Mr. and Mrs. Pt. 2: Dressed in insanity

My older cousin was a psychology major at Wright State University. I loved asking her about human behavior. She the closest thing I had to an expert and she willingly indulged in my random and slightly ignorant inquiries. On one of our many trips along  route 71 north we got on the subject of insanity.

“Lay, how do you know when a person is insane,”? I asked.

“Insanity is the act of doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results,”. She said,

I was stunned. I expected a more poetic answer.  I expected to hear something convoluted and mysterious. I didn’t predict I’d hear such simple words. It made me think about all the crazies I’d probably passed walking down the street. More importantly, it made me think “Damn I’m insane,”.

For the past year and a half I had run into the same wall with Mister and his Mrs., yet every time I got the same unfavorable outcome it was like it was zapped out of my memory completely, and I was prepared to hit the same wall even harder. No matter how many times I was disrespected, disregarded and humiliated I was never deterred me from whatever goal I was trying to achieve. I was eloquently dressed in the most beautiful insane couture gown paid in full by my own yearning heart.

I was headed back from Atlanta from my month-long vacation, and I was eager to see Mister. We never completely lost contact, and after reading the card he had left on my porch a month ago ,a hundred times, I had fallen for him all over again. I was able to hold in my emotions for him for over a year, but I had to tell him how I felt. I thought that since Mrs. was in the picture too much was at stake. Telling him the truth would be enough to get him to toss her aside like yesterday’s garbage, and everything would be back to normal, so I did what any 18-year-old would when they are trying to fight for love. The day before I left Atlanta I sent him a Myspace message.

Mister I’m sorry I never told this before because I have been feeling like this for a long time, but I love you. I always have. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to scare you off, and I figured we were too young to be in love anyways. I didn’t want to believe it, but it’s the truth.

I hesitated before sending it. I loved him, or so I thought. He needed to know, but was it too late. Should I have told him earlier? It took me about ten minutes, but I decided win or lose I was true to myself to the end.

The ride back home seemed extra long, and everything from the trees to my seat belt seemed to remind me of Mister. I felt like I had gone into a time warp and everything was moving in slow motion.

After a trip full of butterflies, anticipation and worry I finally got to a computer. I was scared. I clicked on my messages and saw a message from him that simply read “I’m gone call you,”.

I was ecstatic. Mister was going to call me so that meant everything would be good, even though, I had just witnessed numerous photos of Mister and Mrs. showcasing their every move. There was a whole album dedicated to their time spent together. There were pictures of them at parties, holding hands, etc. Seeing these pictures reminded me of a situation between the three of us that occurred just two months ago that I , so desperately, had tried to forget.

2 months earlier

  It was a normal Saturday night basement party, and everyone who was a part of the  “In Crowd” was in attendance. I was on the phone with Mister, who was already at the party, and he was waiting on me.

“I’m on my way dude,”. I yelled through the phone trying to compete with the base from speakers.

“Where you coming from,”? Mister asked.

“I don’t know. You know I ain’t good with directions, but we pulling up now,”. I said.

I don’t know how, but we got disconnected as I walked across the street into the party. I didn’t call back because I was about to see him anyways. I walked into the party maneuvering through the dark crowd full of rump-shacking teenagers, but I couldn’t find Mister. I tried calling, and got no answer.

“Aye, you seen Mister,”? I asked any and everyone.

I was about to just give up, and join the rump-shacking of my peers when I looked in the corner. What I saw will be forever carved into my memory. He was sitting on white clothes dryer hovered over her, but gripping her tiny waist. She was standing in between his legs holding him tightly as if they were the last on the Titanic just before it submerged under the ocean. They sat there oblivious to me standing less than a foot away getting front row seats while they played tongue twister.

I could feel the blood surging through my veins, and my heart rate pulsating through my body. It was right in front of my face, yet my vision and my consciousness were disconnected.

“How could this be happening just after seconds of him talking to me,”? I thought.

I didn’t talk to anyone. I didn’t tell my friends. I walked up the stairs and sat, alone, in the kitchen until the party was over.  I wasn’t ready to deal with what I had just witnessed. I couldn’t move.

I was nervous. I sat in my room anticipating his call, while the feelings of the basement party lingered in my soul like I was right back there all over again. I was helpless. I didn’t want to let him go, but I didn’t want to be a fool either. Clearly he was still talking with her, and clearly they were engaging in an intimate relationship that they deemed worthy enough to put all over the internet for the world to see, including me. My mind was in a whirlwind. My heart and head were in a battle, and rational thoughts were losing. I thought I could change the situation. He said he would call so that meant he was about to apologize, and make amends. After tonight Mrs. would be out of the picture, and he would demand that she take every single picture down from her Myspace page because Eartha was in town.

My thoughts were interrupted by my Trey Songz ringtone “I can’t help, but wait.”. It was Mister.

“What’s up,”? He asked.

“Nothing just chillin, and laying down,”. I said.

He got right to business.

“So why didn’t you tell me this earlier,”? He asked.

“Because I was scared. I didn’t want to look all thirsty for you,”. I said.

“You know what,”? He said. “I love you too,”.

I didn’t need a mirror to see myself smiling from ear to ear. I felt special. Somehow the same guy that had took my heart and demolished it into thin air was magically rebuilding it piece by piece, but within seconds I was back to ground zero after his next statement.

“I wish you would’ve told me sooner because I love Mrs. too,”. He said.

