The Gabe Factor

In another post sometime I will tell you how my search for Patty, my 8th grade best friend who used to date Charles Christmas, led me to having a mistaken conversation with Other Patty, another Patty I went to school with that wasn't my Patty. 

The convo was fruitful. She told me what she was up to and she also confirmed that Gabe, this boy we went to school with, somehow got involved with drugs and died. I recently even talked to my aunty and cousin who knew him and his family. His death shocked everyone. 

Honestly, I can't even invision Gabe smoking a cigarette. He was cute. He was funny. He was bright. He could sing. He and some other boys were in a singing group. I remember they sang  "All My Life" by KC and JoJo at a middle school assembly. We were not good friends, but we once did a project together where we had a spirited discussion on when it's appropriate to use an acronym which, oddly enough, is a debate I've had many times over the years. Other Patty said she felt he turned to drugs because his music career didn't work out. 

I'm not sure if this is true, but the thought it might be led me to have a conversation with Lisha about how we don't express to kids the importance of having a reliable and attainable plan B. No one knows better than me how hard it is when your dream life doesn't work out. How can we prepare kids for this without crushing their goals? I say kids because this definitely isn't something you want to start considering at 20 when your back is against the wall. 

Honestly, I'm not sure doing so would even matter. Telling me I should have a solid plan B would not have caused me to stop striving towards being a writer. Like I said, I didn't know Gabe closely, but I'm sure that having a plan B would not have stopped him from singing. The hard truth is that you have to take life when it comes how it comes, prepared or not. That's pretty much a golden rule. There's no acronym for that. 

Seeking Charles Christmas 2: It Doesn't Go Down In the DMs

Let me just start off by saying that only I can turn what should have been an innocent request for pics into what could possibly lead a man to getting back with an ex. 

The same day that I blogged about Charles, I reached out to him in a Facebook message. I just told myself to do it and did it. I said hey, and told him I was thinking about a kid who died of cancer in middle school, and wondered if he knew his name since they were friends. To my shock, he replied. He told me his name. Then I asked him if he married Patty when I knew that he hadn't. He told me he didn't, but said that she used to wish him a happy birthday every year before they lost contact last year. That made me feel sad and guilty. Requesting pics from a friend's ex, what is wrong with me? I don't know why I have gotten so tacky lately. I am basically a good girl. 

I then went on to ask him about what he has been doing since the 8th grade. There was some talk about gun charges and jail time. I asked him to go into more detail, but he said that since he has done way more than what he got clipped for, he couldn't go into any more detail. Yikes! Yikes and sexxy. What woman amongst us hasn't had a thing for a street gun enthusiast in the past? However, he isn't that anymore. He has a job and a kid. 

The chat ended on a good note, minus the fact that I chickened out on the pic request. I really didn't want him to think I was skanky, which is funny, because this is my first time chatting with him in almost 20 years. What do I care if he thinks I'm a skank? Sigh. I care. It's just that he works out crazy hard, and I want to see him naked! He does those intense borderline dumb workouts at gyms where they jump off of cinder blocks and hang from the ceiling. 

Riddled with guilt, I found Patty's number and sent it to him. If she is single, maybe they will hookup again and fall back in love. Undoubtedly, I will be on the dating app having pointless conversations with a guy that I won't be talking to in a few weeks. He will most likely disappear, leaving me with nothing to hold on to, not even some pictures. 

Seeking Charles Christmas

When I was in the eighth grade, I had a major crush on my good friend Patty's boyfriend. I know, scandalous. His name was Charles Christmas, and he was the cutest little blerd that you ever did see. He had chocolate skin and glasses and wore polos and khakis. He was annoying as most boys are at that age, but I remember thinking that he was super smart and handsome. I like-ed him for real, for real, but had to keep it under my hat because I didn't want to be a bad friend to Patty, and I was in a relationship with a boy who, in another year, would come out as gay.

I lost touch with him after middle school, except for one conversation when I was on a college break. I saw him out some place. He gave me his number, and I called him. He was pretty rude, which was not how I remembered him to be. I found this to be very disappointing, especially since he was even cuter. Unfortunately, he had traded in his polos for tall tees. I don't know why people can't be themselves. 

