Tales of the Unrequited 2: Sweet

People can break your heart and not know it; and not mean it. This was the unfortunate takeaway I took from Sweet. 

I met Sweet on one of the greatest nights of my life. I was a sophomore, and I won $100 twerking at a basketball game. Big Homie Saans had snuck us down to the good seats, so I had to get my money and literally run before they asked to check my ticket stub. Later that night, we went to a party at The Municipal Auditorium. Me and Saans got some drinks at the bar and turned around to see a very thin Sweet in an oversized red Dicky's shirt set. He asked if we could buy him a drink because he wasn't old enough to get it himself. Not too long after, Hurricane Katrina would happen. Upon return to school, he would play a major role in the greatest year of my life...before it went south. 

There are some things you should know about Sweet. He moves to the beat of his own drummer. He is unusually cool. Nothing seems to shake him. Always happy. Unbelievably confident. This guy would wear things that you could never imagine a guy his age who was concerned about fitting in would wear. People had remarks about his avant guard style of dress. He didn't care. Sweet was incredibly confident. I was so attracted to confident guys because I lacked confidence, and Sweet had enough to spread around. 

Here is something else I learned from Sweet: never tell a friend you like a guy. My friendship with Bells almost collapsed my junior year because I told her I like Sweet, she said he was corny, then a few weeks later she told me she made out with him. I felt like I was dying inside for months after that. And as if that wasn't enough, Brownie broke the news to me that the kiss wasn't a one off. Apparently, after we'd all stop hanging out for the night, they would meet up and make out. Oh, the messy betrayal of it all! 

All has been forgiven now. That was over 20 years ago, and Bells and Sweet both are my forever friends. But the biggest part of this heartbreak was not the behind the back stuff, it was being confronted head on with what I already knew but didn't want to say aloud: I would never be Sweet's type. Bells was petite with a really nice body. I was not. The end. I was also pretty obvious with my feelings for him. How could he make out with my friend and not care about how it would hurt me? Let me tell you something about even the sweetest guys: they typically don't care. You feelings will always come after their gratification or desire to satisfy an urge. Yes, every time. 

My romantic love for Sweet would last far into my 20s. It became too heavy, and I had to put it down. It didn't make sense having such deep feelings for someone who would NEVER return them. Plus, I wanted to try putting some of that energy into a man that could possibly like me back. Spoiler alert: that ended in disaster as well. 

Today Sweet and I talk pretty often about life and politics and college memories. I tell him I love him at the end of every call and I do, but as a friend. And I'm good with that. He's a good friend. He's super sweet. 

Tales of the Unrequited 1: Workman

Meeting guys in college would play an important role in my life because growing up, boys were not nice to me. They made fun of me because of my weight. I didn't grow up with my father, my stepdad was a bum, and I never felt like my uncles particularly liked me. Any attention that I got from a male was negative. I always felt that since guys didn't want to be with me, they felt comfortable being themselves, and those selves were mean. The them that bought girls flowers and opened car doors was an act. The them that made me feel like sh*t was the real thing. It was in college that I would fall in love with amazing guys that didn't love me back, but somehow found a way not to treat me like crap either. Introducing Workman. 

I originally saw Workman at a club meeting for people from Atlanta at the beginning of my freshman year. He was handsome and tall and dark and walked around with some type of lizard on his shoulder. The lizard didn't last long, but I would find out through the grapevine that he had a love of animals, which is crazy, because to the untrained eye, he looked like a "thug". He wasn't. He was super smart, sped through campus in his truck, and got high with his friend group of merry potheads. He also spent a lot of time at my dorm because he dated a girl who lived there and was friendly with the dorm mother. 

I would not get to know him myself until I had a class with him in my junior or senior year. I literally would follow him around by pulling his shirt like an annoying kid sister. I was surprised at how nice he was to me. He used to give me rides places when I needed them, even though he was super busy with his new girlfriend (who he would marry) and the many jobs he had. Unlike a lot of the rich boys I went to college with, Workman had to work his way through school. He was also handy, and girls would often ask him for help with really anything when they needed it. Never underestimate the importance of knowing a guy who can fix stuff. 

When I think of college, I think of freedom, but the freest I ever felt was riding shotgun at night in his truck, listening to Outkast, while he sped through the streets of New Orleans. Oddly enough, I never felt scared even though he was driving REALLY fast. Workman wouldn't let anything happen to me. Sometimes he would talk to me about his family. I liked when he did that. I love hearing about people's home lives. Still waters run deep. This is an expression that I feel would apply to him. I found myself staring at him often, wondering what he was thinking. 

