This story is largely a personal fantasy, but it is based on a woman I knew once, who was just as described here. I often wonder what might have been...
...Then will I swear beauty herself is black
And all they foul that thy complexion lack.
Shakespeare, Sonnet 132
I'll never forget the first time I met Martha.
I had never seen a woman so… so beautiful, so well-proportioned, so words-failing-me-ly amazing to look at.
I had also never seen anyone with skin that dark.
Martha was the color of fresh-brewed coffee. Not mocha, not tan, not any variation on the theme.
She was black. Totally, completely black.
It’s not a criticism. It’s a fact. I report what my eyes told me.
Now, let me be honest with you. My parents expressed a kind of tacit disapproval of blacks, and discouraged my brothers and me from hanging out with any of "them." Bringing one of "them" home was just not acceptable.
I understood my parents' objections, and abided by them, but I did not absorb them. I could accept their viewpoints without being affected by them.
Thus, while I had never dated any of the black girls in my high school, or in college for that matter, it was for lack of mutual interest, not racism (whatever that is). Similarly, it caused me no consternation when I was smitten by Martha. I put those thoughts aside, though -- it wasn't like I was ever going to date the woman, or anything.
Let me set the stage a little better, here.
I was working for a project management company. We managed large projects for major builders, shipyards, companies like that, some far from our humble office setting. I had originally intended to become a CPA and then get a law degree, maybe work for the FBI or the IRS in Washington (where I could meet lots of professional women, yowzuh!). Long story short, I took a project management seminar class. I showed a knack for Gantt charts, and ten years later, here I was.
We were a little short-handed on a downtown renovation project that promised to put many dollars into the corporate coffers. I was heading up my first really big project, and we were just about to launch when three of my team members announced they were forming their own consultancy.
HR got on it right away and brought in candidates. They screened out the least capable, and in my few spare moments I interviewed the cream of the crop.
Which is where Martha comes into the story.
She was my last interview. I took one look, and had to fight to complete the interview. She was so beautiful, I could have stared at her all day. I hate to say it, but she would have had the job regardless of qualifications.
Ah, but her qualifications…
She had attended the same school I had, and came complete with a letter of recommendation from my old economics professor. Her senior project was one with which I was very familiar.
Needless to say, she got the job.
There was much to be done, and no time for flirting, so we got busy. We worked virtually around the clock for seven months, taking minimal time for baths and meals, everyone pitching in with their best efforts, and no one worked harder than that young woman. She was tough, organized, and professional. I didn't just have the hots for her; I was truly impressed by the entire package.
We got the project finished, on-time and under-budget, the Holy Grail of corporate accomplishment. At the end-of-project celebration, I singled her out especially for her work. Everyone was impressed; she was ecstatic.
Well, life settled down after the rigors of the big project, and I was assigned a somewhat smaller job. I was promoted, and given a small team. I made sure she was part of it, more because I knew her abilities than anything else. I won’t deny the small bit of flirting that went on; we just kept it quiet, that’s all.
So it was about 8 months since she had arrived, mid October, and the weather had still not entirely cooled. She commented on it a couple of times, and we teased her a little, about why had she moved to Florida if she expected actual seasons, that sort of thing.
It was a Friday, and truly unseasonably warm and humid, even for Florida. A cold front (not to say an actual Alberta Clipper) had moved through the rest of the country, resulting in a few very early snows and lots of rough weather.
It raised hell with us. We had endured lines of storms most of the day, mostly nuisances, but they increased in fury as the day wore on. A little after 4pm, we lost power.
What was surprising was that it did not come on again within fifteen minutes or so. I was the senior staff member on site, the big bosses having bugged out early, so I made the command decision to tell everyone to head out for the weekend. We weren't that busy, and everyone likes to leave early on Friday, right?
Well, not Martha. I passed by her cube, and she was sitting still. I could see by the light from the emergency lamps that she was crying.
"Martha? What's wrong?" I asked.
She started, and then wiped her face and managed a smile. "I just don't like storms," she said in a tremulous voice.
I sat in her guest chair. "Well," I said, in as soothing a voice as I could manage, "they're a regular feature of this part of the world. The good news is, they don't tend to last long."
"Okay," she giggled, trying to suppress all-out bawling, "what's the bad news?"
I laughed. "None, really, not on a regular basis. Of course, I did hear on the radio that we may get some more pretty big boomers rolling through this evening."
She put her hand over her eyebrow, and started humming softly. "Why don't you wait a bit and go on home?" I said softly.
