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This is the One With the Return of HIM, & Tsquared   10/29/2006


     Although high school had been an interesting experience without the unnerving presence of him my ninth grade year, it wasn’t without its annoyances. There was one particular annoyance, one I never even knew his name, but he bugged me all the same because of one incident in the library. I was in the library for a class, looking for material for a report I had to do on Forensic science, mostly looking through microfilm and the like for old magazine articles. Anyway, my aunt had bought me this black pants that looked like jeans, but were a slinkier material, which gave them an “I’ve been melted and poured into these hot pants” kind of look. I had, have really, a nice round, fairly ample bottom, and it was very much highlighted, along with what were then killer thighs–ugh, they were a thing of beauty then, let me tell you! So, Jerk comes over and compliments me on the outfit (I can’t remember what the top looked like), and I thank him, but then I have to cuss him out for what he says next. He turns to his friend and says “See, that’s why girls wear outfits like that, so guys can tell them they look good and start talking to them.” Ok, so all women, at some point and time may be guilty of this syndrome, what I call the Dress to Kill Theory, which is not what he describes. As they say, the devil is in the details. Dress to Kill Theory is one individual that you are trying to capture the attention of likes certain dress, or a certain asset of yours, and if you even think there’s a possiblity you will see him, you pull out the Freakum dress (beyoncé), or the hot pants, or the low cut shirt, whatever will attract that individual man. Dressing for the masses is a different theory. Attempting to garner compliments from any old male somebody and have them trying to get with you, while not ho-ish on its own, can be walking that fine line. My hot pants were not for him, so I had to let him know. It was times like this I missed HIM and his slightly more sophisticated annoyances.

     But having HIM back at school with me didn’t make my life any simpler. The thing with HIM was that HE always happened to be around at the most inopportune times. When I would actively try to avoid HIM, the only place that I could hide was in the school’s library. If I went down any of the different school passages, I invariably bumped into HIM, whether during or after school, and, equally invariably, he was never alone. This was a bad thing, because he was always mean to me when he had an audience that was conducive to such activity–namely females. It was completely different outside of school, though. That was when guys would come up to me and talk to me. For whatever reason, unlike the year before, guys didn’t just approach me that year at school, but several approached me on the streets or at the Dairy Queen and whatnot. HE didn’t appreciate any other males talking to me, and more and more I seemed to meet them when HE was around, annoying HIM immensely, and on purpose.

     The first time I noticed how much my being interested in other guys annoyed HIM was when we were actually having a conversation. I happened to mention  HIS brother was really good looking. I didn’t think it would matter to him, but he got livid. HE went on and on about HISbrother is only so tall and HE was going to be taller than him because HE wasn’t done growing yet, and HIS brother was too yellow, and he was too old for me, etc. I was trying to figure out if it was a sibling rivalry thing at the time, and didn’t really think it applied to just anyone, but then a lot of HIS friends knew me through my cousins and would say hi or give me a hug, things he could never get away with. If HE was around, I would see his eyes narrowing dangerously, his jaw would harden, and for a few seconds, HE would look all too capable of murdering both the offending parties; but then, all of a sudden, HE would say something to me or HIS friend and the greeting would be over and I would move on, all the while with his eyes boring into my back. This usually had the same result: that friend would wave or say hi from a distance from then on. Only Chick and yet another Brandon would persist in speaking to me, because Chick was Mo’s close friend and Brandon was one of my cousin’s close friends, and they’d known me forever. At least it showed HIS influence over what male friends I had wasn’t omnipotent.

     I must get to Tsquared in this entry. Tsquared was a guy I met the first day of tenth grade, in my gym class. He was, in a word, beautiful. I had never met a more beautiful guy in all my life. He had chocolate skin that looked velvet smooth,  and not an extra ounce of fat anywhere, though he wasn’t deathly skinny, either. He had the grace of a black panther, with beautifully delineated muscles in his arms and legs that would make a girl swoon. He excelled in every activity we had in gym class, and, much to my enjoyment, was asked to model the correct way to do almost everything. It gave me more than a good excuse to greedily devour him with my eyes. We worked together, twice. The first time is inconsequential. We won ands didn’t have to do pushups or anything, that is the important part. The second time was much more enjoyable.

     My best friend from Upward Bound and I were in the class together and were on the same volleyball team. Tsquared came in late and was put on our team. My friend and I exchanged glances. She knew I had a big crush on him. How could she not, we had every class together, and Upward bound together on Saturdays? Anyway, he stood behind me, much to my enjoyment. I was, actually, a good volleyballer, despite my height. I have a lot of power in my arms. I was going to show Tsquared that I had some athletic prowress. The ball came towards me, and I was so ready for it, but I never got the chance to hit it. Tsquared, in a magnificent show of athleticism, leapt up my back and spiked it. Unfortunately, that tipped me that little bit extra forward, and down I would have went if it hadn’t been for Tsquared, grabbing me at the waist and holding me upright. It was such a Harlequin moment. Once I was steady, I was basically held tight to him, pressed close. I felt his muscular chest at my back. I thought I would melt. He held me a little too long, and even the gym teacher noticed and blew on his whistle to tell us to get back to the game. Amy was smirking at me. What could I say? I wrote him a letter and had Amy give it to him. I never had an answer. The next semester, I began seeing him outside my third hour. Then, one day, he was in it. He had himself added to the row and everything. Our teacher was on maternity leave, so it was easy with the substitiute teacher there. He sat behind me the whole time, never saying a word, for over two weeks. Then one day, as we filed in, HE was standing outside of the room with the others of his crowd, Tsquared among them. Then the next day, the sub announced that the vice principal would be in because she’d heard people who weren’t registered for the class had been sneaking in. I wonder, but not too seriously, who told? As I said, always there to ruin things.

     One person didn’t need his help to ruin things with me, and that was Mookie, the mother in all the other entries that I never got to. Mookie did it all on his own. The ironic thing was, of all the men, past and still to come in this chronicle, aside from *, he was the most like HIM.  Mookie had that same charisma, that same sense of humor and odd possessive quality, but he lied himself out of a potential relationship. He lied about everything. He lied about his age (I made him produce an ID so I could check it), he lied about not being in a relationship already, he lied about who the girl was that drove by screaming “F**k you” and giving us the finger. The possessive side of him came out when we were talking outside of his house and a guy stopped to try and talk to me. I guess he felt disrespected, although we weren’t a couple, because he got really angry and started cursing at this guy, acting all jealous lover-ish. HE had seen me with this new guy, and didn’t like the development, but what could he do? He held no sway with this particular  interest of mine, so he had to just wait it out. I saw him a lot more, and he worked hard to convince me that he wasn’t in a relationship with the young lady I thought he was in a relationship with, but he made no overt moves on me. HE survived the whole experience pretty well. The Brandon the boyfriend situation was a little more intricate, and a lot harder to shake. With Brandon the boyfriend, there was laughter, communication, friendship, I love you, and a whole lot more. As much as I am loath to admit it, Brandon the boyfriend deserves a whole entry to himself. So, until then.

 Tsquared, please holla at ya girl, (with your chocolatey delicious self) ***Tsquared, please don’t holla at me…I have a man, we don’t live in the same state, and my girl Chanel needs a good man and is available 🙂 ***