Fuck arguing or harvesting the feelings, yo. I’d rather be by my fucking self. 
Kanye West – “Blame Game”



       “Your indesiciveness is killing me,” he said. He let out a sigh and swung around to face away from me, looking up to the sky as if in utter dismay. 

        Word? was the only thought that ran through my mind before I swung myself around in the opposite direction  and started walking to my train. He wanted me to decide where to go. I told him I didn’t know where. He asked me what I wanted to do, I said it didn’t matter, I just wanted to sit down. Are you telling me that after 27 years of living in this city, you can’t figure out a place to take me? How about dinner? A lounge. Something? Nothing? I see you once a week maybe, that means you have SIX days to figure out what to do. Nothing? Are you serious?  And on top of that, you have me standing in the middle of 34th street on a Friday night looking like the girl whose boyfriend hates her? 
          I quit this game. I don’t wanna play anymore.

      I walked up 34th without hesitation and didn’t look back even once to see if he’d follow behind. When he bought me the shoes I was strutting away in, he had asked me, “Don’t they say if you buy a woman shoes, she walks out of your life in them?” 

     “No, that’s only for men,” I answered back. “Men walk out.” I’ve never been more wrong and consciously so. I’ve known I was going to walk out of his life, but first we needed to walk up to that register and pretend we were on the path to perfection but… I don’t know exactly what happened. I just… I got tired of him. He just isn’t as entertaining as he used to be, and it’s not because he’s changed: My vision of him has simply gotten clearer. I started seeing things I didn’t like. How the guy I once thought has “fly” showed up wearing a leather jack 3 sizes too big for him or how he wears the same sneakers everyday regardless of his stories about spending hundreds of dollars on his shoe game. Or how his voice sounds more nasal every time I speak to him. It could have been my noticing how controlling he might be (read “You Don’t Own Me“). Or maybe it was closer to the event at hand.

        I made a mistake two weeks ago and paid for our lunch. (Read “To Pay or Not to Pay” –advice I should have taken for my damned self.) Figured he was going to take me to dinner that night & decided I’d cover the $20 bill. The next week (last Friday), we went back to the same place and ordered ourselves the same meals. The waitress put that unmistakable black envelope on the table, and as she walked away, I sat back in my seat. He didn’t move. We pretended it wasn’t there. Did this muthafucka expect me to pay? It’s not that I didn’t have it. I’d have made it rain in that dingy little wing spot if I so chose, but no man should ever expect a woman to cover the tab. I sat back further. I didn’t even glance at the check… That was my first feeling of… Boy. Bye. The next one was later that day, as we walked down 7th, he asked, “What’s your plan?”

            “What do you mean?” I asked.

            “You seem like you have a plan. Like a purpose,” he responded.

        “Want to see my plan?” I asked.  As soon as he said, “Show me,” I lead him into Macy’s. We were circling the jewelry section when he asked, “What are you looking for?” “Diamonds,” I said and headed to the section where the signs say “fine jewelry” and the salesmen wear suits. (I told you all I would in “A Lesson in Diamonds” except we weren’t even at Tiffany’s like I planned.) All of a sudden he didn’t have the picture he kept gloating about –the one of the ring he had given his ex-girlfriend that he supposedly let her keep. The picture was now mysteriously in the iPhone he “forgot at work”. Figures, I thought as I lazily walked around the engagement ring section, practically drooling onto the glass as he tried to find “something like” what he got her. This man pointed out the chunkiest ring, simply because it looked the biggest. “You like that one?”

         “No,” I said and walked away. “I want an emerald-cut solitaire.”

      “Man, you better find you a white man,” he responded. And all I could do was wonder how it’s possible for a man who has shopped for diamonds not to know cuts.

          “I might,” I responded as I continued browsing.

          I’m tired of men pretending they can keep up with me –never-mind out-do me. Money gets flashed around me so often I’m starting to have an ingrained “Spidey Sense” that differentiates ballers from lames. (Ella Sense? Cents Sense?) I’m just tired of the liars. I’m tired of the men who aren’t doing anything with themselves trying to pretend like they’ll one day be millionaires. I wish them luck, but there aren’t too many miracles in this world.

        Anyways… that’s when we left Macy’s empty-handed with no where to go. “Show me attention,” was all he kept saying. I had to hold his hand hug & kiss him in public. & while I love PDA with a fine brotha… I can’t just do it with everyone all the time. Holding hands it okay, but this man wanted to stand in one spot and just hug in the middle of the mall. I’m not wit it.  & That’s really why I walked away that day. I was tired. I had a long day at work. The last thing I want to do is hug on some guy I don’t even really like like that. I’d have gone for a good meal. A good conversation. But all this nigga could come up with was “Want to go to Starbucks?”  No, I don’t want to got to another muthafuckin Startbucks like we just fuckin met cuz you want to be cheap and not pay for a meal.

     I’d rather be by my fucking self. I’ll admit here that I did call him back. & I did apologize. I told him I’m used to getting my way and I really would rather not be around someone who looks like they’re having a terrible time with me. Again, I’d rather be by my fucking self. I walked around. I went to Manhattan Mall (pretty terrible mall) and got myself a sausage hotdog from one of those trucks, all while holding onto a Fuck Him sentiment. But after that day, the conversation between us fell short. On Saturday, he texted me, asking if I had plans for the night. “Nothing planned,” I wrote back, expecting an invitation to dinner. Maybe a movie. OR maybe even a, “Can I stop by, I just want to see you.” Nothing.  Said he was waiting for his show to come on at midnight. Really? So I took my ass to sleep.

       On Sunday, he called –to see how my day was going, I suppose. But more so to gauge where “we” were. I had no answers for the questions he was asking, but surely he understood my position on “we”. As I’ve told you all before, Sunday is “ME” day. Since he called somewhere between my rollers and doing my nails,  I was only half listening to him… meanwhile I was trying to figure out how to pay Sallie Mae’s ass back online. From the sound of it & he got frustrated. Said he’s give me a call back but he never did. He hasn’t called since. No texts. Nothing. I guess nothing is all me and him ever do. That’s all I told him to expect anyhow.

“What do I get in return?” he had asked while we were looking at the diamonds.

        “For what?”

        “For everything.”

        “Like the ring?”

        “Yea. What does the man get?”

        “A Grade-A woman. That’s what the hell you get.” But he didn’t buy the ring, or anything else for that matter. So… Boy. Bye.  


     But it’s been days since I’ve heard from him & I can’t say I miss him. Man… that didn’t last too long did it??? Oh well, on my way home, to cheer myself up, I gave out my number. To a Rapper.

Man, I love New York ❤