And I Asked Myself

THAT feeling

We knew each other well enough. He was a friend of a friend.

I knew he liked me from his smile, his laugh, THAT look

I pretended not to notice. He was just a friend after all.

We were on the playground when he said it.

He said it. Three words. Eight letters. I...like you. In two seconds flat, everything changed. I had THAT feeling. Suddenly he wasn't just a friend of a friend. Now he was a close friend. My best friend. The guy I...liked.

I said: "Well...I like you too." Did I mean it? I thought so. Did it matter? I didn't think so. He asked me if I would be his g.i.r.l.f.r.i.e.n.d. I said yes. What else could I say? He was my friend. Guy friend. Best friend. Boyfriend.

He gave me his number. I gave him mine. I'd sit on the floor of my room and talk to him on my flip phone.

I was wanted. I was liked. I had THAT feeling. It was perfect.

Two weeks go by. We're talking on the phone. He says he's angry. I ask why. He says his brother is bothering him. I ask how. He says his brother wants to know why. I ask why what. He says, "Why, I'm dating THAT girl."

I look down at my skin. that feeling is gone. He stole it. Or maybe it was his brother. I say I have to go. I say I have chores. He asks if I'll call him later. I say I have to go.

One more week goes by. It's THAT day. The day for love and romance. THat feeling is back. But only slightly. I give him a chocolate rose. He gives me a stuffed dog. We sit together during lunch. THAt feeling comes back just a little more.

One day goes by. One more. I'm eating lunch with my friends. He's eating lunch with his. He's only sitting three feet away. I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around. It's his friend. He says something to me. I can't hear so he says it again. He says THAT word. I think I 've been punched. On the inside. In my heart. It shouldn't hurt. He was just a friend. It shouldn't hurt but it does.

I say, "Okay." I act unfazed. I turn around. My friend asks me what happened. I say "nothing". I eat my food.

I go home. I don't cry. I just scream. I scream: "Why did he have to do it THAT way?" and "Why'd he do it at all?"

Suddenly, I remember what his brother said. I look down at my skin. THAT feeling is replaced with an entirely different one.

I throw his stuffed dog. I cry and I curse even though I'm not allowed to.

Years later, I sit AND I ASK MYSELF racism or ignorance, cowardice or shame