…I looked her: “Dana, you may as well hang out here until the morning with me as you planned, because I assure you-he’s too much of a coward to come back over here at least this night-trust me. I know better. I really do know better…”
It would be not too soon thereafter Pucker’s unwelcomed visit-that I would get the details of how he found me-but until then, I would go on with my life and disassociate my heart from him in ways I didn’t even know I had it in me to. Disassociate my mind and myself as well—sort of like I’ve been conditioned and trained to do…and be…and I guess: survive since, or as of result of my innocent years in life where it wasn’t until I would be good and grown when I had that conversation with my mother that practically set her back a whole century.
Yeah it killed her, but in some strange way, it saved me. It saved me because like I learned
to detach myself from my past (that hurt my mom so badly) yet, it ended up being how I learned to detach myself from hurt: Hurtful things, hurtful people, and hurtful situations that I knew I could no control-no matter how much I felt I loved, needed or wanted things to be different with Santana, or my life that changed as a result of making those feet for socks that my mother and Ms. You Know Who and others tried to save me from.
As naïve as I was in age and mind, there was still some part of me that knew how to face living a totally different life from Santana through to my senior with new unfamiliar surroundings and making it to my big day without applause, encouragement or even invitations being sent. Strange, the duality that existed in me-and the life I lived, how I was so senselessly foolish for Pucker and just one day, wake up and change my mind and move on as if nothing bad, hurtful, or damaging had ever happened. I was learning that slowly but surely, I didn’t settle into my “naïvete” for an extended length of time any more than I did in innocence, interrupted.
In a quest for normalcy and a sense of stability of a relationship of any kind, I could always count on in-between-Ian. You see Ian and I met him on a bus ride home some years ago and we hit it off so well, that we ended up talking on the phone that whole evening and into the week about my then, high-school woes and emotional rollercoaster rides of break up to make up-with Santana. Over the years, he was always there fore me whenever I needed a shoulder to cry on or any thing. He was always cool, and there for me-despite liking not his friend zone.
Never my “boyfriend;” but for years, he was my friend between boyfriends. He hated that. I liked Ian as a really good friend, but if I am honest, the shallow part of me would not allow myself to be his girlfriend because he looked like exactly like Prince-just like him-from his style of dress, his hair, and even the black eyeliner (less, the assed-out pants and tights). That’s all fine and good (for Prince). But, he’s “Prince”-one and only. Unfortunately (and I later found out-fortunately, perhaps), Ian was cursed. He was like…a regular dude who was way too much of a distraction who otherwise would not be-in a city like L.A or New York perhaps. But walking around being cursed with looking like a true or life dead ringer rock star’s twin being a regular dude, in a regular city doing, regular thing garnered way too much attention. Despite the eyeliner, Ian was a very masculine guy who eventually nailed played right on into it being unable to ignore the fact that he looked like Prince Rogers Nelson.
Though I was a secretly shallow in public, in private; I was not. And because of that, I had become very close friends with Ian, and we remained close for many years through to this very time in my life-a time where, my having my own apartment, job, and responsibilities-I fancied myself a very mature young lady with my shallow past far behind me.
Well, my secretly shallow past reared its shallow head when Ian embarrassed me at the local penny-candy corner store in the neighborhood I was living in. Like he would always do at my request, Ian had come by to pick myself and my BFF-Ciara up so that I could run a few errands. I asked Ian to stop down to the corner store so that I could pick up a few things. He pulled into the parking lot and Ciara and I proceeded to exit the vehicle. Ciara knew how I felt about being seen in public with Ian, so she already knew that the moment he pulled in the parking lot, before he could even put the car in park-good, we were to dash out of the doors before Ian could decide that he would park and exit his driver’s side door to walk in with us-like the gentleman he was. We dashed out of the car doors so fast without asking or turning around to even see if Ian would follow. Since it was the lil’ hole in the wall Mom and Pop corner delicatessen and store, I didn’t think that he would decide that he needed some last-minute delicacy.
A couple minutes into standing in the line to pay for our items, Ian must have gotten the notion and the need. Because the store was in a basement of some building, even in the daylight hours, it was dark enough down there that anytime you stood in line for at least thirty seconds; the moment another customer would walk in the door, you would always squint your eyes, and put your hand over your brow to be able to focus in on who came in the door.
