“Sit here.” Hayden did as he was told. His mentor, Noden, waiting patiently as always. Noden was middle aged. He containged the ability to appear both young and old. One second you’d blink and you saw all the experience he’d gained in his 52 years, the next second you could see the youth in him. Noden had the vibrance of a 14 year old.
“Look around, Hayden. What do you see?” asked Noden, his voice resembling his appearance—ambiguously adult and childlike at the same time.
Again, Hayden followed instructions. He and Noden were on a small hill on a rolling country side. The sky was the blue of clean unpolluted skies, like robin’s eggs. Clouds stretched, like visible whispers, across the expanse. Hayden saw beauty. He saw nature; it’s resilience, it’s strength, and it’s fragility. He mentioned this to his mentor.
“Very good. Now…what do you feel?”
Hayden hated questions like that. They always seemed like a trick of some sort to him. He closed his eyes so he could actually feel instead of see. First he felt himself, his presence. An insect buzzed past him and he felt the disturbance of air. Hayden felt his mentor watching him intently and expectantly. The warmth of the sun beamed on his bare back. It was comforting. It’s the comfort the sun offers in the height of the Spring before it becomes a violent ball of heat exhaustion.
“I feel..I feel…life.” Hayden opened his eyes to see Noden’s nod of approval.
“Very good.” Said Noden as he reclined on his back which was also bare. The muscles in his stomach stretching as well. It was evident that Noden stayed in shape. He wasn’t what one would call ripped but he was toned, lean. Hayden was as well. It was a requirement of those who received training such as this.
“Hayden, do you know why the angels can fly?” Again, Hayden thought this was another trick question but he answered anyway. “Ummm…because they have wings?” He tried to harness the sarcasm in his voice but doubted that he succeeded. Noden could sense a flea a mile away if he desired to do so.
“Hmm. That’s the obvious answer. But it’s the false one as well. Angels can fly because they are free of earth. They are not bound to the laws that bind humanity.”
“What laws, sir?” Hayden was intrigued.
“Laws such as gravity for one. But there are other laws. None too scientific. Most mythologies, religions, and philosophical thought in regards to higher powers touch on it. Christians and Jews call it “The Fall of Humanity”. In Greek mythology it was the opening of Pandora’s box. Those are the most common. But to simplify it for you, humans are bound to each other. Incarcerated by faults, worries, fears, thoughts, needs…and other countless things that are virtually innumerable. But angels, angels are free from such concerns.”
Noden was sitting back up by the time he finished his little dissertation. Noden’s grey-green eyes blazing in the sunlight in his brown face; his peppered hair trimmed neatly by the barbers in the court. His legs were arranged in what most know as Indian style. Hayden noted a ladybug on the sole of his mentor’s barefoot. He was barefoot as well. The only thing that covered them both was the ceremonial garb of those who sought to escape. The garb was merely a pair of pants the same color as the sky when it’s at it’s purest. They were sewn from a silken material yet they never stained or tore even though they were loose fitting.
“So, their wings have nothing to do with it?” Hayden inquired doubtfully.
“Well, who said that angels truly have wings?” Noden’s tone was teasing. “But, I wouldn’t say that the wings have nothing to do with it. I’m sure they assist in the aerodynamics. But, Hayden, what I want you to understand is their freedom. They are truly free. Angels are bound to freedom. And in order to fly you must be as well.”
“But how? How do I become bound to freedom? I’m no angel. And I do have human concerns.” Hayden sounded a bit panicked but it’s only because flight was his only desire.
“Angels aren’t held down by human concerns but they do feel.” There was a pause and Hayden knew it was for him so he took his cue.
“What do they feel?”
“Joy. Immeasurable joy. They were gifted with the innate ability to tap into pure unadulterated joy. Humans can tap into this joy as well but it’s not innate. You have to be trained to do it. And it’s that joy that gives you the peace that enables you to partake in the ultimate freedom which is manifested in flight.” With this said, Noden stood. He stood and there was an invisible force that surrounded him. Hayden couldn’t see it but he could sense it with that part of the human brain that is more than physical. In a breath, Noden was no longer standing atop the hill with Hayden. He was in the sky.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Misconceptions (Part 1)
I ask: “Where have you been?” And I receive a blank stare and then a frown in return as if I don’t have the right to wonder where he goes in the middle of the night. Ladies, let me tell you: a man who don’t stay home when it’s time to stay home is out there doin’ something he shouldn’t. Oh…you think I’m one of those? You know what I’m talkin’ about. One of those women who can’t keep a man happy so I’m bitter and lonely all the time? That’s who you’ve labeled me as, right? Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news honey, but there are two things wrong with that assumption. One, I aint a woman who can’t keep a man happy—I am a man who can’t keep a man happy. Two, assuming makes an ass out of ‘u’ not ‘me’.
Look, and listen (rather read) real close: I’m not bitter but I am mad. I’m so tired of women lookin’ at men like me and claimin’ that all the good ones are either taken or gay. That is one of the biggest lies I’ve heard since some fool said McDonald’s burgers were 100% beef. For one thing, the ones that are taken are out doin’ God knows what. And honey, you need to show me where the gay good guys at cuz I sure as hell aint seen one. Unless he was hidin’ behind a shady motha fucka.¬¬d Now back to what I was sayin’.
I asked this nigga, “Where have you been? It’s 3 in the damn mornin’ and aint nothin’ open in this little ass town.” Two things happened once this question came from my mouth: 1) Mr. Man stopped dead in his tracks 2) His pocket started tremblin’ and it wasn’t because he was happy to see me either.
Of course, instead of bein’ a “man” he decided to get mad instead of actually actin’ like the twenty-four year old adult that he is. “What the fuck you mean where I been? What are you? My daddy now? I gotta send you a memo when I go to take a shit?”
