"Drive-By(e)"

Yeah, I missed the shot. But ya'll weren't with me shooting in the gym!

I'm not afraid to shoot my shot with men.

I mean Most of the time it starts off with a casual conversation anyway. and then once I start to feel the sparks fly...BOOM! I pounce like a lion on a Gazelle.

A nice, smooth exchange of words can take the pressure off of any high-stake situation, and if need be, can help you abort the mission as well. But I haven't had any disastrous experiences with that as of yet. But that's probably due to my stellar pick-up lines.

You want to hear one?

My point is, with as many times as I've shot my shot with men, I should be a damn pro by now. I'm talking an NBA All-Star, a "Hall of Famer", hell, the Olympics if they're shooting shots!

I'm usually just so good at this! That's why it pains me to share this story and confess that, I did indeed, fumble the ball. (I referenced way too many sports, here).

Ok...so here we go.

I was driving down the street on my way home from work, BLASTING and grooving to Isaiah Rashad's "Modest", (One of my favorite rappers, by the way), when I was stopped by a red light

Side Note: God was literally handing me this opportunity because I was actually thinking about running that light. (Yellow just means speed up).

But anyways, something told me to stop. Now was it God or the law? The world may never know.

As I'm waiting for the light to tun green, a white car to my right starts to slowly creep up next to me, and seeing as I hate being side by side with another car, I decided to scoot up. Next thing you know, the white car scoots up and we're once again side by side! (Like, damn! Do you like Isaiah Rashad too?!)

Completely annoyed at this point and ready to give the driver the biggest eye roll of my life, I became surprisingly shocked at the site beautifully placed in front of me.

I was now in direct eye contact with the finest man you ever did see, and I'm talking Lance Gross fine, or when you ask your girlfriend "what's wrong?" and she replies, "I'm fine", fine.

I mean this man was so fine that I think I asked him, "God? Is that you?"

He smiled at me and after catching my drool, I attempted to smile back but ended up giving him some weird ass head nod instead.

The light finally turned green and feeling ridiculously embarrassed, I sped off like Vin Diesel in the "Fast & Furious", (all sixteen of them).

Ironically, all that Tokyo drifting did nothing but bring me to yet another red light! And to make matters even worse, the super fine man was next to me again! (God, what is this? A quiz?!).

The fine brotha rolled down his window a bit more and I could feel his gaze like a laser piercing the side of my face. Boy, was this awkward.

I was slightly uncomfortable, but not for the reasons you might think. See I was fine with a fine brotha checking me out, however, my favorite part on "Modest" was coming up and I usually kill that verse! And when I say kill that verse, I mean it. You would've thought I wrote the song myself!

But I couldn't dare bring myself to spit these lyrics while being watched! So, I did what anyone in my position would do...

..."Do you need directions or something?", I asked.

"No, I just wanted to let you know how beautiful you are", he said with a smile.

Blushing way too hard and forgetting what to do with my hands, I replied, "Thank you. You too".

You too?! Why did I add "you too"?

Already embarrassing myself even more than before and feeling like this light was taking way too long, I decided to look the other way and admire the almost abstract view of a construction site.

But after an epic battle of trying to mind my business, my head somehow mysteriously kept turning in his direction, and there he was, still smiling at me.

I figured if I was going to shoot my shot, now would be the perfect time. I mean God did hand me this opportunity after all, and I wasn't nervous seeing as though my shot had to make it in, right? The man was staring into my soul!

I started to brainstorm. There was one of three options.

Option one: Should I be direct and funny? Maybe say something like, "do you think I can take you out? To the ball game?", (ya'll get it? The ball game? Yeah, ya'll get it).

Option two: Direct and smooth? Just ask for his number. Rip the question like a band-aid! Just go for it!

OR

Option three: Use one of those infamous pickup lines I mentioned before.

My mind conjured up a plan. I had it! I was going for option two. It seemed to be my best bet.

But here's where my awkwardness comes in.

Here's where it all goes straight to hell!

Instead of listening to my mind and following through on my original, and fairly easy plan, my mouth clearly had a different idea.

All I had to do was ask this man for his number! Get his number or even possibly give him mines. It was a simple assignment!

But since I was in complete and utter shock that a brotha this fine was checking me out, my awkwardness decided to take over and foil the entire operation.

And with all the seriousness in the world, I said:

"Soo, uhm, how many miles do you have on your car?"

(Shoot me, Black Jesus).

The fine brotha looked at me with the same amount of confusion that I had for myself. And after turning his head back towards his dashboard and taking a quick peek, he turned back to me and replied, "uhh, a lot".

Could it have been any more embarrassing?! If this was in fact a quiz, I failed miserably.

So after about forty days and one hundred nights, the light finally turned green, and I hopped in the turning lane cutting in front of a pissed off Kia Sportage and completely going in the opposite direction of my house.

But I didn't care. I needed to get as far away from that embarrassing situation as I could.

Now driving away from the finest man I've ever seen and realizing that I missed my shot, I saw a pole and contemplated if I should run into it.

©2022, Arien Simone