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.