Look at me (dramatic pause) you see the knowing look in my eyes? I thought so. Men start talkin’ crazy and vulgar like that because they think that if they get all hateful you will just get tired of it and leave it alone. Maybe that works with some women (and/or men) but not this one here.
“No motha fucka, but next time you have to why don’t you send me a text message so I will know up front that I need to put on a damn gas mask to walk in the bathroom. You don’t gotta cuss all the damn time. I just asked you a simple question that calls for a simple answer so where the hell you been at? Its 3 in the damn mornin’!”
This time he decided to keep walkin’ as if his stankin’ ass didn’t hear my question. If he was smart, he woulda had a lie already prepared OR he woulda just told the truth and we could be done with this particular conversation but NOOOOO he wants to drag it along by bein’ a jackass.
“Oh, so you gonna act like you don’t hear me right? Ok, I got your number and I’m gonna call that number one day. Ignorin’ me like I’m a fuckin’ fly on the wall. Beyonce’ said it best: You must not know ‘bout me, god dammit.
I could have handled that conversation better. But it really ticked me off to see his fine ass just walk into the bedroom while his phone vibrated in his pocket like my question had no merit. It aint but so much you can take. Some woman called here askin’ why he was runnin’ late to meet her. See, he don’t know that. But like I said, I got his number…or better yet, I got her number.
Look, and listen (rather read) real close: I’m not bitter but I am mad. I’m so tired of women lookin’ at men like me and claimin’ that all the good ones are either taken or gay. That is one of the biggest lies I’ve heard since some fool said McDonald’s burgers were 100% beef. For one thing, the ones that are taken are out doin’ God knows what. And honey, you need to show me where the gay good guys at cuz I sure as hell aint seen one. Unless he was hidin’ behind a shady motha fucka.¬¬d Now back to what I was sayin’.
I asked this nigga, “Where have you been? It’s 3 in the damn mornin’ and aint nothin’ open in this little ass town.” Two things happened once this question came from my mouth: 1) Mr. Man stopped dead in his tracks 2) His pocket started tremblin’ and it wasn’t because he was happy to see me either.
Of course, instead of bein’ a “man” he decided to get mad instead of actually actin’ like the twenty-four year old adult that he is. “What the fuck you mean where I been? What are you? My daddy now? I gotta send you a memo when I go to take a shit?”
Look at me (dramatic pause) you see the knowing look in my eyes? I thought so. Men start talkin’ crazy and vulgar like that because they think that if they get all hateful you will just get tired of it and leave it alone. Maybe that works with some women (and/or men) but not this one here.
“No motha fucka, but next time you have to why don’t you send me a text message so I will know up front that I need to put on a damn gas mask to walk in the bathroom. You don’t gotta cuss all the damn time. I just asked you a simple question that calls for a simple answer so where the hell you been at? Its 3 in the damn mornin’!”
This time he decided to keep walkin’ as if his stankin’ ass didn’t hear my question. If he was smart, he woulda had a lie already prepared OR he woulda just told the truth and we could be done with this particular conversation but NOOOOO he wants to drag it along by bein’ a jackass.
“Oh, so you gonna act like you don’t hear me right? Ok, I got your number and I’m gonna call that number one day. Ignorin’ me like I’m a fuckin’ fly on the wall. Beyonce’ said it best: You must not know ‘bout me, god dammit.
I could have handled that conversation better. But it really ticked me off to see his fine ass just walk into the bedroom while his phone vibrated in his pocket like my question had no merit. It aint but so much you can take. Some woman called here askin’ why he was runnin’ late to meet her. See, he don’t know that. But like I said, I got his number…or better yet, I got her number.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Murphy Me Part 2 (see Intro. of Murphy Me for Back Story)
So, it was 5 years ago. I was getting ready for my last year at Yancey University. Yancey was a quaint but prestigious little university. Though it was centered around religion it dared you to think beyond childhood upbringing and Sunday sermons. And it was actually very liberal when it came to over-night visits between males and females in their respective dorms. But as you have probably guessed, I didn’t have to worry about this at all because they did not prohibit the male students from having social time together. The joys and freedoms of same gender loving. Who woulda thought?
Anyways, I had been leaving my advisers office after discussing concerns I was having about careers that I could pursue after graduation. I wasn’t really wanting to go to Grad-school. Frankly, I was over and done with school once I graduated with my Bachelors in English. My mind was made up about that so I had to find some way to make money.
While I was trying to shove my crinkled transcript into my book sack somebody bumped into me. That would not have been noteworthy if was a very stable person. Unfortunately, I had the balance of an amputee. No offense meant. I teetered and I tottered on the edge of total embarrassment until hands grabbed me by my shoulders to steady me. When I averted my gaze from my presumed final destination on the floor, I saw the most disgustingly beautiful man I could ever imagine. Well…that’s sort of an exaggeration but you get the point. He was damn near painfully attractive.
Now I’ve never been one to hide my inner thoughts because my facial expressions were like a standing nude behind a white curtin with a bright light shining behind you. There was mystery, yes, but you saw enough to know that someone was naked. Same principle remains. Not only did my face show some unfathomably dreamy light, but I gasped from the shock of this guy touching me.
He was shorter than me, 5’7” or 5’8”. His hair was pulled back into a pony tail. It was textured, you know, one of those negroes that has the nerve to REALLY have Indian in their family. So many boast it and you can’t see a trace of it but with this guy, I didn’t have to wonder. It was still poofy, but it was so dark and it glimmered like the Atlantic in the dead of night. Next thing I saw were his eyes, they were brown. Nothing spectacular about brown eyes, especially when I’ve been used to seeing gray eyes when I look in the mirror. It wasn’t the color of his eyes, it was the lace of lashes that made them seem so feminine. They were like a gossamer frame to soften the brown of his eyes and made me want to stare into them until the sun fell from the sky. Ewww, I hate when I sound all mushy like that. It’s really quite disturbing.
