HOME CUMMING

It's been said that those growing years in college are the best years of a person's life. For the most part, I'm inclined to agree. They most certainly were the best of mine. The school I attended had a comfortable vibe about it. It was like I'd been there before. Maybe that feeling came from watching all those episodes of “A Different World.” ;o)

When I graduated, it was both one of the happiest and saddest days in my life. Leaving signified that I was onto that next important stage in my life - adulthood. It also meant that I would be officially subjected the hells of none other than - adulthood. So I held onto college the best way I knew how in my newly minted adult life, through homecoming.

Annually, I would make the pilgrimage back to my alma mater during that magical weekend event known as Home Coming. I made it a point to always attend the big homecoming football game. It would be the one time that I was able to catch up to old friends and acquaintances, who became intertwined with my college memories.

One year, there was one particular homecoming that wound up being just a little more special than the others. Not for any nostalgic reasons per se but because Brina was there. Brina was my homegirl - my “ace boo-koo” as we used to say. She was one of the bad-girls on campus and it was knowing her and her crew that made college fun.

We originally met during her sophomore year of college. I'd seen her in the game room shooting pool and I tried to holla. Just my luck, she wasn't big on the light skinned brothas. But we did become good friends. I swear it doesn't matter where I was at in the region, it's like I found a way to gravitate towards Baltimoreans and Brina was inner city Baltimore to the core. I guess I've always found comfort in being around people who were where I'm from.

We became like buddies and she was exactly the way I wanted my female friends. If a female friend didn't want to give me some play, then at least put me down with one of your girls who will. Brina usually did. She would always let me know when she had a girlfriend who was available and then like the trusted farmer, she would lead them to the slaughter. Smash Time.

It was a particularly warm October that year I went to Homecoming. All of my old friends were there in newfound adult shapes and sizes. Some of them I didn't even recognize. Getting older sucks majorly.

From the second row bleachers of the football stadium, I spotted Brina and company. She was there with crazy-ass Connie (who's college claim to fame was getting drunk one day and racing this guy - only to trip and fall flat on her face and scrape it up like she had been dragged from a truck) and this slim ebony sistah that I didn't recognize. They waived me down after I acknowledged them. I hugged Brina and Connie, all the while checking out their ebony skinned friend with the chinky eyes and long ponytail. Brina caught me peepin' her girl and introduced us.

Brina: Serial this my girl Pam from Southeast (DC)

Serial Dater: Nice to meet you Pam

Chocolate girl with nice body: Nice to meet you also Serial (she said as our eyes met)

Pam was straight outta DC and it showed. Her bold, yet somewhat stylish, attire could have only been born from the hoods of Southeast. Not everyone could pull off wearing multi-colored spandex tights under a tight minnie skirt and make it look good. She had a slender build, so it worked for her.

Serial Dater: What are you girls up to after the game?

Brina: Nuttin'. You got somethin' in mind?

Serial Dater: I thought maybe we could go get some dranks. Maybe hit the “Spot” for old time sake.

Brina: Let's do this, man! I'm always down for getting' my drink on.

Homecomings and getting twisted just seems to go together like dick and balls. It doesn't matter if you're a current student or a former one, the idea is always well received. It was the perfect way to pass time until the Que's cookout later on the yard.

We all piled into my ride and headed down Race Track Road to the “Spot.” Even when we weren't legally able to buy, we always found a way to cop from the “Spot.” Immediately, we were all 19-years-old again and transported back to a time when we didn't have any bills, life was easier and the biggest thing we had to face were exams.

Driving down the familiar path leading from campus, I couldn't help reminiscing. Bowie was even prettier in the fall because of all the trees. It was at that very moment that I felt like I'd gone home again.

We rolled into the Spot rowdy as ever. And like the days of old, we all pitched in to buy beer. Somebody even suggested that we grab a bottle of that old campus favorite - Boones Farm wine. Back when we were broke college students we could only afford to buy the cheap stuff. Brina grabbed some Black& Milds and then we were in the wind.

