Birds of a feather? Not always. . .
You've heard the old adage, Birds of a feather flock together.
That's a fucking lie.
Okay, maybe this is a one off situation, but I was stuck so hard by it, I had to write this blog post.
Once upon a time, several years ago, one of my best friends was living a romance novel. A second chance romance with a childhood sweetheart that ended up with an island wedding. It was so beautiful, I almost wrote a book about it.
Nearly ten years later, their union is stronger than ever. My friend and I were having a conversation a few weeks ago about one of his old booty calls reaching out to him on social media. And he was like, I told her I was married.
Then, what happened? I asked.
Nothing, that was the end of it like it should've been.
I smiled brightly and told him that the world could use more men like him.
He matter of factly said, "I couldn't imagine going home and looking in my wife's face lying to her. I wouldn't know how to do that."
#Allthefeels
"Well, you could ask your homeboy. He knows how to do that."
I forgot to tell y'all, I dated his friend once. This guy was supposed to be one of the good ones as well. He went to church, volunteered with a youth group, was a good father and took care of his family.
Unfortunately, those qualities didn't translate into him being a good "boyfriend." We'll call him Raymond, to protect the guilty.
Raymond was a lying sack of shit. And I'm being nice.
He cheated. We stopped kicking it because I wasn't here for that bullshit. And the person he cheated with turned out to be a stalker. This woman put a note on my car, sent me a message on my Facebook author page and I was over it.
I even went to the police about it. The officer told me that I needed to leave him alone. God, he was right!
I was all set to leave him alone too. Then he had a tragic event happen and my BFF's wife told me about it. As much as I wanted to say fuck it, two tears in a bucket, I did what so many of us do, I reached out. Foolish of me. I was still raw and worried about his feelings even though he'd trampled on mine. One thing led to another. The phones calls started. I was concerned about him eating, so I'd take him food to his job.
Then one day, I got some roses at work. My first thought was, Aww, my mama is so sweet. But they were from Raymond. And then he hit me with the: "Those roses said what I couldn't say. I love you."
And I fell for it. Hook. Line. Sinker.
At this time I had a day job where I worked like 12 hours a day and he was working third shift —allegedly. Our encounters were late at night before he went to work.
I know what you're thinking, I should've known something was up. I saw the red flags and ignored them because love means something —allegedly.
Fast forward a few months, I had a rare Saturday off. Or maybe I'd gotten off early. I sent him a text. No response.
I shrugged it off. I had a deadline and I needed to write anyway. Besides, I had to work on that Sunday.
Sunday came. I'm at work and my phone rings. It's Raymond's number. Happily I answered the phone and dead air. Okay, guess he butt dialed. I'm back to doing my job and the phone rings again. It's him. I'm a writer, so I'm thinking he's in trouble.
"Hello?"
"Who is this calling and paging my husband?" (Who the fuck says paging in the 21st century, but OKAY)
"Excuse me?"
"Who is this calling my husband?"
I pulled the phone from my ear and looked at it as if I was face timing this motherfucker. "Ask your husband."
"I'm asking you, you no self respect. . ."
Click.
Married? Like this bastard has a whole wife while he's over here talking about "I love you?"
Since I knew he was scheduled to work at midnight, I called three times because I was mad as fuck and I had questions.
Of course I got no answer.
That Monday, I text him and was like: Oh, you got a wife now?
It's not like that. I'm not with them.
Bullshit. You had to be with her if she got your fucking phone. How could you do this to me again? You're dead to me.
And I meant that shit. He robbed me and to this day, I'm still feeling the aftermath of this betrayal. I don't trust people anymore. And I don't believe in real love anymore —well, that's not totally true. I just know it's not going to happen for me. I still have my fingers crossed when there is a report of a homicide in his neighborhood that it's him. *Don't look at me like that, I ask for forgiveness when I have those thoughts. Most of the time.*
Back to my BFF, though. knowing that a few men like him still exist will probably inspire another series of books, but in real life I'm through with this love thing.
