bothered to tell me. One day I dialed Slick’s old number and caught the hint. And good ole Badman called and said, “I don’t want to be in a relationship with you,” but he wouldn’t explain why. He told me don’t come by anymore, and if I did, he’d apply for a restraining order.
At first I cried from the pain of how my ex-boyfriends treated me, but then I grew depressed. Wondered what was it about me that caused these guys to have such disrespect that our relationship couldn’t end in a civilized way. Wondered if their past claims of loving me were lies because if they really cared, wouldn’t they break up using a method that was a little more tender, a little less humiliating?
This is the way my father, Reynaldo Davenport, did my mother, Grace. Dad married her, gave her a baby, acted like he was in love with her and me, and years later announced that his job was moving him to another state and no, we weren’t joining him. Then he deserted us without a backward glance. Although it was Mom who was married to him, it felt like my dad divorced me too.
These are the things I dwelled on when it came to the Steve Monroe situation. I hoped he’d handle things better, but Steve turned out to be an identical twin of all the other cowardly nonconfrontational men who were so inept at communicating their feelings. As far as I could tell, most women are so much braver than men. We’re fighters, survivors, and far more honest with our emotions. And because some men can’t verbalize their feelings, they’re threatened by women who do. And what happens? If the man can’t deal with it, women get punished and the gender gap widens. These realizations were something that drove me into an overall sad frustration.
On top of all that, I just cannot deny that Steve was the best lover I ever had. No one could do me like him. I missed that part of our relationship like a diabetic misses sugar. Sugar might not be good for you, can even be dangerous, but it may not stop you from wanting it.
So when you add up everything—the fact that Steve wasn’t trying to get back, the fact that I had no other prospects, and the fact that I loved sex—well, things were bound to happen.
It was a Saturday. I decided to skip out to Katy Mills. Katy Mills was the largest off-price retail mall in the Houston area. It had more than two hundred stores and restaurants and was the hot spot for shopping till you dropped. Last time I’d been there was in October, during the grand opening, and I’d been itching to go back.
I gassed up my car and arrived around five that evening. Since it was a few weeks before Christmas, traffic inside the mall was mega-congested. Folks shuffling their feet, elbowing their way through. I thought I’d just get lost in the crowd, venture into my favorite stores, grab a bite to eat, and head on home. But just when you think you’ve figured out your schedule, you realize there’s no such thing as a schedule.
I had shopped for a half-hour when . . .
“Mrs. Davenport?”
I looked up at hearing Aaron’s voice.
He was by himself.
Since the last time I’d saw him, I thought about how I behaved, relinquished my pride, and asked God to forgive me for even allowing my mind to go there. And since then, I’d made sincere attempts not to dwell on those encounters, but now that Aaron was back in my face, he brought back memories. And the fact that I could check him out again, up close, and minus the presence of Lauren, well, it floored me to realize I felt a little bit nervous yet excited at the same time.
I smiled and checked out his attire. He was dressed in a black leather jacket, which covered a pale yellow shirt. The blue jeans and a neat pair of loafers completed his ensemble. And I noticed an energy that surrounded him even though he wasn’t moving.
“Hi, Aaron.”
“You here alone?” he asked, his eyes darting about like men’s eyes tend to do.
“I’m as alone as alone can be.”
He smiled and
At first I cried from the pain of how my ex-boyfriends treated me, but then I grew depressed. Wondered what was it about me that caused these guys to have such disrespect that our relationship couldn’t end in a civilized way. Wondered if their past claims of loving me were lies because if they really cared, wouldn’t they break up using a method that was a little more tender, a little less humiliating?
This is the way my father, Reynaldo Davenport, did my mother, Grace. Dad married her, gave her a baby, acted like he was in love with her and me, and years later announced that his job was moving him to another state and no, we weren’t joining him. Then he deserted us without a backward glance. Although it was Mom who was married to him, it felt like my dad divorced me too.
These are the things I dwelled on when it came to the Steve Monroe situation. I hoped he’d handle things better, but Steve turned out to be an identical twin of all the other cowardly nonconfrontational men who were so inept at communicating their feelings. As far as I could tell, most women are so much braver than men. We’re fighters, survivors, and far more honest with our emotions. And because some men can’t verbalize their feelings, they’re threatened by women who do. And what happens? If the man can’t deal with it, women get punished and the gender gap widens. These realizations were something that drove me into an overall sad frustration.
On top of all that, I just cannot deny that Steve was the best lover I ever had. No one could do me like him. I missed that part of our relationship like a diabetic misses sugar. Sugar might not be good for you, can even be dangerous, but it may not stop you from wanting it.
So when you add up everything—the fact that Steve wasn’t trying to get back, the fact that I had no other prospects, and the fact that I loved sex—well, things were bound to happen.
It was a Saturday. I decided to skip out to Katy Mills. Katy Mills was the largest off-price retail mall in the Houston area. It had more than two hundred stores and restaurants and was the hot spot for shopping till you dropped. Last time I’d been there was in October, during the grand opening, and I’d been itching to go back.
I gassed up my car and arrived around five that evening. Since it was a few weeks before Christmas, traffic inside the mall was mega-congested. Folks shuffling their feet, elbowing their way through. I thought I’d just get lost in the crowd, venture into my favorite stores, grab a bite to eat, and head on home. But just when you think you’ve figured out your schedule, you realize there’s no such thing as a schedule.
I had shopped for a half-hour when . . .
“Mrs. Davenport?”
I looked up at hearing Aaron’s voice.
He was by himself.
Since the last time I’d saw him, I thought about how I behaved, relinquished my pride, and asked God to forgive me for even allowing my mind to go there. And since then, I’d made sincere attempts not to dwell on those encounters, but now that Aaron was back in my face, he brought back memories. And the fact that I could check him out again, up close, and minus the presence of Lauren, well, it floored me to realize I felt a little bit nervous yet excited at the same time.
I smiled and checked out his attire. He was dressed in a black leather jacket, which covered a pale yellow shirt. The blue jeans and a neat pair of loafers completed his ensemble. And I noticed an energy that surrounded him even though he wasn’t moving.
“Hi, Aaron.”
“You here alone?” he asked, his eyes darting about like men’s eyes tend to do.
“I’m as alone as alone can be.”
He smiled and
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