”Can I take a dive in your Ocean.”
As Daryl and I gather ourselves for the morning, TK Kravitz repeats this and Jacquees continues being Jacquees, permeating throughout the living area. This was the first time this song reached my ears, and more.
“You ever had some p**** that made you crazy?”
Shocked at the vulgar and prompt question, I smirked. I sat there to think if a woman’s walls ever had the power to tweak me out, even a little. I almost replied back “hell no” but I reconsidered.
I looked up at Daryl, and responded with a slight “yea” while nodding for only a few seconds. I continued…
”My ex, she made me crazy. Over her.”
I began thinking about those days. The time for departure had been well overdue, but I stuck around because I reckoned things would change. I stayed for her sake, mine, and to be quite honest…. the cat was immaculate. I was indeed, crazy.
At this moment, he was looking at me surprised, surely for my adoration and compassion toward this woman. He couldn’t have been too astonished, as he had been aware of the capabilities women possess. What left him shook was the fact someone else had managed to bypass the security of someone, who he himself once considered “poised.”
She moved with grace and a sway like a drizzling caramel sauce. Her aspirations were to become a social worker, and to just help. She was so enjoyable, loving, uncanny, supernatural, funny, and majestic, all in one. I remember getting to know her, her interests, values, and beliefs, feeling as if I wouldn’t find any other person like her.
I continued, provoking memories of the time her and I first met. The young lady I was once nervous around, had quickly become the woman I wanted to make, mine. From the beginning, my complimenting jokes transgressed from kinder-like “I really love staring at your beady eyes” to sugar-booger “your almond-shaped eyes got enough pull to keep me away from Rihanna.” Showering her with jokes, compliments, gifts, and adventurous dates, I fulfilled all her wants and acted accordingly. I made sure to reach for her soul, searching for a companion and someone to confide in. Indisputably, I worked to be the man she truly coveted.
I went on to ramble about the vast flow of fluids her reproductive system produced, and how glutinous her backside was whenever she arched it. There hadn’t been anything more memorable than the first time I heard her say “I can feel it in my stomach” or “I’m finna throw up” while I went to work. Not only was the sexual health in our relationship at a premium standard, but this woman had so much beauty and elegance within her mannerism. I seen her for her personality, kind heart, and humor.
The little Princess I met, had been cherished into a Supreme queen. I had shown someone love and plugged the role of her man, all for except one fulfillment.
I didn’t commit.
I didn’t commit to loving her. I thought I did, but I thought wrong. I was so young, not looking beyond the imperfections. Not being patient with her inconducive and unbending style of non-verbal communication. Not trusting that all good would work together.
Year one was lit as heaven. Year two? A hell of a ride. We had seemed to go back and forth, faulting each other for both of our mistakes. I wasn’t on top of my game and losing focus on priorities. At times, I had been selfish and disrespectful. This ended up forcing her attitude to grow from superb to shit, creating resentment in my heart. I always disliked the presence of tension, so I looked to cut it at all cost. If I had an opportunity to make her smile before catching her rage, I’d steal it. Unfortunately, I often found myself only wanting to communicate, because our language was only hurting us…
“Yo. Can we use our words, please?”
“Hellooo.” These were times I couldn’t help but stare at what seemed to be a brick wall. She would defensively sit, quietly, as I wished for mediation. After that, it wouldn’t take much for me to get wreckless. Spiteful, most certainly. Feeling helpless and hopeless. Misguided and alone in a two-way relationship; wouldn’t you?
She wasn’t who I courted, a year from then. The once graceful princess was stubborn, savage, and switched moods like Texas weather.
When we argued, it was Satan’s Inferno. Just hot enough to tear the sheets up to Marvin’s Room. And whenever we did make up, it was bliss. But surely three days later, you may have wanted to call the authorities.
You ever had p**** that made you say ‘fuck’ as soon as you put it in?
So there you have it. I fell in love, only to realize I loved myself, more. I wanted my love for my significant other to be triumphant, supreme… but I didn’t know what loving someone else genuinely entailed. I had to find out what loving someone else was, without her. If I truly loved her, it wouldn’t have taken much thought to stick around. I would have overlooked the stubborn ways. I would have reconsidered before indulging in her detrimental responses. It took time to comprehend what was necessary to love a significant other, not simply loving a friend or sister who you can walk away from. It’s being there, unconditionally. It’s being patient when she’s on the shitter, and you guys are running behind. Dealing with her moods, and letting her know you see from her perspective.
By the time I found out what love was, she grew beyond me. I was too immature to realize, what the man before me failed to. When we first began talking, I told her he was stupid for his decision. Now, what does that make me?
“You ever had p**** that made you say ‘fuck’ as soon as you put it in?” he asked impulsively, while laughing.
By now, I had managed to somehow tune out the blaring speaker. ” Yea… My ex. ” I responded while laughing, but frustrated. “Damn, Daryl. I hate you.”
He laughed profusely, while turning down the volume on the JBL. “Why you gotta hate me? Just asking,” pausing to finish. “It’s like when you stick it in, you just know you’re in for a ride.”
He walked toward the dogs, nonchalantly, and began tugging with Regis and his toy. I gazed across the room to think of the woman who made me feel the definition of “loyalty.”
I felt a yearning to leave her — because I no longer wanted to feel stagnant, dormant, and silenced. We weren’t able to speak about our issues, without elevating our issues. Weren’t able to “agree to disagree.” I began feeling remorseful, remorse for what I had brought upon a woman I dedicated myself to, and quit on. Remorse for what I brought upon every woman, after her. Remorse for myself.
I added my last comments, to the discussion. “Wasn’t the absolute best I ever had… but I think about her more than I should.”
I chuckled as I concluded the conversation, for the fact that women often say men only care for sex. How cynical it is, for me to reminisce about the uncommon loyalty and joy a woman provided, instead of the craze-driven sex she had been able to give.
Crazy over the p**** or crazy over her?
The powerful feeling of nostalgia.