Tag: Medium

So, You’re Thinking About the Last Time You Kissed Someone

trE

And if it hadn’t been for that one commercial, you probably would’ve forgotten it.

The words “Heart Breaker” are painted in white on a jean jacket or jean pants.
Photo by Michelle Cella via Redshot

Have you seen the “First Kiss” Hershey’s Kisses commercial? You know the one with “Eric” mentioning all the positive aspects about the kiss while “Lisa” shares the negative aspects about it? Yeah, that one. The first time I saw that commercial I thought to myself, “What is this business? I hope they’re not an actual couple.” But then I thought, “Hmm, when was my last kiss?”

I mention my last kiss because I clearly remember my first one. I was thirteen, in my last year of junior high, and gearing myself up for high school in just a few months. My boyfriend was a tall, heavy, beautiful black young man, who was originally from Florida and played football for our school.

He would go on to be scouted for a high school other than the one I was expected to attend and make quite the name for himself.

We dated for three years. He got a head-start on cheating on young women well before his late teens and our breakup was disastrous. His mother adored me and I loved her. I hated that her son and I ended the way we did. But we grew to respect each other enough to be cordial as we got older.

He even asked me out again, which was quickly shut down before he could mumble any other words. I had my fill, and I wanted no more of him.

But our first kiss, although hurried and done in a sneaky way, was also extremely memorable. His lips were full and had just the right amount of moisture. There wasn’t a lot of tongue — just enough to be coaxed into a soft lulling — eyes temporarily closed, heart racing.

We pulled away from each other and smiled. Then we held hands. We were official.

I am certain that for as long as I live, I will remember that kiss. It taught me many things about love and lust and being lost all at the same time.

Have you thought about the last time you kissed someone? If you did, where did it lead you? Hopefully, you didn’t scramble down the rabbit hole as I did.

My last kiss . . . When had it occurred and with whom was it? This was my struggle topic. But the more I saw that commercial, the more my memory bank deposited blips of its happening into my view. I believe I blocked it out because he is married now — happily married.

For some odd reason, I have it in my spirit that I am not supposed to think about things that brought me joy if the person with whom that joy had been shared is married to someone else.

Is it wrong? Does it mean I lack respect for what he has gained? Am I allowed to reminisce and not fall for those memories once again? Can I?

One thing I loved most about our relationship was kissing and his hugs. He gave “come-to-me-bear-hugs” and I would lose myself in his embrace. He would also do the forehead kiss, then lift my face to his — my lips to his, and I would melt for him.

We didn’t last. We couldn’t last. But we remain friends.

When he sent me the invite to his wedding (to view it online, because, you know, a global pandemic), I was excited. I pondered about what to get the soon-to-be-married couple. I decided on matching aprons, a book about lasting love, and his and her “married to” bracelets. I beamed looking at the photo of the two of them and nodded my approval.

He deserved this — to be happy — to find his match. I tell anyone willing to listen that we had a great thing. It just wasn’t the right thing. Our schedules never meshed. He worked odd hours, and I had a job that required a lot of me and my time.

It was only fitting for him to reconnect with someone from his high school days, fall in love with her once again, propose, and the rest is history. His being happy makes me happy.

But his was the last kiss I had — the last real kiss. My ex after him never drummed up enough sensual intensity within me to move us from dating to intimacy. I just couldn’t connect with him in that way, and eventually, we called it quits. It was well overdue.

But that commercial . . . That damn commercial. If they did not produce it, would I still have that last kiss memory buried deep inside my mind? And now that it has returned, what am I to do with it?

I think one day soon, I will hoist it back to the lone corners of my mind only to be conjured up once again when “the last kiss” is up for discussion.

It has a home. Maybe it will end up there again for safekeeping.

Originally published in Age of Empathy via Medium.

Writers: A Challenge

trE

Nostalgia In “Five Words”

Griffith Park Bench. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

When I took Jaidynn to the park last week, I thought about all the fun my brothers used to have when I would take them to the park. And naturally, I thought even further back to the fun I had when I went to the park. There’s nothing like being a kid and sliding down the slide, swinging on a swing, climbing on the monkey bars, and tackling the jungle gym.

Watching Jaidy as she played took me to an extremely happy place. However, I had forgotten I don’t have nearly as much energy now as I did twenty and thirty years ago. Lol. 

So, I thought the theme for this week’s challenge should be “Nostalgia.” Take me back to your happy place or things you believe are nostalgic to you but do so using five words only.

Here’s mine:

summer fun
brings
back memories

Writers, come with it, please! Take me back, tell me of your past; instances that make you happy, or drum up nostalgic reflections, moments, etc. The challenge, though . . . Use only five words.

And now, the music. Missy Elliott, The Rain (Supa Dupa Fly)

YouTube

Originally shared on Medium.

