Daddy D does not cry.  Daddy D does not shrink.  Daddy D fears not.  Or don’t I?  This is so strange, so out of the norm that maybe, just maybe I can be a little scared for once.  As I walk down the street, the angst is too much to bear.  There go the tree branches and leaves yank right to the ground.  Why does no one understand?  This pavement seems like such a long road until I get back to normal again.  Step, step, step.  The staccato of my footsteps in these flat sandals, hot summer day in D.C., is one of the only ways that I am able to ground myself.  My head whips left and right as the voices cause my brain to throb.  I will myself to not pay any attention to the noise, that hurtful, scary noise.  My miniskirt swishes in the light breeze while simultaneously sticking to the sweat at the back of my thighs, this sensation heightened when I stand up from my seat on the bus or train.  Walk, walk, walk.  I do not know which way is out.  I want out.  Out of this misery, this doom and gloom.  

Daddy D does not shrink but I fold into myself as a means of protection.  All that was extroverted is now introverted.  I cannot let on that I am not okay.  Self-preservation is a real true thing, and it must be protected at all costs.  I look at me in that slender Ikea mirror, with its wavy frame distorting my proportions adding to the abstractness of my mind.  Okay let’s calm down.  I lay there on that mattress that does not belong to me, its cool tufted texture lulling me, soothing me.  My mind reels with thoughts of family, and him, and them, and God.  Is there a God because this cannot be what he meant by He always knows and is always on time.  On time for what? To watch me lose my marbles?  I lie on my back and watch the ceiling fan spin for ages, trying to gain control of my mind.  The daylight turns to golden hour and golden hour turns to sheer dusk.  Through the top of that little space of window that is visible behind my headboard I see flashes from police cars and believe that I hear the offensive sirens.  I did it, but it isn’t that bad, God, it was a mistake.  Now, I’m tormented.  The phone rings.  I answer It. As dusk turns to darkness, he arrives just on time.  If only for a moment, I will let this passion and torment reconcile with each other to have a moment of reprieve.  As clothes come off, so does the cloak of fear that has been scratching at my throat and making my brain throb.  The light from my window shimmers over my naked white skin and over his beautiful dark skin, the sheen of sweat seemingly illuminating my thoughts and fears and culminating in this moment.  

I knew this boy, this pubescent, on the brink of adolescence boy, who would turn my world upside down.  What began as a quiet curiosity has grown into a full-blown love affair.  I watched this boy grow from a teen and into a man- a beautiful transformation.  It was something you would have to see to believe.  In turn, that man has watched this girl grow from a young lady and into a grown woman.  Ours is a love affair that has “been a long time coming.”

He stood there one day, he and his afro, behind the bullet-proof glass of Carver Hall, the upperclassmen boys’ dormitory.  Who the hell is that? I thought, when I should’ve thought, Why is he behind my desk?  I took my seat behind the dingy counter of the desk, taking in my surroundings, saying my “hellos’ to a few of the residents of the hall and other work-study students crowded around behind my desk, behind the glass that day.  I was a poor excuse for a front desk coordinator, I will admit that, as I proceeded to be introduced to said boy by my friend Shmay rather than tell him to get from behind the desk “where no one was allowed.”  I remember him like it happened yesterday.  He had a skater vibe that I knew all too well as a native Californian, and looked all too out of place there at the historically black university in the heart of the nation.  He wore a black long-sleeved tee, layered over a white tee with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.  He had a nonchalant, lanky stance that made the yoyo flinging out of his palm, with the flick of his wrist, seem that much more pronounced.  Why the fuck does he have a yoyo?  I haven’t seen a damn yoyo in years…. Nerd, I silently implored, secretly charmed. 

