2007 Mr. Romance Finalist Fred Williams

PROLOGUE


On Thanksgiving Day, November 27th at nine-thirty in the morning, I fell in love. It was swift and irrevocable. Common sense was hopeless. Without warning or fanfare, I had succumbed to Mackenzie Norton’s allure. Love is such a strange emotion—never enough time to savor all the sweet moments. It’s hindsight now that I’ve lost her.

Sometimes the memories taunt me, other times they provide comfort. When my eyes close, Mackenzie appears. Her brown eyes twinkled, causing a sexy glow to spread across her face. Her hypnotic trance released strong vibes that were undeniable. She was such a puzzle, allowing me the pleasure of seeing her pieces fit. Inside the church walls, she was sober. With me, her mischievous antics would issue challenges.
Mackenzie. The way she commanded her body possessed my senses. Thank you, God, for my eyes to see. With deliberate movements, Mackenzie’s hands beckoned to me, sprinkling magic along the way. Long slender arms danced with the grace of a swan.
For initial five-seconds I laid eyes on her, I had dismissed her until she demanded my attention without her trying. I quickly withdrew my opinion that she wasn’t a head-turner. A gentle spirit tempered her powerful personality.

Yes, Mackenzie’s magnetism was undeniable. She became my teacher, and I a willing student. I chuckle at the memories. At first, we could’ve spoken, but we enjoyed the silent communication.
Mackenzie had the most enchanting smile. Ah! Did I mention her lips? They were my worst distraction and her best assets—shapely and full in a natural pout. They moved like a musician manipulating his instruments. Have I mentioned she was feisty and committed to her convictions?
Glistening skin reminded me of wet brown sugar—my attraction. A head of messy curls was her crowning glory. On any other woman, the look would’ve been scary. Mackenzie made it stylish as it cuddled her oval face.
Whoever dared utter that stupid saying, men aren’t perfect? Well, they hadn’t seen a woman named Mackenzie. The compact five-feet-four-inch woman was perfect.

During our quiet time, we didn’t blink twice as we mouthed our promises to each other. We honored each word with sincerity and care, vowing not to break one. It happened anyway. Mackenzie was to blame, or maybe it was I.
One evening we indulged in quietness. Watching the sunset at a nearly deserted playground, I spoke aloud a wish as I nudged Mackenzie on a swing. “I miss dancing. More than anything I wish we could dance the night away.”

Mackenzie dug her heels into the ground, halting the swing. Turning around, she finger-kissed the sadness, disappointment, and pain out of my eyes. “I promise, Noel, one day we’ll dance.”
I didn’t hear her, but I knew she whispered because she always touched me when she did. Now our chance will never come. I hate broken promises. At least God is dependable with His promises.
It had nothing to do with me being one of twenty-eight million Americans classified as oral deaf, Deaf, or hearing-impaired. Sixteen years earlier, doctors delivered the tragic news to my parents, family, and friends. I had loss hearing. They were in shock. My mother cried. My dad temporarily withdrew, lacking the skills to communicate with me. My youngest brother, Caleb, thought I had become a robot, but my older brother, Pierce, embraced my new world and me. His compassion helped to guide the Richardsons to a place of mental and physical recovery.

Therefore after all the ENT doctors’ testing, surgery, and the audiologists’ retesting were done, I was labeled as “late deafened adult” that meant I wasn’t part of the “Deaf culture” who fought to remain Deaf until they died. Hierarchy existed within the Deaf culture. So the final song I heard was Donna Summer’s Last Dance. I guess it truly was my rhythmic groove.

Well, the pity party is officially over. I’ve moved on. For me, like many others, external influences were the culprit for my deafness, not genetic flaws or pregnancy complications. I’m lucky; no, I’m blessed to be alive, unlike Keith Morrow. His parents couldn’t cope with losing their only child in a freak explosion near a fireworks plant.