“What the hell was this,”? I thought.

Here I am finally expressing my feelings, and he tells me he is in love with another female too. “Is that even possible,”? I asked.

“I don’t know. I just am,”. He replied.

I was flyer than her. I was more popular, I believed, than her, and I know I was smarter. We had history together so this decision should have been easy for him.

“I want to still talk to the both of y’all,”. He said.

Now any sane person that shows any inclination they may own brain cells would have immediately said Adios, but ,as I mentioned previously I was insane, because at that moment instead of walking away, and dealing with the harsh truth that he was choosing, I shifted every bit of energy I had to destroying Mrs.

Part 3 coming soon!!!!

Harlem Knights Pt.4 : Farewell Summer Love

For obvious reasons Harlem was not in good standing with me. Since our last encounter I had completely looked at him differently. The smooth New Yorker with the sweet smile had become a lying antagonist who seemed so small as he struggled to come up with an explanation.

“Who is this,”? I asked.

Harlem’s face was as stunned as a deer caught in the headlights.

“It’s just some girl on Myspace,”? He said.

“Oh really,”? I said.

“So this is the reason you hadn’t answered my calls, or texts last week,”? I asked.

“Look Ma don’t trip it’s not that serious.  I don’t know her, and I ain’t gone never meet her, so chill,”. He said.

It felt like a ton of bricks had fallen all at once right on my face. It was like déjà vu, because I had heard the “It’s just Myspace” line so many times I should have had it printed on a t shirt. The truth was yes, it may just be a social network, but it was also a fresh new playground for deception. I didn’t take it much farther than that. How could I?

I sat on Harlem’s black suede couch my eyes piercing his as I thought. I was thinking where did I go wrong? What warning sign had I missed this time around, and how could I prevent this from happening again? I wondered how I had traveled all the way down to Atlanta, Georgia only to find the same type of ass hole I was trying to run away from back in Youngstown. I tend to be very analytical, at times, always trying to search deeper within a situation to find the truth. I don’t know how I managed to have so many questions dash across my mind in only a matter of seconds.

Everyone will make a mistake every once and awhile, and little did Harlem know I was willing to forgive because it was understandable. We were just a bunch of young kids feeling each other out, and we hadn’t made it official that we were an item. However, I couldn’t take his approach when confronted with the truth. His first safe haven wasn’t to come completely clean, but rather manipulate facts, which was completely unacceptable.

I was agitated and extremely disappointed, and our relationship never really recuperated after that. Things just weren’t the same, but I still had a slight soft spot for him, but I found every emotional brick I could find and rebuilt the guard I thought I had allowed Harlem to tear down just a month ago.

The next week we all went to the same skating rink that New New (Lauren London) and Rashad (T.I.) graced in the movie ATL. It was epic. I wore high-waist jeans with a fuchsia blouse that was opened in the back. I had fuchsia pink pumps to match with gold accessories. I was cute.

The felt like I was right in a scene of ATL when I walked in. I saw hundreds of New News walking around with big bold gold hoop earrings smacking on gum almost as loud as the music. I saw saggy jeans and fitted caps with dreads and gold teeth. “I love ATL”,. I thought.

I forgot about the Myspace incident for that night, and Harlem made it easy as he gripped while we skated around the rink thumping to loud hip-hop beats. Harlem had been here before I could tell. He held onto my hand while he danced twirling me around him. I thought I was going to fall, but Harlem was always there just before I thought I would bite the dust. The night was one to remember. I still gell once or twice, but it didn’t matter. I had a ball and I owed it all to him.

 Even though I had a blast the night before it didn’t negate what had transpired a few days ago. I don’t know if after the Myspace encounter I began to notice the truth, or if Harlem’s flaws just started to shine brighter than Christmas lights, but I began to notice his idiosyncrasies, and I didn’t like what I saw.

He was boastful. The tales about his life in the big apple started to sound like personal pats on the back. Everything was an opportunity to showboat, and validate himself. I was so sick of hearing about how many clothes and shoes he had left behind. It was torturous to my ears.

“Yea back home I was the flyest.  I always had all the Jordan sneaks,”. He said. (I wish I had a better recollection of what he said, but most of the time I sat with a glazed look on my face zoning in and out. My body was present, but my mind was eons away.

He wasn’t charming to me anymore, He didn’t make me smile as much as before, and I realized sometimes things just don’t work.

My month-long vacation was over in Atlanta, and it was time to go home. It was time to get ready for school, and get back to reality, and he was there to see me off just as he had done when I came stepped off the plane.

“So I guess you really leaving, huh,”? He said.

“Yea I guess so,”. I said.

“Keep in touch,”. He said.

“I will,”. I said.

We hugged. We smiled at each other, and kiss our final kiss, and I said goodbye. Harlem had showed me a good time minus the BS, and I appreciated it, but I think we both knew we would never see each other again. It was bittersweet as I waved farewell to my one, and only summer love.

I pledge no Allegiance

I believe when my mother was born she was covered in a Kenta cloth, with a mini African mediation place around her neck. In other words, she was, and still is, the greatest African-American buff I’ve ever known, and I am thankful to have been her faithful student.

