Let's start with some simple demographics. I am a skinny white girl who grew up in the hood. I'm usually... not quite what you'd expect. She is a tall, athletic, kind, fine, smart, independent, beautiful black woman. There was something about her that felt... sophisticated and honorable. We met in freshman year gym (an awkward experience for most) and she just... sparkled. I also feel it important to mention that her and her family are very religious.
Insert me, a flirty little shit who used to get snubbed by my relatives for not knowing which way your hand is supposed to go when you make a cross over your body or how the fuck everyone knows the prayer except me. You could say we were a little different.
But it didn't matter. It never does with things like this. I prefer to refer to it as an "intimate experience" but don't let the word intimate bring your mind to sex, think baring your soul to someone. For once, unafraid that they'll reject you. A safe, warm experience. I like those words better too because saying we dated isn't true, but neither is saying we didn't. Honestly there's so much confusion and nonsense with defining relationships in general that I don't why you'd expect two (at the time) young teenagers to define it any better. Especially when one of those teenagers was otherwise straight.
She did cheer and ran track/cross country. She was unfucking stoppable. At this point in my life I lived with my dad and his emotionally abusive girlfriend. (Fun times) and I could only see my mom, my person, once every 2 weeks for 2 days filled to the brim with anything that could help us make up for all lost time (and stay on our $20 "food/entertainment/sometimes alcohol cuz we both just wanted to feel something" budget). I had anorexia and I was self harming.
Somehow she made that gloom so much brighter. She listened and cared. And that was all I really needed. Who cares that I can't kiss you as long as you're still there?
Also, at this time the idea of being able to date a girl still felt foreign. I'd had a 1.5 year toxic relationship with my first girlfriend, but similar to this there were many unspoken rules and a general craving more.
A perfect memory though was her 15th birthday party.
I was pretty shocked that I was even invited. I don't remember what I got her for her birthday (potentially nothing I was/am quite poor) but I did give her a matching ring I'd bought at forever21 and she wore it. She was wearing it when she opened the door.
I was so nervous walking up those steps to that big house to ring the loud doorbell, not knowing what would be on the other side. But it was her. And I was immediately at ease. Whatever shitty thing had been happening in the car 2 minutes ago didn't matter anymore.
I was the first one there so I got to spend some uninterrupted time with her talking and staring at her as she tried to show me the house. But of course I am an unlucky queer and not a moment after this all started, the doorbell rang. Oh great, I thought, I get to share her all night with girls I don't know, girls who will likely assume Im weird or don't belong here because of the color of my skin.
(** Now, before anyone tries to talk shit, I grew up being told I was inherently wrong for being white, that my very existence was evil and bad, so, yeah, I assumed some black girls I didn't even know might racially profile me, fucking sue me.)
(To be continued)