The store owner was the only one who could look to his left and see each customer without so much as a twitch in his brown, much less a squint with a hand placed over it.
When the door opened, Ciara and me must’ve placed our hands over our brows in unison, squinted and looked at one another like Twiddly Dee and Twiddly Dum. We started
moving about like roaches in the kitchen after cutting on the lights. While focusing in, all I could see was his cloak-and that was all I needed to see. I hurriedly placed my items back onto the counter. Ciara did the same-right behind me like we were two falling dominoes. I lost total interest in purchasing anything and refused to continue to wait in line, although I was third up to pay. Ian walked over to me and I ducked beneath him to run past him. I could hardly hear what it was he was about to say or ask. I dashed out of that store, knowing that Ciara was right on my tail. If I didn’t have such a need to run my errands for that day, I probably would have just kept running-like Forrest Gump; straight up the hill and around the corner to my apartment.
Instead, we got back into the car and waited on our driver to return. Ian was strong and resilient-a gentleman always-at the same time, no matter what.
When he returned to the car, he looked back at Ciara and handed her a bag of every item that she sat on that counter, and saved the best for last: me and my bag. He looked me in my face and slowly handed me my bag and proceeded to say to me: “Angie you know what. I noticed that you have always been embarrassed to be seen out in public with me, and for a long time, it confused me, because we have had so much fun together when we are alone. I remember all these ways I would try to get you to be seen out with me and you never would. I hated it when you would do that to me,” he said-with a reminiscent look on his face.
I listened on-looking back and forth at his face and into my lap as if I was a child being reprimanded about my shameful behavior.
“It’s been like that for years,” he said-exhaustedly. As if he could not believe it.
“You are still like that today. It’s amazing,” he said, unbeknownst to him-knocking down my illusion that I had somehow matured and while melting into my new responsibilities of holding down and apartment, job and saving for my first car.
“I know as bad as you wanted these candies Angie, you would have normally waited in line-and you did for a long time. Your ass love you some Monster Chews. You hopped into my car and asked me to make a B-line down to that little pissy ass store as if you were in need of a hit of something! You wanted this candy, Angie” said Ian.
I still did not reply. I was too embarrassed to reply.
“You still don’t have anything to say?” he asked.
I kept looking into my lap while opening the same first piece of Monster Chew candy as if it was wrapped tighter than Fort Knox.
He continued: “Then when I came in the store-you run out as if you had stolen something and was in a hurry to get to your get-away car! Typically, over the years, I have tested you by putting you on the spot-just to see if one day, you would ever grow up and get over your shallow ways, but this time, I didn’t come into the store to test you or anything. It’s just that it was taking so long that I thought something was wrong in that store-because it’s not even safe down there. All kinds of stuff go on in that store and behind that counter. I came in because I was worried. I, at first, was not going to even allow you to go in. When we pulled up, I was about to find out what it was you and Ciara wanted and I was going to go in and get it for the both of you. The both of you hopped out of the car before I could even pull in good!” he explained.
“Angie, I may look a little different than all your other boyfriends. And I may not dress and act all fly like your boyfriends, but I do have a heart and in case you didn’t notice. I have always been there for you whenever you would be going through situations with those same fools-yet, you’ve always shitted on me. I don’t like that about you Angie.”
After he said that line, I felt sad and badly for my behavior, but at the same time; I totally couldn’t unsee the entire first verse of Prince’s “I Wanna Be Your Lover.” (00:00-00:56)
I just couldn’t.
But I pushed through and got the courage to lift my head from looking down into my lap and turned around to Ciara to see the look on her face. Twiddly Dee quickly turned her head to look out the window as if her new name was Bennett and she wasn’t in it.
I turned back to Ian:
“I’m so sorry Ian. I’m so very sorry,” I whispered.
I felt so bad. I couldn’t say anything more.
After that scolding, there was so much to say, yet, I could find any words to say.
I mean, it was like a movie-moment. All I could hear dancing in my head were the words to Stevie Wonder’s song called: “Overjoyed.”
Ian loved that song and for years, and would tell me that it reminded him of me.
