Day 29: To all the boys who broke my Heart — # 1
At 14 I didn’t know what I wanted. And Hell, at 25 I’m still figuring it out. However I can say I’ve never had a type. My crushes ranged in looks and color. During my experience in PW public schools, as a Black girl, chances are that the white boys aren’t looking your way (or at least wouldn’t admit to it) and the Black boys are probably checkin for the white girls. But that didn’t stop me from being attracted to them, I just found content in the fact that I was undesired by that particular crowd. However, my fan club? — Church boys.
See, I liked having church crushes because it was safer. I feared Hellfire quite young so the only base I ever dreamed of reaching..was marriage. I wasn’t the kissing in the choir stand type or even interested in being physical other than holding hands really. But I loved to fantasies and play dress up with husbands in my mind. I would practice my signatures, interchanging the last names. Listening for which had the best ring to it. Plus they only ever saw me in my Sunday’s best which gave me confidence. But not real confidence.. the kind that came from knowing I had a nice outfit on and playing the cards that Colorism dealt without even fully realizing it.
I wasn’t really all that attracted to him. Truth be told I had the hots for his much older cousin but wasn’t an idiot, I knew that would never happen. So I settled.. the motif of my love life. I settled because he was the only viable option it seemed. He was cute (I guess) but he was really just there. I passed time by having a boy to fixate over. I convinced myself to like him. I felt like he was my only real option because we were both light skinned and all the shows I was watching showed that you put similar complexions together— “they look the best as couples.” Representation really does matter. I grew up thinking with many closed perspectives. But also I was just interested in who was interested in me and not a man of any other races ever seemed to be interested in me. This made me feel like I was only so attractive for not being able to attract more than one type of man. For some reason growing up in white communities— it gets established very early that you are less than beautiful when white men don't seek after you.
It started through just texting him we didn't talk on the phone much and when I saw him in person he barely said a word— but we texted. And oddly it was enough. I may have noticed but brushed it off. I didn’t realize it at the time but I struggled with intimacy with the other sex and he had issues with communication. So I settled but in the moment I didn't think I was settling—even though it wasn't what I wanted. We texted all day and we texted at night. He was the first man to introduce the sweet nothing to me. They were enough to keep my attention, enough to keep my interest, enough to give my time and enough create fantasies I could live off of. He was the first to ever ghost me. I counted— 5 days. And in that time I didn't wanna leave my room, I didn't wanna go to school. I remember specifically asking my mom if I could stay home one day. She told me, “Girl if you don't get up and take your butt to class.” I thought she would support me because she was freshly divorced herself. I remember the feeling, it was visceral, it was physical, it was painful. The rejection, the jilting, it all hurts so much. It does something to your self-esteem. You always make it about you when you're that young but I couldn't think of a reason. “Was it something I said?” “Was it me?” And when I finally talked to him of course at 14 there's no real explanation. {Truly there is no excuse for ghosting.. ever} And I don't even really remember what was said but I will never forget the feeling of my first Jilting.
J.P. was always a troubled kid though. Always getting in mischief or fights at school. And getting into dealing despite his parents being active members in the church and being related to the pastor. I realize now it was then that I acknowledged in myself that I liked boys that had a little rebellion in them. Some time after us he dated a girl that no one at the church wanted him to be with. They talked about her and I remember feeling lucky when he brought his first kid to church. I used to look at the kid from a far and say to myself, “You know I was almost your mama right?” But that was never meant to be. Through time there was talk of the latest trouble he was getting into. And today I believe the number of offspring has doubled if not tippled — by the same girl. Couldn’t be me.
