A Lucky Brother In Ottawa

The name is Clarence Pierre Romans, and I'm a gentleman with a story to share with you. A tale of self-exploration and sensuality, if you will. Presently, I'm studying business administration at Carleton University in the City of Ottawa, Province of Ontario. I have lived here since early 2010. I'm originally from the City of Brockton, Massachusetts. I was born there to a Haitian mother and Puerto Rican father. I consider myself African-American, though I'm obviously biracial. I stand six feet two inches tall, kind of chubby but still alright-looking, with light brown skin, curly Black hair and pale green eyes. I opted to study at a Canadian school when my sophomore year at Emerson College in Boston went to hell. Suffice to say leaving town seemed like a good idea at the time. Scandal is never a good thing.

Ottawa is quite different from the kind of metropolis I'm used to but with time, I believe you can get used to anything. Even pain. A while ago, I met this tall, beautiful young woman named Parvati Singh. A native of the Punjab region of India, she's a civil engineering student at Carleton University. We met in my psychology class. We bonded over a project we were working on together. I thought she was amazing. Sometimes, I can be a little too enthusiastic over a new relationship. Especially since I had never dated an East Indian lady before and I was quite smitten with her. I've always found ladies from the Republic of India to be quite mystifying but I never dared approach one. Indians stick with Indians, and when they date interracially, they go for White folks. I thought Parvati was different. Well, I was right and I was wrong. Our relationship ended because her Chinese friend Jasmine Lee, told her I said something inappropriate to her. Ladies and gentlemen, I'll be bluntly honest with you. Jasmine has a thing for me but I only had eyes for Parvati. I guess sowing discord between us was her way of getting revenge. Whatever.

For several hours after Parvati Singh gave me my walking papers, I felt sad as hell. I sat inside the Mac Odrum Library, feeling sorry for myself. I was really disappointed. I thought I had met a kindred spirit in this young lady. I thought Parvati and I might have a future. Seriously. She's so beautiful, tall and intelligent. A fine sense of humor too. All of which happen to be qualities I like in a woman. Oh, well. I guess it wasn't meant to be. One of these days I will learn that all that glitters isn't gold. Seven years ago I suffered heartbreak at the hands of an Italian-American beauty named Bridget. Gal forgot to tell me that she had a racist father that doesn't approve of Black male/White female relationships. Just my luck. Seriously. Why does this always happen to me? I always find myself drawn to women who hurt me. I guess that's what I get for being such a friendly and outgoing, overly generous, bright-eyed optimist. I can't help it. I think it's the Aquarian in me. People born under my sign are like that. Parvati was a Virgo and Bridget was a Scorpio. I don't think our signs mesh well. Not that I put too much stock in such things. I just read horoscopes for entertainment purposes, I swear.

Anyhow, I was sitting there moping over Parvati Singh dumping my ass on this gloomy afternoon in late February 2012 when someone came and sat at the computer terminal next to me. A tall, beautiful young woman with dark brown skin and long hair braided into neat cornrows. This gal was African for real, and she looked mighty fine, as my Somali-born friend Bilal might say. I looked at her and smiled. She looked at me, smiled and said hello before returning her gaze to her screen. I smiled to myself. I didn't have much to do. Okay, I lied. I fucked up in my psychology midterm. I got eight out of fifteen points on the damn Scan-Tron thing. That's not good. The midterm is worth twenty percent of our final grade, I think. Anyhow, I cracked open WebCT. The professor always gives out these optional grade-raising homework assignments so I figured I would do them and perhaps raise my overall grade a bit. I tried not to sneak peeks at the beautiful young Black woman who sat next to me, listening to music on YouTube via headphones.

I sat there, alternately worrying about my grades, trying to do the optional assignment and trying not to stare at the shapely thighs of the beautiful young Black woman sitting next to me. I failed in all three endeavors. I sighed in frustration, saved the five hundred words I had written about 'sociopaths in popular culture' and returned to staring blankly at Parvati Singh's picture on Facebook. No, I'm not a creep or a stalker or anything like that. I just really, really wish she would reconsider our relationship. However, the words "to hell with you" have a final sound to them. I sighed for the millionth time, and reopened WebCT. That's when I felt someone tapping me on the shoulder. I practically jumped in surprise. By the way, my nerves aren't the best. I get jumpy really easily.

The young Black woman sitting next to me was touching my shoulder and smiling. I looked at her, wondering what she wanted. Not that I minded. Pretty lady wants to flag me, it's definitely not a problem. I looked at her and she asked me if I was okay. Her voice had a slight trace of a French accent in it. I smiled, and asked her if she was Haitian. The young lady smiled, and asked me how I knew. I smiled and shrugged, then introduced myself. Clarence Pierre Romans. Proud Bostonian. As Haitian-American as rice and beans dipped in burrito sauce. She shook my hand, smiled and introduced herself. Wendy Saint-Mathieu. Born in the City of Cap-Haitien, Republic of Haiti, and raised in the City of Montreal, Province of Quebec. I grinned, and addressed her in French. My mother taught me French along with Haitian Creole, and I learned Spanish from my father. I guess I speak four languages, if you count English.

I asked Wendy what she thought of Carleton University and she sighed, responding in Quebec-style French that the place was whack. I smiled. I couldn't agree more. Wendy looked me up and down, and told me I didn't look Haitian. I pretended to roll my eyes, and told her I got that all the time. I smiled, and told Wendy that I was biracial. Haitian mother and Hispanic father. She grinned, then got up. She told me she was grabbing a cup of coffee at the Page Break, this little restaurant located inside the Carleton University library, and asked me if I wanted something. I smiled and told her that I wanted some hot chocolate. She smiled, and told me she was ten steps ahead of me. I smiled at that, and watched her mesmerizing, heart-shaped ass in those tight blue jeans she wore as she walked away. The gal had to be at least five feet ten inches tall in those flats she wore, and she looked hot. A few minutes passed, and she came back with a cup of tea and a chocolate milk.

Wendy smiled and handed me mine, and we resumed our chit chat. Wendy had a lot of questions about life in the United States. Apparently, she moved to Canada straight from Haiti and had never been South of the Canadian border. As you can imagine, I was more than happy to help a sister out. I learned a bit about her too. Wendy is an Accounting major, and she wants to get into the Sprott MBA program at Carleton University next year. Cool. I was thinking about doing the same thing. As we talked, I realized how beautiful she was, and I was thrilled to see how intelligent and vivacious she seemed. So I did something I hadn't done since Bush was in the White House. I asked a Black woman for her telephone number.

Wendy smiled coyly and asked me why she should give me her number. I grinned, and told her it was for, um, networking purposes. She grinned, and rolled her eyes but she gave me the number anyway. Then she got up, grabbed her bag and told me she had to get to class. I held out my hand for her to shake, but she batted my hand away and kissed me on the cheek instead. Even though I have a lot of Haitian relatives, it always startles me when women greet me in the Haitian way. I almost froze in surprise. Wendy smiled, patted my shoulder and told me she'd see me later. I stood there, smiling, watching her as she walked away. This gal has the most amazing ass I've seen in ages. And she's wicked smart, too! Looks like a nice beginning to me. I smiled to myself, then went back to work. Maybe I shouldn't have overlooked the sisters while chasing White chicks and Asian chicks all these years. I gulped down the chocolate milk Wendy bought me, and realized I wanted more. Yeah, I got a craving for hot chocolate. And I know just where I might get it.