Knowing that I was such a massive Stevie Wonder fan, he would always tell me that he hoped one day the words to that song would resonate with me and sink into my mind-since he knew that I loved music so much. It seemed like every time something would happen where Ian would test me out in public to see if I was embarrassed of him, he would make mention of that song soon after. Or he would put it on when we would get into the car. This time, he did not want to do anything but what he came to do for me and to get me out of his car as soon as possible. He was very upset-more ‘hurt’ than anything. Until this day in particular, I thought I had done a good job of concealing my shallow ways-because he never laid into me like on this day so, I didn’t think he noticed. Turns out, he did notice. And this time, when we he got back into the car he did not play the song, but in the middle of this movie moment-I played it in my head.
I felt one-hundred ways to stupid, exposed, and embarrassed at myself because it had all come together. Now that it was all on the table that for sure, I was embarrassed of him-and now we both knew-I knew now why he would do all kinds of things to simply test my shallow quotient.
You see when Ian would try to get me to go out in public with him, I would always have some lame excuse as to why I could not. But on one Sunday, I wasn’t successful in doing so. He asked me to go somewhere like an offer that couldn’t be refused: Church.
“Angie how ‘bout you come to my church with me this Sunday, we’re having a concert and program and I would love it if you would be my guest. No pressure, I’m going and I would love it if you would come with me. It would mean a lot to me,” he said.
I knew Ian was well-rounded, well-traveled and well-versed about a lot of things. And though I knew he believed in God, I didn’t recall him being so excited about attending church or even talking about church-at all.
He continued: “My church is right near my house, so, it’s not too far away. Nice congregation, friendly, good singing-it’s awesome. I feel confident that you will have a good time,” he explained.
“If anybody asked you. Where I’m going-where I’m going, soon. I’m going up to yonder. I’m going up to yonder. I’m going up to yonder-to be with my Lord,” he began to laugh and sing aloud-mimicking one of my funny childhood summer camp experiences-about how I belted out that song in its entirety for the first time. It was one of my favorite childhood church songs. Ian knew that that as a child, going to church every Sunday and Wednesday was apart of my busy little itinerary winter, spring, summer and fall without fail.
Ian had a way with his humor that could not be denied. He was soooo super funny and I actually, totally adored him because of. No one in the world was funnier than him. I laughed so hard while he sang the song to me-forgetting that I had even shared that memory with him but then again, Ian hung on to every conversation we’ve ever had.
Hesitantly, but not wanting to kill the moment I replied:
“Well, since you belong to the church, how could I say no, so, sure-I’ll go. What time does the service start?”
“The concert begins at seven in the evening, so…” he said, waiting on me to tell him what time I would be ready.
Sunday evening came.
We were at his house before heading to the church, and just like the rock star he was-he was not quite ready.
“Give me your black eyeliner pencil,” he asked me, laughing-though serious. He got a kick out of me accepting him as he was (in private). It was the publicly accepting him that I had to get past with this rock star friend of mine.
We headed to the church.
It was so crowded that I could hardly pay attention to whether or not people stared at us or no. After the music and shouting died down and the audience sat down; the pastor walked to the pulpit and said:
“Let the church say ‘Amen.’”
The crowded obliged.
“I said let the church say ‘Amen.’”
Church said “Amen.”
The pastor proceeded by thanking the crowd and commenting on the turnout. He then asked:
“Do we have any newcomers or guests in the house tonight that aren’t apart of the congregation because tonight is not the last night we would like to see you. You are welcome here and we would love to welcome you into our congregation!” he yelled.
Ian grabbed my hand and pulled me up and out of the pew to stand with him.
I had the dumbest look on my fire engine red face because I knew that everyone was looking at us then, for sure.
Outside of Ian and me, and maybe ten other people, we were the only ones to stand up in that large, crowded church that Ian did not belong to. I was too embarrassed to be livid or upset at Ian. I sure as hell couldn’t say anything to him while I knew, out of all twelve people standing; all eyes where most probably on me and my rock star wearing the same black eye-liner that we shared-while batting the same long eyelashes.
The preacher was asking everyone standing, various questions about their church home and whatever came to mind. When that preacher’s eyes met our black eye-liner, the entire church house head’s turned to us from every direction like we were at the center of a brown paper bag being gripped tightly. I was frozen stiff.
