Syrian Lady For Jamaican Stud

Dating after a BAD divorce, is there anything harder or more heartbreaking? When you're a man of a certain age, you come to realize certain things. Like the fact that widowers are considered cooler than divorcees in today's dating game, and older guys appeal only to younger chicks with daddy issues, them and young women seeking sugar daddies. I'm not rich or anywhere near it. I'm stuck paying the mortgage for a house I no longer live in. Yeah, my life is just about perfect. My name is Vladimir Barrett and I'm a forty-four-year-old Jamaican-Canadian man living in the City of Boston, Massachusetts.

Eight months ago, my wife of twenty two years, Valerie McDowell, divorced me and took my house, my car and whatever's left of my dignity. I got canned from my old job at Hertz, where I used to make seventy five thousand dollars a year as a branch manager. I've been working there since 1999. Thanks to Valerie's ( false ) allegation of domestic abuse, I got fired. My former boss, Ricky O'Connell, flat out told me that he couldn't abide having a wife beater as his top man. Might set a bad example for the others, he said. Yeah, he just let me go. Never mind that Valerie's allegations were completely untrue, and I have never laid a hand on her. That bitch cost me everything, man. Pardon my French but I can't stand her.

Looking back, I shouldn't be surprised that Valerie did what she did. My ex has always been a somewhat vindictive broad. I knew that when we first met at Northeastern University in the fall of 1991. I was a newcomer to the United States, having moved to Boston from my hometown of Black River, Jamaica, in the summer of 1990. America fascinated me with its beauty, its danger and contradictions. I still had a thick Jamaican accent I was trying to get rid of, but some American ladies found it sexy. What can I say? I've got that island flavor. Or had it, I guess. My accent is long gone.

The first time I laid eyes on Valerie McDowell, I knew she was trouble but like a lot of guys have done in my position, I overlooked the fact that she had psycho tendencies because she had a pretty face and a really nice ass. Sex is a powerful thing, man, and it can make a fool out of the smartest of men. You should have seen Valerie back then. Five-foot-ten, busty and big-bottomed, with light brown skin, long curly black hair and greenish eyes. Valerie was born in the City of Dallas, Texas, to an Irish-American mother and African-American father. We came from different worlds and mixed like oil and vinegar, but somehow we ended up together. Living among the rednecks in Texas, Valerie had to get tough early on. I understand that. Unfortunately, she just didn't know when to turn it off, that's what led to the demise of our relationship.

The first time Valerie and I went out to a restaurant, there was an incident. Theresa the waitress, a busty Irish redhead, was very friendly towards me because I'd come to the restaurant many times before and I was a big tipper. Upon seeing our friendly interactions, Valerie flipped out and started cussing the waitress, and I had to physically stop her from beating the hapless young woman up. Now, a smarter guy would have seen Valerie's bitchy behavior as a sign that she's one crazy broad and given her a wide berth. Me? I continued seeing her, constantly making excuses for her bad behavior, and after knocking her up, I married her. I wanted to get my MBA but had to settle for my bachelor's degree in business from Northeastern University after Valerie got pregnant. I made the sacrifice for her and the sake of our family. I've been in hell ever since.

The only good things to come out of my relationship with Valerie are our twin daughters, Deanna and Veronica. I absolutely love my darlings, and they've brought immeasurable joy into my existence. Veronica followed in my footsteps, and she's in the MBA program at Northeastern University. As for Deanna, she's currently studying civil engineering at the University of Calgary in metropolitan Calgary, province of Alberta, Canada. We visited the beautiful City of Calgary in the summer of 2008, one of our last great vacations as a family, and Deanna has been fascinated by all things Canadian ever since. Good for her, I guess.

Life is hell for me these days, man. I'm not even going to pretend otherwise. I live in a one-bedroom apartment in Dorchester, about five minutes from Ashmont Station. It's one of the seediest neighborhoods in the City of Boston, in spite of the gentrification of recent times. Yup, after two decades in the suburbs of Milton, I was back in the hood as a middle-aged, underemployed and recently divorced black man. Isn't life awesome? Sorry if I'm a little down. I'm having trouble seeing the silver lining with all the bullshit life's been throwing my way. There's only so much one guy can handle before he absolutely loses it, and I'm afraid I might not be far off...

The other day, I went to the Boston Public Library downtown, the one on Copley, not far from Prudential Shopping Center, my favorite mall. After browsing through the African-American literature section, I saw that they didn't have a particular piece of nonfiction I was looking for. I thought I might have better luck at one of the bookstores nearby, the Back Bay is full of them. Since Copley Mall was the closest, I thought I'd try it. I hadn't been there in a while and honestly, I kind of missed it. That's where I ran into an old friend of mine, Julianna Marwah. I was coming out of the bookstore, a copy of Henry Louis Gates epic book Wonders of the African World tucked under my arm, when I heard a feminine voice call my name.

