Dreaming September 25, 2008

Sometimes I wish I had that Go-Getter drive. That real Kanye-Beyonce-(legal) hustler on the street-drive! The kind that makes you say, “Fuck this! I’m leaving.” I pray for that kind of spirit often (before I get tied down to something or someone and can’t make a move). Maybe one day, I should just pack up and move to a bigger city with more excitement and more prospects. Prospects in jobs, prospects in men, prospects in opportunity.

The scary thing about it is not actually jumping off the ledge and doing it. What if I do these things and there’s still this empty place inside of me? I’m going to go out on a limb and say that just about every city is the same (dealing with the basics, here!) Every city has people who complain about their mediocre jobs and family situations, how they can’t find a decent man or woman or how life so sucks at the moment.

NYC? It happens there.

Vegas? It’s happens there.

L.A.? There, too!

This is neither here nor there, though. I need to do something. This guilt is tugging on me everyday because I know the life I envisioned for myself. It is possible and it can happen. I am blessed beyond measure even now (don’t think I’m ungrateful. I thank God everyday!), but there’s something else behind the veil.

Dancing in the Dark September 24, 2008

I remember how I felt after I kissed you. While I was kissing you–I was thinking, “What is going with me?” Something else had taken over me. It was like I was in another world. I knew I should stop touching you, but I couldn’t. I had no power over my actions.

It was so passionate and gentle and subtle.

When our lips finally parted from each other’s, I laid there and the oddest thought came to mind…

I wanted to dance with you.

Weird, right?

Not bumpin’ and grindin’ or whining to a bass beat. But your arms wrapped around me, holding me close, just moving. Swaying. Rocking. The kind of dancing that only required me closing my eyes and inhaling the scent of your body. There was nothing but the sound of our breathing in the room, so we didn’t need music. All we needed was us.

Organic closeness. Simplistic intimacy.

I wanted to dance with you.

Finding the Words to Say September 21, 2008

There’s a cliche that goes something like this: “You only get one chance to make a first impression.”

I can’t agree more. Maybe what I’m really looking for is something like, “Speak now or forever hold you peace.”

Let me explain.

So many times in my life, I have been in situations that have been uncomfortable to me. Whether it was work or relationships, there have been times when I’ve have turned the other way, avoided or flat out run from finding a resolution or fixing a problem. That’s me. I avoid.

I avoid saying things I don’t want to say, getting a response that I don’t want or hurting other people. Last year around this time, I was dealing with about three people in different areas of my life. I promised myself that before the new year, I would lay all the cards on the table, no matter who got hurt. Even if it was me.

Obviously, if I went through with that, I wouldn’t be writing this blog entry. So this time around, I’m telling you and myself (again), when you get the opportunity to share a piece of your heart or mind with someone, do it. Don’t back down. Don’t wait until “next time” because you might not get one.

Speak now or forever hold your peace.

Leaving Well Enough Alone: Part II September 19, 2008

Clearly, there was no need to contact Steven once I was home, right? Perhaps, surgery wouldn’t allow me to return for school anyay. To my surprise, he contacted me first to check on me before surgery, and according to my mom, he even called afterwards while I was passed out on Loretabs. By then it was confirmed that I would not be returning to school; hence, not returning to him.

Throughout the summer and even the fall, we talked every now and then. Like old times, we both played games in calling each other. He was consistent in being inconsistent. I knew that “I’m going to call you right back” really meant “I’ll call you in a few days, maybe weeks.” That drove me up the wall, but I’d long accepted (or settled for) his behavior.

Before I knew it, it was college football season, so I was overdue for a visit to the Boot (Louisiana). I was hesitant to do so, but I jumped off my emotional ledge and stayed with Steven  for the weekend. Once again, being with him was always like a breath of fresh air, but my conscience felt otherwise. Why did I allow myself to get caught up in him again? I could have had a clean break from him and the daunting thought of wanting us to be something. But my heart (and flesh) got the best of me.

So there I was the following week, back at home, pining over sporadic phone calls from him. It was not a good look for me at all. But as always, with time, I bounced back. Life goes on.

