So this is what it feels like. I’ve heard it said plenty of times. Even heard an array of songs about it, but can’t say that I’ve ever experienced it. Matter of fact, I’m sure I’ve never experienced it. Remember when we would sit in my car for hours listening to Maxwell’s Urban Hang Suite. We were so young, and in love. But our current situations didn’t allow for us to explore the way we had wished. You taught me so much, especially appreciation for music. You love music. It became the core of our relationship. We’d go to concerts that only “grown folks” would go to. Who listens to jazz music when they’re 20 years old anyway?
Six years earlier you lost your virginity to me. Though I didn’t know it at the time, I realized it later through our years of trying to make us work. I was special to you and I always felt that. You were the second guy I gave it up to, but my first true love. Realistically, that first guy shouldn’t count on the strength that he meant absolutely nothing to me.
Remember how we would find the craziest places to make love? In the car, school parking lots after dark. Even then you were a gentleman. Never treating me like a random fling. We sacrificed to be with each other. I must admit I was crushed when I found out that you’d been lying to me. Sure, I knew you were living with your baby momma, but you had convinced me y’all were over, not intimate whatsoever. Until the day I called your house and she answered. You didn’t know that I had written the number down a time before when you forgot to *67. I kept it handy just in case.
She informed me that y’all were still a couple and often wondered where you spent most of your nights when you had two small kids at home. She even admitted that she suspected it was me because you’d randomly and casually mention my name as your “first. “ She never thought anything of it until your disappearing acts. It was then she remembered you telling her that you had run into me at the bar a while back, and then she connected the dots. She talked to me woman to woman. She didn’t trip, raise her voice, curse, nothing. As a matter of fact, she was the complete opposite of the depiction you painted of her. After our conversation, I felt terrible for having allowed myself to fall in love with you once again when you already had a family. I told her that our affair ends now, and it did.
Later on that night, you and I had plans to link up after we left the club. I made up an excuse as to why we shouldn’t, though I did keep our arrangement of meeting at the club, as if I hadn’t spoken with your live-in hours prior. I was convinced that after we left and went our separate ways, we wouldn’t speak for a while, if ever again. And I was right.
It was 3 a.m. I timed it perfectly. I knew approximately how long it would take you to make it home. I lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling, awaiting your phone call. Prepared for the worst. When my phone rang I didn’t hesitate to answer. I was ready for the tongue-lashing.
“What the fuck you doing calling my house,” you screamed through the phone.
Up until then you’d never called me out my name let alone cursed at me. I remained calm and answered all your questions. The nine years we knew each other I had yet to witness this side of you. The love oozed from my heart as you pierced it with every expletive known to man.
“Why didn’t you just tell me you were still with her,” I pleaded.
Two years later we were reunited. Things were good for a while then eventually soured. I moved out of state for two years, with no contact with you at all. Five years lapsed and, that’s right, our planets aligned and we were brought back together again. This is it. For real. You were a changed man –for the better. You had found God and were walking in the right direction. You were done playing games. You were ready to settle down and start a second family – so you’d say. We spent countless hours together, but you still wouldn’t fully commit. We’d fall asleep, our bodies entangled, savoring every moment, and in the wee hours of the night, you’d up and leave. “Gotta be home in the morning before my kids wake up,” you would say. I respected that because you are a magnificent father and should be home. But I couldn’t help but want you for my own. I could no longer compromise my love and wanting to bear your last name while in exchange I’d get some hours of your time followed by days without hearing a word from you. So I ended it – again!
Three years later, our kids are teenagers. You were for real done with your kids’ mother. Your faith was still going strong. You were quoting Bible passages and even thinking about becoming a minister. This was it. I’m single. You’re single. Let’s do this.
“You remember that fling I had a couple of months ago? Um, about that…I’m pregnant,” I admitted. I called you and asked if we could meet so that I could share the unsettling news. I knew for sure that’d you want to kick me to the curb after hearing what I had to say. But you didn’t. You still wanted to be with me even though I was carrying someone else’s child. “We are soulmates.” That’s what we believed. Even your daughter said your face lights up and you giggle like a school boy whenever we’re on the phone with each other. “You don’t do that with anybody else daddy.”
I thought it would be easy for me to kick my unborn child’s father to the curb and be with you. We’ve been doing this thang since we were 14 years old. We’re 30 years old now and definitely know better and know what we want, which is each other. We are in sync. We vibe. We connect. We mesh. We flow.
Now that the shoe is on the other foot, I understand your pain when I decided to marry the father of my child, knowing we were polar opposites.
Five years later I get word that you’re getting married. My heart skipped a beat, and I lost my breath. You’ve wanted this for years. We’ve been out of contact for the past few months because you could no longer cope with just being my “friend.” “You are my woman. You should be my wife,” you exclaimed. My heart would hurt every time you’d say that because I felt your words. So when I heard that you are due to marry someone I know isn’t for you, thus comes my pain. Hello pot, meet kettle. I tried to mask my feelings and show my happiness for you but I’m having a difficult time doing so. Of course, I want you to be happy because you truly deserve it, but I can’t help but feel brokenhearted. Just know that I will always love you and you’re the only one who mates with my soul.
Never the right time