Lioness Love

trE

A poem for Jaidynn

Jaidynn, my favorite girl. In the first picture, I caught her while she was moving some candy around in her mouth with her thumb, she is not sucking her thumb.

it seems like yesterday, I was holding
you up to the sky, above my head,
listening to your giggling gurgles,
then bringing you back down
to me, the look of complete satisfaction
planted on your infant face.

you were a lightning bolt of energy,
an independent force who learned
quickly how to move around 
in our crazy world and now, at age
6 . . . I feel like I’m losing you.

a trip to the park becomes bonding time
your GiGi says we need and I walk
with you, your hand in mine, as we sway
them in the summer breeze.
you are a gymnast — bending and flexing
your way through obstacles, nothing fazes 
you — nothing stops you.
I wish I had your courage— did I ever?

a Leo in a land of lions, you are 
inquisitive with just the right amount
of curiosity trailing every question and 
I hope I have shared the best answers
with you, my love.
these days are passing us by
quicker than I can count them and
I pray I am not missing out on 
bigger things keeping to myself as I sometimes do.

but you know me, you see my smile
as a welcome mat and you pounce
on me — clinging to my chest and 
I wrap you in my arms for the 
longest hug I can give. I don’t want
to let go. I never want to let go.

I have to, though. eventually, I
will have to let go and watch you
become the lioness the stars 
blessed you to be. while I nestle
over here in the shadows of 
your love, please don’t forget
your big cousin who will pull words
from the sky’s heart, wrestle a 
world of liars, and battle a 
carriage full of woe-is-me-ers to
keep you safe.

anything to gift you mother earth’s
peacefulness and blessings.
you deserve nothing less.

*Today’s Jaidynn’s sixth birthday. My lil puddin’ is quickly growing up to be a not-so lil puddin’ anymore and well . . . I am a bit in my feelings about that. Happy Birthday, sweet girl.

Originally published via Medium.

Clover

trE

Part IV: Standing at the gate, waiting for Mama.

Photo by Shan via Redshot

We got settled into our new home within three days. Mama’s really determined about these sorts of things. She likes to have balance — complete and total Zen. We decorated my room exactly the way I had it back in Summerville. Thankfully, the space is about the same. Our kitchen is my favorite place to be. We have an open layout (as the adults call it) with a bay window. There’s plenty of bright sunshine poppin’ on through. There’s also an extended sill wide enough for me to sit on and read. I’ve spent every morning here since we moved in.

Mama begins work today and I have four more days of summer vacation before school starts. I went with her yesterday to get her keys, name tag, employee packet, and code for the alarm. This boutique isn’t anything like Mama’s shop back home. There’s this huge brick space with a teal or some kinda greenish-blue gate and anyone visiting has to be buzzed in. I asked Mama, “How in the world are customers supposed to come shop if they need permission?” She shrugged her shoulders. I’m almost certain she was thinking the same thing.

I am sitting in the bay window listening to the news as it plays in the background. Mama likes to catch up on the weather, the latest events, and traffic updates as she cooks breakfast. This morning, she offered a request — I choose blueberry pancakes and chocolate milk. Daddy’s been getting himself ready to work another ten hours down at the Statesboro, Georgia branch of Viracon, Inc. He left Amtrak when I was about four years old. His career path took a turn to the administrative side. He’s a Human Resources Coordinator by day and a “man with a plan” by night.

Daddy has this wild dream of owning his own tobacco & things shop. One thing he’s extremely focused on is making and selling unique smoking pipes and other tools used for smoking tobacco. This is the part Mama hates . . .

“Paulie, I don’t see why you have to make things that help kill people. Can’t you put that genius mind of yours to work towards something else?”

I just shrug my shoulders every time I hear this argument from Mama. Daddy’s got a dream. I hope he sees it through. Who knows? Maybe his pipes will become the most purchased pipes this side of Georgia or even bigger — nationwide! That’s what I see for my daddy. That’s what I hope for — I know he does too.

It is another blazing hot summer day. Sunshine kisses every inch of my skin and I have drunk at least a gallon of water already. It’s not even 10:30 in the morning. Mama typically works from 9:00 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. during the week and on Saturday, she works 9:00 a.m. to 12:30 p.m. There are clouds bulging up in the sky. Maybe we’ll get some rain today. Today is Saturday and to save on gas, Daddy drops Mama off to work and picks her up when she’s done. I tag along.

We get to the big brick boutique with the teal or some kinda greenish-blue gate and Daddy presses the numbers “1, 7, 2” on the call-box and instantly, Mama’s voice comes through the speaker. “I’ll be right out, Paulie.” He smiles down at me and we wait. And we wait. And we wait some more. Mama is running behind and this bothers Daddy. He looks at his watch and shouts to the air, “12:50 p.m. What is that woman doing?!” He presses the numbers to the call-box again and Mama’s voice comes piercing through. “Paulie, if you push this call-box one more time, it’s going to be me and you! I’ll be out shortly!”