Vladimir of Jamaica is that you? came a vaguely familiar voice. I looked up, and smiled when I saw who it was. A very tall and pretty lady whose face used to haunt my dreams, once upon a time. Hello Julianna, I said, looking her up and down. It had been almost two decades but she hadn't changed too much. Six feet tall and athletic, with long black hair, dark bronze skin and light brown eyes that seem to glow from within. She was a bit plumper than I remember but so what? I thought that was you, Julianna said, smiling as she gave me a hug. My dear friend it's been far too long, I smiled. Let's grab a bite if you have the time, Julianna said, in the same confident, sexy manner I remembered from our days at Northeastern. Sounds good to me, I happily replied.

A few minutes later, we sat in the Copley Mall food court, eating some delicious Chinese food and catching up. Julianna and I met in 1992 at Northeastern, while we were in the campus bookstore, desperately trying to buy the last remaining Business Ethics book. We almost got into a fight over that last book, but agreed to share it for the semester since we were both business majors in the same class. Since that day, Julianna and I have been friends, and indeed she was my rock in those trying times when Valerie's antics got on my last blasted nerve.

Julianna and I came from very different worlds, but our friendship back in the day was deep. Like me, she emigrated to the U.S. from another country in search of better opportunities. Fleeing the persecution visited upon Syrian Christians by the Muslim majority, Julianna and her parents, Gabriel and Lucille Marwah fled their hometown of Damascus for the bright lights of New England. The Julianna I met at N.E.U. in the 1990s was lively, fearless and absolutely proud both of her Christian faith and her Syrian origins. I was raised Catholic but I'm a nondenominational Christian nowadays. Church has never been Valerie's thing, she wouldn't even let our daughters have their First Communion. I've been meaning to go back to church but haven't had the time.

How's life Mr. Jamaica? Julianna asked, snapping me out of my reverie while sipping on her Pepsi as she sat across from me. You don't want to know, I said, with more sadness than I wanted to let show. Julianna fixed those fearless golden brown eyes of hers on me. Talk to me, she said. I sighed, then gave her the Cliffs notes version of my hellish life. My marriage to Valerie, the birth of our daughters, the twenty years of hell I endured with her, our recent divorce and my current financial situation. Nothing to write home about, that's for sure.

When I finished, I looked at Julianna, expecting her to say I-told-you-so. Back in the day, Julianna and Valerie didn't get along, to put it mildly. Women seldom like it when their boyfriend's best friend is female. More than a few find it suspicious, and Valerie is definitely that type of woman. One time, I was hanging out at a Northeastern football party with Julianna and some guys I knew from school, and Valerie, tipped off by one of her lady friends, stormed the party and accused me of cheating on her. I tried to calm her down, but the heifer smacked the shit out of me. Right in front of everybody. Well, Julianna didn't like that and smacked the shit out of Valerie. What followed was the catfight of the century. My full strength and that of several able-bodied male partygoers were needed to pull Valerie and Julianna apart. I still shudder when I think about it...

Fuck that bitch, Julianna said with a wry grin, and winked at me. I smiled and nodded. Amen to that, I said cheerfully. I looked at Julianna, and asked her what she'd been up to for the past two decades. I was married to a jerk and I finally kicked him to the curb, Julianna said with admirable false cheer. Leaning back in her chair, she told me about her ex-husband, an Arab-American businessman named Tariq Abbasid. She even moved to Connecticut to be with him. After the divorce, Julianna came back to Boston. My son Djamal is the only good thing to come out of our marriage, Julianna said. I looked at her son's picture on her iPhone wallpaper. A handsome young Middle-Eastern guy with dark hair, dark eyes and bronze skin looked back at me. Handsome lad, I said, and Julianna smiled, her face glowing with motherly pride.

Tariq was charming as hell when he wanted to be but a domestic tyrant behind closed doors, Julianna said. There was a haunted look on her pretty face. Was he violent? I asked cautiously. Julianna is tall, athletic and strong. Even now, in her forties, she still looks like she can kick my ass and I'm six-foot-two by two fifty! I couldn't imagine the man who could hurt her. Yeah, she finally said, rather flatly. I gently laid my hand on Julianna's, and looked into her eyes. If I run into this dude I'm definitely shooting his ass, I said. And I meant every word.

When I said that, Julianna smiled and shook her head. Since when are you packing Mister World Peace? she laughed, referring my days as a member of the Students For Nonviolence Movement of the 1990s. We peacefully protested everything from Apartheid in South Africa to U.S. invasions of Arab countries. A man can change, I said darkly. I recently regained my firearm licence. Valerie's allegation of violence was enough for the Boston Police Department to take away my firearms. I became a gun owner in 2003, after a burglar broke into our home. Having my conceal and carry permit back takes a load off my chest. You can't be too careful these days, I said, when Julianna looked puzzled.

Man, that afternoon we talked each other's ears off. Julianna and I exchanged numbers, and promised to keep in touch. As she took the escalator downstairs, I stood there on the balcony and watched her go. Damn she's beautiful. Not for the first time I wondered what would have happened if I had been smart enough to avoid the train wreck known as Valerie McDowell and gone out with Julianna Marwah instead. Who knows? I might actually have been happy for a change. Oh, well. I guess I'll never know. Still, it was good to see her. I went home that night with a smile on my face and a sense of hope I hadn't felt in ages.

