Why Black Women Love Black Women

One day, out of the blue, I told Amelia that I loved her. Amelia seemed stunned. The two of us were sitting inside Tamboo, a certain upscale Haitian restaurant located on Main Street in Brockton. We had some privacy. There were a lot of well-dressed, neat-looking people in the restaurant. Black folks, Hispanics and Cape Verdeans. An Irish person here and there. The core demographics of Brockton. Tamboo boasted of a diverse clientele. It was just the two of us in a corner. I took Amelia's hand and kissed it. Then I told her I loved her. She was shocked. Smiling, I pulled something out of my pocket. A four-hundred-dollar ring I bought from the jeweler next door. I put it in the palm of Amelia's hand, and closed it. Amelia's eyes went wide. I smiled, and waited for a reaction. Before everyone, Amelia rose from her seat, grabbed my face and kissed me. Inside the restaurant, folks hooted and hollered. Especially the guys.

Amelia kissed me full and deep, and looked at me adoringly once we came up for air. In front of everyone, she told me she loved me. I smiled at her and she smiled at me. All around us, people were clapping. I smiled and waved. Amelia waved too. It's times like these that I'm thankful to live in Massachusetts. The first state to legalize Same-Sex Marriage. The first state to elect a Black man as Governor. A place where most people value their fellow human beings regardless of race, gender or sexual orientation. I'm glad to live in Brockton, a New England city of nearly one hundred thousand people where around fifty two percent of the population is Black, Hispanic, Asian, Middle-Eastern, Native American and some other group. Minorities are the majority. Amazing.

Here I was, a young Black woman desperately in love with another Black woman, and our displays of love were cheered by men and women as diverse as can be. A Mexican lady dining with her Black boyfriend blew us a kiss. An Irish guy drinking with his Cape Verdean buddy winked at us. A Haitian guy gave us a high-five. An elderly Black woman sharing a meal with her husband, a bespectacled elder Black male, nodded at us approvingly. Wow. I guess race, sexual orientation and gender aren't the rigid barriers we've been led to think they are. Maybe, to some people at least, love is simply love. I felt tears well up in my eyes. Amelia swept me into her arms and kissed me. And the cheers began again. God, I love this woman!

It's been two months since Amelia and I started seeing each other. I love her and she loves me. I've told my closest friends. I told my older sister when she came home from Wellesley. I've yet to tell my parents. I'm not sure how they're going to take it, especially my mother. Small steps, though. I recently told them that I'm gay, and they were surprisingly supportive. I'm still not sure how they're going to react when they find out who the love of my life is, though. One step at a time, I guess. Amelia and I spend every minute of our free time together. She's asked me to move in with her. When I'm ready, of course. She doesn't want to pressure me. I want to live with her so badly, but we've got a lot of steps to take between now and then. This December, I'm going to introduce my parents to my secret love. Amelia and I are both nervous as hell. We're keeping our fingers crossed. Wish us luck.