Workman has an amazing family and has traveled the world for his job. My friend ran into him not too long ago and he looked responsible and older, like we all look older. But even older, I see him in my mind's eye as 20 behind the wheel of his car with a wife beater on. There are just some people you are happy you got to know, even if you only knew them a little bit for a little while, you know? That's Workman for me. 

Bald

It is that time of year again when I seriously consider shaving my head. 

Even typing this seems like a betrayal of the hair gods because it took so long for my hair to grow. However, sometimes I just get the urge to chop it all off, down to the scalp, which is funny, because one of my most traumatic experiences as a kid was a hair stylist telling me that I needed to cut my hair to a fade and start over again after a series of bad home relaxers. 

This girl, with whom I went to college, cut her hair all the way off. She is now totally bald and wears her makeup super pretty. If social media is telling the truth, it looks like she spends her spare time going to cocktail parties and dancing with her husband. With my luck, I will cut off all my hair and still be unmotivated, taking to the bed. I am also afraid that I have hotdog neck, and that can't be hidden if I shave my head. 

Truth be told, my hair is now one of my better qualities, and it has been a struggle getting here. I think that my desire to shave it sometimes comes from my desire for something new. What is newer than going bald? I don't know, just something to think about. 

Late Nights/ Emo Thoughts

I have officially entered my emotional reflective lady years. Anything can make me cry now which is hilarious, because I am a naturally emotional person. Today's tear jerker came from reflecting on my grandma and Mommy. 

My grandma was a sweet, petite, soft-spoken, prayerful women. Very feminine. Very kind. I always felt so loud and aggressive compared to her, and she was constantly trying to get me to lower my voice and put on a dress. As different as I thought we were when I was a kid, I see bits of her in me now. I always keep my purse near me. I keep stamps in my wallet. I write my name in every book I own as she used to do for me as a kid. I call folks to check in on them. I mostly only where dresses. 

Me and my mom had disagreements what felt like my whole life. She could be a tough cookie. I was always getting my feelings hurt. These things are true, but we have same hands. Sometimes, I just sit and stare at them just to see her. Its wild. 

Today, as my baby niece sat and played on her tablet on my bed, I wondered what traits she would have that she would one day say, "This came from my Aunty Holly." Maybe she will write people letters randomly. Maybe she will keep gummy bears in her purse. Perhaps she will journal. I promise you I will cry later at the thought that I won't be here to find out. 

Late nights are for emo thoughts. 

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. 

Holly Clay and the No Good, Very Bad Day

Long story short, I am losing at life. 

I just started a contract gig and I'm not getting the hang of it while everyone else is being recognized for doing an amazing job. 

I have a toothache that is making my whole jaw warm. 

I had a health emergency and could not reach my doctor. I had to talk to another doctor who, although nice, is not familiar with me or my issues. I'm sure my actual doctor will tell me something completely different when I talk to her in the morning. 

My niece had multiple tantrums that felt like they were taking place on my brain. 

I feel like my whole household is annoyed with me for needing some space today. 

I called one of my favorite people and he didn't answer the phone which made me feel alone, ignored, and stupid. 

At the end of it all, all I could do was lay down and cry. Again. Some more. 

I want to talk to someone but I don't care to spread my misery so I think that I will listen to some Toni Braxton and try to regulate my anxiety. Pray. Nibble on dinner. 

Nights are my favorite but they are also hard. It is when all my life choices come to haunt me. It is also when it becomes even clearer that I will always be by myself and have to tread the merky waters of my life in solitude forever. 

Getting emotional. I think it's time for Toni. 

Priorities

Call me a big baby, but for once, before I leave this planet, I would like to be prioritized by someone. These guys I have been talking to have jobs and kids and parents and house plants so I am last with them. My friends only call me on their way to a date or in the line at Wendy's. I'm just a good laugh on the way to doing more important things. People respond to my texts when they f*$cking feel like it. The world is on fire and I am the lady people push to the side so they can loot TVs. This used to make me sad. Then it made me angry. Now it's just a fact. The sky is blue. Pu**y is pink. I am ignored. I've heard of disregarded middle-aged women buying prioritization from YNs from TikTok. I'm not mad at it for those women that want it, but can't someone prioritize me without my having to take off my underwear? It's looking more and more like the answer is no. Oh well. You can't get your way all the time.