well, they weren’t legally wed, as far as i knew. but they had a baby on the way. they shared a lease. that was enough for me. i’m the product of a roaming dick of a father, and as such i’ve always felt like i had to respect others’ exclusivity, even if they didn’t. because that meant i respected myself. i prided myself on holding myself above and beyond all of that talk show shit. he said he did, too. but that began to unravel before long. he looked at me too longingly, was too quick to ask me out for drinks after work. he was entirely too quick, with the baby due any day, to ask me flat out, “when’s the last time you had some good dick, girl?” i felt like it had to be the booze talking, we had been hanging out in a group setting, and he offered to drive me home clear on the opposite side of the city from where he lived, and we did decide to go cut a rug, and we both worked crazy ass hours, so why not take some time to ourselves to blow off steam? he’d just had too much to drink, and i needed a ride home . . . it was late. taking the bus home in january in philly . . . i wasn’t really dressed for night time temperatures, just my work clothes . . .
but i knew he was wrong. he was wrong. he knew better. i knew better. at the time, i was a believer that anyone with 3 years of age on me and the vast life experience he had should have behaved like the mature one. above all, i felt like i had to remind him that he still had something/ someone to go home to. he had a reason not to be out with me at 3 in the morning, and it wasn’t either of our obligations to work the next day. there was a baby that they had already named and prepared for. it was her possible entry into active labor. and what did i do?
nothing. let it progress. because i wanted, very badly, to feel admired. i am a sensation junkie. he stimulated my mind more than anything else, did a damn good job of it. most importantly, he represented an impossibly pleasant distraction (oh, the text messages, the myspace wall posts, the crazy ass emails!) from the madness surrounding me. at work. transitioning from my mom’s (probably for the last time) to cohabitation with a girlfriend of mine. drama at work. there was so much to process, so much to ignore . . . the endless drinks (and nutritionally deficient “meals” at the bar) impeded the flood of madness that threatened to drown me. i had to move out of the old apartment in north philly and high-tail it to the land of trolleys and ethiopian restaurants. i was having what some may call a spiritual awakening in regard to my study of the yoruba faith. i was learning, growing, changing . . . and still shaking off the vestiges of old beliefs about myself. i don’t say this to say that i didn’t know what i was doing. i knew, but had no way of gaging the impact on myself. getting to know him was getting old, fast. but i wasn’t quite finished. i have this thing where i always have to double and triple check even when i know i’m right in the first place (conversely, i never double-check the possible missteps or bad fucking ideas). so as i double checked and triple checked, it got uglier. things deteriorated.
i learned the hard way that a mutual friend (trust, i now use that phrase lightly) took my confidence in her and turned it into something it wasn’t. all of a sudden i, the fiercely independent, perpetually single one was that bitch. hungry, needy, trying to get in anywhere i could for the sake of validation. it was a play upon fears and a major exaggeration of words that, in context, were more consistent with my real self than this skewed portrait she’d painted of me. at the time i wasn’t even aware of the weight of it. but i became more clear on it after a while. a bunch of shit she was into, which is completely inconsequential to me at this point, had her acting like she had zero home training.
but, back to me. cuz this is my blog & it’s about me.
i was in the early stages of picking the whole mess apart. i didn’t wanna fuck him anymore. the one time we messed around left me feeling like anything further would be less than satisfying to me. i had already moved into my new place. i didn’t need to vent to anyone anymore about the bobby & whitney ass shit my roommate was into. i didn’t need him for the distraction anymore. just as i was figuring out exactly what purpose he served in my life, we had this mindblowingly unilateral conversation (i let it be that way, i know when to shut my mouth) & that was that, for the most part. some other shit popped off months down the line that is not even worthy of note here.
years removed, i’ve gained a lot of clarity. i’ve lost contact w/ most of the folks associated with that mess. and i rather enjoy the distance. i have no regrets. i know now: the first time should be the last when it comes to being offended. you can’t trust anyone who’s afraid of the hair that grows out of her own scalp (at least, i can’t). if he’s dumb enough to bring you up in his house after the fact, you need to make that the last interaction. follow your gut instinct; call a spade a spade.
above all: no matter what they say or do, they are only human & therefore no more important or special or favored or loved by the most high than you are.