I told somebody yesterday that I don’t often post blatantly about my personal life and that’s true. If you’re a close friend, you probably can read between the lines of my “commentaries” like you had t.tara glasses on. But today will be different. Today is a day I feel like popping the cork because a lot is going on and, well, a writer should be somebody who bleeds their business every once in a while so we don’t appear to be intellectual hypocrites who dissect everybody else’s work but our own (isn’t that right, Scott?).
Anyways, some of you know that Yaze and I broke up back in November after a long time in coming. Starting off with the fact that we both kept asking each other to be two different people even though there was love there, it also didn’t help that we were in different stages of our lives. While I hit the 212 ground running, he was still chillin in the 323 with varying time lines of when he was going to join me here, grab the mics at the clubs here and fulfill his dream of being a singer/songwriter while I wrote the play de resistance after the NYC muse seduced me with her subway aka iron horse charms.
Didn’t happen.
After our trip to Europe in July to witness our friends Vince and Shemby get married along the Tuscan skyline, I realized that we probably weren’t destined to be together long. Our trip, which I imagined to be a romantic jaunt through three different cities (London, Paris and Florence), was actually a tense platonic backpacking trip where we actually took real luggage and no backpacks (you try carrying a suitcase up some stairs at a train station in Italy and see if you can still do a Von Trapp dance). Instead of curling up to each other, Yaze romanced “Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Riding” and his Sidekick (that was a nice roaming bill we got later). And I tried to look past the rain in Paris, control my giggles when we stayed at the hotel that was in the original “Truth About Charlie” with Cary Grant, contain my disappointment at not being able to see a show at The Old Globe in London and wonder why I felt like I was completely unattractive to my fiance. Oh and I finished “High Fidelity” because Nick Hornby always makes the medicine go down in the most hysterical way. But you can’t read a funny book every minute. There were great moments. The double decker. The stars and the villa in Arrezzo. The sidewalk cafe in Paris. There was also Yaze telling the whole wedding that Vince, because he was marrying Shembi (and boy was that a romantic wedding!), was in a place Yaze was so not at yet. Somehow I felt like a kid sister in three of the most romantic places I’ve ever seen. I’m not saying that’s his fault but I am saying that’s how I felt.
When we got back to NYC, Yaze FLED to LA and I took my engagement ring off. He sighed a breath of relief (he told me that).
Those few months he stayed there had me really diving into myself. It’s odd because my apartment now is the same one I had when I originally lived here so sometimes I would wake up and have a Pam Ewing moment like “Did I really live in LA?” but most times I was just lonely. And then I got to know myself. I hung out with my old friends (ten plus years is really a sign of commitment. Yaze, you were right because these girls have been with me for a long time) and found a level of happiness in my solitary state. I didn’t wake up feeling tense and wondering which mood my mate would have after I finished my coffee. I was surviving and going to movies by myself and reading lots of books and seeing lots of good music. And laughing.
Enter Scott.
I would like to thank him and Charlynn for coming to my reading at the Hip Hop Theater Festival. They weren’t that close to me and, let me tell you, when a person comes to your play reading, it’s a big deal. It’s a hard thing to sit through since there’s no movement and all you have is some actors, sitting, reading your words. For me it’s a roller coaster; for an audience member, it’s like a bedtime story. But they sat through it without wanting to kill themselves and that meant a lot. Just like the fact that Marcella comes to virtually every one of my events like a trooper and I still appreciate it as much as if it were the first time.
Back to Scott.
As a self-professed layman, he was really just a cute guy with funny jokes and a strong work ethic before the reading. He was a friend who could lighten any situation, someone I found myself looking forward to seeing. After that reading though, I realized I had a crush on him. Rarely do men in my life come and support my work: I’ll say that out loud (except for you, MKy)with no problem and no shame. Yaze is naturally ambivalent about most things so it wasn’t personal when he didn’t call after the reading to find out how things went or when I’d give him stuff to read and it would sit around for a long time (there’s a great article in this month’s Glamour magazine from the author of the novel “Jarhead” about his slow separation from his wife. The work growing fungus on a lover’s desk is a familiar theme.); it just felt like it was personal. Few of the men I’ve ever dated have taken an interest in my writing. That’s just a fact. I couldn’t tell you why or the logistics behind it but it’s a truth I’ve had to carry for awhile. Scott is different. He had comments and thoughts and ideas about my little play (that still needs a ton of work - but Kamilah Forbes and her direction helped a great deal). A way to a writer girl’s heart is through her scribbled pages.
