Chapter Three
Brent
Just weeks after my coming out and separation talk with the immediate family, Macy, Bracee, and Little Brent decided not to go to the Missouri Black Alumni awards with me.
I understood their hesitancy, and I was not going to push their discomfort with the situation for my benefit. I knew it would take time.
I was determined to attend and enjoy the evening and accolades.
Though I’d finished college in California, my time in Missouri was significant to the campus community, athletics, and Black student life.
Hell, I’d even gotten them to the Elite Eight tournament once.
With everything I’d done in Missouri, hearing about my achievements in front of a crowd would give me the ego boost I desperately needed and would make me forget I’d spent Father’s Day not being celebrated by the King-DuPrees.
Making my way through the cocktail reception crowd, with the sounds of Angela Winbush, En Vogue, and Frankie Beverly & Maze in the background, I dapped, fist-bumped, and backslapped a few former teammates and classmates I recognized.
I also saw some Black faculty whose classes I’d taken and who had grown gracefully into senior citizens.
I received smiles and congratulatory remarks from people I didn’t know but whose affirmations were greatly appreciated.
And as always, because of my height and looks that held up over the years, I got lots of admiring and lusty stares.
I scanned the hallway looking for other familiar faces.
That’s when I saw Larenz. At the same time, one of the Black Alumni Association volunteers tapped me on an arm and said, “I’d like to introduce you to Renny Ross, one of the other award recipients this evening,” as she whisked me toward a table against the wall, where he sat.
He looked just as I remembered him, his skin the color of espresso, a little more distinguished now with wire-framed glasses that he hadn’t worn in college, a mustache and goatee, and short twists adorning the top of his head when he once kept a low and tight fade with waves for days.
I stood frozen and unnerved while looking at Larenz in his tuxedo.
He appeared to be in his element, with a stack of novels, signing books next to a standing banner with “Renny Ross, Best-Selling Author” emblazoned vertically on it, smiling and engaging with the attendees.
I recognized him right away. He gave me a casual glance and continued signing books.
I couldn’t tell if it was a slight or intentional, or if he was engrossed in the busyness of author life, or if he simply didn’t recognize me after twenty years.
Larenz Ross, once my tour guide, my tutor, my other best friend in college, and my first and only guy, was just feet away from me. And like that, memories of twenty years came flooding back into my mind, leaving me temporarily dumbfounded and at a loss for words.