Most circumstances, I know my fate
But in this love thang, I don’t get the game.
Why does it feel like those who give in,
They only wind up losing a friend.
Just cause I love you and you love me,
It doesn’t mean that we’ll ever be.

“Lions, Tigers, & Bears” by Jazmine Sullivan

It had been a year.  When I moved four hours away I left my past in the past. Mentally I had buried all those feelings, thoughts, and memories in a place so deeply covered by rubble; it would be dangerous to dig through the debris to revisit them. So I didn’t.

We had made the right decision. This on-again off-again, I can’t commit to you because of xyz was beyond played out. I just couldn’t live like this anymore. Besides, if a man really wants to be with you, he’ll do everything in his power to make it happen. Right? Despite our long history- acquaintances turned friends, to best friends, to lovers, back to friends, to not speaking at all- I had convinced myself that we just weren’t meant to be.

I’m talking about Wisdom. Remember him from “Fades to Black III?” http://tinyurl.com/y7nu2g8.

Within the year since we last saw each other, we had probably talked all of five times. After the events leading up to my departure from my hometown I needed time to reevaluate if we could ever be friends again.  As always we reconciled our differences and went right back to being best friends as if nothing had ever happened. This was something we pretty much were accustomed to. I mean we have a history of about 8 years between the friendship & relationship.

We had been talking on the phone over the past few months because everything was copacetic again. I told him the exhausting story about my ex and he told be about this throwback chic that he was talking to. It didn’t really matter because We. Are. Just. Friends. Long gone were the days I envisioned a fairytale consisting of him one day realizing he couldn’t live without me and we’d live happily ever after.

I went home Easter weekend for multiple reasons. Straight off the highway my first stop was not my mama’s house, not my aunt’s house, nor my grandmother’s. It was his. He still looked just like I remembered him-chocolate, tall, not skinny, but not fat, dressed casually, but fly; cute smile-he was Wisdom.

It was a Friday night so we kind of went out on the town. Just like old times, there were drinks, laughter, damn good conversation, and all around fun. By the time we got in it was super late. I don’t even think me driving home was an option. This is where the slippery slope between friendship and, I don’t know what the hell, kicks in…

The next morning was quite eventful as I had some business to take care of that he was there for every step of the way. After returning to his house he cooked breakfast mid afternoon as I laid on the couch wallowing in my own sorrows. We never once talked about what did and did not happen the previous night.

I finally make it home to see my mother as I’m sure she was thinking, ‘This child got in last night around 10pm, its 4:00pm the next day, and she still hasn’t made an appearance.’ I continue with my weekend sans Wisdom. We texted briefly Saturday night, but neither one of us really made any mention of seeing one another. Sunday was family time. Because I was in one of my moods, I didn’t answer any of his phone calls. I sat right on the couch as I looked at his name appear on my phone.  Intentionally, I headed back for school without even letting him know I was leaving. I can be a low down chic sometimes.

Unfortunately, the entire way home my mind was consumed with thoughts of him. The upcoming week I went into avoidance mode so I wouldn’t have to deal with the situation. I know myself and I knew eventually I would end up telling him my thoughts. This is probably my problem. Never let a man see the cards in your hand.

After a long talk with my- team Wisdom, cheerleading ass close friend,-I decided to take her advice. Why, why, why did I listen to her? “Don’t push him away,” she said. “Just tell him why you’ve been avoiding him.”

Instead I took another approach via text:  “Do you love that girl you’re talking to who was your 1^st girlfriend?”

Crickets. Crickets. Crickets. No response.

At 4:30 a.m. I get a call. We go all around the world talking about everything until I bring up my question again. “So are you going to answer the question that I texted you?” I asked.

“I mean I do have love for her, I love her,” he said. I sat quietly.

“I have feelings for her, but I don’t think we will be together.”

“Why not? You obviously have feelings for her if you rekindled yall’s flame,” I said loudly. “Hell she is a throwback from 1982. Stop playing with the girl and just be with her.” We kind of both laughed at the fact I kept referring to her as a throwback from 82. But I really was in no mood to laugh.

He shot off at the mouth all the excuses why he couldn’t be with her, which was the same nonsense he used to tell me.  This conversation went on for some time. In the midst of the conversation though, it turned into me being honest with him because he asked, “So how do you feel about what I just told you?”

“Uhh, I’m happy for you? I don’t know what you want me to say,” I said.

See one reason Wisdom and I bumped heads in the relationship was because he doesn’t know how to express his feelings. I’m the complete opposite, so I don’t understand it. Therefore, that night on the phone like so many other nights, I was left oblivious to what the hell he thought or felt because he kept it all to himself. Here I was looking like a fool once again. I told him how his actions over the weekend left me confused.  And I went on & on about my feelings. In return I got…*a blank stare.*

So what’s a girl to do? It’s not as if I’m blaming him for making me feel the way I do. He most certainly never said that he still has feelings for me, nor did he say he has always wondered if we could be together again.  Matter of fact, he never said anything. Rather it was his actions that crossed that thin line.