Almost sounding like a cowboy, aloud, Ian said: “Praise the Lord. My name is Ian. I heard you were having a special church program and I thought that me and my friend Angie here would come out for a visit…you know…listen to the sweet sounds of the lord and his angels singing through to a congregation of angelic voices to hopefully bless us both. I must say, we both are enjoying ourselves this evening, aren’t we Angie?” said Ian-while he looked down at me.
I was stunned.
I nodded “yes” like some programmed child that had been stolen away.
All I could do was put my finger in my mouth and ride the sides of my shoes back and forth like a shy kid holding some strange man’s hand.
The whole church yelled and clapped for Ian’s rock star performance as if he had just plucked an electric bass guitar’s strings:
“AAAAAAMEN! Praise the LORD! Hallelujah!” they began to scream from various directions.
The pressure for me was as if someone blew into this brown paper bag and it burst. I plopped back into my seat so that I could be hidden from view of anyone out of the view of our pew.
I was so stunned and taken aback but even after the program, I couldn’t scold Ian. The whole scene was just as funny as it stunned me, but after a while; it was all over.
I could tell that Ian knew that I wanted to scold him. But one thing about him was that he had a very quiet, reserved and resilient threshold-the kind that no matter who you were, and depending on who you were; like a skunk-he could let you know what would most probably happen next, should you cross that threshold.
After that church concert, Ian was in a good mood. Although he knew that he put me on the spot, I could tell that, in his mind, I lived-get over it. His skunk threshold gave off a smell of “let’s continue to have a good time and some good conversation into the rest of this evening-you’d better not dare disturb my groove.”
That incident was into my early days of knowing Ian, and although I was shallow; I was slowly getting to know him from beneath the eyeliner and outfits. All things up through this day at the church lay the groundwork of what kind of man he was underneath it all. I liked that in him-so much. That was so sexy to me. He was the total package of everything good about all boyfriends wrapped into one man. He just looked like Prince.
Early into my hanging out with Ian, as I hung out with him, I observed this way about him in a big way around the time, before he got his car. He would meet me at the bus stop when I’d come to see him. And when he would walk me to bus stop and stand with me until the bus would come to take me home.
Like clockwork, every single time we would get to the bus stop, this little guy would come storming through the bushes like one of the Children of the Corn. It was uncanny. Ian and I would be standing there having conversation and then all of a sudden, we would hear the rattling of leaves and branches. A few seconds later, this little short pip-squeak of a guy would appear like some Yorkshire Terrier; barking and jumping up and down. It was sight to behold.
He would be standing there beneath Ian with his finger as close to Ian as he could, calling him all kinds of sissies and faggots every which was he could think of-and then turn to me questioning how could such a beautiful girl be hanging out with a fairy like Ian.
I would observe Ian.
When I would come to see him-before he started driving-he would pay for the cab ride to and from. But it seemed like from one day that we took the bus ride and Bushman showed up the way he did; like clockwork, I could tell that Ian preferred the bus stop route verses the cab ride route because he secretly wanted to demolish Bushman and wanted Bushman to catch him on a particular day that made him snap.
It was slowly becoming an exercise of discipline and self-control for Ian, just to see how far he could do so. And Ian’s quiet, reserved and resilient threshold was indeed obvious to Bushman.
He really didn’t want to got to war with Ian. He knew how far he could go and that he had been cruising for that bruising that he was soon about to get. At this point, Bushman was only trying to show out in front of me because he started something that he knew he could not finish without getting finished off.
That’s how Ian was. Nobody could punk him. Nobody could force him to over react or act-against his personal will. Nobody could. You couldn’t let the attire and the eyeliner fool you. Ian was very masculine and stood his ground. There wasn’t one effeminate bone in his body. It was always easy for the average dude to mistake how Ian looked, for being some punk who most probably wouldn’t fight back or stand up for himself if challenged.
But they would soon find that they were dead wrong when they tested him.
Poor guy, Ian couldn’t help it that he looked just like Prince. He just took it to the identical level by dressing like him and wearing eyeliner like him-as if he too, was a rock star. And in his own way, he was. We were close and I was at his house many-a-day, sitting in the middle of his living room floor-braiding his hair in corn rows from front to back. There was never a day that I would be sitting over there and that phone would not ring with girl on the other end.