The majority of what I know about African- American history I’ve garnered from my mother’s wisdom, and she started early. While my other third grade classmates brought in toys and animals for show and tell I seized the moment to implement black history. I will never forget the puzzled look of astonishment on my teacher’s face as I sat in front of twenty 8 year-olds fluently describing the perils of slavery as if I had flown back in time and got first-hand accounts. I used my black American doll, Addy, as a prop. I placed a scarf around her head explaining how slaves had to wear scarves to prevent sweat from beading down their faces as they worked from sun up to sun down for free on southern plantations.

My mother  received her Bachelor’s Degree in African- American studies from Youngstown State University 18 years prior, and was stead-fast on teaching me everything she knew, and when a teacher sent home a list of Caucasian history makers asking parents to pick which person their child would do a report on my mother replied with a letter of her own.

Dear Mrs. H,

 It pains me to see the list of historians you’ve provided for my daughter to choose from for her report significantly lacks the contributions of African Americans. People of color like Crispus Attucks, who was one of the first to sacrifice his life during the Boston Massacre, making him the first casualty of the American Revolution, or Phyllis Wheatley, who was the first African American poet and first African-American woman to publish her writing. Because of this, my daughter’s report will be Afro-centric, and I will choose from a slew of African American contributors, from which, she will write a thoroughly researched report. Thank you.

                                                                                                          Sincerely,

                                                                                                                       Ms. Terrell

She taught me it was never disrespectful to know your own history, and be proud of it. I learned to stand up for justice whether it was through my actions, or a pen because it was my responsibility to make sure I continued the legacy of my determined forefathers and mothers, who had sacrificed  their lives for me. It was a lesson I never forgot, and never did I imagine that ,at 16, my loyalty to this belief system would be tested.

I was misunderstood by my teachers for being a smart-mouth teen, a modern rebel without a cause with zero regard for authority. However, this couldn’t be further from the truth. I was fully aware of the hierarchy of High school, and had no problem respecting adults. I mean, I was raised by a southern grandmother, who would reprimand any child, who didn’t speak when an  an adult present. What teachers didn’t understand is I respected them as long as I was  awarded the same in return. I didn’t allow anyone to disrespect me regardless of age, gender etc, and it was a lesson my art teacher would have to learn the hard way.

I arrived in class on time with a couple minutes to spare. I chatted with my friends as we prepared to hear the tardy bell and announcements. Everything was going well until the pledge of allegiance began, and I didn’t stand.

“Eartha, you aren’t standing for the pledge,”. My teacher said.

“I know,”. I replied.

“Well you have to stand for it,”. She said.

“No I don’t,”. I replied.

“Yes you do, or you can go to the principal’s office,”! She yelled.

 I don’t know if my teacher expected me to go back and forth with her or not, but she appeared, a tad bit, surprised when I smiled, picked up my Geometry book, and proceeded to walk out her class.

“Eartha. Eartha,”! She yelled down Chaney’s hallway as I continued to walk not once responding to her.

I headed to the bathroom, and called my mom.

“Ma, my teacher just kicked me out of her class because I didn’t stand for the pledge,”. I said.

“What,”.She said. “I’m on my way,”.

I swear my mom must have hoped on a jet to my school because within minutes we met at the glass door of the office with her battle attire ready. She wore her orange, black, and red dashiki, her cheetah-print coat, and her book titled, The Black Book. She was prepared, and had waited for this moment her entire life, and I was more than happy to give it to her.

“Hi I’m here is to speak with the principal,”. My mother said with a stern tone.

“I don’t remember us calling you for a visit,”. The secretary said.

“You didn’t I’m here because my daughter was just kicked out of her class because of her refusal to stand for the pledge,”. My mom said. I was hoping the secretary valued her life because my mother was highly irritated, and looked as mean as a lioness protecting her cub in the wild.

“Well if she just got kicked out, and we didn’t call you, how did you know to be here so quickly,”? The secretary asked.

 Students weren’t permitted to have phones in school, and I knew exactly what the secretary was alluding to. Initially, I was sympathetic, but now I wanted front row seats to watch my mother devour her.  After all, she had earned it.

“That’s irrelevant,”. My mother said. “You’re just a peon with no authority, and like I said before, I need to speak with the principal,”.

The next thing I know we were sitting on a brown leather couch in the principal’s office.

“What can I help you with ma’am,” . Principal C said.

“My daughter was kicked out of her class for exercising her God given right. My children do not stand for the pledge if they do not wish to. Until Justice for all is actually implemented in this country my daughter will not stand,”. My mother said. She reminded me of a young Malcolm X in his prime.

“Well its policy that all students have to stand for the pledge, but can refuse to say the pledge. Your daughter is no exception,”. Principal C said.

“Policy is what kept blacks in slavery for over 400 years Mr. so please do not remind me of policy,”. She said.”

“It’s out of respect for veterans Ms. Terrell,”. He said. “Many men are fighting for our security, and your daughter cannot just ignore that,”.

“My great uncle was a veteran and was welcomed home by being lynched in his uniform. When the Constitution was written blacks were still slaves,”. She said. “Black s were emancipated in 1865, yet wouldn’t truly be afforded the luxuries of that emancipated for another 100 years  in 1965 after the Civil Rights Movement,”. Principal C tried to get a word in, but was unsuccessful. My mother was on a mission.

She was organized. She was systematic. She opened up her book, and pointed to a picture that showed a black man, who had been tied up on a stick with his genitalia severed completely off hovered above a fire pit surrounded by a group of hundreds of white men, women and children.

