expensive Park Avenue dermatologist. At 33 years old, she is the mother of four year old twin boys, Diezel and Demi, an editor for the high fashion magazine, Style, and married to Dion Devereux, a tall, attractive, debonair sports agent of African American and French descent.


They live in the Forte Green section of Brooklyn in a five story Brownstone resembling that of the Huxtables. They’re financially stable as a couple, but also independent of each other’s money. They used to take trips out of the country twice a year, but that has stopped since they have been so engulfed with the kids and Dion has landed some major clients, which forces him to work long days and late hours. From the outside, it appears that Jazmine is living the American dream, but inside she knows the truth; she has been lonely and unhappy in her marriage, feeling neglected for the last year and a half. Lying in her bed, now staring at the ceiling, listening to her children run, laugh and play through the house, she has a flash back to the night before; her husband yelling an inch from her face, “Who the fuck is Preston Harris?!”

She was so taken aback by that name coming out of her husband’s mouth. That name, Preston Harris, she had managed to keep her little secret for a year until last night. How did he ever get a hold of his name? She thought. And Jazmine knew that if her husband ever came in contact with Preston he’d probably kill him. You see, even though Dion had been distracted from his duties as being an attentive husband, one thing Jazmine couldn’t deny was that he was a family man and she and her children came first above anything and anyone. He had suffered the loss of his father when he was a teenager and his mother, who struggled as an only parent after the death of her husband, continued to instill the lesson of structure, the value of family and being a good provider for whatever woman he would eventually marry. This was a lesson that his father had been teaching him by way of example. Dion prided himself on being able to afford his family with the best things in life and he was determined to teach his boys how to be men. But in a moment’s time, the life he helped to create was shattered and appeared to be all smoke and mirrors with one phone call, him being on the receiving end of it...

10 Things I Love About Summer Time In New York

10) The heat. Although sweltering and unbearable at times, it brings out the sexiness and fun in people, especially ME!



9) Pedicures! I get pedicures throughout the year, it's ridiculous not to, in my opinion. However, because it's friggin' FREEZING in the winter, and sometimes in Spring, I'm unable to show my toes off the way that I can in the summer! There is nothing like an open toe pump with well pedicured and colorful toes.



8) Street Fashion. People are more willing to approach you to appear on their blog or website to show off your style. In the winter New Yorkers are running with their heads down trying to escape the cold. It's too damn cold to look up! Even if you do see a banging outfit you gotta chalk it up and mumble, "Sorry girl/guy, I'll catch you later." I was featured on silverliningsnewyork.com for street fashion.



7) Outdoor events. There is no First Saturday at the Brooklyn Museum like the ones in the summer. Great networking, cool, stylish people, music and dancing. It's a guaranteed fun time!



6) Colors. There is something about colors that puts me in a happy mood. It's a far cry from the drab browns, blacks and dark colors the winter attracts.







5) Cookouts!



4) SummerStage! I don't know of any other city that has free concerts with A list, major artist and even old school artist who will send you walking down memory lane the way New York does.








It popped off when Queen B hit the stage!



3) After work meditation through Central Park. I work in midtown; to distress from all that I may be going through or all that may be going on around me I walk home, Harlem, 6.5 miles through Central Park. It's my ME time. Sometimes you have to steal away.

2) Movies in the park and Fort Greene, BK. How cute is it to grab a picnic blanket, basket and (in my case)my man to watch a classic in the park under the Brooklyn Bridge? Habana Outpost pops off every summer, especially when they have throwback movie night on the wall while indulging in good food and drinks.










1) Being hand in hand with the man I love and sharing these summer time New York experiences with him. :)

Are White Men More Expressive?

Yesterday I rode the bus in to work, something I like to do in the summertime when the weather is blazin' and New Yorkers are taking a break from their usual rudeness to stop, smile and take their time in getting where they need to go; a vast difference from the hustle and bustle of the herds of people in the winter. Looking out the window on the corner of 79th Street and 5th Avenue, I saw a couple, a white couple, standing at the corner waiting to cross the street. Something about them caught my eye and I was hypnotized by the love they were exuding. Cars whizzed past them and nothing seemed to move the stance they were in; the young girl smiling, talking and looking up at her beau who was standing in front of her holding her hand moving her hair from the front of her face, placing it behind her ear so gently, so lovingly as his facial expression never budged from his interest in what she was saying to him.

