I’ve only been in love once. Several others have come close, but I only count the one. Looking back, it’s arguable the best/worst four years of my life. I met him like I do most important men in my life: randomly. He was an acquaintance that quickly turned into something out of the movies.
One day I was fresh out of class waiting at the bus stop. A mysterious car drove by, honked and pulled over to the side of the road. I walked over…greeted by a smile that could melt ice.
“Do you want a ride home? Get in.”
I was frozen for a moment. “This kid barely knows me,” I thought to myself. I reluctantly got into the car. I had so many questions, but couldn’t manage to get any words out. So we drove…
His shirt was open. It took all my energy not to stare at his exposed belly button. I kept looking out the window, letting the breeze wash over my face. We arrived at my house.
“What are you doing later tonight? Do you want to hang out?”
“Sure,” I said. “What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. We’ll figure it out. I’ll be back at nine.”
We spent the next four years attached to one another.
There were no expectations, no fighting. No labels, no pressure. Neither one of us had trouble negotiating our wants/need/concerns; just two men enjoying each other’s company, getting to know one another. It set the standard for all who came after.
He was blue collar, good with his hands. I learned how to fix stuff around the house. I helped him with his English. We did everything together.
One particular birthday he presented me with a big, heavy box (I never get heavy boxes). Confused and amazed, I again didn’t know what to do.
“Open it,” he said.
Buried inside was a painting from an African art store. Can you imagine, walking in, barely knowing the language and negotiating with the Dashiki wearing mofo you know sold it to him? I didn’t know what to say. One of the few times in my life I’ve actually been speechless.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful,” I mumbled. I didn’t want to cry in front of him.
The walls in my home used to be really busy, but as I’ve gotten older I’ve learned bare walls are better for the bedroom…helps me think. But when I moved into my new apartment earlier this year, I knew exactly what I wanted to hang on the wall.
I love the piece because of the contrast. The painting is of the 54th Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry, the African-American army unit depicted in the movie Glory. However, at the particular moment captured they are not at war. Sitting around a campfire, they are at rest.
My heart is like a bloodied battlefield, ridden with pieces of men no longer fighting the good fight.
I pray eventually my day of peace will come.
I long for another love…one I don’t have to fight for.
I struggle to win every battle, for I fear I am losing the war.
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