Wrecking Brain

I can tell when a particular best friend of mine is up to something, just like she can tell without seeing me when and if I've been crying. So, when she called me the other day, asking a million plus one questions about a particular someone, I knew, with no proof, that either she was up to something, or, she knew something or some things that I didn't. And when I say asking a million plus one questions, this was like a police interrogation - but not as intimidating. And in between our laughs and my not being able to stay still, I knew what it was all about and where it was coming from. Without her saying so, I was given an outside view of what I've always kind of wanted to know.

And when she asked the question I've quietly asked and answered for myself, I cheerfully answered yes. If asked, the answer is and would be yes. For a long time, the answer has always been yes without a shadow of doubt.

Sitting on the phone with her, I wrecked my brain while trying to pick hers to no avail. And as much as I figured that I had it figured out, I just wasn't sure - and still am not.

She said to me, as if I didn't know, "you know sometimes we look and it's been sitting there right in front of us all along". I know just who she was talking about and what she was saying, but, I wanted to know why? And where was it all suddenly coming from is what I couldn't figure out. Were there truth to her questions? Had she heard it all from the horse's mouth and was just encoding it so I couldn't repeat it verbatim? Hopefully, this won't end in the world may never know like the age old question of "how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop?"

I hope, for my own sanity that I'll be able to get to the center of it all because by all means, it's been a long time and all sorts of emotions are bound up like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.

If I took my own advice I wouldn't be wrecking my brain over my best friend's hidden messages or your sometimes cloudy disposition. If I took my own advice, I'd be at the center of the tootsie roll pop already. But clearly I'm not.

It's been said that good things come to those who wait. And I hope, this, is a classic example of such. I don't expect a fairy tale ending because in the world we live and function in, fairy tales don't exist. But the sheer feeling of a love so transparent that it becomes contagious will do. 

Anthony Hamilton Do You Feel Me

American Gangster soundtrack

Drop of Possibility

with a corner of sweet red wine left in her wine glass on the end table, she sat in a slightly oversized racerback tank, leopard print bra, hot pink lace hipsters, and fuzzy leopard slipper socks. the only thing put together on her was her hair: pulled back and neatly gathered into a glittered gold rectangle hair clip - very Chistmasy.


she sat indian styled on her plush California king bed with feet intertwined like a pretzel and tucked underneath her, all while pounding against the keys of her laptop. thinking aloud through her fingers, she couldn't for the life of her, even years later, figure out what was it about her and about them that made him venture off.


by all means, he had it all; at least all of what the average man she thought desired. she was the refreshing image of what a woman was to look and sound like: well put together even on her bad days in fitted jeans, collegiate tees and hoodies with clean furry boots or designer clogs. she handled business sometimes better than a man without negating the "womanly duties" bestowed upon her when her father's sperm decided she'd be born with a split versus a pole.


she'd given him everything: hot, home cooked meals where she'd slave over hot pots and pans served with ice cold drinks and napkins folded cleanly under his plate - served to him. she never called him into the kitchen to retrieve his meals. she always waltz her smooth brown flesh into whatever room he was in and served him. she washed clothes, sheets, carpets, and backs if need be. she was the listening ear he'd said he never had, the friend he needed and the lover he prayed for. she did it all. and not to mention, she was a whole theatrical act in the bedroom, shower, living room, and kitchen (when not cooking of course). whatever he wanted or needed, he had.


but all wasn't enough. as if more could be sought and found. different, yes. more, absolutely not.


and here she was, years down the line, trying to decipher what was it that made him do that to them, and to her.


she questioned her own thoughts on the fact that such questions were even being posed. it didn't matter, but, it did matter. no one likes or wants or desires to be wronged. even more so, no one wants to be hurt and to live to speak on it and relive the pain when the hurt has been instilled upon them by one who was their lover. their partner. and in some cases, the key to their future - or so they thought.


her love was and still is ingenious. craved and desired by the minions who crossed her path. damn near perfect, yet, she had not been able to wrap her head around the sheer selfishness and stupidity in the decisions that were made on his behalf that affected and tainted her view of love and relationships.  and she knew it was all out of stupidity and self-centeredness, but her being a woman, it made no sense to her. she knew it wasn't her. couldn't have been. especially not when you get the whole shebang. she knew she wasn't the average woman with average wants and needs or even an average attitude or personality.