As I stood there staring at the man, who was undoubtedly a student, I realized he was no longer touching me. There was a bit of a smirk on his caramelized face for some reason. The perfect smirk, surrounded by a well-trimmed goatee. I’m not really a big fan of facial hair, but on him, it seemed so appropriate. As if he had been carved from a painting with the perfect face. When he smirked I also noticed that he had one dimple on the left cheek, and the diamond studs that blinded me from his earlobes only reiterated the effect he had on me.
I was standing there, holding my bag in suspension with my transcript even more wrinkled than it was before. After getting myself together and regaining my wits I wondered why he was standing there smirking in his basketball shorts and white T as if he hadn’t almost knocked me down. If there was nothing else about me that was true, its that no matter how pretty a face, Murf can find some way to forget about it if he needed too.
“What you standing there smiling for? You gonna say ‘scuse me?” I asked with aggravation, finally getting my poor transcript in my bag.
“Maybe you should be the one to say ‘excuse me’,” was his response. I frowned at him.
“What?”
“You should really be careful about your thoughts. Sometimes they find a way to come out.” And with that cryptic statement the guy turned around and swaggered away. And I happened to notice a very nice ass in those baller shorts.
Standing there puzzled, I couldn’t understand what his last statement could have meant. Be careful about my thoughts because they can find a way out? I know my facial expression told a lot but damn. A tap on my shoulder twirled me around to my friend Jayla. A pretty young lady with one of those Halle Berry haircuts, which I think suited her. She was wearing some nice black heels, a simple knee-length skirt which told all her secrets, and a white blouse that let you know she was undoubtedly a woman no matter how short her hair. Jayla always gave body…always.
“Hunni, you have no idea what that guy was talking about do you?” There was humor in her voice.
“No! What did I miss?” I hate being in the dark.
“Murf, hun, when the guy grabbed your shoulders and you first saw him you said: ‘Damn. Take me’ in a not too silent whisper.
I gave her googly eyes. “I did WHAT!”
If I were anything closer to being Caucasian I would have been cherry red. I mean damn, I knew my face told a lot but I had the nerve to speak too? I collapsed in one of the officer chairs.
Laughing Jayla said: “Well, at least you’ve already expressed your interest in him so he won’t have to guess.”
The look I gave her would have frightened a bear but Jayla was tougher than Yogi on any given day and she just laughed harder.
“Jay, that dude was not checkin’ for me at all. He said that cryptic ass statement and walked away shaking his head probably wondering what the world was coming to.” Distress was not even a big enough word to express my inner turmoil.
“Murphy, love, if it’s one thing I do know—its men. Just wait. You’ll see him again. Trust me.”
Jayla and I walked out of the J. Tokes Building, which is where all advising occurs, in laughter. I laughed because I royally made a fool of myself and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Dimples was not checking for me in the least. If anything, I figured he would be checking for Jayla. I hoped I was wrong and that she was right but I would never admit that to her. Not even now. That was the beginning of something that I never thought I’d gain in my life. And to be honest, I wish I hadn’t have gained it for then I could not have had it taken away from me either.
Anyways, I had been leaving my advisers office after discussing concerns I was having about careers that I could pursue after graduation. I wasn’t really wanting to go to Grad-school. Frankly, I was over and done with school once I graduated with my Bachelors in English. My mind was made up about that so I had to find some way to make money.
While I was trying to shove my crinkled transcript into my book sack somebody bumped into me. That would not have been noteworthy if was a very stable person. Unfortunately, I had the balance of an amputee. No offense meant. I teetered and I tottered on the edge of total embarrassment until hands grabbed me by my shoulders to steady me. When I averted my gaze from my presumed final destination on the floor, I saw the most disgustingly beautiful man I could ever imagine. Well…that’s sort of an exaggeration but you get the point. He was damn near painfully attractive.
Now I’ve never been one to hide my inner thoughts because my facial expressions were like a standing nude behind a white curtin with a bright light shining behind you. There was mystery, yes, but you saw enough to know that someone was naked. Same principle remains. Not only did my face show some unfathomably dreamy light, but I gasped from the shock of this guy touching me.
He was shorter than me, 5’7” or 5’8”. His hair was pulled back into a pony tail. It was textured, you know, one of those negroes that has the nerve to REALLY have Indian in their family. So many boast it and you can’t see a trace of it but with this guy, I didn’t have to wonder. It was still poofy, but it was so dark and it glimmered like the Atlantic in the dead of night. Next thing I saw were his eyes, they were brown. Nothing spectacular about brown eyes, especially when I’ve been used to seeing gray eyes when I look in the mirror. It wasn’t the color of his eyes, it was the lace of lashes that made them seem so feminine. They were like a gossamer frame to soften the brown of his eyes and made me want to stare into them until the sun fell from the sky. Ewww, I hate when I sound all mushy like that. It’s really quite disturbing.
As I stood there staring at the man, who was undoubtedly a student, I realized he was no longer touching me. There was a bit of a smirk on his caramelized face for some reason. The perfect smirk, surrounded by a well-trimmed goatee. I’m not really a big fan of facial hair, but on him, it seemed so appropriate. As if he had been carved from a painting with the perfect face. When he smirked I also noticed that he had one dimple on the left cheek, and the diamond studs that blinded me from his earlobes only reiterated the effect he had on me.
I was standing there, holding my bag in suspension with my transcript even more wrinkled than it was before. After getting myself together and regaining my wits I wondered why he was standing there smirking in his basketball shorts and white T as if he hadn’t almost knocked me down. If there was nothing else about me that was true, its that no matter how pretty a face, Murf can find some way to forget about it if he needed too.
“What you standing there smiling for? You gonna say ‘scuse me?” I asked with aggravation, finally getting my poor transcript in my bag.
“Maybe you should be the one to say ‘excuse me’,” was his response. I frowned at him.
“What?”
