Jibril is a young wise man who early on figured out the ins and outs of life. Whatever the subject - be it mathematics, philosophy, statecraft, spirituality, art, or matters of the heart; ask him any question or for guidance and he can give you fair and logical counsel. All in all, most people respect him. Elders in his community often remark on how giving and mature his soul is. This all changed when things began to go sour with his girlfriend. It was she who opened his heart and expanded the reaches of his mind. Her name is Tya, and everything about her is marked with class. Even when she would be provoked by girls in her neighborhood who disliked her for whatever reason, she handled her conflicts with grace. The phrase, “Floats like a butterfly stings like a bee” was surely wrongly attributed to the Brother Muhammad Ali. Tya was a force of her own that even Jibril’s grasp of the metaphysical and quantum could not maintain.
One day Tya’s love ran thin. Old Miss Elisha - the widowed, nosy, perpetually eavesdropping old lady who always seemed to be wherever drama was present - said she overheard the altercation from her parked Cadillac outside of the grocery store where Jibril could often be spotted reading and holding counsel with people around the way:
Tya had stopped by the store to pick up some pasta and wine that she was preparing for the two of them to eat later. Upon leaving, she saw Jibril, who was wearing the khufi she despised (because she always thought his “Muslim look” was some facade) and talking to a “stacked” young lady named Tisha. “Ya’ see, girl… It was written in the stars that the moon would align with this constellation (pointing up into the early-evening sky) to mark the magnificence of Allah. Mark these words, time will reveal.” Tya, seeing and overhearing this stomps over to Jibril and burst the wine on the concrete by his feet, “Time has revealed that you are a pretentious sucka with a skewed perspective of what this world is all about. It ain’t about this knowledge you think you have, nor your ego, nor this stupid khufi you have on.” She snatches his khufi off his head and throws it on the ground where a puddle of wine has formed.
Jibril follows her, confused, trying to figure out what has upset Tya, “Whoa! What’s this about? Should I get you some flowers? Read you a poem? Show you this sculpture I molded for you? Let you hear this rap I wrote for you? Reveal to you this movie I made dedicated to you? This painting I painted for you? Tya-Tya-Tya! What can I do?”
Tya looks at him with a look of disgust, disappointment, and annoyance. “One day you’ll learn. It’s best if I not even say, because you’re so full of yourself that you’ll never get it if I continue to waste my time.”
“Yeah, and she just walked off while taking off the necklace, ring, and earrings Jibril bought for her, leaving him with a broken bottle of Moscato soaking his jeans,” said Old Miss Elisha.