'Jules' mind went back under the moonlight and night air of Baldwin's Fine Arts Center Garden, where intense anger shifted into an intimate moment of curiosity with a blow of the wind.
Maybe two flames weren't supposed to be that close when raging...
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"The sooner you realize things will never be the same,
the sooner you can move on."
— Kid Cudi
"I SAW YOU getting all friendly with that puppy dog eyed, light skin boy—what's up with that," Ayden asked as she stripped down in their dorm room.
Jules scoffed, "So you're the only one that can speak to guys, in what world?"
"I'm just saying, I've never seen you two speak—unless it's something quick-witted followed by a smart ass comment. I'm just checking on if I'm gonna need to make plans so you can have the room to yourself."
"Girl, I say nice to meet you and that means I'm taking it down my throat? Get outta' here," Jules whined while throwing a pillow at her roommate.
She then looked down at her shoes and said in a low tone, "Besides, his eyes look more like the ocean than a dog."
Ayden scoffed, "How so? Cause I know that nigga's eyes aren't blue."
"You can be dense as hell sometimes--you ever heard of a metaphor?"
Ayden mockingly put her hands out to her sides as if she were about to meditate, "Well enlighten me then, Miss Badu."
Jules stared at the wall as if it held the answer to her question. She tried to sketch a mental image on those white walls that connected to hardwood borders, of a man she'd only known from quick run-ins and unfortunate remarks.
She paused before speaking, an apparent hitch in her breath making itself known, "Not blue, at least in color--but you can tell they've held pain. His gaze is vast, furious, tempestuous, turbulent, and calming at the same time. The gaze is enough to pull you in and drown you at the same time."
Ayden giggled at her annoyed state, " I go with your ass to one open mic and you're getting all Harlem renaissance deep on me. Look, you're my girl--I just don't need you out here making googly eyes at man ho's and being all Sistah Souljah about it."
A wrinkle now held a spot in Jules' forehead, "I mean not that I care—but what makes him a man ho? In the instances I've seen him, he's been hanging around the nigga who tries to tip-toe out of here."
"You know that thick ass cheerleader, always stays with her edges laid and an ass that everyone knows is real?"
Jules nodded, reminisce on finding even herself gawking at the girl's shape. Everything was even: thick thighs, a cute pudgy stomach, and full breasts to match.
You couldn't miss her, or who she was—she has the best set of flips and was the loudest. Yet, above all, every guy on campus would do nothing but dream of what she tasted like.