“You should really be careful about your thoughts. Sometimes they find a way to come out.” And with that cryptic statement the guy turned around and swaggered away. And I happened to notice a very nice ass in those baller shorts.
Standing there puzzled, I couldn’t understand what his last statement could have meant. Be careful about my thoughts because they can find a way out? I know my facial expression told a lot but damn. A tap on my shoulder twirled me around to my friend Jayla. A pretty young lady with one of those Halle Berry haircuts, which I think suited her. She was wearing some nice black heels, a simple knee-length skirt which told all her secrets, and a white blouse that let you know she was undoubtedly a woman no matter how short her hair. Jayla always gave body…always.
“Hunni, you have no idea what that guy was talking about do you?” There was humor in her voice.
“No! What did I miss?” I hate being in the dark.
“Murf, hun, when the guy grabbed your shoulders and you first saw him you said: ‘Damn. Take me’ in a not too silent whisper.
I gave her googly eyes. “I did WHAT!”
If I were anything closer to being Caucasian I would have been cherry red. I mean damn, I knew my face told a lot but I had the nerve to speak too? I collapsed in one of the officer chairs.
Laughing Jayla said: “Well, at least you’ve already expressed your interest in him so he won’t have to guess.”
The look I gave her would have frightened a bear but Jayla was tougher than Yogi on any given day and she just laughed harder.
“Jay, that dude was not checkin’ for me at all. He said that cryptic ass statement and walked away shaking his head probably wondering what the world was coming to.” Distress was not even a big enough word to express my inner turmoil.
“Murphy, love, if it’s one thing I do know—its men. Just wait. You’ll see him again. Trust me.”
Jayla and I walked out of the J. Tokes Building, which is where all advising occurs, in laughter. I laughed because I royally made a fool of myself and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Dimples was not checking for me in the least. If anything, I figured he would be checking for Jayla. I hoped I was wrong and that she was right but I would never admit that to her. Not even now. That was the beginning of something that I never thought I’d gain in my life. And to be honest, I wish I hadn’t have gained it for then I could not have had it taken away from me either.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Myan's Truth (Episode 6)
“Do you trust me?”
It was that one question, that one simple, innocent question which got me to do the one thing I wasn’t ready to do. I call it a trick of the enemy. Christians would say that “the enemy” is Satan. But I say it could be Satan, Fate, Chance, Irony, and countless other entities responsible for the path that I walk. What does one say to that question when it’s asked by the one that you are in love with? There is only one answer that you and I both know is the ideal one and that is:
“Yes, baby. Of course I do.”
I knew from the smirk on his well sculptured face that I had just signed myself over to something evil. My heart sunk and I began to pray.
“Two tickets for “Brokeback Mountain,” please.” Said Zye to the teller at the theater. This was a theater that played movies released a year to a few years ago. It was cheap and relatively relaxed. I gave Zyiah Johnson the look he deserved for tricking me like that. He simply gave me that dynamite smile and paid the woman. I didn’t even notice the entertained glint in her eyes.
“Now you know you wrong for that.”
“My, it really isn’t that serious. It’s a good movie and you told me to choose. You shouldn’t be delegating tasks if you not gonna man up and accept the outcome.” The smirk never left his face.
“Fine, we gonna go in here and look like some damn fools seeing this movie. A film about two white men who cheat on their wives and cowboy it up in the mountains. Yeah, this just screams “Oscar”.” Sarcasm literally dripped from my mouth. Zye only smirked harder and went to order the popcorn.
I felt so out of place. We were the only black people going to see this damn movie. Hell, most of the people here were coupled up heterosexually. Aint that a trip?
“Baby, it is definitely not too late to just slip into one of the kiddy movies or Rush Hour 3.”
“Yeah, it isn’t too late but we aren’t gonna do that.” I loved it when he got all bossy and imperative with me. I sucked in my breath in an exaggerated sigh and bit the bullet.
Now back to the original question. Do I trust him? Apparently I trusted him enough to drag me into a film that toyed with the emotions of various types of people. Be they homosexual, heterosexual, bisexual, or even asexual. The film was in fact, a love story. Not that I agree with adultery, especially with the same sex, but it was nonetheless a love story. I might just trust Zye to pick a movie the next time as well.
We were sitting there, minding our business. Zye was cuddled in against me. I was sipping on a big ass coke and then I heard whispers. Whispers directly behind the two of us. All my concentration was given to the huge screen. My questions of whether Zye had heard the whispers was answered as I felt him tense in my arms.
A little girl walked down the stairs beside our seat. She gave us a look as her mom coddled the girl to her side as if a deadly creature was near them. The heat of my anger flared just a little before my mind could even completely gather what had just happened. A few more people began to leave but the whispers never stopped.
Apparently, some people didn’t get the synopsis about what kind of backs were gonna get broken in this movie and by who. Excuse the innuendo, I couldn’t help myself.
Zye gave me a look in the dark. It was the tiredness of people’s ignorance and the burden of enduring every day held all in one glance. Then I heard it…loud and clear. “Are those two guys? What the fuck?”
I didn’t even turn my back. I just sat there…contemplating what I should do. They weren’t talking about the picture on the screen. It was one of those moments where no specificity was needed and implication was an understatement. Gasps and more whispers accompanied the question of “she who was ignorant and obnoxious.” I was really beginning to get agitated with this shit.
I turned my back and took a breath to say something when I was interrupted.
“Lady. Are you serious? This is a fucking gay movie. This movie is based on the premise of two men having an affair. How idiotic of you to make a scene about it being two guys, two GAY guys in a theater when, clearly, this movie is of a homosexual nature. So are you mentally handicapped or is stupidity your only achievement in life?” All this came from Zye. I turned back to look at him because it was as if my words had been transported to his mouth. It was almost scary. The look on his face was still one of weariness.