As if that wasn’t enough to leave anyone stuck in their tracks she proceeded to explain the tortuous inhumane treatment of Africans during the middle passage. She described the lynching epidemic in the 1930s, and finished with her thoughts on the modern-day state of African-American men.

“I worked in the prisons, and I have never seen so many black  men incarcerated in  my  entire life for drugs, which they do not have neither the power nor the economic prowess to obtain and bring into their communities,”. She said. “

“There is no doubt in my mind that this is no sign that America has decided to grant TRUE justice for all so if you, or her art teacher reprimand my daughter for her refusal to stand for the pledge I will contact the NAACP, the media and whoever else I need to,”. She said as she stood with her eyes planted firm on Principal C.

I didn’t have to stand for the pledge.

I believe that day was the highlight of my high school career. I sat down to stand up for an unequal educational system that plagued  children, like myself, in inner city schools like Chaney of Youngstown, Ohio and  for inequality I saw as I walked in my own drug-infested and tarnished city. I took a stand for justice that afternoon. I took a stand for myself because history the heart which  pumps blood through the veins of the future, and by forgetting  our history we ,ourselves, are responsible for the cardiac arrest of our futures.

Harlem Knights Pt.3 :When a good thing goes bad

This was going to be the last time I texted him. It had been a whole week, and I hadn’t heard from Harlem. He asked me to live in Atlanta, and I really was prepared to, heck, and would probably still move if he ever decided to answer his damn phone.

“Brucey, have you heard from Harlem,”? I asked.

“Nope, he has been M.I.A. ever since yall went out,”. He said. “What did you do to him,”?

“Shut up Brucey,”. I replied. “ I dint do anything to that boy,”. I laughed, but inside I was furious. Who did Harlem think he was? You can’t go around asking people to move in with you, and then ignore them for a week. What was his problem? I thought.

“You are such a fool,”. I thought to myself. “You really thought that he wanted to be with you, and he just met you,”? I thought some more. I continued to bombard myself with self loathing thoughts when my phone rang. Without even looking at the caller I.D I quickly answered it.

“Hello,”. I anxiously said.

“How’s Atlanta,”. My mom asked.

My enthusiasm significantly dwindled, and I replied with a dismal “It’s OK ma,”.

“What’s wrong,”? She asked. “Nothing Ma,”. I whined.

“ Okkkkkkkaaayyyy, I was just calling to see how you were doing,”. She said.

“I’m having fun,”. I replied.

“I know my kids, Eartha, so tell me what’s wrong,”. She persisted.

My mother was right. She knew me better than I knew myself, and today she was dead on. I had a serious attitude, but what was I going to tell her?  I couldn’t tell her the truth that I’d traveled miles chasing a love that  may or may not exist, and that I was thinking about moving to Atlanta with  a guy from New York I barely knew, who wasn’t answering my phone calls. The truth wasn’t an option, not at all. My mother would have chewed me out in more ways than one, and would’ve been justified, but right now I wasn’t in the mood. I just wanted to get off the phone, and talk later.

“Ma I’m fine,”. I said. “I’ll call you later,”.

What Harlem didn’t know is that I wasn’t your average girl. I wasn’t the girl who just sat around and waited for prince charming. I was the girl that kept about three back-up princes in the closet just in case the first one didn’t tickle my fancy anymore. I had princes on payroll ready to take his place. I was a keep-your-options open kind of girl, and he was merely a supporting cast member in MY show. Nonetheless, his disappearing act, I had to admit, was reeking havoc on my mental, but I had others to keep me preoccupied.

“So I hear you are talking to Mister, and you guys are in love,”? CR said.

 CR was a guy from school I knew liked me back home in Youngstown. He was a cute guy, very kind to me, and offered me the attention that I should have took heed to, but , being young and unenlightened I didn’t. He was a sweetheart, though, but I just didn’t feel that way for him. I gave him my number just as a courtesy, and I, arrogantly, assumed that was enough to satisfy him.

“Huh,”? I replied. I understood his question I just didn’t want to answer it.

“So is it true, do you and Mister talk,”? He relentlessly asked.

I didn’t really know where this Law and Order interrogation was coming from. CR and I had only talked on the phone a few times, but we were not headed anywhere, but where we were. There had been no verbal contract of any sort between us because there was no need to. I wasn’t interested in him. I just wanted to be friends, but I saw that this probably wasn’t an option.

“We did talk, but we don’t anymore,”. I replied even though it was none of his business.

“So are you guys in love,”? He asked. CR really didn’t want the answer to this question, and I didn’t want to be the one to deliver such gut- retching news, but I guess it was now or never.

“CR, yes we kind of are, but it’s complicated,”. I said. The next text would be one message that would go down in my personal hall of fame of “the one that got away”.

“Eartha, I really care about you, and I know that I care more about you then Mister, or whoever else does. They don’t deserve you, and I know he can’t love you like I can,” CR pleaded.

Even though I was texting I was at a loss for words. “Damn,”. I thought. Why couldn’t I just like him? He was perfect, and never pissed me off, yet I kept chasing these idiots, who seemed to make it their personal mission to mistreat me.

I should have told CR I had a change of heart, and that he was who I wanted to be with. I should have just called him, and lied, but I think that would have been worse.

“I am sorry CR,”. I wrote. “You are a cool dude, and I love talking to you, but I just cant force myself to feel that way about you,”.

I never got a text back, or heard from CR again.