August 2005

Hurricane Katrina ripped through New Orleans and flooded the entire city. That same catastrophic weekend, my paternal great-aunt, who lived just an hour away from The Big Easy, passed away. As people were frantically fleeing the city, we were headed there. So many thoughts and questions were running through my head as we drove down Interstate 55. Was Steven floating face-down in those muddy waters? Did he leave in time, or was he like other New Orleanians who were stuck there with no food or water? That weekend, as I watched men, women and children wave rescue flags on the roofs of buildings submerged in water on CNN, I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer for Steven. I asked God to take care of him and keep his family safe.

He may have only been in my life for a season, but I had to acknowledge that I cared deeply for him. I hadn’t talked to him in months, but I decided to call him. I needed to hear his voice and know that he was okay. All of the cell phone towers were down due to the hurricane damage, so most cell phones didn’t work. I gave it a shot anyway and pressed the send button on my phone. All I got on the other end was static.

I said one final prayer for him and got dressed for my great-aunt’s funeral.

August 2006

I finally graduated with my Master’s degree and it was time to return to school to make that fierce strut across the stage. Everything was good. I had a new friend and a new job waiting for me back at home. While there, my friends and I decided to go to New Orleans for a post-graduation celebration. We drove up the Spillway (the bridge that takes you into New Orleans) and for the first time, I didn’t think about Steven. I was finally at peace with the idea that wherever he was, if he was even alive, he was okay. He was just a part of my past and I would probably never see him again. End of story.

As we approached the club I wondered how many people had come back to live, as the club was packed, but the streets were a ghost town compared to what they used to be.  For two seconds, I thought how crazy it would be if I were to run into Steven. Oh well, I thought. Let’s get it in!

Standing next to my ace, I noticed this guy standing next to me. He was standing so close to me that we were rubbing shoulders. There was no need for that since it wasn’t packed wall-to-wall. I leaned over to complain to my girl about ol’ boy and suddenly this guy walks towards me. Whoever he was, he obviously did not know about my personal space bubble concept, nor did he care to learn. I just stood there and stared at him with this “WTF” expression on my face. (Sidebar: I am the most oblivious person on the planet, so I don’t catch on quickly.)

After about 10 seconds, my eyes and brain zoomed in on this man.

Oh.My.God. It was Steven!

I blinked. I blinked again. It was really him. As my mama says, you could have sold me for a penny. There he was, alive and well. He had that same smile, same big brown eyes and same swag that gave me butterflies.

The look of bewilderment was still plastered on my face, but I managed to sputter out a few words as he pulled me in for a long hug. I don’t even remember what I said. I tried to, as my homeboy says, “keep it playa,” but I wasn’t doing so well. My body temperature shot up to 400 degrees. After all this time, this is what I’ve been missing, I thought. We immediately exchanged numbers.

He was alive and I wanted to know everything. What was he doing with his life now? How was his family? What was he doing back in the city? He asked me just as many questions as I wanted to ask him. Apparently, he was able to flee to North Carolina before the storm touched down, and he was living and working there. While my girls were dying of laughter at the surprise of it all, I was still in a daze. When he walked away, I asked them atleast 10 times if that was really him or figment of my imagination. They confirmed that it was not a delusion, but a reality.

At about 3 a.m., I walked out of the club, and he was right outside waiting on me to come with him (take it how you want). It was so tempting. Here, this man, who I thought was possibly dead, stood in front of me with a proposal that most wouldn’t refuse. Why not let him be my graduation gift? As he walked us to our car, he assured me that he would call me shortly so we could get up.

I ignored the butterflies in my stomach and became a “big girl”. Sure, I thought to myself. I can do this. I can go down this road with him again and be okay. I will not feel anything for him because whatever we had was insignificant and by now, so played out. I’ve moved on.

My heart and mind were at battle and my heart was winning. I still wanted him and I knew it. Just as I returned to my girl’s house, my phone rang. Steven.

“I’m coming to meet you. Where does Tasha live?”

“You know what? I don’t think that’s going to work.”

“You don’t? Why not?”

“I just…don’t. “

He spat out a million and one alternatives to see me, but I opted out on all of them. I’d suddenly had a change of heart. I’m not even sure why. Fear and shock come to mind first though. “Maybe we can hang out tomorrow then.” he said reluctantly. He asked when I was leaving and I told him most definitely by 1 p.m. the next day.

“Okay….I’ll hit you up.”