“Excuse me, but wh—“ the random lady began. She was two rows behind us. The seats beside her were empty so it looked as if she ventured out to the theater alone. She stopped in mid-sentence because someone cut her off and it wasn’t Zye or myself.
“Bitch, what the fuck is wrong with you? It is the NEW millennium. It aint even entertaining anymore. Your ass is sittin in a theater watching a movie about what you see every damn day. No wonder your dumb ass is sittin in here alone clogging your arteries with all that popcorn. Get a life and get the fuck over it already.”
The woman who said this was about eighteen and biracial. The man sitting beside her was white and handsome in the conventional way. He was trying to contain a laugh. The eighteen year old, whose name I later found out to be Brooke, looked dead at Zye and me and shook her head with incredulity. The older woman that had pointed us out got up from her seat and breezed past us in a huff. It’s quite interesting how people get offended by the outspokenness of others so easily but when the shoe is on the other foot they can’t take it.
Brooke winked at us and her boyfriend, I am assuming, smiled at us. Zye and I exchanged a look then smiled back and a few seconds later laughed our asses off. We heard an echo of our laughter a few seats back and we didn’t have to turn around to know that it was Brooke and her man. For once we didn’t have to justify ourselves or cuss anyone out. For once a fellow American stood up for us. Could she be a good Samaritan? I think so. But I doubt that religious freaks would agree with me. But who really gives a damn what they agree with? Jesus didn’t.
It was that one question, that one simple, innocent question which got me to do the one thing I wasn’t ready to do. I call it a trick of the enemy. Christians would say that “the enemy” is Satan. But I say it could be Satan, Fate, Chance, Irony, and countless other entities responsible for the path that I walk. What does one say to that question when it’s asked by the one that you are in love with? There is only one answer that you and I both know is the ideal one and that is:
“Yes, baby. Of course I do.”
I knew from the smirk on his well sculptured face that I had just signed myself over to something evil. My heart sunk and I began to pray.
“Two tickets for “Brokeback Mountain,” please.” Said Zye to the teller at the theater. This was a theater that played movies released a year to a few years ago. It was cheap and relatively relaxed. I gave Zyiah Johnson the look he deserved for tricking me like that. He simply gave me that dynamite smile and paid the woman. I didn’t even notice the entertained glint in her eyes.
“Now you know you wrong for that.”
“My, it really isn’t that serious. It’s a good movie and you told me to choose. You shouldn’t be delegating tasks if you not gonna man up and accept the outcome.” The smirk never left his face.
“Fine, we gonna go in here and look like some damn fools seeing this movie. A film about two white men who cheat on their wives and cowboy it up in the mountains. Yeah, this just screams “Oscar”.” Sarcasm literally dripped from my mouth. Zye only smirked harder and went to order the popcorn.
I felt so out of place. We were the only black people going to see this damn movie. Hell, most of the people here were coupled up heterosexually. Aint that a trip?
“Baby, it is definitely not too late to just slip into one of the kiddy movies or Rush Hour 3.”
“Yeah, it isn’t too late but we aren’t gonna do that.” I loved it when he got all bossy and imperative with me. I sucked in my breath in an exaggerated sigh and bit the bullet.
Now back to the original question. Do I trust him? Apparently I trusted him enough to drag me into a film that toyed with the emotions of various types of people. Be they homosexual, heterosexual, bisexual, or even asexual. The film was in fact, a love story. Not that I agree with adultery, especially with the same sex, but it was nonetheless a love story. I might just trust Zye to pick a movie the next time as well.
We were sitting there, minding our business. Zye was cuddled in against me. I was sipping on a big ass coke and then I heard whispers. Whispers directly behind the two of us. All my concentration was given to the huge screen. My questions of whether Zye had heard the whispers was answered as I felt him tense in my arms.
A little girl walked down the stairs beside our seat. She gave us a look as her mom coddled the girl to her side as if a deadly creature was near them. The heat of my anger flared just a little before my mind could even completely gather what had just happened. A few more people began to leave but the whispers never stopped.
Apparently, some people didn’t get the synopsis about what kind of backs were gonna get broken in this movie and by who. Excuse the innuendo, I couldn’t help myself.
Zye gave me a look in the dark. It was the tiredness of people’s ignorance and the burden of enduring every day held all in one glance. Then I heard it…loud and clear. “Are those two guys? What the fuck?”
I didn’t even turn my back. I just sat there…contemplating what I should do. They weren’t talking about the picture on the screen. It was one of those moments where no specificity was needed and implication was an understatement. Gasps and more whispers accompanied the question of “she who was ignorant and obnoxious.” I was really beginning to get agitated with this shit.
I turned my back and took a breath to say something when I was interrupted.
“Lady. Are you serious? This is a fucking gay movie. This movie is based on the premise of two men having an affair. How idiotic of you to make a scene about it being two guys, two GAY guys in a theater when, clearly, this movie is of a homosexual nature. So are you mentally handicapped or is stupidity your only achievement in life?” All this came from Zye. I turned back to look at him because it was as if my words had been transported to his mouth. It was almost scary. The look on his face was still one of weariness.
“Excuse me, but wh—“ the random lady began. She was two rows behind us. The seats beside her were empty so it looked as if she ventured out to the theater alone. She stopped in mid-sentence because someone cut her off and it wasn’t Zye or myself.
“Bitch, what the fuck is wrong with you? It is the NEW millennium. It aint even entertaining anymore. Your ass is sittin in a theater watching a movie about what you see every damn day. No wonder your dumb ass is sittin in here alone clogging your arteries with all that popcorn. Get a life and get the fuck over it already.”
The woman who said this was about eighteen and biracial. The man sitting beside her was white and handsome in the conventional way. He was trying to contain a laugh. The eighteen year old, whose name I later found out to be Brooke, looked dead at Zye and me and shook her head with incredulity. The older woman that had pointed us out got up from her seat and breezed past us in a huff. It’s quite interesting how people get offended by the outspokenness of others so easily but when the shoe is on the other foot they can’t take it.