Anyway, I appreciate interpreters, and grew accustomed to them signing at events, but it was Mackenzie’s contagious enthusiasm that sucked me into a storm, whirling me into the eye of the hurricane. Never had I witnessed an interpreter wrapped up in so much pleasure and total involvement in communicating what was happening around me.

Not only did I see and feel; Mackenzie made me believe I could hear the choir’s rendition of My Life Is in Your Hands, a Kirk Franklin original after my deafness. Somehow, my mind played tricks on me as I listened to the instruments.
My heart jumped at thunderous rumble inflicted by Mackenzie’s imaginary wooden stick, pounding invisible drums and tapping fictitious cymbals. With confidence, her fingers stroked pretend piano keys.

Her expression, most humorous, depicted the altos’ deep voices and the sopranos’ melodious high pitches. Who knew that when I stepped into the God’s Grace Apostolic Church, I would enter utopia? Suddenly, I felt like praising God for what I had—my eyes to gaze, hands to enjoy her soft skin, and a heart that throbbed faster when she was close. At that moment, for some unexplained reason, I thanked God that I was deaf. Can you believe that?

Thanking God for allowing the worst event to happen in my life to make me the happiest. How else would I’ve met a woman whose love was fierce and unconditional? Then months after our meeting, I, Noel Richardson, lost Mackenzie Norton.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

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RT BOOKLOVERS Convention

Don't miss the 25th annual RT BOOKLOVERS Convention in Pittsburgh, PA, April 16-20th.
Mingle with 300 bestselling author, including Heather Graham, Brenda Jackson, Christina Skye.
Eric Jerome Dickey is the guest speaker at the Awards Luncheon, and he will sign copies of his bookies.
More than 1000 readers are taking over the city from across the world--yeah across the world: Australia, London, Switzerland, etc.
Visit www.rtconvention.com for more information and to see last year's pictures.
The annual Mr. Romance Competition is the most popular attraction. Fred Williams, a finalist from last year, will return and go for it all. Fred will be featured in GQ and on the next cover of my book, Talk to Me, Urban Christian, November 2008.
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Friday, February 1, 2008

February 2008 excerpt (Talk to Me)

Mackenzie Norton, 29, Elementary School Teacher/Theatre Assisant and Church Interpreter.....


I had waited my entire life for Noel Richardson. Physically, he was perfect, and I mean perfect, built like bodybuilder. He had hazel eyes, skin the color of maple butter syrup, and a smile that became permanent when gazed at me. He nurtured his silky black mustache that outlined his upper lip. There never a hair out of place. Lord knows, Noel was as pleasing to my eyes that at times, I couldn’t even blink.
Noel’s dress attire always amusingly reminded me of my childhood favorite action hero—good-looking as plain-old Clark Kent, but hidden under that quiet demeanor was the strength of Kent’s alter ego Superman.
His polo shirts, T-shirts, or sweatshirts couldn’t restrain his bulging muscles. The cuffs of his pants never, ever touched the dust on the floor. It was as if he had them trained to obey. Noel’s shoes—tennis, sandals, or dress shoes—were always properly maintained. He nurtured for anything or anyone he cared about, including me. So what happened?
Noel’s voice—Lord, thank You for Your handiwork—his voice. He had no idea how deep and mesmerizing his words sounded when he whispered. No one would suspect he was deaf. When he raised his voice, which was never until he shouted those scriptures at me non-stop, it was intimidating. Although Noel is deaf, his heart never seemed to having a problem hearing me. So what happened?
Spiritually, I thought he was a perfect man of God. We never clashed on scriptures, songs, or even how to praise God until—that night. I loved him, but if we couldn’t have a dialogue or a friendly debate—okay, argument—even if it was about the scriptures, how could we grow as saints of God?
When the school year began, I didn’t have Noel. It’s ended, and I still didn’t have Noel. We hadn’t talked since. Now sitting at home, I was restless. Staring out the kitchen window, I couldn’t seem to focus on anything. Turning around, I remembered to sip my coffee. The flavor was bland, not doused with my heavy hand of sugar. It was tasteless like my life.
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