Riding back, those crazy ass girls where hollering out the windows to guys in passing vehicles and just buck wildin' all the way to the campus. Niggas probably thought I was their pimp the way they were carrying on. Back at campus, I parked the whip on the lot behind the dorms and let all the windows down. I popped in one my B-More house tapes and started blastin it.

Connie and Pam sat in the back while Brina and I where in the front. It was like a bootleg scene from the movie Cooley High, they way each one of us would make some idiotic statement, pass the bottle and then take a swig of that Boones Farm. After knocking off the bottles of Boones and a six pack of Genuine Draft, Brina and I lit up a couple Black & Milds and just zoned for a minute. This is what homecomings are supposed to be like, I thought to myself.

All the while we were in the car, I couldn't help but to wish I were in the back seat with Pam. I watched her through the rearview mirror. Her lips provocatively covered the entire opening of her bottle of beer. Pam was definitely looking like she could get it and I wanted to be the one to give it to her. At some point, I was gonna have to make a move.

From where we sat parked, we could hear the Que's party kicking off on their fraternity plot. Every homecoming the best action was always wherever they were. We all got out of the car and as if under the spell of a pied piper, we followed the music to its source, inhaling the aroma of the barbecue and smoke-filled air in the process.

We rolled up on the crowd of people congregating around the grill and it was nothing but love. Even though I wasn't frat, those Omega brothers still hooked a nigga up with food and drink. And since Brina and Connie knew just about everybody there, they quickly disappeared into the mix. That left Pam all alone.

Serial Dater: I see your girls left you by yourself.

Chocolate girl with nice body: It's cool, I know they round here somewhere.

Serial Dater: Mind if I hang out with you and keep your company?

Chocolate girl with nice body: You can if you wanna.

Serial Dater: So, are you enjoyin' our little homecomming?

Chocolate girl with nice body: It's jive aiiight. Sumpin' to do on a Surraday.

Serial Dater: Yeah, I see what you sayin'. I only come down here to get into stuff myself.

Chocolate girl with nice body: Unnh huh, what kinda stuff you tryna get into?

Serial Dater: Jus a little bit of this, a little bit of that. (I let her marinate on that one for a while)

Everything was chill. We ate some barbecue, had some more drinks and danced to the music. I couldn't have imagined things any better. Pam was sitting on my lap when I asked her to take a walk with me. Hand in hand we disappeared from the party and walked towards the parking lot.

Stars littered the nighttime sky like a thousand tiny flashes going off in the distance (yeah I know this sounds metaphorically gay, but I'm a writer). I'd be the last person to admit it, but it was sort of romantic. She must've felt the same because we ended up back at the car listening to slow jams. There I sat with my arm around her and then Pam gave me the look. It was a look I knew far too well - that “come do me” look. Everything afterwards fell in line like dominos.

Before either one of us could regret what was about to take place, I was already slobbin' her down and removing her blouse. Next came the bra and spandex, followed by her panties. There was already a Trojan in the ashtray, where I kept it for emergency purposes. The windows started to fog and the next thing you know - “assholes and elbows,” as my cousin Rick would to say. Parking lot pimpin' at it's finest (lol).

Too busy exploring each other, we failed to see the two figures approaching the car from the shadows. It was Brina and Connie looking for me to make another run to the store and to find out where Pam disappeared to. Standing off in the distance, the two looked on in amazement at the activity that took place in the car. As I looked up from the reclined seat, I caught them chuckling and pointing. At the realization that they had been caught spying, the two did a quick about-face and ran back to the cookout. Frantically grabbing the clothing that was thrown about the car, Pam and I hurriedly got ourselves together.

“Serial I better go find them, I know they were looking for me,” she said before kissing my cheek and running after her friends.

That was the last I would see of her that night. After our lil romp, I went to crash the Kappa's cookout. I wish I could've done more with that but I didn't get a phone number, an address or anything. To this day I don't know her last name or even if Pam was her real name. I guess it was a true one-night stand. I'm just glad I had the emergency rubber in the car.