Who knew under that quiet, reserved demeanor that this man could be so open and funny? The conversation flows non-stop. He even opens up about his next manuscript endeavor. A book of poems that he is nervous to share. But Othello doesn’t go deeper than that. I find myself sharing more of my story than he has shared his. He’s been wanting to know every little thing about me, and I find that comforting in a way I don’t expect.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” he asks.
“Depends. What do they have?”
We both scroll through the touch screen monitors in front of us, swiping through the gallery of movie selections.
“Oh yes,Love Jones,” I exclaim.
“A classic. I’m down for that.”
We get headphones from the flight attendants and place them in our ears.
“If we want it to start at the same time, we’re going to have to press play on the count of three,” he instructs.
The movie is loaded on both our screens and ready to go.
“Ready?” he asks. “One…”
We both have our pointer fingers hovering over the play buttons on our screens.
“Two…” he says. “Three.”
We press play at the exact same time, the movie starting in sync between us. And as the movie plays, I notice Othello’s knee inching closer to mine. We don’t say too much, only exchanging random comments, laughs, or opinions about certain scenes.
During the sex parts, the playful banter between us mutes completely. Sensual heat creeps through every inch of me, and I am flustered, wondering if he can tell how tense I’ve become. The rest of the movie feels impossible to focus on after that, but once the ending comes, where Larenz pulls Nia back and kisses her in the rain, my heart swells with emotion.
“Are you crying?” Othello asks, lowering his fork. We’d been served lunch during the movie.
“No, I just always get emotional when he kisses her in the rain like that.”
“Love Jonesis one of my favorite movies.”
“Is it because Darius is a poet?” I ask him.
“Nah, I love how real it feels. Messy, complicated. Passionate. Just two people trying to figure out how to love each other.”
I turn Othello’s words over in my head, replaying the movie through his eyes.
“I think my favorite thing about this movie is that they keep choosing each other. Even after all the mistakes.”
“Have you ever performed your poetry in front of an audience?
He shifts uncomfortably. “I barely want to share it on paper. Standing in front of a crowd and saying it out loud would be an even bigger challenge,” he confesses.
“Didn’t your mom tell you not to let fear make your decisions?” I quip. “Don’t let fear keep you from sharing your passion.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, okay, you got me there.”
“Mmhmm,” I nod. “How long have you been writing poetry?”
“Since I was eight years old,” he tells me. “My pops used to do spoken word, and my mom and I would go to these lounges and watch him perform. I loved the way he captivated the crowd with his words. He poured emotion into every line. It was just something I wanted to be a part of.”
“That’s beautiful. And this book is going to be the first time you’ve shared your poetry.”
“Yep.”
“Why haven’t you shared this before?”