The next day I was unusually happy. It was a sunny day, yet another scorcher in Atlanta so I guess my ass would be inside again under the AC (I have asthma I couldn’t take that risk).

I hadn’t really forgiven myself about CR, but we were only 18- years- old, and he would get over it. I wasn’t thinking about Harlem, well not as much as before. I was just relaxing, and prepared to take on the beautiful day.

I was sprawled-out with my feet up in my Aeropostal shorts and a tank on my aunt’s chair that was in the shape of a stiletto when the door bell rang.

Brucey answered it.

“Why ain’t nobody answering my phone calls,”? Harlem asked. “I’ve been calling y’all all day so we could do something,”.

“Oh no he didn’t just come up in here like I haven’t been calling and texting his ass for the past five days to no avail,”. I thought to myself. This nigga must’ve thought he can run some New York bull, but he surely has the wrong one with me. My mama hadn’t raised a fool.

Fireworks blazed in my head, but when he approached me I held my composure. He was not about to get the satisfaction of witnessing me get out of character on account of his inconsiderateness.

“I don’t have my phone t’s in the bedroom, and I haven’t check it all day,”. I said.

“Oh, OK. I’m trying to do something today,”. He said. “Are y’all down,”?

“Sure we where do you want to go,”? I asked. “Anywhere,”. He replied.

Brucey had mad dashed in front of me to go get dressed, and I continued to move in slow motion towards the bathroom to take a shower when Harlem grabbed my arm.

“I’m sorry ma,”. He said in a whispered tone so only he and I could hear.

“Sorry for what,”? I asked. I was prepared to remain in nonchalant character for as long as it took. I could have won an Oscar that day.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been returning your calls,”. He said. “I just got a new job, and I been working twelve hour shifts,”. He said.

“I usually just sleep during the day,”. He said while trying to sound convincing.

He was persuasive I’ll admit, but I’ve been tired before , and still shot a text to someone so I definitely wasn’t buying what he was selling, but I had to get out that house so I let him slide.

‘It’s cool,”. I replied.

“Yo. For real don’t be like that. I’m sorry,”. He said while staring directly into my eyes.

Damn, he had gotten me. I wish I could say that I stood my ground, and continued to play my position like a short stopper (shout-out to Nelly), but I didn’t. I melted faster than ice cubes left on the kitchen counter too long.

 The rest of the day was fun-filled. We walked hand and hand through the Lenox Mall, and he got me ice cream, chocolate chip cookie dough, my favorite. We drove around some more, dropped Brucey off, and ended back at his place.

We sat and watched some movies, and ate T.V. dinners. I watched the sun set from his balcony while he took a shower. Later he joined me.

‘Yo ,you still thinking about moving here,”?  He asked. “Why so I can be stuck at your apartment for days, and you not respond back to me,”. I snarled.

“Yo,” before he could finish I cut him off. “I’m just playing,”. I said.

“Yea you should come stay here for real. I think you would like it here,”.  He insisted.

“I know I would love it, but I just don’t know,”. I said.

He went outside to get something out of his car when I saw his computer was still logged on to his Myspace page.

Now usually I don’t do this but, hell I’m lying. I hopped on that PC faster than Hayley’s comet. I needed to know why he was too tired to return a call, but seemed to be awake enough to interact on Myspace.

I didn’t have much time. I scrolled through his friends rapidly. I saw nothing out of the ordinary in his top twelve except a Hispanic girl with long blonde hair who was one position higher than I thought she should be. I looked on his wall still nothing. I was feeling optimistic about love until I got to his messages, and saw a conversation that said it all.

My woman’s intuition had served me well again. He and the Hispanic young lady had been carrying on a conversation for the past week just about as he had been ignoring me. She was from New York, Brooklyn to be exact.

He told her she was cute, and she responded she thought he was fine himself. He went on to tell her about all the things he would have liked to do to her given the right space and opportunity. She replied with a few smiley faces and that is when I stopped reading.

Immediately I was angry. I mean, who wouldn’t be. He had made it seem like he and I would end up like a Disney fairy tale, and I had put a down payment on this fallacy of a dream.

“WTF,”! I thought. I had fallen for the wrong one again.

Being broke aint my cup of tea

           I was sitting in an empty living room with no furniture just crates full of Michael Jordan sneakers, bright-colored pumps, and past-due bills. Slumped over and drenched in my own tears I panted unable to catch my breath. I was hyperventilating. It was my wasteful and mindless spending that had gotten me here, and I was to blame for my own financial woes.

“I can’t get evicted,”? I thought. “I don’t have enough money to eat let alone pay bills,”.

I didn’t have much time. My $30 electricity bill was due in a week, along with my $86 cell phone bill, and $30 gas bill. I had to move fast, but I didn’t know what to do.

I could throw away my pride and ask my mom, but I knew she would, most likely, scold me and wouldn’t have the money. I could ask my brother, but last we he’d already given me $30 for food, and gas money, and that was like pulling teeth. I was frustrated. I mean, I was a junior at one of the greatest colleges in the nation, The Ohio State University, yet when it came to managing my money I was as dumb as a door knob.

 The money I was awarded from school last month was more than enough to cover these bills, but I had spent it all on eccentric clothes, and stylist jewelry. I was down to my last $100. I thought, to myself, what would make me commit such financial atrocities upon myself. I knew my expenses, yet I continued to buy material things I didn’t need, and couldn’t afford. I must have been insane.