Brooke winked at us and her boyfriend, I am assuming, smiled at us. Zye and I exchanged a look then smiled back and a few seconds later laughed our asses off. We heard an echo of our laughter a few seats back and we didn’t have to turn around to know that it was Brooke and her man. For once we didn’t have to justify ourselves or cuss anyone out. For once a fellow American stood up for us. Could she be a good Samaritan? I think so. But I doubt that religious freaks would agree with me. But who really gives a damn what they agree with? Jesus didn’t.
Friday, April 9, 2010
I Learned From The Best
Hmmmmm...Whitney, with this song, is taking me there! I dont know where there is! But I'm there! I learned from the mf'n best! I know how to break a heart now. But I dont want to use that skill. Never want to put anybody through this.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Lessons Learned
“Mistake overturned so I call it a lesson learned.”
Alicia speaks so much truth in this one line. The entire song is prolific. If nothing else I have gained from these past experiences with love, it is that I am a survivor but not strictly because I’m so resilient. It’s primarily because God placed something in me that is determined to bounce back. I don’t always see it but then, that’s what friends and family (and sometimes even strangers) are for.
I’ve been heartbroken a couple of times in my life. But this recent hurt is not something I consider heartbreak. My heart aches, yes, but it is not broken. I’m not in pieces and this must be all to the grace of God. I am imperfect and anyone that I may come to love in the future will be imperfect as well. However, I pray that together, we have a semblance of perfection. Together we would be stronger than a part.
I call everything that I’ve been through in the past couple of months a lesson learned. It may not be appreciated just yet, but it is a lesson nonetheless. I’ve learned that love conquers much…but it doesn’t conquer all. I know that may seem a bit blasphemous to some of us but love, itself, is so multifaceted. Perhaps certain kinds of love conquers all, but not ALL love conquers all.
I’ve also learned that anger, though it has its place, is not beneficial. For at the end of the day, at least in my case, my anger comes from hurt. Especially when it comes from those who are prominent in any way in my life. When I’m angered it’s because something was done to me that I do not feel was justified. It hurt my heart but with that hurt came something less “weak.” I’ve been happy in anger before, but now I’d rather not thrive in it. It’s much healthier, I believe, to thrive in love even if it’s nothing but the love of oneself.
I could go on and on about the lessons I’ve learned but I will not wary the patience of all those who may read this…at least not in this one post.
When I look back, a part of me wants to feel regret (and I may really feel that) but a greater part of me is…satisfied. Not content, no, but satisfied. Everything did not work out the way I wanted it to, but in the end, as always, Rakeem is coming out DOIN’ JUST FINE.
Alicia speaks so much truth in this one line. The entire song is prolific. If nothing else I have gained from these past experiences with love, it is that I am a survivor but not strictly because I’m so resilient. It’s primarily because God placed something in me that is determined to bounce back. I don’t always see it but then, that’s what friends and family (and sometimes even strangers) are for.
I’ve been heartbroken a couple of times in my life. But this recent hurt is not something I consider heartbreak. My heart aches, yes, but it is not broken. I’m not in pieces and this must be all to the grace of God. I am imperfect and anyone that I may come to love in the future will be imperfect as well. However, I pray that together, we have a semblance of perfection. Together we would be stronger than a part.
I call everything that I’ve been through in the past couple of months a lesson learned. It may not be appreciated just yet, but it is a lesson nonetheless. I’ve learned that love conquers much…but it doesn’t conquer all. I know that may seem a bit blasphemous to some of us but love, itself, is so multifaceted. Perhaps certain kinds of love conquers all, but not ALL love conquers all.
I’ve also learned that anger, though it has its place, is not beneficial. For at the end of the day, at least in my case, my anger comes from hurt. Especially when it comes from those who are prominent in any way in my life. When I’m angered it’s because something was done to me that I do not feel was justified. It hurt my heart but with that hurt came something less “weak.” I’ve been happy in anger before, but now I’d rather not thrive in it. It’s much healthier, I believe, to thrive in love even if it’s nothing but the love of oneself.
I could go on and on about the lessons I’ve learned but I will not wary the patience of all those who may read this…at least not in this one post.
When I look back, a part of me wants to feel regret (and I may really feel that) but a greater part of me is…satisfied. Not content, no, but satisfied. Everything did not work out the way I wanted it to, but in the end, as always, Rakeem is coming out DOIN’ JUST FINE.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Jaylen's Journal: Entry 1
March 23, 2010
2:47AM
Most people don’t think men love as much or as hard as women. And most men would agree. But for me, it’s so not the case. Right now, at this moment, I sit here writing and crying because I’m loving so hard. Loving someone with my entirety which is uncharted for me.
I’ve been walled in, gated. I’ve been assaulted by cynicism and heartache and then all of a sudden, this strange and powerful love infiltrated every barrier. Every defense mechanism that my years had afforded me. I was suddenly ten years old again, naïve, hopeful…open.
But again, here I sit crying. Crying because it hurts terribly to love and feel loved, yet not be able to be with that person. The waiting, the questions, the uncertainty is at many times beyond unbearable and I wonder if one man is truly meant to carry such emotion. How does my body contain the fire of it all? The inferno of love, lust, passion? It’s not logical in the least. I’m even starting to wonder if it’s healthy.
Sometimes I wish I could just sleep the pain away, and the thoughts. Fade away until I can be with the one that I love. I’m not talking about suicide, not in the least. I’m talking about emptiness, apathy. Feeling nothing would have to be more peaceful than feeling every possible facet of love all at once and not being able to express it adequately.
I write in this journal because I had to do something. I needed to find an outlet, short of drugs and alcohol, to escape. And if not to escape, to cope.
