**Sometime in the 90’s**
I was just a wee youngin’ when I first met him. He to me was tall, fyyyyyyne as all hell, perfect Roman nose, sported a uni-brow and sang this song called : Nite and Day. He was my dream man. My perpetual ideal. I can’t forget his caramel skin and soft black curly hair. Every other male person in my life was doomed to be superficially compared to this, my first crush, of my middle school years.
I was young, but I knew a fyne man when I saw him.
It was weird by all accounts how I met him. It was summer and my family–mom and pops, Jamie and Tiph and I were squished in the back of my dads seemingly monmouth two tone green Cadillac. We were on our way to Richmond, Virginia for The Hickson family reunion–my mom’s side of the fam.
The ride took forever, but there was hope. Every so often on the radio I got to hear the man of my adolescent dreams crooning over the radio. Funny how before we left, I had just got his CD. It might have been a tape, but I do believe the CD had already been invented–I’m not that old-damn.
In what seemed like 19,000 hundred hours later, we finally arrive at the hotel in Richmond. To my utter astonishment there is a sign out front which read: Al B. Sure Tonight! OM(f)G!!!! This cannot be! Could it be?! All my dreams come true?! My “man” and I united at last.
My sister was (and still is) three years younger than I, but even she understood the magnitude of this event. He was in the hotel somewhere and we were going to find him. So we went on a hunt. After a short time we found an occupied ballroom with familiar tunes seeping from the walls. We waited. Then we knocked. A brown skinned man came out. We asked to see Al. The brown skinned man–who turned out to be his cousin Kyle West told us he was rehearsing and couldn’t see us. We told him okay, and walked away. But what Kyle didn’t know was, we were off to find our secret weapon–our mother.
Five minutes later we were back. Deborah wasted no time telling Kyle off about how he was treating his fans who buy Al’s records and that Al should have more respect and make his way out of rehearsal pronto to see her daughters! Go mom! go!
After a few more minutes, another brown skinned man came out to greet us. This one was a little funny looking, with big teeth. I recognized him immediately as the guy Tiph and I just saw on an HBO special. OMG it was Chris Rockl! Chris talked to us for a long while, and we all were laughing and joking, while we waited (no so patiently) for my man to emerge. I so wish I had those pictures still.
Finally!
Al emerges from the ballroom all glossy and tall and splendiferous–as B. Scott would say. To me at the time, he was 100% pure USDA pure male person perfection. I was plotting how I could get him to escort me to my prom, which was like 3 or 4 years away. Without flinching, I introduced myself to him and my sister and then proceeded to escort him around to every single family member I could find in the hotel–arm in arm. You couldn’t tell me that won’t MY man. Chile please. I was gangsta even in middle school. I had that man kissing babies and old ladies and what not–the subtext being–this is Al B. Sure! we’ve known each other for 5 minutes tops and he’s mine. Look but don’t touch. I laugh about it now, but I was dead ass serious back then.
My hater ass dad was reluctant to let Tiphani and I go to the concert because it really was for grown people. But luckily I had an older cousin who was more than old enough to go and she volunteered to keep an eye on my sister and I. I put on this cream colored victorian looking lace and satin dress that was age appropriate (so sad) which covered just about every inch of my flesh except the top of my neck and just below my calves. I wasn’t allowed to wear make-up at the time, but my mom allowed me to put on way too much foundation to cover up my budding acne. I put a few curls in my hair and we were off.
We’re at the concert and Tiph and I just about got trampled by all the grown women in the spot. Surprisingly, they were all wearing gold lame spandex pants. I could see Al’s chin from where we were standing. I was disgusted.
Then came the afterparty. Tiph and I were personally invited by some bouncer dude. The after party was on Al’s floor. My dad wo NOT having it. My cousin convinced him to let us at least hang out later than curfew. So we went up to the afterparty. Of course, we couldn’t get in. I was devestated. Looking back, I am so glad.
Fast forward, what, 15+ years and I got a chance to share that same story with Al and a whole dressing room full of people after his show this past weekend. You know what he asked me when I told him? “Was I nice?” Oh yes he was. I have been a life long fan, just from having that one amazing adolescent experience. Icing on the cake? I’m not 15 anymore and honey, I look damn good if I don’t say so myself. He called me beautiful! **Swoon** Plus, I’m doing pretty damn well in life.
Of course I’ve omitted from this post the many stalker type episodes I’ve had in between. Phoning his house at all times of day and night and showing up at shows all across the country with nothing on but a bra and gold lame stretch pants–my bad, that wasn’t me, that was Kim Porter.
I suppose this is where I can end my Al B. Sure Chronicles. I know, anti-climatic. Sorry. I think I can also retire my middle school loin tingles. Don’t Boooo me. I get grown up loin tingles now. And have full capacity to act on them should I so choose. Plus, I need my full bearings when I interview him on camera in NYC next month for his album release and my new TV show.
It’s so amazing how the universe works, isn’t it? Does anyone know where I can get some gold lame stretch pants?
The moral of this story? Uh… I don’t think there is one. Just some food for thought. Thank you for reading this though. Peace and and abundant middle school crush blessings! -e-