Memory Dance

Upon running into an ex-lover while home visiting family for two weeks:

“I heard you got married? How long? Any kids? I thought you wanted a lot’a kids? Do you guys argue about that? I bet he’s not happy about that. Oh yeah, congratulations on school. I bet you were the only black person there (laugh) You always said you were going to do it. I can’t believe you deliver people’s babies. That’s crazy. It’s so... out there. I can’t believe I... You still have crazy mood swings? From laughing to screaming to crying? You were crazy. Did you ever get any medication for that? (laugh) Do you remember you fought me, at your house? I came in later than planned and we were supposed to do something, and when I walked in you attacked me! You used to be a mean blankety blank. My car got towed from your house that day. You drove the convertible back then; you were the shit. But you were too serious. I was like “who is this little 18 year old girl with her life already figured out?” Too serious. You said I was your first. I said, “yeah right.” I know you were just gassin me. Hood girls don’t wait. You sent me to the moon. You never laughed enough. Too much testosterone. Women are supposed to be soft. You were too... strong. And mean. How’s ya man? Us *** were never good enough for you. You got married too young. 20 is too young. You’re like 50 now. (laugh) So, what, ya’ll gon’ bury each other and sh!t? (laugh) I wasn’t ready for all that. And you were all into how you were going to college in the fall and so when summer ended... I... I...  And so to find out you got married... But you always had a problem with the age thing anyway. You always brought it up. But you were such an old soul. Do you remember I always said that? You were so different. I asked about you after. But it’s all good, it’s water under the bridge. I forgive you.” 

I laughed. Said “unh huh” and “really?” and “that was a decade ago” a lot.

I wanted to say...

It wasn’t that *** weren’t good enough for me. In fact, I married one, and, being from (insert name of gritty inner city here), he might even be a little more hood than you. But he’s strong and good and beautiful and secure in his manhood. He is not fazed by my mood swings, and he’s not intimidated by my strength. And even if I had been the only black girl at ivy1, it wouldn’t have mattered because I had him. Always... even in those years I couldn’t stand him.

But I didn’t, because it was none of his business.

I wanted to say...

It wasn’t the 10 year age difference... it was that you were 28 in your mama’s house and I was 18 in my own. It was your immaturity. It was your inability to be committed. I told you what I wanted, what I needed, where I was going, and how I was going to get there. You couldn’t hang... and real talk, you still wouldn’t be able to. 20 might be too young, but what about 30? Damn, aren’t you 40? What are you waiting for?

But I didn’t, because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

I wanted to say...

I didn’t regret our time together, it was what I needed and a lot of what I wanted. You were good at what I needed you for. 

But I didn’t, because that’s just crass :o)

I wanted to say...

Forgive me? Are you friggin kidding?

But I didn't, because who cares?

I wanted to say...

But you really were my first.

But I didn’t, because that was a decade ago... and he’d still be gassed, lol. 

So here we are, in the old neighborhood... you lookin like you wanna eat me up... you catchin glances while my head is turned talkin to other people.... me standin far enough back for you to understand you cant hug me... me trying to include other people in the conversation... you trying to get me alone... my people around to remind you how wonderful they think their cuzin-in-law is... and I mention him at every chance... and we play the game of memory... you more than me... because I can’t remember much of us from a damn decade ago! Eventually my cuzin saves me and we make our way out to our cars... you follow behind, and then I guess my tattoo calls to you because you can not resist reaching out to touch and squeeze the flesh of my neck and shoulders with strong purposeful hands... and I jump and scream a little from the shock of foreign hands on my skin and say, a little louder than I intended, “don’t touch me.” 

This skin is not yours to touch. 

It’s been a decade.

Nothing has changed.

And yet, everything has changed.

MinorityMidwife is ready to go home to the man... have her flesh kneaded... needed... in all the right places. See his smile, hear his voice in person... be whispered to by he who gives her new memories... he who was ready... he who plunged head first into life and love with her without hesitation. Yeah. I’m ready, and on my way.