“Okay, I did my best friend duties, I’m done with this conversation now.” He goes to stand.
“I think it all started in the fifth grade—”
“Not listening.”
“I asked this girl to go to the dance with me in front of all her friends—”
“Have fun talking to yourself.”
“She recited a list of reasons as to why she’d never be seen with me—”
He flips me off as he steps over my legs and walks in the direction of the hallway, but I continue, my voice only getting louder.
“I think that humiliation really awakened something in me.”
I hear him mutter something that sounds like “Jesus Christ” before the bathroom door clicks shut and I laugh, leaning back on the couch, head tilted toward the ceiling.
But then my smile can’t help but falter just thinking about Preston’s words.
I know I’ve been prone to feel this need to prove myself, in any way that I can. Whether that be that I’m not an idiot. Or despite popular belief, I can read. I’m not just some Black kid from San Diego who’s only ever going to peak in college.
Those things were always important for me to prove against but then as I got older, I realized I did it with everything.
Someone said some shit to me? I had to show that it didn’t bother me even if it did. Jokes about me being a stupid jock? I laughed along and sometimes even agreed just so I didn’t have to explain that at some point that shit started to sting.
My ex? I was the one to apologize because she cheated on me. I accepted the fault of just not being good enough because I was afraid that if I got angry or expressed how upset I was, she’d use it against me. Everyone else around me would remind me that a woman wouldn’t cheat unless she had to. So obviously I had to have done something wrong.
And then there’s Denise.
I don’t know when it happened exactly but I made a silent pledge to myself that I would accept anything she gave. I would be anything she wanted because I was the one that should be grateful for her to even give me the time of day.
And god knows why I still feel that way.
It’s not that she’s perfect or doesn’t have flaws.
It’s that I don’t look at her and see someone who’s broken. Or too much.
Bratty and bossy? Sure.
Hard to love? Absolutely fucking not.
She makes me feel like it’s okay to not have to prove myself every single day. That I can just be who I want to be without the fear that I’m not enough. Or too much.
I’ve learned to adapt. To put on whatever mask anyone hands me and play my part. And I’ve done it well for the past twenty years, but I let it slip when Denise let me in.
I didn’t have to talk if I didn’t want to. Play into some role just to please her. Pretend that I was cool with certain things all because I thought that’s what she wanted. With Denise, I got to justbe.
It never felt like a test with her. And maybe that’s where I went wrong. I let the mask slip a little too far and mistook convenience for something else. Something more like…like what?
Understanding?
Companionship?
Someone who saw me for me?
I’m not even sure I quite understand it myself.
I’m not going to pretend that I want to be with you just to make you feel better.