I step away from Daddy and sit down on the bench. Mama means business sometimes and I don’t want to be in that line of fire when she comes high-tailin’ it outta the boutique’s door. Shortly after I’m seated, here comes Mama.

“What is wrong with you?! It’s my first week! Surely, you must understand I’ll have to stay around a bit after at least once or twice, Paulie!” Daddy stares at Mama, taps his hand on his right pants leg, and shyly comments . . . “I know, baby. I apologize. I was just missing you is all.” He plants a huge kiss on Mama’s cheek and takes her bags from her with one hand and places his other hand in hers.

Yuck! The two of them need a room! I think this. I do not say it. We pile up in Daddy’s truck and the first thing he says is, “I’m hungry. Who’s hungry? Anyone want some Vandy’s Bar-B-Q?” I lick my lips as I hear his offer and shout excitedly . . .“I SURE DO!” I look at Mama and she smiles while mouthing, “Yes” and we head Downtown for lunch that’s sure to make our mouths and bellies happy.

After lunch, the rest of the weekend awaits us. I come up with little games and indoor fun to keep busy. It’s too hot to go outside and play. Our closest neighbors are about a mile up the road, so I sure ain’t trekkin’ that far to see if they have any children. I’m certain I’ll make some new friends when school begins next Wednesday and I’ll get plenty of time to play with or get to know many of them during P.E. At least, I hope so.

I think about Mama and how her days go at the brick boutique. She doesn’t seem happy and I want her to be. I know Daddy wants her to be happy, too. It must feel like the world has come tumbling down on you when the place you spend most of your time looks like some sorta prison. Again, I think this. I do not say it. I just sit with it for a while and let it keep me company.

Maybe I’ll talk to Mama about it tomorrow.

Originally published in The Weekly Knob via Medium.

Part I, Part II, and Part III

You Don’t Come Around Anymore

trE

Musical Selection: M.I.A. featuring Timbaland|Come Around

Photo by Leopoldo Macaya via Redshot

It’s another summer spent 
without you waking up to
Nag Champa scenting my home
and I am growing used to 
this empty space.

Someone said, “Just breathe 
and be” and here I am breathing
and being without you and 
it’s still hard and living ain’t
making it any easier, but
I am trying.

Isn’t that what you wanted 
me to do — try?

A piece of mail from a junker
I am tired of seeing came with
your name in the recipient’s space
and I thought, “How odd? We
never really lived together. Why is
this coming here?”

Could you be tracking me?
What’s left in your arsenal of tricks?
I suppose you knowing where I live
and how often I check my mail
is an advantage or is it a disadvantage?
The mind wonders . . .

I will be relocating soon and
the memories of you left within
these walls will have to stay.
I can’t take them with me,
not this time.

I have a lotus tattoo on my 
left wrist reminding me 
that I am always at my 
best when I come out of the muck
and when I was with you — 
that’s all I did, come out 
of the muck . . . over and over again.

I am done with being dirty.
I want to be clean, for now.

So you don’t come around anymore
and my mom says “Perhaps this is 
best, baby. We ain’t made to
be living in the past.” She’s right.
I know she is.

But there’s a small part of
me still trying to climb up
out of the same muck and
reach out to you to get
down and dirty once again
with me.
And I have to stop this.

I want to stop this.
I can’t.

YouTube

Originally published in Intimately Intricate on Medium.

We Have Changed But We Have Not Changed

trE

A poem for Karen

Karen and me, three years ago. Photo Credit: Karen, herself; used with permission.

After high school, you
knew where your heart was — 
far away from me and everyone
else who loved you
but for a greater cause . . .

The Air Force claimed you
for twenty years and with
each one that passed, I
further admired my friend
who desired to do something
that scared the shit out of me.

You have always been a tackler
of the difficult, shifting out
of comfort zones and pulling
me away from things I clung
to for safety.
Risks were your forte,
they still are.

As a dreamer, basking in
the glow of others’ 
spontaneous events,
I looked into your world
but could not keep my
feet in it.

I am proud of you; you are
the epitome of superhuman,
Mom de jure, and peace
when this chaotic world
rages forth.

Which birthday was it of mine
when you told the workers
at the Japanese restaurant
I was to be celebrated and
for fun and to play along,
I had to do the funky chicken
while they sang?

I nearly fainted but you
powered me on and my
reservation about publicly
embarrassing myself ended
up being the fun I needed
at that moment.

I wonder if you knew that.
I’m sure you knew that.

You were the person
who appeared out of nowhere;
on leave, ready for whatever
came our way.
You made dreams come true
without much effort.
Now that we are aging,
we still remain; young at heart
and full of life.

We have changed but
we have not changed and
for the love of everything
good and true, this is a
testament that will outlast
us.

Our story is one that
makes me smile.
We should keep 
turning the pages.

Originally published via Medium.