I blamed Facebook. Growing up in such a social media manic society I felt the pressures to keep up with the trends and fashion.  Religiously I scrolled through pictures seeing everyone with the latest dresses, purses and bags. It had taken over my mind. I was consumed with keeping up with the viral Jones.

I bought it all from overpriced skinny jeans to hi-tech smart phones. I bought numerous shoes at one time, and once I even spent over $200 dollars in ten minutes, just so I could get my shine and reign as the flyest Facebook diva that had ever lived. I was subconsciously feeding off of every comment like “looking good girl, and “Dang can I borrow that,”. It had become like my imaginary cloak I wore for a quick self-esteem boost, but what else had it gotten me?

I looked in my closest. Every inch covered with something name brand. I rolled my fingers along my navy blue pea coat. I had just paid $45 dollars for it the previous week. It was originally $85 so I had gotten away with a steal. I picked up my new favorite mini dress I had also recently purchased from Urban Outfitters. It was royal blue with crisscross black and gold back straps, and fit me like the designer had preordered my measurements. It was a must-have, but the reality was these things didn’t mean much, and I couldn’t turn in those Facebook comments as currency to pay my bills. I needed to make a change.

I did the only thing a 21-year-old could do. I called my dad. My father and I had not had the best relationship throughout the years, but we loved each other dearly, and he made sure I was always taken care of. I hated calling him, and asking for money, though. It just made me feel like less of myself, but I had to do what I had to do.

“Hey dad,”. I sheepishly said.

“What’s up Eartha child,”. He said. I could hear the grin on his face.

“Umm dad I’m sorry I have to ask you this but I don’t have any money, and I have rent, and my utility bills to pay,”. I asked. “ I promise I can pay you back when I get the money, but I really need your help. I’m sorry,”.

My hands were shaking and my heartbeat slightly increased. My body was definitely in fight or flight mode. I hated asking for money.

“How much you need Earth,”. He asked.

“$200,”. I said.

“You don’t have to apologize. I know you are in school, and trying your best. Money is going to come,”. He said.

“But when, though dad ‘causes being broke aint my cup of tea,”. I had calmed down enough to smile and make a little joke.

“Delayed gratification, Earth,”. He insisted.

“ I know how it feels to be broke that’s why I work two jobs ‘cause I can’t stand not having money in my pocket,”. He said. “ Like my granddad always told me being broke aint that bad, it’s just so damn uncomfortable,”.

My dad and I both burst into laughter. My grandfather’s words of wisdom had managed to break the ice, and I didn’t feel so bad anymore. My father took my account number, and the next day I paid all my bills off.

It appeared that all was well in my world, but it wasn’t. I had a bigger problem. I needed to deal with the fact that I cared way too much about the approval of 350 friends on Facebook that I didn’t even know. I was competing with phantom opponents on the World Wide Web in a game of misconception. The funny thing was that I probably wouldn’t even be able to recognize half of these people if I ever saw them in public. Clothes didn’t make me who I was and Facebook didn’t define me, I did.

Harlem Knights Pt.2 : Reunited

Harlem Knights Pt 2. Reunited

“Good morning beautiful,”. He said.  Every morning I’d received a greeting from Harlem since we last parted in Atlanta three weeks ago. I had to endure only one more week of hell in Youngstown before I was to be reunited with my prince.

“Hey,”. I said, well texted. I wasn’t really into mushy lovey-dovey text message lingo back then, so my answers paled in comparison to his Shakespearian diction.

“I miss you, Yo,”. He said. “I just wanted to tell you I hope you have a wonderful day, and I can’t wait to see your gorgeous face soon,”.

“Thanks,”. I replied. “I can’t wait to see you either,”.

I was stunned. I felt like that line from Jay-Z’s, Excuse me miss, either she the one or I’m caught in The Matrix.  I asked myself what I had done to make this New Yorker fall, seemingly, head over heels over me. Who was I, and was I that special?

I’ll admit I was a smidge naive, but I was not dumb. I learned the perils of dating early, and I was not getting played again.I was in like, but not in love, and I was planning on keeping it that way. Besides, he was miles away chartering a popular metropolitan city so I wasn’t expecting much. To be honest, I don’t know what I was expecting. We texted all day, and talked all night, but I really didn’t know what I planned to do once I actually arrived in Atlanta in a week. Would we fall so madly in love he’d ask for my hand in marriage? Would things go terribly wrong, and I waste my entire time taking this expensive trip that I had completely funded myself, or would we just share a summer together? There were many possibilities, and I was quite nervous, but I would just have to see for myself.

My last week of high school went by like a breeze. I don’t know if this was due to my excitement about my trip, or the fact I would no longer have to deal with such mundane incompetence of my senior year. Either way, I was just happy it was over because I was long overdue for some kind of change.

It was 4am, and I had worked up a sweat  fighting with my suitcase. I was more than ready. I had three more hours before my aunt would be there to take me to the Akron Airport when I got a text.

“Go outside and look on your porch,.” Mister demanded.

“Is he crazy,”?. I thought.

“Why,”. I replied.

“There’s something out there for you,”. He said.

I am not going to lie (believe me I want to), but I was extremely thrilled. I had made a personal boycott against Mister due to a confrontation involving him, me and Mrs., a few weeks prior, (which is a complete blog in itself) but I still wanted to see what was going on. I expected he would be sitting out in front of my house in his car with that candid camera smile like he’d done before. (I watched way too many teenaged romantic comedy movies I guess).

