Soundtrack of my life....

Music has always been a tremendous part of my life. As a child my mother surrounded our living quarters with the soulful hymns of Anita Baker’s Caught up in the rapture, Chaka Khan and all of Rufus and many more. I still can’t help but get up and move my entire body when I hear a hint of Sweet Love, even if I was only six- years- old when I first heard the song. I felt like I knew the music.

 As I progressed into a teenager I finally began to appreciate hip-hop. I was a huge Lil Bow Wow fan, and I was head strong on covering every inch of my pale beige bedroom walls with any and every poster/ photo of him I could find.

I remember bobbing and weaving to the 50 cent’s “you say you a gansta’, but you neva popped nutin,” ,  it never dawning on me that I was absolutely clueless as to what a gangsta or wangsta was. The luxury of being young I suppose.

 As much as I adore my hip hop culture I am an avid rhythm and blues fan by default. I can remember  blasting All the thing your man won’t do by Joe  through my royal blue and grey boom box for hours(another song I knew nothing about) , but never did I imagine an actual song becoming a track on the playlist of my life.

At the age of 16 there wasn’t much that wasn’t serious. I thought everything that happened in my life should go into the history books, and be duly noted for future generations. In short, I was the epitome of a drama queen, crown and all. So of course, like any other drama queen, I came fully equipped with my own Romeo and Juliet love drama.

At the time I was, well let’s say I thought I was, in courtship with a gentleman, who we will call Rocky for the moment. He was as perfect as a 16 year old varsity football player could be. He would fit any teenaged movie prerequisite. He had popularity, all the girls, a varsity jersey, charming good looks, and a confidence like no other. I was completely overwhelmed, but like every superman he was not immune to kryptonite. Even though it appeared he had everything needed to progress successfully through the social realms of high school he lacked one key element. That element I believed was me.

For years he had pursued me to no avail. He was simply not my type, and quite annoying. He was a chubby unorganized kid from the neighborhood, and I wasn’t the least bit interested. Like the saying goes nothing stays the same, and in the matter of a summer and a varsity letter the hunter had become the prey.

The tides had turned, and now I had become the anxious fiend tapping my finger nails on my mahogany wood bed stand sitting by the phone wondering when I would get a call. Over the course of a few months I beckoned for his attention. I had alluded to a relationship in so many convert ways I was all out of clever ways to be coy, and quite frankly I was pissed. I mean I was a catch. . I was by no means a social outcast. I was an athlete with a petite Coca Cola bottle pear shape, hung with the most popular girls in school, had the personality of Miss Universe, and possessed the wardrobe of a young couture model (OK maybe a bit of a stretch, but you get my point) so what was his problem. Anyone with a brain would have seen that I should have walked away immediately, but I stayed around. I indulged in the inconsistent calls until the late nights, enjoyed hanging out with him on weekends, and the complimentary “I love you” every once and awhile. I was smitten, but still confused.

We had argued over the topic of being in a relationship, which itself was a premonition of our fate. So this Saturday night full of hang ups, swear words I hope my  mother would never hear me say, and frustrations was  no highlight in my book.

I screamed,” What the hell is wrong with you,”?

He screams “What is wrong with what we have now, what else do you want from me,”?

I hang up. He calls back, and this cycle continues for the next few hours.

I don’t know how the conversation ended, but I can imagine exhaustion played a huge role.

It was 3am when my phone rang. Half annoyed and dazed still mid-way in REM sleep I stumble and reach for my hot pink and purple cordless phone (I had my own phone line if you are wondering  why my mother did not barge in the door screaming).

What I heard next would be engraved in my mind forever.

“Hello,” I say in a groggy and whispering tone.

Blasting on the other end I could hear drums and horns accompanying Beyonce singing

 “See I know we not official, but us being official, but us being official aint never  been an issue. When it came down to us It Came Down To Us Boy Remember We Were Different We Said That We'd Talk If We Ever Had Problems About Anything I Was Cool With No Commitment (Wait) Let Me Take That Back It Was You, So I Was With It,”.

I had no caller ID, but, needless to say, I didn’t need one. I had gotten the answer I was looking for at 3am through the melodic tunes of Destiny’s Child Is she the reason. I hung up before the song could finish, and never mentioned it to Rocky again!

To this day, I still smile whenever I hear that song.