And we hung out. It was fun. No pressure. He looks at me in a way that makes me feel like I’m a hot blooded woman straight out of a Tennessee William’s play (not the “The Glass Menagerie” - that passion is too understated for my current state - more like Maggie The Cat from “Cat On a Hot Tin Roof”). Our conversations were like a long less traveled road that stretched out into the horizon. It was as if when I prayed to my father upon moving to New York about what to do with my life, he answered with Scott. There is a familiarity in the two men. Strong work ethic. A very simple sense of right and wrong. Tremendous ability to carry responsibility. Honesty. Appreciation of good character and beautiful things. A strong understanding of themselves.
I will tell you I had no idea that this would lead to anything. I just had a crush. He wears suits and nice watches and has conservative ideas. I’m a dreadloc’d, nose ring wearing crunchy granola girl who has pretty liberal ideas about most things, including the name Apple. His type never falls for me. And if I was going to have an artist, I would have stayed with Yaze. So I did not see where my heart was leading.
After my break up, Scott gave it to me plain: he wanted to be with me. You can call me crazy for taking him up on that idea (some of my friends think it’s “a bit soon” - in that voice that sounds very Usher Board) but life is so short. That’s what my dad’s passing taught me. I took this idea of “us” apart and put it back together again and couldn’t find any chinks in the armor that would prevent me from remaining happy. I was giggling like a school girl. The sound of his voice made my stomach drop. I smiled when I spotted him anywhere. I couldn’t stop looking at him. I wanted to know what he thought about everything. We emailed back and forth all the time. I was blushing all the time. He sent me loving texts, told me to my face all the time how much he loved me…I saw no wavering. I just saw his sparkly eyes. As corny as it sounds, I dreamed this kind of relationship when I was a girl. Not the Barbie stages but the one after that where you try to reconcile who you are with your hormones and where you think you belong in life. I had a dance teacher, Mrs. Johnson, who was just like I think I am now - nose ringed, artistic, strong opinoned - and she married a lawyer. I used to think that was the best combo ever. She was probably really fun for his boring lawyer friends and he was probably the proudest person amongst her arty friends. I think I believed opposites attract. This time around I’ve learned that I was only talking about opposites on the surface. At the core, I feel like I’ve found a kindred soul with Scott. We have a lot in common even though we don’t look like it. We like, love and are in love. It’s like winning some kind of emotional lottery.
Things move fast.
Yaze is going to have a baby with a girl he once came home raving about. Let me explain. Because Yaze loves trees and grass (all grass hehe) and the soul and sunshine, he can see the beauty in most people. And then just be ambivalent about it all at the same time. He met a girl through friends and came home talking endlessly about her personality and how she wasn’t being treated very well by somebody else he knew. In the back of my mind, because (as he says), I’m pretty well adjusted (actually he says I’m too well adjusted for him and I agree), I had a flash that if there was no me, he would have asked her out. But then there was a me so nothing happened. Later I would dissect this and be sad that there was a me in the way because he was only respecting what was already at home, not doing some revolutionary act of “I LOVE T.TARA!” No, he was just going with the routine of the girl at home. Anyways, when we broke up, he asked her out and now they will be having a baby, God willing, in August or September. I pray for the baby and am happy that this happened because now Yaze has no choice but to be in control and I was never the girl who could drop her control long enough to see if he could pick up the slack. I was too afraid we would be fucked. I can admit it. But I had reasons. He hated working. Always complained when he was working. Found out how not to work and then didn’t. When I thought of us having a baby, I saw me at the job until my water broke. May not be true but that’s what I saw. I send them love.