 I ran as quickly and as quietly as possible trying not to disturb my grandfather because if he heard me, let’s just say, I needed to avoid that situation. I carefully opened each lock slowly until the door was open. Unfortunately, when I went outside I saw nothing. I looked left, and I looked right, there was nothing. I was frustrated and a tad bit humiliated. Did Mister know that I had just preformed a 007 slash Mission Impossible task to get outside, and if my grandfather caught me I was dead? Was he determined to piss me off until the very end? “Damn,”. I thought.

I went back inside. I almost called Mister ready to unleash an earful of insults, slurs and snide remarks, but I was headed to Atlanta, and nothing was going to ruin that.

It was time for me to go. My aunt pulled up, and came in to help me with my thing. “

“What’s this,”. She asked?

“What’s what,”. I responded.

“This card I found on the porch with your name on it,”. She said.

It read.

“I’m sorry for everything. I know I hurt you, and that was not what I was trying to do. I’m sorry I lied, and you had to find out the way you did. You are my homie, and I you keep me on my P’s and Q’s. I can’t imagine not having you in my life. I love you,”.

Mister was such an incredibly sweet S.O.B.

I arrived at Atlanta’s airport at 9am sharp, but it took me, at least, an hour to figure out where the hell I was, and how to get to my luggage. I have no sense of direction. I felt like I was in stranded in the desert with no food or water, and so, I sat full of exhaustion.

“Yo, what up ma,”. Harlem’s voice was reminiscent of rain drops on a roof top that rocked you to sleep.

“Hey, Harlem,”. I replied with a smile large enough to expose my wisdom teeth. To this day, I don’t know how Harlem and my cousin Brucey found me because I didn’t have enough reception in that airport to call Jesus.

We headed back to my cousin’s house so I could change clothes. I put on my ripped blue jean Bermuda shorts, a form fitting white tank-top, my black, yellow and white retro Jordan sneakers (the sevens) and combed my wrap. I was ready to go see what Atlanta had to offer.

“I see you don’t wear heels a lot,”. Harlem asked.

“No. I’m a sneak fanatic,”. I replied. I don’t know whether it was annoyance, or intuition, but for some reason his comment on my chose of shoes offended me. I mean, I had traveled far and wide to see him, and that’s what he says to me.

I shook it off. I figured I was being a little too emotional and up-tight, and this was neither the time nor the place to do so.

The entire day was excellent. Harlem and Brucey had taken me to every inch of Atlanta, and back. I had spent over $300 in one afternoon, and I wasn’t the slightest bit upset about it.

Later that evening Harlem had made plans for us to go out for dinner and  a movie. My older cousin dolled me up for my date, and I have to admit, I clean up well. I had my nails done and my hair pressed and curled by the best stylist in the ATL. I was gorgeous!

Harlem, like the gentlemen he was, came in and promised my aunt he’d have me back at a decent hour. He escorted me to his car, and we drove off.

His eyes were lit up like Christmas lights.

“You look good girl,” He said. “You should dress up more often,”.

Now this was the second reference he had made to how I dressed. I don’t know, but I was a little perturbed at this point, so I asked “Do you not like the way I dress,”?

“No. I think your style is dope. I just like when girls are dressy,” he said.

I nodded, and made a mental note because I was no prissy southern belle, and if that’s what he was looking for he had the wrong one.

We headed to a chic spot downtown. It was so enchanting. Orange, red and green lights dimly accented the small bar, and the music was on fire.

He said he wasn’t much of a drinker and asked me if I wanted anything to drink. The 21-year-old must have jumped out of me because I ordered that margarita like I was a senior alcoholic. The waiter never even attempted to ask for my I.D.

“We made small talk, had a great meal and headed back to his place. He had a lavish apartment with a picture perfect view of the city off his balcony. I loved it, and I wished I could stay there forever.

“How you like ATL so far,”. He asked. “Is that a real question,”? I asked. “I freaking love it here, and I wish I could move here,”. He said with no hesitation. “Maybe go to Spellman, and stay here with me.,”.

I had just met Harlem, and he was asking this! I could never just up root myself, and move, or could I? I had graduated from high school, and I felt the sky was the limit, if not Spellman, maybe Clark Atlanta University, or Georgia State. My mind raced. All my life decisions had been made for me perhaps it was time to make an executive decision for myself once. Could I start a life here in ATL with Harlem?

Harlem Knights Pt.1

Harlem Knights

  I was in Atlanta, Georgia (Lithonia to be exact)! The warm weather, the lights, the big buildings, and even the smell of the city did something to my spirit. I was finally here, and the mere aroma of the streets made being crouched in the back of my aunt’s mini van for twelve long hours a small sacrifice for such an experience.

  My cousins, Nauji and Brucey, were graduating from high school, and I was really excited for their accomplishments and my own, but I was even more elated to be in the arms of (piece up A-town down). What 18-year-old wouldn’t be?

  I can remember getting on the train for the first time, I know the natives were probably extremely annoyed with me and my family as we turned their daily rutine into a full-fledged Terrell holiday. I can still hear my aunts and uncles screaming and hollering trying to figure out how to get on and off the train. I had turned the complete ordeal into a personal photo shoot. I was trying to make sure I would never forget a moment I’d spent here, and surely I wouldn’t.