she just could never wrap her head around any of it. she knew she probably would never be able to come to grips with the situation. and yet, she'd provided chance upon chance being hopeful and convincing herself that there was enough faith to try. she was glad she'd finally left well enough alone as she realized that even glasses half full of hope grow to be half empty. and eventually, the half empty can barely spare a drop of possibility. 


closing her laptop just as she heard his keys jingling in the door, she looked towards the door of their bedroom as he and his deep dark brown eyes met with hers. they smiled as he made his way over to her and placed several sets of soft kisses upon her lips. she realized then that there was a reason for all of the past shenanigans: so she could see what was sitting and waiting in front of her. so she could walk away from what use to be and what could have been. so she could be loved by who wanted to love her all along. the faith she'd given then to one who didn't deserve it, was the same faith she used to walk out on and grab hold of the love she needed all along.

***

Girls Night In

Occasionally, my sister-friends and I get together and talk. We’ve been doing this for years – since high school at least. These “conversations” or “discussions” have grown from immature girlish cackles to full blown woman conversations about womanly things that now range and run the gamut from careers and money, sex and love, children, weddings, and our futures. These are random nights that we choose last minute, to get together, to chat and catch up; to be emotional and honest. Nights that we choose to sit in instead of painting the town.

This night, we claimed and called ours during an impromptu afternoon phone conversation: ‘Lets get together tonight. We need a girl’s night.’ And just like that, our previously empty evening was full. Prior to hanging up, we debated on dinner and what time we’ll get together. I wanted Papa Johns. She wanted Domino’s. I vouched for pan seared crab cakes with buttered rice and broccoli. She responded ‘absolutely not’. Crab cakes: out. Pizza: in. So I ordered enough food for at least two additional people: medium pizza, half cheese, the other half topped with chicken, mushrooms, onions, green peppers and pineapple (I knew she wouldn’t even touch this half, let alone look at it); also, medium hot wings, cheese sticks, and bread sticks. She was bringing a bottle of wine.

Five o’clock couldn’t get to me quick enough. But when it did arrive, a cognac colored bag slid up my arm and sat on my shoulder, parking garage ticket in hand, cell phone too, and I happily, left work, and anticipated an evening that I had no clue what to expect out of.

Before I knew it, it was 6:45 and she was knocking at my apartment door and ringing the bell. We hadn’t seen each in a week, but a fly on the wall would think we see each other daily. She came in, threw her bags on the couch and went into a full rant about how hot it was in the hallway, how she got locked in the house as she tried to leave, and why on earth did I order so much food. I just half way listened and quickly logged out of Facebook so I could eat – she’s nicknamed my hunger my 2^nd Person.

And over pizza, cheese sticks, wings, and fuzzy navel, we talked about life, relationships, love, our wants and needs, what was and what wasn’t going on, the heinous design on her feet to which she’s named ‘Mosaic’ and chuckled at the fact we had the same color pink on our toes. We caught each other up on what’s happened in the last few weeks, what we wanted to accomplish or do, to say or experience in the coming weeks – so that our next girls night would be just as exciting.

Unbeknownst her, she’s a great inspiration to me and a staple in my life, anything that goes horribly wrong or surprisingly correct, she’s first to know. If I can’t sleep, if I’m depressed, sad, happy, miserable, joyous – any emotion that I can’t deal with on my own, she knows all about it. She’s one of the few people to whom I cannot hide a tear-stricken voice from. And as my two year sister would yell, ‘That’s my boo’.

I shared with her my utter sadness that had taken place the week before. For a whole week. Seven days straight; how I barely ate, didn’t sleep, couldn’t concentrate, and for the life of me, could not get myself out of this emotionally drained rut I was in. Everyday without fail, with no reminder to do so – tears fell on their own accord, marching to their own tune. And within each day, I cried as if I knew my heart had been ripped out of my body and I was fighting to live. Then all of a sudden, I’d awakened one morning, energized and ready for something or some things though I had no clue to what or who they were. The tears stopped. The sadness ended. The unexpected, self-imposed depression was over. But I anticipated something; something good.

I’d also explained to her that this fellow, whom she was absolutely fond of for me, wasn’t for me. He was fun, a sweetheart, and a great listener. But, he held no benefit nor did he add to me or to my life. Just something to do, from time to time. That no matter how much I was remotely attracted to him, attraction dwindles, and, looks and handsomeness go away with time. That as I looked at my life then, now, and attempted to envision later, I began to notice how much overlooked and accepted just for fun. I needed something and someone who was timeless. And I was OK with the fact that he wasn’t.