About a month ago, I went on Facebook and saw that he had posted a video of himself working out really hard, which, of course, led me to do a deep dive. It looks like he does something having to do with real estate. He works out a lot, and he has a daughter. He must make good money because his pictures indicate that he has traveled the world from corner to corner. However, he is hardly ever with anybody. He seems pretty lonely. Tiesh reminded me that someone has to be taking the pictures on his vacations. I imagine this could possibly be a sexy, equally fit girl. Yet he looks and feels pretty single. He is bald now and has a super hot salt and pepper beard. If he truly is single, I am not sure why. 

Studying his pictures on Facebook makes me think about the movie Our Souls at Night with Jane Fonda and Robert Redford. In the movie, Jane asks if Robert would spend the night with her so that she wouldn't feel so lonely at night, and that blossoms into a love affair. I say that to say that a guy I met last year told me that I need to learn how to straight-up ask for what I want. Hm. I thought about what would possibly happen if I asked Charlie to talk to me three times a week on the phone. This would put a masculine presence in my life and give my friends a break from me. I don't think that we would fall in love, but this would add a spice to my life. 

As you have probably guessed, I am really nervous to put myself out there like this. What if he makes a Facebook post about how desperate I am and tags everyone we went to school with, including Patty?! I would be mortified! Or he could give a simple no. Or he could say yes. Or he could not answer. As the guy who I met last year had warned, you don't get anywhere being scared. I will let you all know if I get some guts to reach out anytime soon. 

Not Another Fatty Moment

When I was in middle school, I used to believe that I was psychic. I had a way of sensing what was going to happen and it would happen! This led to my little hobby of reading my friends' palms. Let me be clear: I couldn't read palms then and I can't read them now. But my friends would ask me a question, and I would look at their palms and just check my gut for the answer to their issue. And I'd be right. Today, I understand that I was wrong. If I was at all psychic I could avoid some of the traumatic things that happen to me. 

Last weekend, I went with my younger brother to get his eye exam and to order some new glasses. I hate it when something bad happens to me when I'm not even out doing things for myself! 

Once he ordered his glasses, I ordered us a rideshare ride to go home. I was beyond ready to go, partly because I had to pee and I don't pee in public potties because you know...Monkey Pox. 

So the ride comes and my brother and I get in. I close the door and look up at the driver who goes, "Oh no, I am sorry ma'am but I can not give you a ride. You are too big and I won't be able to move the car."

"What?" I asked, sure she hadn't just said what I thought. 

"See, I won't be able to move. See," she said, pointing her finger at some light on the dashboard. I don't know how to drive, so I don't know what the light was. But what I did sense was bullshit because half of my paycheck goes to riding rideshares across the city every month! 

"So you have to get out and cancel the ride," she said with such high anxiety in her voice that it was making my anxiety raise. "You have to cancel the ride," she said again and louder when I wasn't moving fast enough for her. 

And that's when I shut off, thank God! 

One of the best things that I have taught myself to do over my 37 years is turn myself off. When I feel like something is about to hurt, I just shut down. It's second nature now. I imagine myself flipping a light switch and just like that, I am off. I taught myself how to do this in high school. These boys in the back of the school bus used to make full-on rap songs about me and how gross they thought I was and it was so hurtful that I taught myself how to fall asleep almost instantaneously so I wouldn't have to hear it. By the time I woke up, I was home and well-rested. 

"I'm so sorry," she said. My eyes were crossing, trying to stay shut down and hear her as well. 

"What?" I asked, motioning to get out of the car. 

"I'm sorry. It's not right. You should be able to get a ride just like anybody else even though you big."

And then my mouth dropped. SHE STARTED CRYING! No blubbering or anything, just water in her eyes. 

I could not believe what I was experiencing! I would have thought it was a dream if my brother wasn't next to me, in shock! She said I was too fat to get a ride, but her feelings were hurt?! Guys, I moved so quickly to get out of her car that I almost fell over the sidewalk. I went to the rideshare app and canceled the ride. 

"I canceled it," I said into the car window once I had done so. 

"I am so sorry," she said again before pulling off. 

And there I stood in front of an America's Best in a grocery store strip mall. I opened my mouth to scream, but all I could muster was a sigh. I walked over to a bench and sat down, reflecting on how I hadn't seen this incident playing out the way it had when I looked deeply into my palms that morning.