One early September morning back in 1998, I found myself on a downtown 4 train heading to a high school volleyball game in Manhattan. As I looked at my fresh new navy blue and white Jordan 12s, Lisa was sitting next to me, fidgeting with her hands. Nervously, she turned to me and asked, “what type of girls do you like?” Of course, I stupidly started naming off physical attributes as if I was ordering from a KFC menu. Dark skin, thick thighs, and curly hair were common denominators of past girls I had crushes on.
Looking down at her skinny pale hands, Lisa carefully thought about what she would say next. Carrying on with my weird lunch order, she finally interrupted me and asked, “would you ever be into a skinny, light-skinned girl with dirty blonde hair and powerful serves?” As the train roared past Yankee stadium, I was bewildered at how oddly specific her question was. Then I noticed Lisa’s face had turned the brightest red, and it finally dawned on me that my good friend had a crush.
On me.
Instant butterflies smacked me in the face as my nerves kicked into overdrive. In shock, I carefully asked, “Are you trying to say you like me, Lisa?” A big beautiful metal smile came across her face as she shyly said yes. Many thoughts flooded my young inexperienced mind as I began wearing my own brand of blush, but my initial reaction was,
“why?”
718s and My First Heartbreak
Ever since I could remember, I had dreams of having a girlfriend. Unfortunately, almost every girl I ever liked never liked me back. I will forever be the King of the friend zone. (Queue the Twilightzone theme). As a teenager, I had no game with girls my age, and standing 6 feet 4 inches tall only heightened my geeky awkwardness. So I played the nice guy card, hoping a girl would eventually see my potential behind the babyface, but they never did. After hearing “Nooooooo, but you’re like my brother” so many times, I just stopped trying.
However, Lisa broke the curse, and I finally knew what it felt like to hold a girl’s hand as we rode the 4 train into the city. Later that day, while standing on the platform on 149th and the Grand Concourse, she finally gave me my first kiss while waiting for an Uptown 2. We became official, and my teenage loneliness vanished almost instantly. Lisa wasn’t the type of girl I typically liked, but I ended up “really liking” her.
Most of the girlfriend fantasies I had as a kid revolved around Valentine’s day and showering her with gifts. I waited 17 years for this opportunity, and best believe I had big plans for Lisa that February. However, being a broke teenager meant I had to do some hustling. If my step-pops sent me to the bodega to get milk, he never got his change back. If mom gave me food stamps for lunch, I would buy my boys deli sandwiches and have them pay me in cash.
With the $56 bucks I saved up, I got her a cool Hallmark teddy bear that recorded 20-second personal messages: a rose, a box of chocolates, and a bunch of big-ass balloons from the 99-cent store. As I said, I was mad excited.
Valentine’s day landed on the weekend, so DeWitt Clinton allowed us to celebrate on the Friday the 13th before our winter break. (Kill, Kill, Kill, Kill!) Most juniors had homeroom together in the auditorium, so about 600 hormonal crazed students were in attendance exchanging tokens of appreciation. I scanned the gigantic sea of wooden chairbacks for Lisa, and my heart stopped when I noticed her sitting directly on the stage in front of the entire class.
Looking like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day float, I took a deep breath and made my way toward her. The auditorium erupted when I walked in. The next few minutes felt like they happened in bullet time because I saw everything in slow-mo. Annoyed girls slapped their boyfriends at the sight of my enthusiasm. My teammates made whipped sound effects at me. Friendzone chicks gave me dirty looks as if I put myself in their “just friends” purgatory.
Lisa had a baffled expression on her face but shot me a beautiful shiny smile once she realized I was the one-man-parade walking down the aisle. She was the center of attention in the halls for the entire day, as you could easily spot her a mile away. Feeling like I had successfully won valentine’s day, I was walking on cloud nine and wasn’t bothered by the fact that Lisa didn’t get me anything in return. (Kill, Kill, Kill, Kill!)
A few days later, the cute girl who confessed her “like” for me on the 4 train going express to Brooklyn Bridge-City Hall broke up with me over the phone. Devastated can’t even define the emotional wreck I was when she ended us. I tried not to cry, but I had never felt pain so rigid before. It was heavier than any weight I had ever lifted in the weight room, and saying I didn’t take it well is an understatement. I cried for hours after we hung up.
I had never felt so ugly before, and I hated what I saw in the mirror as my teenage insecurities were magnified to dangerous levels. When Lisa called me later that night, exaggerated thoughts of future loneliness drove me to desperation as I begged her to reconsider to no avail. Like the LeAnn Rimes song she dedicated to me, I didn’t know how I would live without her.
In the darkness of my room, an old 25-inch Magnavox TV illuminated my 17-year-old 280-pound body. It was only on because I didn’t want my mother hearing my heartache. Sobbing some of the warmest tears anyone has ever shed into a pillow, BET came back from commercials and started playing this soulful piano melody. It was so mesmerizing that I stopped crying in mid-sob and turned my swollen, bloodshot eyes to the screen. That’s when I heard this familiar soulful voice for the first time sing,
“I can’t remember why we fell apart,
from something that was soooooo meant to beeeee.”
“Forever was the promise in our hearts.
Now, more and more, I wonder where you are.”
“Do I ever cross your mind… anytime?”
It was Brian McKnight, and it was the first time I had ever heard “Anytime.” When I realized the song and the music video were mirroring the devastation that was my soul, I began to ugly cry again. By the end of the video, I was singing with the chorus like I had written it. I wasn’t a religious kid, but I always believed in a higher power. This song was too perfect for the moment to be a coincidence, and I took it as a sign from the universe telling me that I wasn’t alone.
(February 13th, 1998)
(Kill, Kill, Kill, Kill!)
The back story to this post
There’s so much more teenage drama to this story that it deserves its own book.
However, this girl became my best friend, and I love her to death.
Sometimes people come into your life mislabeled.
But that doesn’t always mean they don’t deserve new titles.