Sharing this with her, she yelled and shouted about there’s no need for such madness, but, she understood. She understood that our bodies essentially do what they feel is necessary – we just have to comprehend and let the process take place. She understood that when in our lives, it’s midnight 24/7, there’s also work being done so that at daybreak, whenever it decides to arrive, we are better. She understood that this was something that had to take place in order for me to realize some things, as I was simultaneously letting them go. She understood that quite possibly, I knew what was best for me. This was a process that as daunting and sad as it was, I had to experience it. I had to let those tears fall, let those emotions that as old as they felt, they existed, and I had to deal with them head on and eventually, let them go.

It’s during this time of turmoil. This time of relinquishing things and individuals who hold no benefit to me and the spirit I nurture day-to-day, that I recalled months prior, a status I’d posted that was true to the second then and even truer months later as tears took over my lids and sobs shook my body In it, I stated:

"I know I made the best decision for me and my now; me and my later, my to be, my future because I feel comfort and reassurance in my spirit. In my thoughts. I see it in my smile. In my eyes and how they glimmer regardless of the time of day. I feel it in the curve of my back as I put on jeans and shirts, socks and shoes. No aches. No pains. No trauma. Just joy and the knowledge of knowing now was the perfect time."

Life is about a lot of things – but it revolves around love and growth. We live our lives for love. We spend our entire lives, for love, to be loved, to give love. To witness it in the 1^st degree, front row, in 3D, from 1^st and 3^rd person. Love is what we want, what we need, and we fight for it – sometimes to our death, and the death of others – just to prove how deep our love really is. And I wholeheartedly believe that all we want is for love to love us in return. To not be unrequited, but instead, to be faithful, honest, and fair. That’s all. That’s all we request out of life, whether man or woman, rich or poor, homeless or ridiculously successful – love is what we desire. Love, oftentimes holds more weight in this world than death – because even upon death, we love whomever or whatever it was that was previously a part of our lives as if they never departed. As if, their spirit and body are still attached as one.

Then, there are those times in life when death is not the culprit, but life itself. Circumstances that open eyes, ache hearts, and dampen brown, blue, gray, or green lids. Life too can and oftentimes does practice its own version of survival of the fittest in our lives – long before death does its rendition. We think we know who and what ought to be a part of our lives. We assume we know what’s really best for us. We, oftentimes, most of the time, take on the thoughts, opinions, and feelings of others, that we neglect our own. And in doing so, we cut and slash, delete and remove individuals who we think do not or should not be a part of our lives. Yet, we keep and nuture those who ideally, and honestly, have no place in our day-to-day existence.

It’s taken me 23 years to realize this. It took a night of pizza, wings, cheese sticks, and a half empty glass of fuzzy navel to comprehend all of this. It’s taken me 23 years of my life to be OK with what it means to let go. And even now, as I write this piece, and re-read aloud to an audience of one: just me, it surprises me more and more.

Ladies (and gents too!), should there be something or someone that is in your life to whom you question whether or not they’re beneficial to your wellbeing, your successes to come (downfalls too), whether they’re deserving of your worst and your best. Should you even have to question if they are worthy to coexist in a room, over a phone line, in a chat window, with you, they’re probably not. My mother shared with me as a young girl that if you have a feeling that your partner is unfaithful, they probably are. At a young age, she instilled into me that to know unfaithfulness, is to feel it. The same notion applies when it comes to an individual’s wellbeing and if another benefits them or not. No one knows just how much or how little someone benefits our lives but us. It’s OK to edit our circles like we edit essays and reports. It’s OK to remove people with the same guts we delete friends on Facebook. There’s nothing wrong with throwing away feelings that are outdated, feelings that we hold onto for the memories, because they were fun, like you’ve held onto that corner of smell good lotion or your once lucky jean jacket. Not everything that’s old, is meant to be new again.

So as our girls’ night ended, the love in the form of knowledge that I’ve received throughout my 23 years, came full circle as I closed a chapter and prepared to open a new one. Prepared to dive into a life that I know nothing about, but one that I anticipate. And one that I already endear and appreciate.

The {every-year} Holiday Battle

Holidays with my family are always full of good times and the laughter of children. And of course, good great food. If you ask me, no one's cooking could ever rival my mother's. Which is why I was so excited this past New Year as we ushered in 2010 when I cooked cabbage for the first time and it tasted just like my mother's. Women, I believe, spend our lives trying to perfect our cooking to taste just like Mom's. My next task: the baked mac and cheese (my brother and I return home everytime she cooks it.)