But in my own situation, I see that I need Scott around and I have no problem with that need. I can function quite well on my own. I wish I could be that kind of girl vampire of Anne Rice novels who can disappear for months at a time from her loved ones and just ponder. But that’s not me. I’m the girl who relishes love and human contact. I like touching people I love on the hand or by hugging them. We cannot do this when we are dead. It’s a bonus to have somebody near you who makes you feel as loved as you feel for them. The same page. I’ve never landed here before completely. I may have scanned it once but I never took the time to curl up to it like I used to with my Gabriel Garcia Marquez books. I hope Scott moves in by February. We’d said March but we also notice that we may not be able to wait that long. You say what’s the hurry and I say a multitude of things. Death for one. I don’t want to waste one minute of my life not doing something out of fear. I want to go to bed every night in his arms, fingers tangled together, his lips on my ear and I want to wake up to that face saying, “Good morning, you” and kissing my shoulder. I know the newness comes and goes and comes again (my newly married friend Kamilah tells me that) but as long we stay committed to what we know we have, I’m okay with that. I’ve never really been with a man before who demonstrates how important that is to him. I am not competing with anything else in his life and we both stand strong in our committment to each other. No prompting, prodding, wondering, waiting, game playing…this is like, real.
Scott is the man I never knew existed and I am having a great time introducing him to the t.tara that I’ve been putting on a shelf for awhile. It is so funny (such a dumb word - funny - to use in this instance but I’ll switch it after I think about this blog for a minute maybe. I’m freestyling right now) what you find when you aren’t looking. Scott and I talk all the time about not having words for what we’ve found in each other but we’re both committed to spending our lives trying to articulate it.
Meanwhile, this bleed is happening because of that love but also because my dad’s birthday is in 13 days (bittersweet since mine is Monday. 34! Wowser! Wasn’t I just five and running to my Daddy-O’s arms when he picked me up from school? That was yesterday, right?) and it was hard to wake up to the fact that I could not call him and tell him I had a man I wanted him to meet. I wish they could have had dinner together so they could talk about life, sports, travel, family…anything. My brother will be meeting Scott in February and he’s close but a girl needs her dad. I know my Dad is here with me right now but as I’ve mentioned before, there is nothing like hearing his voice or going to visit him in Southfield, waking up at noon to coffee, going backyard tomato picking followed by an afternoon drive down Jefferson in the Lexus, all to the sound of Boney James. I can report to you that it may get less, this pain us children of those who have passed feel, but it doesn’t leave. If you are new to this, you may wonder, as I did, whether you will forget the sound of their voices or the smell of their clothes and you don’t. If you do, it’s not for long. Sometimes these things fall on your head like the screw that came out of the blue that I needed for my car (thanks Dad). I told you I believe in ghosts because I really desperately need to know that my dad is here and did not leave me on this earth to vanish completely. My dad would have turned sixty this year. Next year he could have walked me down the aisle (yes, I think that’s where we’re headed - it’s where I want to head with Scott!) and I could have danced with him at my wedding. But I will settle for that dance we shared at my brother’s wedding. And I will picture him on my arm when the time comes.
Also, this morning, on my way to the train, I get an email from my dear friend Tasha, who has faced a few tragedies in the past few months, telling me she’s faced another. The death of her aunt. Tasha is so strong because she has gone through things that I cannot wrap my head around. I wanted to pray for her because I feel like I could do some good doing so. So this is for her.
Finally, Marcella’s mom is back in the hospital and the ambiguity surrounding her illness is such a heartbreaking thing to watch my schwellie (private name) go through. She too is strong and she is also a member of the Passed Father club (along with Jen, Jessica, Alexis and Eve). I wanted to give her strength too.
So the reason for this bleed is because my heart is wide open today. I found it necessary to post love because it seems necessary for us all. Mark Twain said the only way to cheer yourself up is to cheer up someone else. I’m not sure if I’ve cracked any jokes or was especially witty but I gave you truth and I really gave you myself.
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Hey Turk. I just t wanted to say congrats on your new love. You will always be one of my heroes.
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Comment by Merc — January 11, 2008 @ 10:55 pm
Your words were very moving to me Tara. Glad that you have found happiness in your new love. That is so beautiful to hear. I drop in from time to time to check out your blog and I have to say that I enjoy your insights! I know that you do not know me,but I would love to read your plays. I am an aspiring writer (screenwriting).
Comment by Stephanie — January 14, 2008 @ 9:39 pm