I hung up. My girls damn near attack me for turning him down.

The next day, just as I expected, I was checking my phone every second to see if he called. It was 12:30 p.m. and his name was still not listed on my call log. We stayed much longer than I expected to eat before the long drive. We left around 7 p.m.

In case you’re wondering why I didn’t just call him, let me explain. Our relationship was always similar to a game of Tug-of-War. I refused to give in to him (or to myself) for various reasons and he, the same. He only wanted to play by his rules and that’s just not fair to me. Even though he makes me light up like Central Park on Christmas Eve, I knew I could not deal with the what if’s, why’s and how comes when he disappeared out of my life for the thousandth time. I had to put an end to the madness at some time. And that’s what I did.

As we traveled down Interstate 10 towards the suburbs, I decided to call him. I him that we’d just left the city.

“You haven’t left yet? I didn’t get up until after one, so I was waiting to call when you were on the road,” he said.

 “I’m just around the way. If you get on 610, I can meet you. I want to see you before you leave.”

We were approaching 610. I could have taken the exit… But I kept driving. “We’re way past there now. I’ll call you when I get home.”

I drove home for six hours in silence. Just a year ago, I asked God to take care of Steven and make everything alright. That weekend I received proof that He answered my prayer for him. Maybe that’s was as far as we needed to go.

When I got home, I never called him. Instead, I did what I should have done years before. I found his number in my phone and pressed ‘Delete.’

The summer sun had gone down and golden brown leaves were about to fall from the trees. Our season had passed.

Leaving Well Enough Alone: Part I September 19, 2008

They say the real definition of insanity is doing the same things over, yet expecting different results. Here’s my story.

March 2003

One night while in graduate school in Baton Rouge, a group of friends convinced me to call in to work to go to this new hot spot in New Orleans (no convicing required!). At the club, I meet this guy named Steven. I don’t remember much about our initial meeting. He was obviously pretty cute, but nothing about him really struck me like “wow”. He was on the thin side and tall (enough). He had on a sweater (it was in January). The rest is a blur. I do remember that even though I didn’t feel like being bothered with anyone that night, he would not stop talking to me. He was on my last nerve…but I danced with him anyway.

Coincidentally, he was friends with my girl’s new boo whom she’d to come to the club to meet. As we’re leaving the club, he asked me to come chill at this after-set at a friend’s house. Um, no buddy. I don’t know you like that and I’m not that interested. He asked for my number anyway and immediately got the no-sir.

Persistence gets you far though. Very far.

A couple of days later, my friend (with the boo) called me.

“You know Steve, right?”

“Nah, who is that?”

“Daniel’s (her boo) boy. He keeps asking about you. He wants you to have his number.”

“Oh, him? Girl…please.  I don’t know about that.” This guy does not stop.

“Go ahead, T! He’s so cute.”

Whatever, I thought. My boo at the time was acting up, so why not? I took his number and called the next day. He screened me to make sure I was who he was looking for, rather than one of my friends I clubbed with that night. The conversation was your usual mini-autobiographical session. He wasted no time in trying to see what I was about. I explained that I was only up for friends at that time, so let’s ride it out. In my head, I was thinking, “Yeah, right. This will go absolutely nowhere.”

For  a while it didn’t. And I was just fine with that.  As we were trying to get to know each other, we met at some mutual places with friends because I wasn’t sure if I liked him yet.  All of my friends loved him, but I was still on my old boo. He was very easy to talk to though. He liked my off sense of humor, I liked his cockiness and that accent was to die for. Everything was cool.

As my luck would have it, I soon found out that my old boo was a few (many) cards short of a deck, so I had to let him go. One day driving home from work, my cell phone vibrated and “SW” (my codename for him) popped up on the screen.

He told me he wanted to see me, so he was coming to my house.

“Oh, and I’m staying,” he added.

Is that right?? Hmmm, okay. I do like a man who takes control. Besides, I’m good. (Sing to myself Tweet’s “No Panties Coming Off”!)

Have you ever wondered if you can fall in love with someone in one night? I don’t know if it’s possible, but what I experienced was pretty damn close. I saw another side of him that I’d not seen before. He had mad confidence, yet he was so sweet. He was FUNNY! A goofball, to be exact and I loved it. A man who makes me laugh earns so many points in my book. He met my roommates and won them over (that’s not easy to do!). He was a music fanatic like me–an extreme Erykah Badu fan. Need I say more?