But off of the topic of food.

As joyous and exciting as the holidays are, they're also secretly saddening. It's during these times we look back and reflect on the lives that we wish were present physically, and not just spiritually, or in memory. It's during this time of the year, that I get particularly sad about my grandfather, my Bay-Bay, no longer being with me. I can't speak his name, or think back to then, or what could have been for now, without becoming flustered and teary-eyed, voice crackling, and tears eventually falling. There's never been a man I've adored or loved as much as him. No man's memory has ever bought tears to my eyes but his so easily. His smile and laughter, his denim blue hat and staple white button up shirt, tucked into the waist of his pants and it sat snug over his protruding belly - are missed more than I could possibly express in words or in actions.

I was 9 when he passed. He died of a massive heart attack, and from what I'd been told, on the steps of a friend. He was and has always been my favorite man. And it's because of this, my mother, step-father, and the rest of the family, had chosen as a collective, not to tell me about his passing until after the service. Until after the logistics had been taken care of. I've always felt some type of way about that collective decision, because I'd never been given the chance, the opportunity to say good-bye. Granted I've said and say it in my dreams, whisper it to the skies above when I think about him, and when the tears fall so easily down my cheeks - it's just not the same.

It's due to his death that writing became my safe haven; the safest place on earth. But it's also due to his death in particular that holidays just aren't the same. Nor are birthdays. Or graduations. Or life-altering moments like the birth of my now 2-year-old sister or when my Grandma had to have brain surgery, my elementary or high school graduations, acceptance into college, or when I moved into my own place. Granted, he's everpresent because that's just how Bay-Bay is, it's never been the same.

As a child, I recall sitting on his back while we watched Star Trek or V (he loved Sci-fi flicks, and I've never been able to watch them since) while I dolled his hair up with barrettes and ballies. We'd take random trips to the ice cream parlor on Ridge Avenue. He'd let me help him clean out his white van with the burgandy interior. Or, he'd just sit, with me on his lap. It's because of him I fell in love with Red Lobster's cheddar bay biscuits and with Red Lobster in general. He was my Bay-Bay, and I was his Nurl-Nurl (and forever will be).

Courtesy of he and my Grandmother, I was spoiled, rotten, and there wasn't much of anything to do about it. The first grand, the first girl, I was lavished with gifts and candy, movies and late nights watching sci-fi flics with my favorite, main man. My squeaky cackle and his rolling, bellowing laughter always filled up whatever room we were in. My mother always says to me "Just imagine how much more spoiled you'd be if he were here". Unfortunately, just like we don't know how many licks it takes to get to the center of tootsie pop, the world may never know the full extent of my spoiled rotteness. From birth, when doctors deemed my life to be over before it had even began, this man, held and nurtured me from birth, daily. There was never a day that his love was not shown.

I was a little girl being shown what love was all about. What it felt and sound like. Was being taught as a child that when love is gone, however it departs, there's no replacing the void left behind.

It's been 14 years.
And holidays, life has never been the same.
That void, that hole in my heart has never scabbed over to heal.

As children, we're taught "I Love You" as a part of speech. But we don't understand the action, the feat, what it looks and feels like until later in life. And if we're lucky enough, someone pivotal enough, important enough, loving enough, like my Bay-Bay teaches it to us in simplistic ways that are easily digested for us as children. And as we age, it becomes clearer to us just what they were teaching us. And that's what hurts the most: we've known love since before our birth, but somewhere between that first breath and adulthood, we lose or have lost the language of love.

Lucky me, I had a man who as big, black, and chunky as he was, taught me just what love was and what love is so that as an adult, I could understand it, I could digest it just as easily as I had when he let me style his coily, soft black hair or say his nickname for me: Nurl Nurl. That, is love.

Lucky me, from birth to age 9, and even now at 23, that man to whom I hold so dearly and so tightly to my heart and my memories, loved and loves me the way love is supposed to be done.

So while you stuff your face this holiday season with turkey, stuffing, and baked mac and cheese, sweet potatoe pie, cheesecake, and egg nog, realize, that this is all about love and nothing else. While death is promised, life isn't guaranteed, LOVE, sits cradled somewhere between the two - and it's up to us, to recognize it, and be willing to share it with another.