For all the passion he’d shown me the day I came in from Digital’s, BD didn’t really have it
for me like that. He never had. I think he just wanted the end of our
relationship to be on his terms.
And so he ended it.
“I was thinking we should give each other some space,” he began out of no where.
I was sitting on the floor, back against the futon sorting
through credit card bills. I’d collected all the mail that had piled up in my
neglected mailbox at my place and decided this was as good a time as any to
take care of some long overdue business.
BD decided it was as good a time as any to tell me about Tykesha.
He’d never been the most tactful, but I gotta give it to him
for honesty. He was brutal.
I stopped what I was doing and looked up at him, giving him
my full attention.
“I mean,” he
diverted his eyes, “It’s
not like things have been going so well with us. And even you said from the
beginning we are from two different worlds. It could never really work out.”
he said. Love how he
flipped that. Good stuff.
“If we are ever gonna meet the person that we are truly
compatible with we can’t do it as long as we’re holding on to this,” he went on. "I mean, don't you want that for us?"
Where was all this good sense when I was apologizing for the
moon being so far up in the sky and the world being round?
“I take it you’ve met that person,” I
said even toned. I will not lose myself to emotion.
“I met someone ...” he
responded.
She was in one of his grad classes. She was a high school
teacher, too, like he was. She was what my girlfriends and I call a “natural
chick.” A strict vegan, she ate all organic, all
the time and
I guess didn’t need to be subjected to BD’s dinner time recitations on food and nutrition. Great. And
apparently she already knew who Stokely
Carmichael was.
Sidebar: How the hell that comes up in a regular person’s
casual conversation, I have no idea but upon meeting BD, I’d never heard of
Stokely Carmichael. BD, ever ready to improve the knowledge of his failing
students quickly schooled me on the black activist even loaning me his
autobiography, a history lesson I was actually grateful for, if not for his
condescending tone.
Not only that, this Tykesha seems to “understand the
struggle.” And that’s
not my paraphrasing, BD actually said that.
“I mean, she understands me, she understands what I go
through as a Black man, she gets the struggle.”
Wow. As if the tracks I’d worn in my hair had weighted down
my brain and kept me from grasping this concept. I was quiet. I wasn’t going to
speak. I would not let my emotions overtake me.
BD once told me a white chick couldn’t service him on her
knees. I’ma spare yall the exact words. We were talking about old experiences -- Why? Never, never, never do that. Don’t do it -- And I was telling him about
this white boyfriend I had in high school. Why is that a standard question with
brothers, “ever been with a white boy?” I dunno.
Anyway, so yeah, I had. I mean the convo had been light, silly even. We’re
reminiscing about shyt from before we even knew each other existed, but the
white boy comment sent him into a rage. Anyway, I say that to say, apparently I
was not so pale that he couldn’t be with me, but clearly not black enough for
him to be with me. F*ck is that?
I proudly did not protest. I quietly stacked the envelopes I’d
been ripping through and began criss crossing the room efficiently, pooling my
stuff.
“I’m sorry, Melyssa,” he
said almost genuinely. Perhaps he was.
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not like we don’t enjoy each other’s company,” he continued. “I’d still like to be friends ... but we know this isn’t really going anywhere.”
Yeah, I’d known that, I guess. But funny how he wasn’t gonna
let me go anywhere till he’d sealed the deal elsewhere.
I threw my stuff into a little shopping bag and grabbed my
purse.
I guess the bitch had a car too because BD definitely had to
work in the morning and this is not the move you make when you need a ride to
work.
“Wait, don’t leave like this.”
I guess he expected a heated exchange to ensue, some passionate
plea.
“It’s okay BD, I’m not mad. I get it. You’re right.”
I did get it. But I was livid.
I am not the china throwing, clothes ripping chick. If I had
been, I would have. Also though, the irony here was kinda obvious. I wasn’t
about to set myself up for him to tell me I brought this shyt on myself.
And though I’d worn my stone face like a champ, I was
embarrassed. I was jealous. I felt betrayed and a bit confused.
Is he seriously trading up? Seriously? I am so f*ckin outta
here. And he better not call me. Ever. I won’t talk to him. I won’t see him.
We hugged in the doorway and he told me not to be a
stranger.
F*ck him. There is nothing in the world that will bring me
back here.
Except a little blue plus sign.
Posted on February
27, 2008 9:30 AM
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