I felt like I had stepped onto the set of Nicolas Sparks' The Notebook and Alley and Noah stood before me, this is how into each other they were. As the bus moved down 5th Avenue I couldn't seem to peel my eyes off of them, watching how in love this man was with this woman and had no problem in publicly expressing it. I watched them until I couldn't anymore. I had a thought and even whispered to myself, "Why don't I see more black men doing that with their women?" It seems that there is a certain machismo about black men, they have an image to uphold and getting pink publicly, at least the way this white guy on the Upper East side had with his woman, is breaking the "code of conduct". Don't get me wrong, I know there are brothas who are publicly affectionate, but not the way most women are or would like to be, at least in my opinion. Even in my own relationship, I have a very affectionate man who I know loves me and would move heaven and earth to get to me if I needed him, but I can't recall ever seeing him publicly raw about his love for me. Holding my hand and kissing me, yes; but not gazing into my eyes moving my hair from my face and making me feel like I'm a character out of a Danielle Steel novel, unless we were alone and I catch a rare moment of him willingly being vulnerable.

The other day I was leaving for work from his house and we kissed, as we always do, before I leave. He looked at me in a way that is unexplainable, but it spoke volumes. His eyes said, "I am so in love with you, but he couldn't bring himself to open up and verbalize it to me. I stared back at him and we conversed silently through our body language. He caught me catching him melt in that split second and immediately broke his trace. He crossed his eyes, made a funny face and in a weird overly dramatic tone said, "I'm SO in love with you" and then laughed it off to break his embarrassment for getting caught. Why though? Even in private, he couldn't bring himself to embody Noah's character and express himself freely, the way some may say a woman would. I'm still confused as to why he wouldn't, even in knowing that he loves me and confesses it to me, expresses it to me in his own way, but getting pink is "bitchassness", at least to him, I think.

I'm sure if my man witnessed the love I saw in this couple yesterday he probably would have responded by saying, "He's a bitch" even though he, himself, can relate to the emotion. Why is it that Caucasian men are more in tune with and expressive of their emotions than black men are? A question, after seeing a real life Alley and Noah, I'm now pondering.

Can Dark Girls Wear Bright Lips?

Lipstick, in my opinion, is one of the best accessories to fashion there is. Depending on the color, all brights are my personal favorites, it adds life to your face and ups the anty on your swagger. I'm a medium, brown skinned girl and I've been told, "Trudi, you can get get away with wearing certain colors because of your complexion" or "Girl, those bright colors look good on you, but I'm too dark for that." I never really understood this last comment because I think the darker the skin the feistier and brighter the lip should be. I long for the summer, the only time I can truly tan in the sun and become a couple of shades browner than what I am. The first thing I go reaching for is either my Morange or Impassioned MAC lipsticks to truly show off my tan; but for the sistahs who are naturally the color I'm trying to reach they reject these brights out of fear of looking ridiculous or drawing more attention to a complexion it took them years to accept, although some still haven't.

Today, I met a woman who had skin the color of an Almond Joy candy bar and she was dressed in all white, another one of my favorite combos (all white against dark skin, delicious), who admitted to recently becoming comfortable with wearing bright colored lipstick. Our conversation started off with the price of some vintage pants I was interested in, that she happened to be selling, and it snowballed into fashion, our creative and artistic streaks and makeup. She told me and my girlfriend, who was with me, that she had finally found an amazing hot pink lipstick that took her forever to be comfortable in wearing, "I love this lipstick, it gives me such confidence when I wear it." And she took it out of her bag to reapply. Immediately my girlfriend, who is another chocolate beauty, excitedly inquired about the brand and the color. I could see that in seeing this bright color on another woman who is her same complexion, gave her the audacity to dare and try to do the same thing.

Sharing makeup tips and different shades of lipsticks, I told our "new friend" to go out and try a variety of oranges. I gave her the names, bands and numbers to each tube, practically being the spokes person for each makeup company the lipsticks belonged to. And even in my matter-of-fact and convincing tone, I could tell that she was a little skeptical to be so daring. "An ex-boyfriend told me that colors didn't look good on me so I never wore them." After getting rid of him I guess she proved to herself, with the help of Makeup Forever, that one particular color did look good on her and she now wears it with pride. But what about all the other dark skinned sistahs in this world who have been told the same ignorant things by loved ones or even strangers that their skin is too dark or that a certain shade doesn't look good on them? How much convincing will it take for those, who aren't confident enough to pull off a bold lip, to step out of their comfort zone and enter the world of reds, hot pinks, bright oranges, fuchsia and barbie pinks?

I don't know what the answer to that is, but I do know that black people, as a race, have to do better in building each other up instead of putting each other down about how dark or light we are. We come in a an array of colors, a rainbow coalition of beauty that has the right to dare to be bright!

The Love I Lost Was The Best Thing I Never Had...

