The day started decent enough, I guess. It's amazing how quickly things can get messed up, seriously. Just in case you're wondering who this is, the name is Omar Saint-Vincent. I was born on the island of Grenada and raised in the City of Toronto, Ontario. Been living in Canada for twenty four of my twenty five years. These days I live in the City of Ottawa, and attend Carleton University. I'm a third-year criminology major, and hope to work in law enforcement someday. I want to make a difference. A lot of people say that but I actually mean it. If more Black men wore police uniforms instead of prison-issue jumpsuits, the world would be a better place.

My parents instilled in me a sense of pride, both for my origins and myself as an individual. My folks, Abdul and Maryam Saint-Vincent moved to Canada shortly after I was born, in 1989. It wasn't easy for them, settling in Ontario as Grenadian immigrants. Dad had to go back to school, and eventually he earned an accounting degree from the University of Toronto. He has his own firm in Mississauga now, with eleven employees working for him. As for my mom, she went back to school as well, studied nursing at Seneca College, and nowadays she works at Toronto General Hospital. My sister Amina came into the world in 1991, followed by my little brother Ali in 1993. My siblings are dear to me and I try to provide them with a good example. Lately, I feel like I've let myself down, and that's never a good feeling.

The other night, I went to this club in downtown Ottawa, just to have a good time and clear my head. You see, two weeks ago, my girlfriend of two years, Anne Jeannette Hollister abruptly ended our relationship. I'd met the tall, gorgeous young Jamaican woman at the Silver City movie theater two years ago and we simply clicked. We began seeing each other shortly after, and it was all love. Until she shattered my heart into a million pieces, this mere days after we'd decided the time had come for us to move in together. Oh, and as if my life weren't complicated enough, my T.A. is a douche bag who seems to have it in for minority male students, and the dude is always on my case.

Yeah, as you can imagine, I wasn't having the best of times and what Anne Jeannette did to me totally fucked me up. I kept wondering what I'd done wrong, or if I didn't do something I was supposed to do. As far as I know, I've been a decent, attentive boyfriend. Whoa, I didn't smother her or nothing but I didn't mind showing her that I care. I still can't believe she did me in like this, man. Anyhow, I decided to stop the tear jerker bit and step out, you know? Shoot, I'm single so I might as well get out there and see what I can get into. That's why I went to this night club called The Big House on Rideau Street, right next to the big shopping center.

I went out that night looking pretty fly, dressed in a red silk shirt, Black silk pants, Black leather boots and of course, a dark gray silk tie. All this fineness tucked under a stylish Black leather jacket. I'm single so I might as well look my best, you know? I had a fresh haircut, and I was clean-shaven. As a six-foot-two, somewhat chubby and dark-skinned but still ruggedly handsome brother, I tend to attract a lot of attention wherever I go. It's my life as a Black man in North America, I guess. So, I went to the club, which is frequented by many students from various schools in metropolitan Ottawa such as Carleton University, Algonquin College, La Cite Collegiale and the University of Ottawa. I've heard about it but have never been. That's all going to change now.

I paid fifteen bucks at the door and was asked for two pieces of photo ID by the three bouncers, two White guys and a guy who looked either Arab or Mexican. I showed them my health card and my Ontario Security Guard Licence, since I don't have a driver's licence. One of the White guys, a chubby bozo with red hair, said that he didn't consider the health card a valid form of ID, and when I showed him my student identification card, the dude looked at it for a long time before handing it back to me. I looked him in the eye. I'm going in, I said. He looked like he wanted to say something but I squeezed past him and went into the club. What is it with White guys, seriously? They're always on a brother's case.

As I made my way up the stairs, I turned to look at the bouncer who'd given me a hard time and noticed him gawking at a tall, dark-skinned dude who arrived with a pretty Asian gal. The brother looked good in a stylish dark gray suit and the Asian chick he was with looked like a model in her short, sparkly red dress. I could already see the White dude's mind's wheels turning. White men have long thought of Asian women as their sexual playthings, and they see Asian men as their only competition for them. Seeing a Black man with an Asian woman has got to prove unsettling for a White dude, that's for sure. Insecure and bigoted much, snowflake? Never mind.

I went upstairs, and since it was only ten o'clock, the place was still half empty. I went to the little booth at the side and paid a tall, plump Hispanic gal two dollars to hang my coat. She hung it up and gave me a ticket. For when you come back, she said with a smile. Thank you kindly, I said, gave her a toonie as tip, and then made my way upstairs. It's always good to get a decent vantage point from which to check things out before anything gets started. People were starting to trickle in. I hadn't been to an Ottawa night club in a while since my deeply religious ex, like a good Christian gal, loathed such places.