I’m an Aries; typically we’re all or nothing. I don’t know that I can continue to be the best friend to a man I clearly love, while he continues cultivating his feelings for TB. I also don’t know that I just want him out of my life completely. He truly is my best friend in the world.

But what I do know is that men are simple beings. If he hasn’t decided by now that I am the person for him, it’s never going to be. We as women oftentimes create these scenarios in our heads that one day a man will have an epiphany and realize we’re the one. We think if we just give him time to get his career going, time to play the field, to feel like he has something to bring to the table, he’ll then be ready. Sorry, men just don’t operate like that. I think the sooner we realize this, the better off we’ll be. Just because a man loves you, doesn’t mean he can ever see himself with you. Or am I wrong?

All those dusty feelings I had buried under a pile of rubble that resurfaced unexpectedly, are going back in their rightful place. Only this time they won’t be buried in a place that can so easily be dug up. I think the more suitable home for those feelings are the ocean. Once something resides there, there’s no reviving it.

A Reminder

By Benè Viera

Snow fell from the clouds as people hurried in the Musical Arts Center for IU’s rendition of Lucia di Lammermoor. As I sat in my car I observed many attendees exiting their beloved Range Rovers and BMW’s dressed in a way that equally exemplified their status. Upon entering the theater my invisibility became ever more apparent. From that moment on I knew my experience at the opera would be contrary to those who were so close in proximity yet so far in reality.

A crowded lobby of enthused individuals chitchatted with their families, colleagues and friends. Mink coats, Yves Saint Laurent suits, and everything encompassing of class- upper class- was prevalent. Of course there were those clothed in their not so expensive jeans and Ugg boots. Yet, even those dressed in the tackiest wardrobes blended in with the crowd more than I ever would.

Lucia di Lammermoor reinforced my day-to-day existence surrounded by so many elitists.

My eyes searched high and low for someone, anyone, whose skin contained any amount of pigmentation. Of course, there were far too few. My paranoia, actually my consciousness went into full force when I started getting ‘The Look.’ The look that gazed at me with piercing eyes, and if it could speak would ask, “What is this young black woman doing here?” But, I was all too familiar with this feeling. One would think I would be accustomed to the stares, the isolation. After all I do attend a PWI with about 40,000 students and less than 2,000 black students. And people say we live in a post-racial society. Yeah right. Yet, even at an opera I could not escape my psyche long enough to just enjoy the show. Let’s face it, what does opera have to do with race, separatism, and disparities? But, in my world this opera had everything to do with the aforementioned.

As the audience enjoyed the beautiful soprano voice of Lucia, I sat there deep in thought. Although the story of betrayal and tragedy was appealing, I could not focus on the opera in its entirety. Thankfully, as a young child I was exposed to many things that are usually equated with the elite society, the opera being one. Therefore, I didn’t feel bad for my mind floating adrift. In my eyes I wasn’t missing much.

Watching the cast perform did not incite attentiveness either. It did however, cause my attention to refocus on another aspect: the cast. Not one black performer. Even in 2010 the lack of minorities in the arts: film, art exhibits, operas, ballets, and plays, is still a very real issue. Listening to the harmonic voices of the cast did not distract me from noticing the lack of representation of my ethnicity. It was quite disturbing. Disturbing in the same way my curriculum is constructed, where a non African-American authors every required book. Similar to the disturbing fact my Journalism department does not have one black faculty member.  The opera was not any different the feeling was the same. At one point I remember asking myself, why should my money support the arts when it steadily promotes exclusivity?

So you see I was quite distracted during the show. I was unable to enjoy the heavenly voices, the madness murder scene, the love story theme or the betrayal climax. My mind was too busy thinking about the subliminal, the obvious, the un-talked about truths of the arts. During intermission when the couple next to me debated whether or not the super titles were a distraction, I thought yes the super titles are a distraction. They’re distracting people from the real issues at hand.

If Lucia di Lammermoor did anything for me, it reiterated the need for intelligent dialogue. It strengthened the argument that there is a need for black arts organizations, black productions, black producers and black directors. Something intended to be a beautiful form of expression portrayed the ugly truths of such problematic issues in all forms of art.

As everyone stood for the ovation of Angela Kloc, who played Lucia, my thoughts orbited full circle ending where they began.