Unlike most guys, as well, Ian didn’t play silly cowardly games-trying to juggle countless women or whispering on the phone, hiding in another room and trying to make the girl on the other end of the phone jealous or hurt or trying to pretend like one the phone or the other sitting around him, was a guy. Everybody knew where they stood with Ian and to carry on any girl on girl cat-fighting of any kind where Ian was concerned, was unheard of. He was like an old man at heart. He was fun but he was also serious-business as well and all the girlies loved that man. And just like Prince: he loved women. He knew “the woman” individually, like the back of his hand. I liked that about him. He just loved everything having to do with the female mind, the softness of a woman and all things sensual, mysterious and complex about a woman. I was a challenge for him and through learning him, I knew that secretly, as much as it hurt him; he liked that about me.
Over the years, I learned so much from him and he never forced me into any situation with him just to suit his own wishes. He was well-balanced and wanted to be loved and wanted just like he loved and wanted me.
In war or at love, Ian was always kept that quiet, reserved and resilient threshold.
At war-he would not let you take him there.
In love, he would not take you there, unless you wanted to be there.
He knew that I wasn’t willing to give him that-at least-openly, in public, so for that reason-we remained close friends that we eventually began to share eyeliner and mascara.
Despite the mascara, eyeliner and rock star look, meeting Ian had come just in time-like a test plopped right in my life and a warning that had I not been so shallow, my life probably would have gone on as trained for, hoped for, and planned because there would not have been Lucky therefore, I wouldn’t have been so unlucky so as the ultimately end up with a baby deady.
Ian’s charm was working on me back when I was with Santana-after his having leaped at the chance to bag his second virgin after one year of having ‘d-virgining’ me. I had strongly considered leaving Santana for Ian. Strongly.
You see, on a working permit, I was working at Wendy’s after school and on the weekends during that time. Ian would come down and spend my breaks with me atop the restaurant up and away from the crowd because my excuse would be Santana. Although we we’re having a rough patch; I didn’t want to break his heart considering the fact that I was unsure whether or not I was really going to leave him for Ian.
Because I always had a good time with Ian-he was loads of fun and laughter at that time in my life-an escape from the pressures of being a “popular high school couple” with so much teenage angst and imagery to keep up that got really bad when Santana got Senior-itis with his graduating soon.
As if it were his job, like clockwork, on my break times and until I got off from work, Ian would come down and bust my tables atop the restaurant and then close it off from patrons so that I wouldn’t have so much cleaning to do at closing time. It would be hilarious watching him upstairs while I would be downstairs at the register laughing so hard-trying to take orders.
That was joy in my life during that short crux of a stressful time that I could court a guy without pressure and be able to laugh and ‘date’—the proper way that a teen was supposed to; without going steady—like I had already been doing and warned not to.
The stress was enormous. Here I was, a teen with no babies yet hanging out with Ian-feeling like a teen again-dating like a teen with no pressures, no responsibilities and no babies. Ian was that change I needed-as if God was trying to send me something.
Fighting nothing but my secret shallowness at this time where, once upon a time, hell, I was ganzy and Bohemian, and too-dressed a bit 80s Madonna-ish and Shiela E.-ish before being materialistically turned out by Santana, Ian would have probably been perfect had I met him first.
Still though, Ian was winning during the perfect time he showed up in my life.
Eventually I decided to make that move-leave Santana but I needed to do it in baby steps, so, I had Ian meet me downtown at a pretty far distance from school-to walk me to work.
The night before, I had done a pretty good job of convincing Ian that I was ready to make the move, so much so, that Ian, with his defiant self, deviated from the pick up point and showed up outside the front of the school to walk me to work. The master “separatist” in me couldn’t defeat Ian’s keen sense of knowing early on; the games I played game I knew how to play and how I knew how to position people, things and in all situations.
It just so happened that day, Santana had left early with his bestie Tony, but had he not bumped right into us; he sure as hell would have found out about it before the night was over because Ian’s presence attracted a lotttttttttttttttttt of attention-even for my artsy school.