The crowd was more diverse than I thought it would be. I saw Africans, Arabs and even a few Asians. Not at all what I expected. Any night club in Ottawa should be lily-White and boring, that's what I envision when I think of the Ottawa nightlife. Montreal and Toronto are racially diverse cities with world-class reputations. Ottawa is a small town that got upgraded to capital strictly due to political wrangling. As such, the locals aren't used to racial diversity, no matter how multicultural they claim to be. Case in point? White bouncers giving a hard time to minority males coming into night clubs because they don't want young men of color stealing all the White girls...and Asian ones for that matter. Of course, they'll hide it. I know the truth, though.

I went to the bar and asked the petite Filipino lady for a bottle of Alexander Keith's, my favorite beer. The gal told me they had Heineken, Beck's Beer, Miller Lite and that crap, Molson, but no Alexander Keith's. What the fuck? Anyhow, I asked for some Miller Lite, since I basically had no other choice. I stood in a corner, taking in the scene and quietly sulking. Sorry but I'm not in a good mood. I've never liked bars and clubs, though I didn't hate them like Anne Jeannette did. I shouldn't be in this club, surrounded by guys flirting with girls, couples dancing, and singles doing the bump and grind ferociously on the dance floor, hoping to attract a prospective mate. I shouldn't be among this crowd of men and women at the bar, trying to get some liquid courage before either hitting the dance floor or striking a conversation with some random pretty face.

Yeah, I shouldn't be here. I should be at home, cuddling with my sweetie, watching reruns of Fresh Prince on BET. I miss my chocolate princess. There, I said it. I actually miss Anne Jeannette, and I wish I were at home with her, instead of this meat market. For all the good wishing does me. I'm still here, all alone. Sheesh. Suddenly, someone bumps into me, snapping me out of my dark reverie. Hey stranger, came a voice. Hello Mina, I said. The short, slender young Caucasian woman with short, spiky dark brown, emerald eyes and heavily tattooed alabaster skin smiled at me. Dressed in a Black T-shirt featuring Rob Zombie and Black leather pants, she looked kind of good. It's weird seeing you here, Mina quipped. Just felt like stepping out, I said, giving her small, slender hand a firm shake.

I met Wilhelmina "Mina" Schakel on my very first day at Carleton University. The petite, pixie-like and oddly beautiful young woman with the weird accent is originally from the City of Bloemfontein, in the Free State of the Republic of South Africa. The school has a tradition of matching groups of new students with someone who shows them around campus. Wilhelmina and I met that day, and we've had a strange, mostly friendly rapport since then. As different as we were, we're actually pretty decent friends. Where is Anne Jeannette? Mina asked, snapping me out of my train of thought.

I took a deep breath, and looked at the diminutive but tough-looking White chick who stood before me. We split, I said evenly. Mina looked at me and smiled. Good riddance to bad rubbish, she said. When those words left her mouth, I was stunned. Usually when you tell people you've broken up with your ex, they offer their condolences on the demise of your relationship. Not Mina, apparently. I always thought she was a little odd, Mina said. I should mention that last year, I went to a soiree for international students with Anne Jeannette, and we ran into Mina and her date, a tall South Sudanese guy named Bilal something or other. Mina and Anne Jeannette definitely didn't get along, to say the least. My Jamaican ex-girlfriend didn't like interracial couples, or rather, she didn't like seeing Black men with women of other races. Like most Black women, Anne Jeannette didn't frown on White male/Black female relationships, only those between Black men and White women. Not that it's a double standard of anything.

Anyhow, Mina and Anne Jeannette exchanged verbal repartee and polite insults all night, while I checked my phone and Mina's date, Bilal, smoked and rolled his eyes. I asked Mina about Bilal's whereabouts, though I already knew the answer. Bilal has gone back to South Sudan due to a family emergency, and as far as I know, he and Mina broke up. A pleasure running into you here Mina, I said, looking her up and down. You look really good, I smiled. Thanks, Mina said, then she looked at the beer in my hand. Don't you know drinking is against the Koran, Omar? she asked.

I smiled, took another swig of the beer and looked at Mina. I tried hard not to roll my eyes, and failed miserably. My ex is Muslim I know these things, Mina said rather smugly. I'm not Muslim, I said. What's with White girls and Muslim guys anyways? A lot of people think I'm a Muslim because of my first name, Omar. The truth is that my father visited the U.S. as a young man and walked with the Nation of Islam for a while, even going as far as converting to Islam and giving my siblings and I Arabic-sounding names, but eventually he went back to Christianity. Apparently Islamic politics didn't sit right with him.

I know a lot about all three Abrahamic religions, and I respect both Judaism and Islam but I was raised in a nondenominational Christian household. Mina seemed surprised by my revelation. The whole time I thought you were, she said, seemingly baffled. Sorry to disappoint you, I said, shrugging. Nah man just pass the beer, she said, practically snatching the beer bottle from my hand. The little Afrikaner broad took three long gulps, then handed me back my beer. Good stuff, she said, winking. I stared at her, stunned. You're something else lady, I smiled. Mina laughed louder than was considered polite, then slapped my arm. I ain't no lady, she quipped with a sexy wink. Do tell, I said, smiling genuinely for the first time that night.