That's a fucking lie.
Okay, maybe this is a one off situation, but I was stuck so hard by it, I had to write this blog post.
Once upon a time, several years ago, one of my best friends was living a romance novel. A second chance romance with a childhood sweetheart that ended up with an island wedding. It was so beautiful, I almost wrote a book about it.
Nearly ten years later, their union is stronger than ever. My friend and I were having a conversation a few weeks ago about one of his old booty calls reaching out to him on social media. And he was like, I told her I was married.
Then, what happened? I asked.
Nothing, that was the end of it like it should've been.
I smiled brightly and told him that the world could use more men like him.
He matter of factly said, "I couldn't imagine going home and looking in my wife's face lying to her. I wouldn't know how to do that."
#Allthefeels
"Well, you could ask your homeboy. He knows how to do that."
I forgot to tell y'all, I dated his friend once. This guy was supposed to be one of the good ones as well. He went to church, volunteered with a youth group, was a good father and took care of his family.
Unfortunately, those qualities didn't translate into him being a good "boyfriend." We'll call him Raymond, to protect the guilty.
Raymond was a lying sack of shit. And I'm being nice.
He cheated. We stopped kicking it because I wasn't here for that bullshit. And the person he cheated with turned out to be a stalker. This woman put a note on my car, sent me a message on my Facebook author page and I was over it.
I even went to the police about it. The officer told me that I needed to leave him alone. God, he was right!
I was all set to leave him alone too. Then he had a tragic event happen and my BFF's wife told me about it. As much as I wanted to say fuck it, two tears in a bucket, I did what so many of us do, I reached out. Foolish of me. I was still raw and worried about his feelings even though he'd trampled on mine. One thing led to another. The phones calls started. I was concerned about him eating, so I'd take him food to his job.
Then one day, I got some roses at work. My first thought was, Aww, my mama is so sweet. But they were from Raymond. And then he hit me with the: "Those roses said what I couldn't say. I love you."
And I fell for it. Hook. Line. Sinker.
At this time I had a day job where I worked like 12 hours a day and he was working third shift —allegedly. Our encounters were late at night before he went to work.
I know what you're thinking, I should've known something was up. I saw the red flags and ignored them because love means something —allegedly.
Fast forward a few months, I had a rare Saturday off. Or maybe I'd gotten off early. I sent him a text. No response.
I shrugged it off. I had a deadline and I needed to write anyway. Besides, I had to work on that Sunday.
Sunday came. I'm at work and my phone rings. It's Raymond's number. Happily I answered the phone and dead air. Okay, guess he butt dialed. I'm back to doing my job and the phone rings again. It's him. I'm a writer, so I'm thinking he's in trouble.
"Hello?"
"Who is this calling and paging my husband?" (Who the fuck says paging in the 21st century, but OKAY)
"Excuse me?"
"Who is this calling my husband?"
I pulled the phone from my ear and looked at it as if I was face timing this motherfucker. "Ask your husband."
"I'm asking you, you no self respect. . ."
Click.
Married? Like this bastard has a whole wife while he's over here talking about "I love you?"
Since I knew he was scheduled to work at midnight, I called three times because I was mad as fuck and I had questions.
Of course I got no answer.
That Monday, I text him and was like: Oh, you got a wife now?
It's not like that. I'm not with them.
Bullshit. You had to be with her if she got your fucking phone. How could you do this to me again? You're dead to me.
And I meant that shit. He robbed me and to this day, I'm still feeling the aftermath of this betrayal. I don't trust people anymore. And I don't believe in real love anymore —well, that's not totally true. I just know it's not going to happen for me. I still have my fingers crossed when there is a report of a homicide in his neighborhood that it's him. *Don't look at me like that, I ask for forgiveness when I have those thoughts. Most of the time.*
Back to my BFF, though. knowing that a few men like him still exist will probably inspire another series of books, but in real life I'm through with this love thing.
Comments