Everybody had known that Santana had cheated on me, so at that point and remembering just that-I didn’t care that everybody saw Ian. I, with my now shallow self, was more concerned with that fact that everybody saw “Prince”-and didn’t know ‘Ian.’
But before he and I could make it to my job and about five blocks away; we ran smack dead into Santana and Tony. That startled Santana, so much so that, with his hands on his head, he began to circle the area where he stood-like a dog chasing his own tail-like cousin Mark when Damien Omen turned his brains to mush (2:00).
He could not believe his eyes. It was a sight to behold. As much as I knew Santana loved me, I had no idea he was going to react in that way. I just stood there and watched. Santana started to scream and hold both his hands out in a position like he was choking me-except he was choking the wind rather than me. But by God-he wanted me right in between his fingers. It wouldn’t be ’til a couple years after that-that I would see Santana so rabidly mad.
“Is this what you do!? I thought we were going to try and work things out Angie! Is this what you’ve been doing? Urrrghhhh!” he growled-like cousin Mark-hitting himself upside the head with both his hands, trying to figure out what he was going to do next.
“Take OFF my Swatch!” he yelled and pointed.
I slowly removed the watch.
“Give it to him Angie,” said Ian, calmly.
I handed Santana the watch.
“Man you don’t have anything to do with this!” yelled Santana at Ian.
Ian just twisted his lips up at Santana to spare him any more unnecessary hurt than he was feeling at that moment. It was always easy to mistake Ian for a punk because he looked like a rock star but Ian was known as a guy who would kick your ass if he had too and I sure as hell didn’t want him beating up my boyfriend while I watched him hurt so, badly.
Taking the watch off was too easy, I guess.
Standing there looking like Dorothy with the pretty red slippers wanted by the Wiz, Santana stabbed himself first, with his finger, then used that same finger to jab down at the hightop Reeboks on my feet, then jabbed at me and demanded:
“Take off my fuckin’ Reebok’s that I bought for you-right NOW!”
I replied: “Santana don’t have any shoes if you take my shoes, right here! In the middle of downtown?!”
“I don’t give a fuck! I don’t care Angie. Take ‘em off NOW!” he screamed to the top of his lungs while his head was shaking like a frantic Bobblehead doll. He was having a hissy fit.
Sounding like Celie helping Mister getting dressed and ready for going to see Shug and knowing where his every sock and tie was located; Ian said to me:
“Angie, yes you do have shoes. You have your work shoes in your book bag.”
He walked up to me to unzip it and he then reached in.
And like A Prince, a brave one, unflinched, Ian turned his back to Santana then kneeled to the ground to put my lil’ work moccasins onto my socked feet that were 10-toes down; stuck nervously to the pavement.
Santana was livid. Startled. Ian, with me-seemed too familiar. We looked too common with one another, too close to one another. Much too close to a girl who, last Santana checked, was in a whole ass relationship with this girl-me-who was in a family way with his family by this time. Sleeping over at his house. Embedded into the family and known as his only girlfriend. Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter dinners. Currently planning to attend his senior prom. It was all just too much for Ian’s eyes that moment.
He could not figure out how somebody else slipped into our mix. Our schedules were full. We both had school full-time, by which we attended together. We both had work part-time, just a few hours after school and no weekends. Weekends we were at his house together. How? How did this happen? “How does this guy know my girl so well?!” I could feel Santana thinking.
Ian remained calm. He had no fear of Santana or Tony.
This scene was far too much for Santana’s mind, heart and eyes. It was like he was about to have a nervous breakdown right there.
His bestie-Tony-felt so badly for him and did and said all he could to calm him down.
Tony, himself, couldn’t take too much of an attitude with me because he knew-himself-that he was at the scene of the crime that broke me down so after my learning that Santana was off tucked away getting himself virgin number two while he fucked the girl’s friend.
Everybody’s gun was drawn and fully loaded at this point.
Nobody was wrong any more than any one was right.
So to hang on to whatever sanity Santana had left and to save him from possibly doing life in prison; Tony had to treat him like a James Brown stage show by throwing his coat over him and wisp him away from the whole scene. Because after some time-it was like he lost his speech.
I was really sad and had no idea he would be this level of distraught.