For the rest of the evening, Mina and I were practically joined at the hip. We drank, and talked, and danced. For a White chick, she could really dance. You know what? I totally apologize for saying that. If a White person said I was really smart for a Black guy, I'd take offense. So I shouldn't go around saying dumb stuff either. Regardless of color, people are people, we don't fit into neatly boxed categories, you know? I danced the night away with Mina. Honestly, I didn't really know how to dance ( I've got two left feet ) but I hit the dance floor and started doing the bump and grind like my life depended on it. Nobody could see that I sucked at it since everybody was busy doing their own thing. That's the good thing about a crowded dance floor!

Man, I didn't even notice the time fly by. From eleven until about two o'clock in the morning, Mina were dancing practically nonstop. Then we went over to the balcony to get some fresh air. Mina lit up a cigarette, a Newport, I believe, and we sat on the couch together, just shooting the breeze. This is really nice, Mina said, looking at me and gently laying her hand on my shoulder. Heck yeah, I said, looking at her. I didn't know you could dance like that, recalling some of her spectacular booty grinding moments on the dance floor. I learned from the Zulus back home, Mina laughed. They taught you well, I said.

I wiped my sweaty brow with the back of my hand, and loosened my tie. Shit I'm hot, I said, enjoying the cool night air against my skin. Inside the club, with over a hundred people on the dance floor, it felt like a furnace. You certainly are, Mina said, smiling. Suddenly she was much closer to me than would be considered acceptable in polite society. Without warning, she took my tie in her hand and tugged at my neck. Her eyes met mine. Then she kissed me. I hesitated, to tell you the truth, because it was totally unexpected but...my arms went around her and my lips pressed against hers. I kissed her back. Sweet lips you got here Omar, Mina said, gently touching my cheek.

I smiled and looked at her. Right back at you Mina, I grinned. Neither of us talked about what we just did, instead we talked about school, and work, and the tedium of life in Ottawa when you're in your twenties and easily bored. I told Mina about my little episode with the bouncer downstairs and she told me she'd get him for me. When last call came, we left together. As I expected, the chubby red-haired bouncer was still there. He looked at me and narrowed his eyes when he saw Mina on my arm. Right on cue, Mina flashed me a bright smile and grabbed my ass before planting a big kiss on my lips. Then she looked at the bouncer, and I'll never forget what she did until the day I die. I fuck Black guys and there's nothing you can do about it you ginger-headed creep, Mina said. Man, you should have seen the look on the bouncer's face. If the dude turned any redder he'd be a tomato.

I walked Mina to her cab, and we were rolling with laughter all the way. Am I good or what? she laughed. That was awesome, I smiled. Man, this chick is awesome. How did I know so long and not realize that? We make a pretty good team, Mina said. Indeed we do, I said. Her cab came, and I put her in the Blue Line taxi heading from Rideau street in downtown Ottawa to the Carleton University campus. Before she went in, I felt like I should say something. Sorry, guys, it's been a while and I'm a bit rusty. Also, I've never been the most forward guy when it comes to dealing with women. Thanks for everything, I told Mina. Then I kissed her on the forehead.

Mina gave me a strange look, but smiled, shook her head and waved without saying anything. Then she got into the cab and off she went. I smiled as I watched her drive away. Man, this was epic, as far as my Friday nights went. I turned around, and realized with a start that there were no more local buses running. It's three in the morning. That means no more buses number nine, eighteen or fourteen heading from downtown Ottawa into Vanier, where I live in a two-bedroom apartment. That's frigging fantastic! If I take the number ninety five ( which runs 24/7 ) to Saint Laurent, I'll still have about two miles to walk through, in the cold, in order to get to my apartment. Sounds great, doesn't it? Zipping up my jacket, I began the long trek home.

As I neared my doorstep, cold and shivering, dog-tired and shuffling forward like a zombie, a text message from my phone jolted me out of my daze. I had an awesome night with the sweetest clueless guy ever, read the first half of the text message from Wilhelmina "Mina" Schakel. Good night sweet lips, read the second half. I stood there, inches from my door, and smiled. Suddenly I didn't feel the cold at all. In fact, I felt a warm and rather fuzzy feeling in my chest. One I hadn't felt in ages. I had an awesome time too and thank you for bringing me out of my funk, I replied to Mina. Let's do paintball next week, I sent as a final message. Hey, you never know, right? A few minutes went by and I went to my apartment, got my clothes off and went to bed. Just as I got ready to go to sleep, I got a text message from Mina. About time you showed some initiative sweet lips and yeah bring it on, she said. I went to bed with a smile on my face. What can I say? I had a great night all around.