Does heartbreak really feel like this?
Does heartbreak really feel like this?
The one relationship story my father was tickled by
I was fairly certain he was full of shit, but he was really cute and I liked his heavy New York accent. The kind of stereotypical attitude you see when New York men are featured in any movie or TV show was pretty much him. However, I raised an eyebrow when he was becoming a wee bit too much New York (ex. referring to DMX as “Earl” even though he didn’t know him personally).
Then there was the moment on a first date when he said, “I don’t like your first name, so I’m going to call you ‘shorty’ instead.”
I let out a long sigh before asking him if he was pulling this personality out of an episode of “Moesha” cause Fredro Starr was way more convincing. Still, for whatever ridiculous reason, my 19-year-old mind thought he was fun. Even though we could only sit on his porch at night and his aunt wouldn’t allow any guests inside, I just enjoyed the summer night air. When he told me he was working for an entertainment label but couldn’t name one artist he was representing, I shrugged and minded my business.
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A month or so later, we got into a big argument over something I cannot remember. We broke up shortly after, and I packed up and got ready for my eight-hour drive back to college.
I hadn’t been in my new dorm room for more than a couple of days before his aunt called my cell phone. (How in the world did she get my number? Beats me.)
“Is [insert name here] with you?” she asked me.
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I paused, wondering if she knew what my location was. I asked her if she realized I wasn’t in Chicago anymore. She confirmed that she did and said he told her he was driving to my university to see me. I laughed at first, thinking this was another one of his eccentric stories. She did not laugh. I told her as far as I knew that was definitely not the plan. She thanked me and hung up, surprisingly polite for someone who wouldn’t let me in her home.