I got deeper.
For days after that, I could not find Santana because he had gone into hiding where, eventually I found was at his great grandmother’s house. He had given his mom and other family members that knew I’d call, strict instructions not to tell me where he was staying. He was soooooooooooooooooo soooo heartbroken. I was so terribly worried about him that I had to reveal to his mom what had happened. After some time, she caved in and gave me the address where he was staying.
I showed up. I knocked on the door and he opened it. He exhaled and tears fell. When he saw me-his faced dropped and so did he. He cried sooooooooooooooooo super hard and for so long while holding me at the same time. That broke my heart for Santana. I was devastated as if my heart literally touched his. Santana’s soul had been snatched and he was completely wiped out.
In that moment, I loved him so-even more than I thought I couldn’t love him any harder than when we first met and he chose nerdy ole me out of every girl, to be his girl. In this moment, I chose him instead of a really, good ole guy.
In that moment, he had no life in his eyes, or his body. It was like I had to bring him back to life like clear out of a Brewster’s Place scene with Oprah chest to chest Heimlich-hugging Lynn Whitfield in a powerful, loving effort to breathe life back into her soul, after losing her daughter.
It was the depths of Santana’s hurt that made me cut Ian off at the knees ‘immeeeeJATly.’
I hurt so badly to see him like that-it burned me from the inside out. I had never seen my beautiful, handsome boyfriend look so gaunt and death-like…as if he had retreated to his grandmother’s house to lie down and die. Never in the history of our ups and downs had I seen Santana like that. And even though he had put me through a lot up to that point; after seeing him in this state, I didn’t care anymore because I knew-at that moment that he opened that door for me-he really did love me. With tons of girls back at school crossing their fingers in hopes of being with him, he loved me and only me. In that moment, it’s what I knew for sure.
I had to toss Ian our friendship and even all the platonic fun I having with him-wayyyyyyyyyyyyy out of the door.
It was Ian. Ian was the total reminder that had my heart not had hurt so badly for Santana that day that I found him tucked away over at his grandmother’s house; my life probably would have turned out a whole lot different. It was like God and the Devil where having a fight—playing a game of chess with my life and sending subtle reminders to me as if He was saying “Angie, I’m placing this situation in your life right now-your meeting Ian on this bus to remind you that you can go on to being a childless teen in preparation the follow your dreams.”
And then like they say, with new levels come new devils, and the devil showed up and placed Santana in a place that forced him to break down in heart and mind and force me to follow my heart and mind which ultimately lead to my dreams being deferred.
All that mattered to me was that now, my first love was dead inside and in need of love-my love-and it was only me that could breathe life back into him.
I loved Santana all over again because in this moment, I knew what he had done to me did not even matter. Only I mattered. And for me-in this moment-only he mattered. We mattered…
Oh, never your worry about Ian. Despite his looking like rockstar Prince in a regular world, he was still quite the rockstar and hit with the ladies in the city. It wouldn’t be ’til later in life that it was official to me that I was a officially apart of a world I never dreamed of-where too, I learned that Ian knew all the girls.
I had enrolled in
FROM THE NOT YET PUBLISHED PREQUEL / BOOK 2 “Angie Situation” trilogy
TABLE of CONTENTS
- The Roots of Picked Fruit 17
- The Precocious Ripening 33
- Ripe & Ready. Gangs, Bangs & Pangs 39
- The Queen Bee in Me 63
- Another Level. Blossoming. Beautiful. 80
- TGGF, Male Model & Me 101
- TGGF & Me 112
- Divorcing Dad 124
- You Know Who 130
- First Flings First 139
- In the Lion’s Den 170
- Cold Shoulders and Frozen Dancing Feet 195
- Pills & Frills 204
- You Know What: I Told You So 209
- Dichotomies & Dazes 228
- Situations, Decisions & Transitions 241
- Up, Out & Away 244
MEET the AUTHOR Q & A 254
READING GROUP GUIDE 257
SNEAK PEEK into book2 (“Angie Situation NAIVETE’” )’s CHAPTER ONE 260
OTHER BOOKS BY ANGELA SHERICE 269
ABOUT the AUTHOR 270
Media Maestro .
Writing Rhinoceros .