Day 31: To all the Boys who Broke my Heart: # 2 (Pt. 1)
I saw his face when he saw me for the first time. Years later I went on to confront him about the look in his eye but my claim was denied. But I saw it. I saw him see me for the very first time. I saw his face light up and his eyes widen.. All of which may or may not have happened— but it was the story I told myself. And those thoughts always kept me warm. I’ve always held high regard to the first experience of something. To this day, “Baby’s First” (in regard to myself) is still a part of my vocabulary. First love, First Kiss, First time— all moments I lived for. I created a drug-like experience for myself, able to release a euphoria just off fantasized memories alone. It’s only now that I can realize what I was really doing. I lived for memories I could live off of. I would take a “sweet” moment and attach my own meaning to it, assign value to it and replay it over and over, each time sprinkling more romance and whimsy in it. Drugs. “Love” was my first and longest used. My imagination was the oil to my engine. Propelling me through my minority existence at school, my parents divorce at home and it gave me hope of an “obtainable” future. I am recognizing now that I never dreamed or fantasized about a life for myself without the presence of a man. I never imagined the life I live now: A peaceful, single, young-professional lifestyle without as much as a pet on my deserted island. In my mind from young, there was always a mystery person there. Which only supports my experience as someone who has had to learn and accept how to be comfortable in isolation. I’m starting to see how God moved me out here with intent to break that in me… The stories we tell ourselves…
Seeing his reaction to seeing me for the first time was enough to catch my attention. Truly it was all I ever wanted (and want)— to be seen. But not in a fleeting admiration kind of way, but to really see me. To be able to read me with a glance and be so connected to my heart that they understand without me have to say it. Sounds almost inhumanly possible when I see written out. Which makes sense, every man I’ve had deep connection to has always competed with God in my heart— I am ashamed to say. But theres nothing to be hidden, that type of connection was established at my birth and I didn’t even know it. You can’t hide your true self from the Divine. And its this very moment that the Lord was waiting for. I admit, I have idolized these niggas. They just received so much of my attention and intention and occupied so much space. They would become the center of my prayers at times and ideation of the next romantic moment would become my joy. Damn shame— but no shame at all. I didn’t understand men on a physiological level, they are hunters. It’s in their nature. Needless to say.. GIRL of course he was going to have a reaction to seeing you if you looked beautiful and you were the NEW GIRL. And at 15, how deep can it be?…
— As deep as you make it.
We met at church (of course). It was my first time attending a youth night. I spent my formative years as an Indiana resident. After the divorce my parents naturally chose to attend different places of worship. My mother was an Eastern Star member and my dad, brother and I planted roots at Light of the World Christian Church. I met Gene and Nia and we became like velcro. They brought me around the Youth Group that met on Tuesdays. The stories that can be told about my experiences being a part of the Youth Group could fill a book. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Truth be told I would have been lost without them (the entire Youth Ministry). Between the divorce and not having space to explore my Blackness in a safe environment, I would have been over run. I know my parents only had the best intentions for me (more me than my brother) but it is NO BUENO being a Black dot in a sea of white. It’s just not conducive to a positive self-image. As I aforementioned, Carmel boys just weren’t checking for me. Among them I was either ugly or just not worth the effort, but I shined among my own. I knew I had (physically) what Black boys liked. My shape has always been my shape. Curve and thickness is my brand. The very thing that I was made fun of for at Carmel gave me much sought after attention just 10 miles north in Indianapolis. — But there was something about the look in his eyes. He didn’t seem to look at me and it was just physical attraction. For me it read, wonder, curiosity, excitement and all for me. I took mental notes to mark him as one to keep my eye on and to dangle myself in front of. That was my thing. I dangled myself like bate but only for the person of my choosing. It’s not hard to tell once Morgan has chosen. My conversation changes, suddenly he’s being brought up in every discussion with friends. My hair and makeup are done strategically. The game is put into play.
In my first Heartbreak story, I mention how physical intimacy was not in my foresight. I LOVED being able to say I was a virgin (almost too much). My chastity was the most valuable of all of my assets (or so I was made to feel). I didn’t want sex, I wanted connection. My first love was never more than cute by default to me. My body was not drawn to his, only my heart and I think thats what made it so special to me. It was the most innocent Love I’d ever experienced. He also had the secret weapon to a successful capture: comedy. He was hilarious. And that was the thing with me, if you can make me laugh, I’d become like a baby with the giggles. I will adore you. Everyman I’ve been with we had a healthy laugh life. Laughing was a healing balm and now I see, a huge pattern of deception for me and those I’ve had connection to (more so others than him though). He didn’t pride himself on being the most attractive person in the room but his personality could outshine everyone and bring us all the tears. Another aspect in his favor was his social dynamic. Lacking in some areas but socially you are loved and accepted for who you are? I’ll bite. Dare I say if that wasn’t the case I wouldn’t have returned the attention. I cared deeply about my image back then and for years and years after. [It’s a wonder how fucked up I was. My mama wasn’t like that and my dad and I didn’t have honest dialog.. see PWI aren’t meant for Black kids.}
But he got me. One laugh at a time. One glance at a time. My own rendition of Love and Basketball…