We spent the night sprawled out on my living room floor, drinking wine and laughing hysterically at each other’s jokes.

From that night on, I was floating (I never told him that.). All I could think about was his kiss. He was so sweet and gentle with me. He became the new topic of discussion among friends, the one who made me smile over the phone when he called. We were so alike, yet so different. He was sel-proclaimed “free spirit”. Perhaps that’s what drew me to him because I am just the opposite. We spent time together occasionally, but not as often as I’d liked since we were in different cities. Remember, I just wanted to be “just friends”, so I couldn’t take up all of his time, could I? There were times when I would look at my phone for missed calls from him, and there would be none. He was simply unavailable and I despised that. I’m usually the unavailable one. Eventually, I got so used to his disappearing act, I let the hope of us being together go completely.

A couple of weeks passed and just like any man would do, he called just as I was about to get to my “Steven who?” status.  I hate it when they do that!

I fell right back into the trap of dealing with him. We talked just like old times and planned on getting together, but for unforeseen reasons we didn’t.  A couple of weeks later, I was diagnosed with a condition that forced me to return home for surgery immediately after the semester ended. I didn’t want to leave. I had a job, friends, an apartment, school…and Steven (kinda).

I’m terrible with goodbyes so I comtemplated leaving without even telling him. What did he care? On a scorching hot May morning, I called him up and and made a visit (which I didn’t do often) to tell him the news and get the last hoorah. As we were sitting on the sofa, he asked me to tell him something new and good.

“I don’t know if it’s good, but it’s definitely new,” I said.

“So what is it?”

“I’m leaving…”

Dead silence…The look on his face said it all. Those big brown eyes were definitely in shock.

“Leaving? Where are you going?”

“Home…for surgery.”

“What kind of surgery? What’s wrong? Are you coming back?”

“Hopefully.” I went on to tell him about the surgery and how sudden it was.

“When are you leaving?” he asked.

“Monday.”

It was Friday.

He didn’t say a word. He simply got up, and went to the bathroom to take a shower.

Leaving was so hard for me. My last day there, in the privacy of my own bathroom, away from my Mom and friends helping me move, I called Steven for a final farewell.   When he picked up the phone, he addressed me by my government name, instead of the cute “Boo Boo” or “Slim” pet names that I loved so much. You could cut the tension with a Machete. He sounded so nonchalant—almost robotic. He seemed to have no concern regarding my leaving. I don’t know what I expected him to say, but all I got was, “Okay….bye.” Click.

Before I even put the phone down, tears were falling from eyelashes onto the floor. I no longer had any control over my emotions (something I always took pride in). And I DON’T cry. How sad this entire ordeal had been. I felt so stupid for even expecting to get any kind of reaction out of him.

I’m stronger than this, I said to myself. I wiped my tears away, smiled in the mirror, walked out of the bathroom and started loading my boxes into my car as if my heart had not been broken into tiny pieces.

 

Stop In the Road September 18, 2008

In about 15 minutes, I will wallk into a room full of people that I only know by first name and tell them what to do with their money (or lack thereof). Only 10 minutes ago, I was trying my damnedest to stay awake and keep my head from falling back into a coma-like sleep.

Sometimes, on days like this, I wonder just what in the world am I doing? How did I get here? Shouldn’t I be doing something else with my life. Something that’s more fulfilling? I know that I am blessed beyond measure because my last place of employment was a mad house. I had to get out and He made a way for me to do so.

So here I am.

And here I go. Off to work again.

Had To Get It OUt September 16, 2008

I miss him.

As much I would like to, I can’t even lie about it. Even though he was wrong and I should stop thinking about him YESTERDAY, I can’t. It’s this random, pop-up thinking that gets me in trouble everytime. The only difference now is I know to say to myself, “NO!” And I am. Right now, at this very moment.

Why is my very first post about him anyway? What has he ever done to deserve such an honor?

But I named this blog The Venting Room for a reason, I guess. That’s what’s floating around in my head and I needed to get it out ASAP.

So there it is. I put it out into the Universe and the blogsphere. That’s some powerful shit right there.