I spent the next little while trying to figure the kid with the afro out.  Soon enough, we instantly bonded over not only being the only Californians for miles, but the only “hyphy” Bay Area individuals in sight.  From that day on we were bosom buddies, if a pair of friends consisting of one boy and one girl could ever be called such.  There were parties, laughter, and late night kick it sessions- well, as late as possible with a dorm curfew.  There was flirting and texting- I couldn’t tell whether the admiration was real or if it was just the alcohol.  I still wouldn’t know until that boy, now a teen, asked me on a date. 

It was sweet, looking back, realizing and knowing that someone had more than a slight interest in me as a person, not just my body.  There was no naivety on my part, for once, when I accepted the offer.  If anything, there was only the embarrassment that I was deemed worthy of spending his 20^th birthday with him and I didn’t have a card.  We shared falafel that night as well as dreams and ambitions.  Unfortunately, no one told me that dreams are far from reality, and my hopeful romance fizzled out before it began.  What do you want to do with your degree? I inquired, ready to be dazzled.  Probably work for an engineering firm, make a lot of money.  My heart died a little- I wondered where the sparkle and shine went.  Maybe we are better off as friends, I thought to myself, days later. 

Over the next year, our relationship faltered.  I began a new romance, one of nothing but pain and sadness, where another did not have the chance to begin.  I continued to experience this pain and sadness, however personally.  I fell hard and fast, and then began the journey back up slowly and unsurely.  My teen, now a man, would become a passive thing in my life.  He’s just a friend, I would say to address any suspicions, and continue on with my pitiful ass excuse for a relationship, He’s still too young.  It wouldn’t be until the following year when I was once again nearing rock bottom that we would again become friends.  Not until the night when my ex left me to my own disposal at a suburban train station for hours waiting to be picked up, and I had to call someone.  He was the first person to come to mind.  I should’ve known then that he was in it for the long haul.  You’re where?!  I could hear the disappointment in his voice, and told him that I would call him back, that I would try to get a ride again.  I never did, and it wouldn’t be until later that he found out I hitchhiked home that night.

Finally, months later in sunny, Springy May, my sorry ass excuse of a relationship came to an end.  No, Rick Ross, the Devil is not a lie- Instagram and ex-high school girlfriends are the lie.  I went out that night, with my friends celebrating their graduations, attempting to not feel sorry for myself, the single still-undergrad, failing miserably thanks to two-dollar drinks at the college bar in town. 

There he was, the boy, who was once a teen, now a man.  All of a sudden, everything felt fine.  He was comfort.  He was friendship. That night I was not embarrassed about anything, I did not care about dreams nor ambitions, I no longer wanted to be just a friend.  I wanted more.  For once, this time, the feeling was mutual.  The road has not been without obstacles. Indeed, there was plenty of want and longing, and hurt and truths to be told.  He was love.  He is love.  My man is love.

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This year was a doozy.  From cons becoming pros to Bruce becoming Caitlyn, it was a great year.  The year started off with greatness in February when Queen Bey announced her world tour during the Super Bowl commercials (LOLz).  It is also pretty easy to say that this was the year of Drake, who dropped his VIEWS album, which was awesome BTW in case you haven’t heard it.  The saga for President between Hilz and Trump kept all the minds reeling, ending in Trump having the upsetting victory.  In January we (well, most of us) listened to President Obama’s last (gulp) State of The Union address.  In brighter news the homie Leo DiCaprio won his long awaited Oscar (about damn time) for his big bear fight in Revenant.  The iPhone 7 also dropped in the second half of this year, changing headphones FOREVER (LOLz).  We also had to deal with the crazies this year and unfortunately say Rest In Peace to the beautiful souls in Orlando, Aleppo, and many other places that didn’t deserve disaster.  In Kardashian news, honorary Kardashian Kanye West went on his Saint Pablo tour which was cut short by 1) theft and hostage situation involving his smoking wife Kim K and 2) his inevitable going crazy (relatable… seriously).  This is by no means an exhaustive list, but it definitely brings up some bittersweet, some beautiful, memories.  Goodbye 2k16.  Bring it on, 2017. #BLACKLIVESMATTER