Recently I went home, Los Angeles, to visit my family and to celebrate a friend getting married in the upcoming months. Every time I go home I have a different experience and I'm open to whatever comes my way. Sometimes the experiences are good and others times not so good, but this particular visit made me appreciate my life and the man I have in it. I stopped by my second mother's home, who is actually the mother of my high school love, to catch up and spend some quality time with her. We've remained close over the years and she is family, how could I not stop by to see her? Once I walk in her house I'm greeted with hugs and kisses by both her and her granddaughter, the oldest of four.

As I'm holding an adult conversation with this nine year old chocolate beauty, I flashback to the year 2002, when her mother was pregnant with her. There I was, living next door to an ex-boyfriend who I was still very much in love with, but hid it through minimal eye contact and nonchalant behavior. Everyday I'd sneak a glimpse of this young girl waddle past my bedroom window and down the steps, dying inside knowing with every fiber of my body that God had made the biggest mistake of all time, allowing this girl to have his child and not me. Unspeakable thoughts would roam through my head and I regretted taking the apartment right next door to him. I fooled myself into thinking I could handle the situation and it was a great opportunity to finally leave the nest and live on my own, but at the cost of what? My sanity?

I gazed into this little girl's eyes smiling at the way she spoke and how engaged she was in me and our conversation. This little girl, who I didn't even want to be here at one point, was laughing and talking with me, in awe of Trudi, Daddy's high school girlfriend who now lives in New York. She told me about her two sisters and new little brother all made by daddy, but with different mothers. She didn't seem to question why her siblings weren't with her mommy and daddy, all she knew was that she was the oldest of the three and she loved it.

As she went down the list describing the personalities of each little person all I could think was, "THANK. YOU. GOD!" One of those women could have been me and I'd be stuck, here, living a life that isn't to my full potential. There was a picture that sat in the living room of him and his three girls, adorable and loving this picture was, but that life still couldn't be mine. Again, I thought back to 2002 and how angry I was with God. I had a plan with this man, which was to have a Love and Basketball happy ending, but that's kind of hard to do when there are multiple children involved with various women. Thank GOD! Thank God I had sense enough and the courage to leave that life behind, wishful thinking that I accepted wouldn't be my reality and literally moved away and on with my life.

I was trying to put words to the gratitude I felt toward God in leading me into the life I was meant to live and with the person, at this very moment, I am supposed to be living it with. A man who has a stable career, is loving, affectionate, is proud of the women he has, childless and above all is a MAN. Yesterday, as I rode through the streets of New York in my drop top blasting Beyonce's new single, I wholeheartedly sang along with her, thinking of this man who I just knew I was meant to be with. "Thank God you blew it. I think God I dodged a bullet, I'm so over you so baby good lookin' out. I wanted you bad, I'm so through with that cuz honestly you turned out to be the BEST THING I NEVER HAD...And I'm gon' always be the best thing you never had."

We Run This Mutha!

Yesterday I woke up in somewhat of a somber mood. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but I tried my best to shake the feeling. As soon as my feet touched my black hardwood floors I told myself, "Trudi this is going to be a fabulous day!" As the water from the shower came crashing down in my face and the heat hit my body I began to analyze my feelings, "What is it? Why am I in this space first thing this morning?" And I couldn't deny the answer when it immediately came to me, "He should have called by now to apologize..."

As the morning went on and I was sitting in the church pew getting armed in my warrior gear to take on the world and all that could possibly be thrown at me in the week to come, the pastor said something that caught my attention, "You were made to stand out." It immediately brought me back to the somber feeling that had faded just the hour prior and in that moment I declared to myself, "Yes! I was made to stand out!" And standing out from the rest of the women who would have given in by now would not be calling someone who is in the wrong just because I miss them.

The feeling was erased even more when I gyrated and sweat it out in Zumba, but the ultimate distraction and reinforced self control was when my Zumba instructor and I headed over to my girl's house for Mojito Sunday! I don't drink, but I felt like I needed one yesterday. As time passed more women came through to do what we hadn't planned on doing...Relax, relate, release. When I looked around the living room I observed about five conversations taking place between women who needed that connection and the escape from their inner pain and insecurities. It was refreshing to see and comforting to know that I'm not the only one who had to talk myself through the morning into a different, more positive state of mind.


By the time I left my girl's apartment I had made a new friend and plans to hang out with her for the upcoming weekend. As I drove uptown, me, my Zumba instructor and new friend, were claiming that we were strong women who deserved nothing but the best and would settle for nothing less. It's funny how when I woke up yesterday morning I didn't want my day to start and then after my girl time re-boost I didn't want it to end. I told myself that that day would be fabulous and in hindsight I'm seeing how much power there is in the tongue and how necessary it was to kick my shoes off, plop on a couch with a pillow in between my arms and legs and LET LOOSE.

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