At times I stand in the mirror. I stare at myself and I say, “Jaylen. Why love so deeply? Why feel so unsensibly?” And I never have the answer. I don’t know why, I just know how. Although, even the knowledge of how is not knowledge in the traditional sense. It’s more a feeling, an emotion. I know how because of the fact that I am familiar with love. Love does not answer why in most cases. Love is the answer to how.
How is it that I, a dashing young man if I do say so myself, can wait on another human being for an undetermined amount of time? How is it that I can smile even through all the hurt that this affection has caused? How is it that even as I sit here weeping and feeling a chasm form in my heart I still know that this person is who I want to be with?
Looking back at the last paragraph, I guess you could replace how with why but I rather not. For truthfully, how and why are not all that different. In most cases, if you find out how you can also determine why and vice versa. In my case, the answer to both questions is pure unadulterated love. Simple isn’t it? Not really. Love is a four letter word with an infinite amount of intricacy.
Is it not love that makes a Romantic hopeless? The search for the seemingly unattainable. The desire for the reality of fairy tales. But even fairy tales had their hardships. Before the Sleeping Beauty found her prince she had to be poisoned and near death. Before Rapunzel was rescued, she was enslaved in her own home. Disney movies show you the journey to love, but all we seem to remember is the “Happily Ever After.” Love does not stop at the wedding, that’s when the true test begins.
Anyway, I’m babbling now. I should be getting to bed. I have to wake up early in the morning. I’m going to go lay down now and hopefully I won’t drown in my tears. Alicia Keys sings a song called “Try Sleeping With A Broken Heart”. It’s not really all that difficult once a broken heart is all you're used to.
2:47AM
Most people don’t think men love as much or as hard as women. And most men would agree. But for me, it’s so not the case. Right now, at this moment, I sit here writing and crying because I’m loving so hard. Loving someone with my entirety which is uncharted for me.
I’ve been walled in, gated. I’ve been assaulted by cynicism and heartache and then all of a sudden, this strange and powerful love infiltrated every barrier. Every defense mechanism that my years had afforded me. I was suddenly ten years old again, naïve, hopeful…open.
But again, here I sit crying. Crying because it hurts terribly to love and feel loved, yet not be able to be with that person. The waiting, the questions, the uncertainty is at many times beyond unbearable and I wonder if one man is truly meant to carry such emotion. How does my body contain the fire of it all? The inferno of love, lust, passion? It’s not logical in the least. I’m even starting to wonder if it’s healthy.
Sometimes I wish I could just sleep the pain away, and the thoughts. Fade away until I can be with the one that I love. I’m not talking about suicide, not in the least. I’m talking about emptiness, apathy. Feeling nothing would have to be more peaceful than feeling every possible facet of love all at once and not being able to express it adequately.
I write in this journal because I had to do something. I needed to find an outlet, short of drugs and alcohol, to escape. And if not to escape, to cope.
At times I stand in the mirror. I stare at myself and I say, “Jaylen. Why love so deeply? Why feel so unsensibly?” And I never have the answer. I don’t know why, I just know how. Although, even the knowledge of how is not knowledge in the traditional sense. It’s more a feeling, an emotion. I know how because of the fact that I am familiar with love. Love does not answer why in most cases. Love is the answer to how.
How is it that I, a dashing young man if I do say so myself, can wait on another human being for an undetermined amount of time? How is it that I can smile even through all the hurt that this affection has caused? How is it that even as I sit here weeping and feeling a chasm form in my heart I still know that this person is who I want to be with?
Looking back at the last paragraph, I guess you could replace how with why but I rather not. For truthfully, how and why are not all that different. In most cases, if you find out how you can also determine why and vice versa. In my case, the answer to both questions is pure unadulterated love. Simple isn’t it? Not really. Love is a four letter word with an infinite amount of intricacy.
Is it not love that makes a Romantic hopeless? The search for the seemingly unattainable. The desire for the reality of fairy tales. But even fairy tales had their hardships. Before the Sleeping Beauty found her prince she had to be poisoned and near death. Before Rapunzel was rescued, she was enslaved in her own home. Disney movies show you the journey to love, but all we seem to remember is the “Happily Ever After.” Love does not stop at the wedding, that’s when the true test begins.
Anyway, I’m babbling now. I should be getting to bed. I have to wake up early in the morning. I’m going to go lay down now and hopefully I won’t drown in my tears. Alicia Keys sings a song called “Try Sleeping With A Broken Heart”. It’s not really all that difficult once a broken heart is all you're used to.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Is Love Worth It?
Due to recent events I am lead to ask this question:
Is love enough? And is it worth it?
I ask this question not out of anger but out of genuine curiosity because the answer could influence a decision I will have to make. I am undoubtedly in love. I'm so in love that I find it hard to let go and anyone who knows me KNOWS that if you do me wrong you are DONE without the batting of an eye.
Ask me if I believe in love and I will tell you yes. I have faith in it and that is why I believe I am going to do something that is uncharted for me. I'm going to give a second chance because I love and I'm in love. I hope it doesnt come back and bite me in the ass. But love is the greatest weakness AND the greatest strength.
Is love enough? And is it worth it?
I ask this question not out of anger but out of genuine curiosity because the answer could influence a decision I will have to make. I am undoubtedly in love. I'm so in love that I find it hard to let go and anyone who knows me KNOWS that if you do me wrong you are DONE without the batting of an eye.
Ask me if I believe in love and I will tell you yes. I have faith in it and that is why I believe I am going to do something that is uncharted for me. I'm going to give a second chance because I love and I'm in love. I hope it doesnt come back and bite me in the ass. But love is the greatest weakness AND the greatest strength.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Monday, March 1, 2010
Quarrel
“I can never tell you what’s on my mind. Every time I do you make me feel guilty about it. As if, I should just shut the fuck up and keep my thoughts to myself. And then, when I do that…you’re still mad because you think I am keepings things from you. Can I win?” The last sentence was yelled a little, and was emphasized with Daye slamming his book on the table. Tony just stared at him blankly. A bit stunned.
