Every sit com or movie dealing with single women looking for love seems to have the scene where the woman decides she’ll take a booty call.
She’ll run through her house like a tornado and clean up, she’ll shave, she’ll shower, she’ll fluff out her hair, put on her “good” panties, pour out a drink and she’ll wait.
6:30 p.m. He texts her what time works for her, and she says she’s flexible and will be home all night. He says he’s helping his mother and will probably be done by nine.
Works for her.
And she’ll wait some more.
9:45. No big deal. He’s probably about to leave his mother’s and he’ll have to take a shower.
She’ll send a text or leave a light, simple message not to seem desperate, but just wanting to know if he’ll still be able to stop by.
The light buzz from the drink she’s poured turns from a anticipatory anxiousness, to full-on hysterical anxiety.
He hasn’t returned her call or text. In fact, he’s said nothing.
11:30 p.m. The hours pass and she’s already angrily texted her friends.
“A booty call. This is the simplest of tasks. This is the one thing men should be running, tripping and knocking over elderly people to do. Why isn’t he here?”
Then she thinks about her age, her constant state of loneliness.
“I’m too old for this shit.”
Then she thinks about the reason why she suggested said booty call in the first place.
“I don’t want to increase my number.”
“I don’t want to take on a new lover. Too much work, or vetting. Don’t want awkward first time, I don’t know your style you don’t know mine sex.”
“This guy makes my toes curl.”
“I just needed to be touched.”
“I wanted to feel something.”
11:40 She’s resolved she’d go to bed.
11:46 She already has two texts from men she doesn’t feel like being bothered with at the moment. One text sends her into rage…”You up?”
12:00 a.m. She’s drifted off to sleep.
7:46 a.m. She gets a text. “Hey, my battery died.”
Her: “Dude, it’s not that I don’t believe you, but that is wack.”
Him: “Sorry, but I put my fam before myself. I apologize.”
“No one said you shouldn’t put your fam before yourself.”
“No, but you said it was wack and alluded. Gosh.. things happen.”
“Kyle, it was wack because I stayed up all night. I had no clue what was going on. So from that standpoint it was wack. I knew you were helping your mom, but you said you would be done around nine.
So I didn’t even trip when ten rolled around. That’s why I simply texted ‘hey.’ I figured you’d be able to tell me it wasn’t going to work out. It is what it is. You weren’t able to charge your battery. I’m not going to argue people’s intent or what they allude to.
I care for you. I’m still going to like you again… later…
I gotta get to work.”
“Thanks for expressing yourself. I apologize. I’m not taking it lightly, I know how I would feel.”
I’m trying to be a non-dramatic, more easy-going, less tightly wound woman. I’m trying not to be anyone’s fool either. There are moments when he’s so vulnerable with me. It’s like seeing a rare animal in the woods. You have to walk carefully and quietly so it doesn’t run away. You just want to watch it for as long as you possibly can, because it’s lovely it makes you feel a certain way.
He told me deep things about going to find answers about his family this weekend and visiting family members he never met in the South and how it humbled him. There he was with a master’s degree, and his elderly relatives spoke about how proud they were of his father graduating high school, while many only had first or third grade educations.
I sat quietly as he shared with me. Didn’t want to disturb the moment of a young man finding pieces of himself he wondered about for most of his life and his excitement to finally have that connection.
Why would he share that kind of moment with me?
He pulled me in again.
For seven years, we’ve done this dance.
He pulled me in again.
I wanted to sleep with him for obvious selfish reasons, but I most wanted to sleep with him quickly because I knew his emotions were high off of this discovery this link to family. I would get the residual emotion I’ve been wanting from him, before he goes distant again.
Before we argue again.
Before we say things like, this is why we’d never work.
He’s told me before he’s terrible at relationships.
I’m terrible at picking men.