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- Growing Up Bronx
I’ve never been a car guy. I can appreciate a nice ride, but they have never been my passion. Contrary to the title of this post, this isn’t going to be about cars.
This morning as I walked towards the train station; I saw this guy making a turn on some funny-looking car. This car may have been cool at one point, but today it just looks funny. A wannabe be cool car of sorts. However, for some reason, it reminded me of her red car, her Mustang GT.
That summer was one of the most exciting and painful periods of my life. I first saw her at Webster Hall towards the end of the night. I remember looking at her, and we had locked eyes a few times before this moment. Man, she was so beautiful. I started dancing around her, trying to work my way in slowly. Then I saw him. This dude was trying to move in on my queen. Oh, hell no man, we’ve made eye contact; we got a thing going here.
At that point, I decided that the time for discretion and games was over, I decided to solidify my attempt at connecting with her and went straight for the jugular. Time was of the essence as it was already late, and I wasn’t going to allow this guy to move in on her, not without a clear indication from her that I had no chance.
Well, it turns out that I did have a chance. We connected that night and so began what would be one of the highest and lowest points in my life. I still carry the painful scars that our makeshift relationship inflicted on me. However, as I relive those very first moments of meeting her, I can also remember the natural high and excitement I felt in sharing my life with her.
She was stunningly beautiful, elegant, such a lady; I was madly in love. Well, at the time I thought I was. What is love though, really? Is it the excitement of counting the moments spent next to her? Is it the sheer joy of intently looking into her beautiful eyes as we engaged in meaningful conversations? Is it the pleasure of breathing in knowing her scent will penetrate your nostrils as she makes her way down into your lungs? Is it being inside of her, caressing her body, kissing her mouth for hours and hours at a time? I don’t know what love is, but I couldn’t get enough of her; I was fully, 100% addicted. This was the beginning of the high point.
And that’s how we started.
Thing is, like most addictions in life, this one too would end up soon destroying me. I’m not sure at what point things changed, but at one point, the balance shifted from a well-balanced situation, to a very one sided one. It wasn’t on my side either. I still recall the decisive moment. It was over a holiday weekend; she promised to spend that whole weekend with me. However, she never showed. She never called. This was the beginning of the low point.
I’ve written many songs, and poems over the years about losing love. Interestingly she has never been the motivation behind one. After that weekend, I cried, I chased, I begged, pleaded, but she had already left me. I showed up at her university, a three-hour train ride from where I lived. I walked in the rain and snow; I begged for her to share time with me. She did; I still remember sitting in some cafeteria eating some food, eyes swollen from the tears, my face raw and red due to drying those tears and blowing my nose. I can see the pity on her face at the sight of this pathetic man that she once may have loved. Her loss hurt, and it hurt hard. However, I cried myself out during that period. Like Lisa Lisa said, “I’m all cried out.” I had nothing left inside to give her, not even one line in a song.
And that’s how we ended.
To tell our entire story would take far too long, and I’m not sure that I should share such intimate details of a story that is not solely mine. However, that is how I entered and exited one of the most exciting, emotionally volatile periods of my love life.
Back then, she drove a Mustang GT, and seeing this ugly car at 5:30 am this morning, reminded me of her cool car, and our time together.
Growing Up Bronx