Last night, just after I said good night to this guy that I have a crush on, the one who has no idea I have a massive crush on him, I ran into the other guy who is, well, the one.
The one who managed to get me to believe I was in love with him. The one who turned and walked away as soon as I was convinced I was in love with him. The one I find myself comparing to everyone I meet and want to get to know better. That one…
Yes, the epitome of my relationship with dumbness.
The day I turned 14, I discovered that I was a girl even if I pretended otherwise by wearing rugged jeans and playing soccer with the boys. I discovered the power of femininity, in the crushed look on the goal keeper’s voice when I turned down his invitation to ice-cream at Blue room. Oh yeah, Blue room down Moi Avenue in Mombasa was the rage when I was 14.
When I was 16 years old, I used that power on the preacher’s son, and it was my turn to get crushed because the preacher’s son wised up really fast and ran like hell was yapping at his heels, and his father was frowning at him at the door to the guy upstairs’ house, reminding him of all the things he did wrong even after papa warned him.
After that I vowed never to play with the fire they called love. Yeah, well, just until the one came along. He got me to forget all the vows I made when I was 16. Suddenly holding all the power was not a priority. Suddenly being strong and independent had nothing to do with the silly things he said when he called me in the middle of the day to say nothing but, “Hey Juju…”
Then just as easily as he said hello, he turned and said goodbye.
I’m not sure that it was an absolute coincidence that he broke up with me on October 29th, 2003, and I ran into him on October 29, 2008, exactly five years later.
I am five years older, almost done with my degree in Education, and working at my dream job as a creative writer, and as an almost editor, and he walks right across my path and my heart stops.
He smiles, with the same disarming tilt of his lips, and the only thing I can think is, “You are so dead, girl.”
I really cannot remember what happened after that smile. My heart had stopped, remember? I assume that my brain was not working either, what with no oxygen and blood and all. Anyway, I woke up this morning, and it hit me.
My heart did stop, but I am over him. After all that time, pining and whining about losing the only man I ever loved. After all that time thinking that I could never love again. After all that time thinking that I had messed up and that it was my fault that he had turned away and left (maybe it was, but we are not discussing that right now).
I am over the one, the one who just was not the one for me, and I not the one for him. I didn’t see it then, now I do.
I am, well, me. The one who can get lost in her writing for days, unaware of the world around me, the one who has an inverted perspective to life, people and time, the one who thinks that its okay to be who you are as long as you do not impose yourself on other people, the one who thinks it is okay to be me.
He was the one who would have asked me to deny everything I was to be his woman. I think he asked me to, last night. It’s rather hazy, but I think that he said, “I’ve been thinking about you. Maybe this is a sign, y’know, us meeting like this. Do you still write? That was the thing that pulled us apart, y’know. Your obsession with writing, and books. I mean, a man like me couldn’t be with a woman who is a kooky writer, y’know. Maybe we can have coffee sometime? I’ll meet you tomorrow at noon at the CoffeeHouse. You know where it is? You never were very good with directions.”
I couldn’t put in a word edgewise. Just like it had been. So I walked away. And I didn’t break apart. I stopped to look back at him staring at me, the expression on his face clearly declaring that I was still kooky after all this time.
I am. And I am fine with being kooky, a writer, badly dressed J and really bad with directions. I will figure it out eventually, and I’m ok with that.
Oh, yeah, I’m okay with having a crush on a very nice and sensitive guy who is convinced that I am gay, too. Well, cannot get ‘em all, can I?