1
Temple
“It’s your girl, Temple, and you know what time it is. I’m playing the songs that make you wanna grab someone and hold them close. It’s the Quiet Storm, kings and queens, so if you have any requests, you know what to do. Call me at 555-555-8869 or slide in my DMs. I’m @YaGurlTemple on IG. To start us off, here’s some aural gold from Quincy Jones and company: ‘The Secret Garden.’”
I leaned back in my chair as the song began to play, my eyes on the computer screen in front of me. My mind wasn’t in the room with me, not really. It was scattered, full of unorganized thoughts of the recent events of my life.
Blinking, I shifted my focus to my phone, tapping my way to my IG inbox in search of a song request that was already on the night’s playlist because I didn’t have the wherewithal to do more than that. I scrolled and scrolled until a particular message caught my attention.
BabaTunde117: Can you play “Love of My Life” by Brian McKnight?
Me: Sure. Who should I dedicate it to?
BabaTunde117: Whoever. How about you dedicate it to yourself?
Well, I wasn’t doing that. These men were something else, trying to flirt with a voice. Then another thought hit me, and I frowned a little as I robotically cued the song up, even though it wasn’t on the night’s playlist, my mind veering into the past to my prom night.
The dance.
We danced to this song…
The special dance, the look in his eyes, the pounding of my heart, the knowing. The knowing, or rather, believing that he was the love of my life. The fierce love I held in my heart for him that threatened to take my breath away, but that was almost twenty years ago, and now I knew better.
Fuck love.
And more importantly, fuck him.
Grabbing my water bottle, I took a swig and grunted, “Yeah, definitely fuck him.”
All these years and several other relationships for me later, the shit still hurt. So much for time healing all wounds.
A couple more songs, including the request, played along with some commercials, and I was back on the mic. “Hey, I wanna thank everyone who’s up listening to me right now. That last song was an IG request, and here’s another one for you—Gerald Levert’s ‘School Me.’”
That one wasn’t actually a request. It was just a song I personally wanted to hear. I was the DJ, after all.
Through a sigh, I let my eyes peruse the booth inside the studio. I was the only occupant in the fifth-floor office that housed WHTS, known locally as Hits 100.1. The on-call engineer was at my fingertips if I needed him, just a phone call away, but other than that, I was it, and I liked it this way. I liked the solitude.
My phone’s screen lit up with a notification, undoubtedly another request.
BabaTunde117: Hey, thanks for playing my song. Can I make another request?
He didn’t wait for me to reply before he sent another message: “Wishing on a Star” by Rose Royce.
I stared at the song title, my forehead and eyebrows in a tangle. Was this…nah, it couldn’t be, could it? It would be utterly ridiculous for him to be contacting me now. Ridiculous and crazy. Lots of people liked that song, not just him.
I tore my eyes away from the message and stared at the songs on the night’s playlist. That song wasn’t listed, so I wasn’t going to play it.
BabaTunde117: You there?
As The Emotions’ “Don’t Ask My Neighbor” began to play, I sent a reply in the form of a name: Sam?
Then I fixed my eyes on my phone’s screen, awaiting confirmation or denial.
Nothing.
For several minutes, there was no response, and when BabaTunde117 did supply one, it was in the form of a single word that caused goosebumps to appear on my arms—Sanctuary.
Sampson
Sitting in the back of the limo as I awaited her reply with my heart jumping in my chest, I wasn’t sure how I expected her to react to the knowledge that it was me contacting her. I just…shit, I missed her. I’d been missing her for a long, long time, and honestly, I needed her. I’d just been picked up from the airport, and the first thing I did once I was settled in my seat was have the driver switch the radio to WHTS. The second thing I did was contact her.
YaGurlTemple: Where are you?
I bit down on my bottom lip and glanced up at the driver before returning my attention to the phone and typing out: Here. In Brownhaven.
YaGurlTemple: Why?
Me: You. You’re why. I’d like to see you.
YaGurlTemple: Oh.
Me: Can I see you? Breakfast after you get off work?
YaGurlTemple: No.
Damn, she didn’t even hesitate to turn me down.
YaGurlTemple: Why now, after all these years?
Shit. If I said I missed her, loved her, needed her, would I sound crazy? Of course, I would.
Me: I don’t know. Please agree to see me.
Nothing from her.
Ten minutes later, I was in my hotel room, and still, no reply from her. I was tired as hell, a side effect of a long flight, heightened anxiety, and fear that this trip would be moot, that I would leave this place as I came—without her, so I’d drifted off to sleep before I realized it. Hours later, I awoke to a direct message from Temple: Sam?
I quickly replied: Yes?
Her: Why are you contacting me now? And don’t say you don’t know again.
Me: I missed you. I’ve always missed you. Will you see me? Please.
Radio silence.
Me: Please, see me, love.
I stared at my phone for twenty minutes more before she finally sent: OK
2
Sampson
I first met her in Mississippi, in my hometown of Brownhaven. We were kids, me a year older than her. Her, several IQ points smarter than me. But despite that, we met in detention.
I was there because I was habitually late for first period since my bed didn’t like to release me most mornings. I’d later learn that she was there for slapping a boy who’d grabbed her ass. The teacher had only seen the slap and dismissed Temple’s side of the story.
The first thing I noticed about her was her hair. It was in a big Afro, a hairstyle I hadn’t seen on many high school girls. Hell, every female I knew back then had a perm or straight weave, but not her. She didn’t have on makeup either, but she was beautiful. Shit, breathtaking with brown skin that seemed to glow, beautifully sculpted lips, and wide eyes. I remember wondering if she was a new student because she had to be. There was no way possible that she’d flown under my radar all those years. I definitely would have noticed her.
She made it to the cafeteria late for detention, head held high, popping gum, and attitude on tilt. She didn’t have to open her mouth for me to know that. She oozed attitude along with confidence and beauty. I was fucking captivated, absolutely amazed by her, and I never stopped feeling that way.
Never.
In the here and now, as I sat in the hotel’s restaurant awaiting her arrival, anticipation made it hard for me to sit still. I was going to see her, be in her presence again after decades of disparity. My anticipation was off the charts!
I sensed her, felt her unique energy before I found myself watching her approach my table. Her appearance gave me chills, her aura made me feel light-headed, and in an instant, I felt like I was sitting in detention, beholding her majesty for the first time.