“Wow. Tell me how you really feel, then.” Tony muttered drily, walking to the fridge.
“See! That! That right there! The sarcasm. Do you take me seriously or am I just some elaborate joke to you?” By this time Daye was standing up. The emotion on his face couldn’t decide if it was outraged or sad. Daye tended to have that polarity about him. He hardly ever looked like one particular thing, never sounded one particular way. His mom used to joke and tell him that no matter what he was Daye, and his emotions were night.
“No, you are not a joke. Clearly, I wouldn’t be with a joke for going on a year now.” Tony tried really hard to make his natural dryness a little bit less..well…dry. But he could never really take the sarcasm out of his voice. It always held tones that seemed deriding in some way.
“Then why is it that every time I point out something that bothers me I am met with this...this...nonchalance. And if it’s not nonchalance then it’s this victim act. Acting like you’re all hurt because I had the balls to tell you something isn’t cool.” Daye said critically. Bottling everything in had really began to take its toll on him. He tried really hard not to always come at Tony with something that he didn’t like but lately, he just couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“Look, I’m sorry that I make you feel bad. But you make me feel bad too. How would you like it if I gave you a constant reminder about how imperfect you are? I just deal with it because I have found that it’s you. And it’s YOU that I love.” Tony declared leaning against the counter.
“Don’t even do that. Just because I bring stuff to you does NOT mean I don’t love you. The reason I tell you is because I love you. If I didn’t give a rat’s ass about you then I wouldn’t care what the hell you did or didn’t do.” Said Daye in a controlled voice. He didn’t like screaming.
“Why you got to use all that profanity? Why can’t you just talk to me instead of cut me down?”
“Cut you down? Really, Tony? Okay, since cussing bothers you I won’t do it. See how easy that is? Now did I do a guilt trip on you? Or did I just take your constructive criticism in stride?” Daye questioned triumphantly, he knew this argument was his.
“That’s just it. I’m not a contestant on some reality TV show. I don’t need to be critiqued. I need to be accepted. And I don’t understand why you can’t do that. I’m going for a walk. Don’t wait up.” Daye watched as Tony headed for the door.
“A walk, babe, it’s really close to midnight. You don’t have to do all that.” Resigned, Daye flopped back in the kitchen chair.
“Yes. I do.” Tony said as he stepped out the front door leaving Daye to think about what had just occurred.
For the past week or two they’d been arguing like this off and on. And for each argument Daye had been left to wonder what had just happened when he was the one who had initially been upset. Why wasn’t he the one storming out the door in a hissy fit?
While he sat there, thinking about all this with his hands holding up his head as he looked at the tiled kitchen floor there was a loud noise. It didn’t really alarm Daye at first; there was always a noise of some sort in this neighborhood. Then he heard it again and realized it was a gun shot. He sat bolt upright and ran to the front door because he had a heard a male voice cry out in pain along with a second gun shot.
“Wow. Tell me how you really feel, then.” Tony muttered drily, walking to the fridge.
“See! That! That right there! The sarcasm. Do you take me seriously or am I just some elaborate joke to you?” By this time Daye was standing up. The emotion on his face couldn’t decide if it was outraged or sad. Daye tended to have that polarity about him. He hardly ever looked like one particular thing, never sounded one particular way. His mom used to joke and tell him that no matter what he was Daye, and his emotions were night.
“No, you are not a joke. Clearly, I wouldn’t be with a joke for going on a year now.” Tony tried really hard to make his natural dryness a little bit less..well…dry. But he could never really take the sarcasm out of his voice. It always held tones that seemed deriding in some way.
“Then why is it that every time I point out something that bothers me I am met with this...this...nonchalance. And if it’s not nonchalance then it’s this victim act. Acting like you’re all hurt because I had the balls to tell you something isn’t cool.” Daye said critically. Bottling everything in had really began to take its toll on him. He tried really hard not to always come at Tony with something that he didn’t like but lately, he just couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“Look, I’m sorry that I make you feel bad. But you make me feel bad too. How would you like it if I gave you a constant reminder about how imperfect you are? I just deal with it because I have found that it’s you. And it’s YOU that I love.” Tony declared leaning against the counter.
“Don’t even do that. Just because I bring stuff to you does NOT mean I don’t love you. The reason I tell you is because I love you. If I didn’t give a rat’s ass about you then I wouldn’t care what the hell you did or didn’t do.” Said Daye in a controlled voice. He didn’t like screaming.
“Why you got to use all that profanity? Why can’t you just talk to me instead of cut me down?”
“Cut you down? Really, Tony? Okay, since cussing bothers you I won’t do it. See how easy that is? Now did I do a guilt trip on you? Or did I just take your constructive criticism in stride?” Daye questioned triumphantly, he knew this argument was his.
“That’s just it. I’m not a contestant on some reality TV show. I don’t need to be critiqued. I need to be accepted. And I don’t understand why you can’t do that. I’m going for a walk. Don’t wait up.” Daye watched as Tony headed for the door.
“A walk, babe, it’s really close to midnight. You don’t have to do all that.” Resigned, Daye flopped back in the kitchen chair.
“Yes. I do.” Tony said as he stepped out the front door leaving Daye to think about what had just occurred.
For the past week or two they’d been arguing like this off and on. And for each argument Daye had been left to wonder what had just happened when he was the one who had initially been upset. Why wasn’t he the one storming out the door in a hissy fit?
While he sat there, thinking about all this with his hands holding up his head as he looked at the tiled kitchen floor there was a loud noise. It didn’t really alarm Daye at first; there was always a noise of some sort in this neighborhood. Then he heard it again and realized it was a gun shot. He sat bolt upright and ran to the front door because he had a heard a male voice cry out in pain along with a second gun shot.
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