Cheerfully they lauded the opera, the lead singer and even the tenor. I wondered did any of them for a second think about how their elitism and white privilege allows them to continuously disregard an entire race of people. Or how it allows social structures to remain the same where white men are at the top and minorities are at the very bottom. Thing is, white people never have to think about their privilege, or being white. No one reminds them of it every day. Very seldom are they forced to be the only white person in a room full of thousands. Whereas blacks are constantly put in the predicament to be the only one- in companies, classes, meetings, senates, and the list goes on. Everything in the media, history, art and higher education institutions resembles white Americans. All things good are associated with white. I realized that even with my middle-class upbringing, a long lineage of educated family members; I would never be a part of their world. Our experiences and outlook would always be polar opposites.

Donizetti’s opera was a clear reminder that my passion and dedication to my race overtrumped my love for the arts. And even as an arts lover, I had to hold it accountable for its embodiment of isolationism.

The other day my friend hit me with the age-old question. It is that question that many black women in their twenty-something’s from all socioeconomic backgrounds will face at some point. Whether or not she addresses the question to herself or her girlfriends, it is one every woman has to answer and decide her stance.

“Benè call me ASAP,” SD said via Twitter. “I need to talk to you about something I know you can give me insight on.”

“Ok, cool. I’m at work I’ll hit you up when I get off at five,” I replied.

Five o’clock couldn’t come fast enough. I was overly anxious to hear what SD wanted to discuss with me as I usually was the one seeking advice from her.  Furthermore, I had a feeling that this  conversation was about a man. Since I wasn’t really dating anyone I had to vicariously live through her.

“Hey girl what’s up?” I asked when she picked up.

“Nothing much,” she replied. “So I been knowing this guy since high school and we’ve been acquaintances for a really long time.”

“Recently we got back in touch with one another via Facebook. We have really great conversations and we’ve been talking everyday for the past month,” SD said.

“Why am I just hearing about this? But go on,” I said jokingly.

“Girl he wants to drive all the way from *———— * to *————— * to come see me,” she said.

Now in my head I’m thinking, ok what’s the problem. He sounds like a good enough dude.

“Ok, you don’t want him to come see you?” I asked.

“It’s not that. Girl he has five kids,” she said.

“NO. DON’T. DO. IT.” I yelled. “How many baby mama’s does he have?” which is a very relevant question nowadays.

“Four,” she replied.

Now I know this seems like a closed case as soon as she said five with four baby mamas, especially when SD has no children. I was on the phone dumb founded that she was even considering continuing any type of communication with him. This was a no-brainer. At least I thought.

I was all for her remaining friends with the guy, but I told her she had to make it very clear that she was not interested in him in any shape, fashion or form. Hell, he needed to be worrying about his five kids. I even quoted my grandmother hoping SD would see the light, “Baby you never want to get with a man who has all these kids. Because his income is steadily going out the household to those kids, while all yours is coming in,” my grandmother once told me. I was so firm in my point I just knew SD would agree. Bam! She hit me with the, “Well what if you miss out on a good man just because you’re discrediting him for having kids?”

As someone with former law school aspirations I had an immediate response to her question. But what I wasn’t sure about was how much I believed in my response. In hindsight it seemed as simple as we don’t have children, if God knows it’s our preference to date someone without children, then He has created a man for us that meets that criterion. On the surface it sounded logical. Yet, I couldn’t help to ponder how superficial and selfish it sounded once the words left my mouth. If a man has all the other qualities on your list (ladies don’t act like you don’t have a list), should he be scratched off just because he has kids?

Next I tried to argue with SD that it was the caliber of men she chooses, which is why we were even addressing this issue. Once again I was taken aback my own thoughts. Single black men with children have absolutely nothing to do with a lower or higher tier of men. One of my good friends- who has his Bachelor’s, Master’s and is pursuing his Law degree-has two children. In many conversations I’ve had with him he always verbalized his concept of a strong family unit. And one day he wants a wife and more children.

Fact is life happens; and everybody doesn’t experience the traditional- date, get engaged, marry and then have children.

I can bet money based on his credentials alone, many women would jump at a chance to date him. Black man, loves black women, pursuing law degree, has a job, a car and his own place. Sounds good on paper doesn’t it? (Note: I’m not saying that degrees and materialistic values are all that matter or are of uber importance to every woman. However, these qualities initially will make a woman at least consider the guy).  But how many of those same women would think twice about continuing a relationship once they found out he has not one, but two children?

Ladies, let me ask you this. If you were a single mother would you want men to say you are not a suitable life partner because you have a kid(s)? Everyday women have children and are forced to become single parents. However, many of them  still handle their business and possess the qualities of great women, phenomenal women. If we as women truly want to be considered equal in this world, I think we must use the same measuring scale for men that we use or want used for ourselves.

Am I saying I could seriously date a man with five kids? Hell no! Mama ain’t raise no fool.

I am saying that it’s time to reevaluate some of our ridiculous standards that potentially keep us from complete happiness with an incredible man.

Are kids an automatic disqualifier for men or women in matters of the heart?