  My cousins’ graduation ceremony had at least 400 graduates. It was monumental, but I had sat in an uncomfortable chair for about three hours, and I was in dire need of food to replenish my body. I was more than ready to get to the after party.

I don’t know if it’s a Terrell tradition or not, but we have to walk around the entire hotel and visit each other before any and every event when we are out of town. This event was no exception.

As I pranced down the plush halls of the Holiday Inn, still barely able to take in the fact that I was here, I noticed a guy standing in my cousin’s doorway. I hadn’t seen him at the graduation so ,of course, I was curious who this guy was. His back was turned towards me, and the first thing to catch my eye was his royal blue and white New York Yankee varsity jacket. I love varsity jackets so his fashion sense caught my eye immediately. He was tall, he had a Yankee fitted to match his jacket, and ,by golly, I had to speed up to see what he was all about.

  I was usually uninterested in any of my cousin Brucey’s friends. They were usually awkward weirdos, who thought they were so exclusive, and god’s gift to anyone because they were from Atlanta. I was never impressed, but this guy was different.

  I walked up on my cousin and his stylish guest, and made sure they saw me.

  “Hey Brucey,”. I said.

  Finally he turned around and the man was a finer than I could ever imagined. He had jet-black hair with waves so deep I was eager to jump in whether I could swim or not, hazel big brown eyes, a mustache that was big enough to notice, but small enough to not irritate my lips if we kissed, and his skin a light yellow that was smoother than butter on my grandmother’s biscuits. The boy was fine, and his deep voice vibrated in my eardrums as he introduced himself.

  “Yo, what up ma, my name is Tony,”. He said.

    Child he could have said this is a stick up, and I need all your money in that New York accent, and I would have happily obliged.

    “I’m from Harlem boo,”. He said. “What’s your name,”?

“uhhhhhh ummmmm… My my..,”.I stuttered praying that this heavenly creature that  Jesus himself had personally bestowed upon me wasn’t looking at me like a complete and utter fool.

  Brucey got the hint and quickly came to my rescue. “Tony (Harlwm) this is my cousin Eartha,”. He said.“ She’s from Youngstown,”.

He smiled, and I swear doves flew from the sky, a baby was born, and world peace was discovered. This man was fine, and I don’t know what came over me, but I was determined to get him by any means necessary.

  I finally got the nerve to talk to him, and we talked until the wee hours of the morning. I was sincerely interested in his wild stories of the life of Harlem, and he seemed to be amused at the lifestyle of us country folk in Youngstown.

  He smiled, and I smiled. We both were feeling the chemistry between each other, and I thank God because I had negotiated with him all night for this opportunity.

  It was the last night in the city, and my cousins, Harlem and I decided to go out. He was the only one with a car, and I was happy for that.

  We were cruising the city headed nowhere fast in his jet-black Cadillac. His chiseled tires were decorated in shiny chrome rims, and the inside of the car was as clean as a whistle.

  “Damn this dude was superb, and we had to stay in touch,” I thought.

  “Where are we going,”! I yelled trying to be heard over the base of Kanye West’s ,can’t tell me nothing,.

  Everyone else continued to text, talk, bobbed their head, and ignore me, except Harlem.

  He turned down the music , smiled, looked back at me, and said “Where would you like to go ma,”?

“Somewhere fun,”. I replied in the most seductive voice an 18-year-old could muster.

  Five minutes later we ended up at a bowling alley. I was a tad bit disappointed. I could bowl in Youngstown, but I was in Atlanta. I expected something less traditional, but I soon found out this was not your average bowling alley.

People were bowling. Some people were dancing. Eight flat screen T.V. hung from the ceiling each playing a different video. Brucey and Harlem walked in like celebrities while I caustiously tiptoed in like a mouse surrounded by traps ready to snap at any moment.

“Whats wtong,”? Harlem asked.

“Nothing, I’m just taking it all in,”. I said.

  I sat and ate my barbeque wings and fries when all of a sudden a saw a huge crowd. I don’t know what made me get up, but I barged my way through the crowd like Moses parting the Red Sea.

  I couldn’t believe my eyes. Brucey and Harlem were in a dance-off. I mean a real dance-off. I’d seen these on movies like Honey, but to be apart of an actual one in reality was brand new.

  No offense to Brucey because I’m sure he wowed the crowd with this moves, but I was more focused on what Harlem had to offer. I watched him with as much vigorous intent as a gazelle searching for its prey.

  He moved like a professional. He was magnificent, and his arms and legs were in perfect alignment with every beat of every song. Our eyes met while he was on the dance floor.

He smiled. I smiled. We were official. Whether he knew it or not he was mine.

  I don’t remember what time we all got back to the hotel, but I do remember Harlem and I sitting on his car looking at the  stars.

“You know you fine right,”. He said. I don’t know why I looked around like someone else was around, but I did.

“I sheepishly replied “Thank you,”.

In his stereotypical New York accent he quickly followed up with a “ Yo, I think you  mad cool,”.

“ I didn’t say much I was just glad to finally be alone with him without my family around. I ceased the moment, and went in for the kill.

 His lips were soft. I could tell he was enjoying himself because he started to grab the sides of my face. I would have allowed him to do much more, but he was a gentleman. We exchanged numbers, and he politely escorted me back to my room.

  I was only 18, but I believed I had kissed enough frogs, and now I’d found my prince. I was Harlem’s Princess.