This is the first guest blog for sbfchronicle.com. It was written by my friend NOLAgirl, and it tells her story of cycling in and out of relationships with the same man. The theme Song for this blog is “Lovesick” by Priscilla Renea. Enjoy!_________________________________________________________________________________________
When I was 19, I met a 6’4” chocolaty man that I KNEW would give me pretty babies. We had speech class right after lunch together. After that, I would usually speed off to Accounting class. That pattern changed one day when it rained. Thank God for rain! He wanted to use my umbrella to go back to his apartment, and in order to get it he had to walk with me to my dorm first. It was LOVE. I knew it was love, even though he thought it was just lust and the possibility of good sex. So we broke up because even at 19 I knew I was NOT that girl.
At 21 I saw him again; he was thicker and still fine, with a child in tow. I was so blind to the situation that I fell happily, stupidly, giddily in love with him…and I mean the kind of love where every song on the radio was about him and being in love with him. I graduated and went back home. He graduated and did the same. I lived in New Orleans and he lived in Dallas. So sure was I about our love that I believed the long distance would work. In the whirlwind of young love bliss, I was ready and willing to leave the comfort of New Orleans and my family to live in Texas (this was pre Katrina so my hate of the state was not yet formed). I just needed more than “I want you here” from him. I was 24, and I needed the promise or at least the hope of marriage and pretty babies before I was 27. But alas, he did not want immediate marriage, I did not want shacking up, he could not bend, and I would not break so again we parted.
This is where I should insert that Einstein said (at least according to other people) that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome.
Continuing on…when in 2006 I got a phone call of missed love fresh from the Air Force training, I assumed it was actually MISSED LOVE. Instead, it turned out to be that a person in basic training misses a companion with a soft body, full hips and apple bottom more than anything else. He came out of training on the prowl, and who was a comfortable go to girl? Me. It’s not that I don’t think I meant more to him than that, but I know that I did not mean everything I wanted to mean to him.
**side note: a man fresh out of basic training is FINE. I think the heartbreak was almost worth being with a man that had been around men for 6 weeks working out, perfecting his stamina. It’s the closest I will ever come to fresh outta prison sex (I hope)
We again embarked on the same relationship where very little changed but I somehow expected it to work out. This time the crash and burn was not a full year later, but a few months. Heartbroken and in tears, I knew this was our final goodbye. I was 27. It had been 8 years. I could not, would not, ever again in life…and yet, there was still a part of me that at least wished he wanted to.
So imagine my surprise, when for my 32nd birthday a week ago, I got a call. I was at the Essence Festival concert, dancing and singing/screaming to New Edition. Thus, I could not answer the phone, but I knew that I liked the name on the phone (yes, I updated him in every phone, though I did remove the lewd pictures). I have not had a conversation with this man since 2007, so my return call was first greeted with simple catch up chitchat. The conversation quickly moved to “you were always the one for me”, “I never stopped loving you”, and “I miss you”. Still aware of the reality, I replied with, “You miss having sex with me, you broke my heart, 32 year old [me] is not 22 year old [me] and I can’t do this with you again.” I know this man enough to understand that his “I miss you” is more about him missing one aspect of us. The difference between him and me is that I loved every aspect of us. He may want one thing, and in all of my weakness I want to give it to him fully, freely, and lovingly. But I know that I can’t or at least that I shouldn’t. There are some people in this world I can have sex with because they do things I like well, and it can be just that: consensual fun. With this one, though, I will not leave like I came. I will want more and fall in love again and get heartbroken again.
Jill Scott said, “me non-clairvoyant and in love made the coochie easy and the obvious invisible.” The thing is that I remember what it felt like to be with a person that I believed was the 10—my perfect vision of what I wanted in a mate, in a man, from a friend, from a lover. But at 32 years old, I know where this is headed and I know it won’t end well. I would have to be clearly insane to run back to familiar. And I must be crazy, because I can readily admit to myself, if not to him, that I still want this man.
Cher had hits in every decade. I can’t let him break my heart now for my 30’s. He did it when I was a teen, in my twenties x 2! But now?! When will I be the smarter person?