The next day, I got a call from Boston Public Schools, one of the many places I'd applied to for work. The lady at the other line told me that a substitute teacher just opened up in Hyde Park, one of the roughest areas of the City. Translation? It's a high school in the hood and all the white applicants don't want anything to do with it. That's the only reason I'm getting the call. I'll start Monday, I said cheerfully. I called my daughters and told them the good news. I asked Veronica if she wanted to go out to celebrate but she told me she was going to spend the weekend at her girlfriend Ramona Vasquez place in Plymouth. Yeah, my daughter Veronica is a lesbian. I support her one hundred percent. I called Julianna, and she cheerfully accepted my dinner invitation. I took her to Christo's Restaurant in Brockton, one of my old hangouts.

Looking good professor dude, Julianna said, looking me up and down as I pulled her chair for her. I was wearing a red silk shirt with black silk pants and a black tie. Thought I'd look nice, you know? Thank you Miss J, I said with a wink. For the next hour, Julianna and I chatted while enjoying some delicious Greek food. We should do this more often, Julianna said. Eating out? I asked, biting into my pizza. Julianna rolled her lovely golden brown eyes. No silly I mean spending time together, she laughed. I smiled. I'd like that, I said, meaning it. Julianna looked me in the eyes, and then looked away. What is it? I asked. When her gaze finally met mine, Julianna seemed hesitant, almost frazzled, for the first time in the two decades that I've known her.

I always fancied you back at Northeastern University but figured my parents would oppose us so I never told you, Julianna said, a sad look creeping into her beautiful face. I looked at her, silent for the moment. I wish I'd met you before Valerie, I said, then added that it might have spared me decades of pain. Julianna smiled coyly. We can't change the past but we're here now, she said, brushing a stray hair from her ear. Yes we are, I said. Taking her hand in mine, I boldly kissed it. Squaring my shoulders like I'd seen the youngsters do it in recent movies, I looked Julianna in the eye and deepened my voice. Miss J will you go out with me? I asked. Julianna stood up and in one fluid motion, she leaned over the table and planted a kiss on my lips. Is that your final answer? I asked, grinning. Take it or leave it, Julianna laughed.

Hand in hand we left the restaurant, embarking on a long-overdue romance. Julianna Marwah and I decided to take our time, and really get to know each other. No need to rush things. We're no spring chickens. I'm forty four and she's forty three. She has a nineteen-year-old son who wants to drive NASCAR and I've got twenty-one-year-old twin daughters in university. It's been trying at times but for the most part, our relationship is wonderful. I got the job at that high school by the way. The students, most of them black, Asian and Hispanic, liked me so much that the principal offered me a permanent position as a business education instructor. Never How cool is that?

I've started going to church again, with Julianna by my side. I thank my savior the Lord Jesus Christ for His blessings. Like me, Julianna is reconnecting with her Christian faith. Her ex-husband Tariq is Muslim and her son Djamal is an avowed atheist. It's not easy for her. Djamal and I met and he's an intense but decent young man. During our man to man talk inside the Au Bon Pain restaurant on Copley, Djamal told me he was cool with my dating his mother Julianna, and added that she'd been smiling a lot since I came around. Of course if you hurt her I'll kill you, Djamal said with a smile. Sounds good to me, I said, smiling, and we shook hands.

It's been a year and a half since Julianna and I ran into each other inside Copley Mall. We've met each other's families. My daughters absolutely love her. You make my old man happy, my normally overprotective daughter Veronica told Julianna, as we sat together at the dinner table. Veronica, Djamal, Julianna and I sat together, eating some delicious Chinese food. My other daughter Deanna is still in Calgary, apparently she met a guy there and wants to stay in Canada. We'll see about that. I'm glad to hear that sweetie, Julianna told Veronica. Hurry up and say Grace because I want to teach, Djamal laughed. Veronica elbowed him in the ribs and he shrugged apologetically.

Julianna looked at her son, rolled her eyes then looked at me and smiled. I have something important I want to share with all of you, she said, standing up. I stared at her, as did Djamal and Veronica. Mom are you okay? Djamal asked, real concern in his voice. I gently touched Julianna's hand. Suddenly I remembered that she'd gone to the doctor earlier, and like the lump head I am, I forgot to ask her how her appointment/examination went. Sweetie are you okay? I asked her hesitantly. Julianna nodded, smiling in a way I'd never seen her smile before.

The next words to leave her lips almost caused me to jump out of my skin. I'm pregnant, Julianna said, triumphantly. I looked into her beautiful face, uncomprehending, and tried to stand...that's just about when I passed out. I woke up ten minutes later, with Djamal holding smelling salts under my nose while Veronica kept hitting my face. Dad you passed out, Veronica said, alarm in her voice. I'm alright, I told her. I looked past her, at Djamal and Julianna. Dude you totally passed out when my mom said she's carrying your baby, Djamal laughed, helping me up. Try it sometime, I said, clapping him on the shoulder. You okay? Julianna asked. I nodded, and gently hugged her. My wonderful lady who gave me a new lease on life. Everything's perfect babe, I told her, and Julianna hugged me fiercely. We're going to be a family now.