“Stop talking. I’m fine. Don’t ruin the mood. Keep going.”
The sex wasn’t how I envisioned our first time together would be. It felt forced and meaningless ... like she was doing me a favor instead of sharing an emotional experience with me. We went through the motions and sexed in different positions, but seeing her stare down at her fingernails and, at one point, drift off with a blank stare, as if she were thinking of someone else, proved her heart wasn’t in it. I was just a rebound.
When it was over, she rolled on her side and wrapped her naked body in my bedsheet. I placed my hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off and stared, unblinking, at the wall. The silence was deafening. I tried to ease the tension by being heartfelt and honest.
“This meant something to me, Gabby. This wasn’t just a fuck. I want us to be more than a fling. I hope this’ll be the start of a future for us together.”
Gabby stood up and searched for her clothes. She grabbed them off the floor and dressed. “I’m sorry, Ben. This was a mistake ...”
“What? Why was this a mistake?”
“I can’t do this. You’re a great guy . . . You know I care about you a lot, but I don’t love you, and I don’t think I’ll ever see you like that. I’m sorry.”
She left without saying so much as a goodbye.
I spent the rest of my night staring at the ceiling, praying I didn’t lose my best friend for good.
* * *
I glanced at the screen on my cell phone for any communication from Gabby. Nothing. After our intimate night, I didn’t see Gabby for over a week. She didn’t return my texts or calls and wouldn’t answer the door whenever I stopped by her apartment. It drove me crazy knowing that she was avoiding me. It made me question if she got off by knowing she could control me, and if my feelings for her were one-sided. Was it just me that felt our night was special? I moped around everywhere, disappointed, feeling embarrassed, heartbroken, and lonely. Finally, I got out of bed, put on some workout clothes, and went for a run. Even that couldn’t get my mind off her.
Growing up, my dad taught me to be constructive. He taught me never to let stress cause me to do things that would bring me further down and hurt me. I followed his advice and realized it was easier to shield myself from the pain of heartache if I resorted to what I always did when I was upset: drown myself in work and not be distracted by women.
I told Terrence about the latest drama between Gabby and me.
“Damn, brother. She left right after the sex? Were you that bad?” he asked.
“Shuddup,” I said.
“I’ve been telling you to stop chasing that girl since junior high. Maybe now you’ll listen.”
I shook my head.
“Ben, you pretty much worship the ground she walks on. You’re too available. Look, Gabby’s hot and all, but she treats you like shit because she knows you’ll always chase after her. Once she sees you’ve backed off a bit and stopped being so thirsty and desperate, she’ll respect you and give you a chance.”
Terrence gave me more words of advice but didn’t bother to try to convince me to party and chase women with him. He was used to my recluse act whenever Gabby hurt me, so he gave me time to be by myself.
It was Friday night, and while most guys my age were partying with their friends and chasing women, I was sitting in the university library studying my law books. I had nothing but time on my hands since my life mostly revolved around Gabby. With her not around, I had no life. I tried to convince myself that this was all for the best, that I didn’t need a woman clouding my goal of being a great lawyer, but the truth was that I was miserable.
I was sitting at one of the tables reading my law books and taking notes when a curvy blonde approached my table.
“Do you mind if I sit here?”
I gave her a quick scan. She was wearing tight blue jeans and a white V-neck shirt spilling with cleavage. She was hot ... for a white girl, I thought at the time, but I didn’t need any distractions.
I purposely looked around at the nearly empty library, where there were plenty of deserted tables, and hoped she’d get the hint. After a few seconds of her staring at me and waiting for an answer, I shrugged and said, “Sure.”
I checked her out as she got situated. She had deep blue eyes, thick lips, a beach tan complexion, and curvy hips that flowed into toned, thick legs. She was nice to look at, but she was disruptive. She kept mumbling as she read, fidgeting in her chair, and digging in her purse.
I tried to avoid eye contact and focus on my books, but she randomly broke into tears. She was drawing a lot of attention. The few people in the library were whispering, pointing, and snickering at her. It wasn’t any of my business, and I knew I should avoid getting involved, but I felt sorry for her.
“Excuse me, are you OK?” I asked.
“No. I’m such a loser.”
Her eyes were red and swollen. I didn’t know what I should say, but I couldn’t leave her alone after she said that. I figured I’d calm her down, convince her to go home, and go back to studying once she was gone. I stood up and put a hand on her shoulder.
“You’re not a loser. You’re probably stressed because of midterms.”
“It’s not just that,” she said, wiping her eyes.
I pulled out the chair next to her and sat down. She pressed her face into my chest and sobbed quietly. I awkwardly patted her back.
“It’s OK. What’s wrong?”
“Where do I start? My parents think I’m a useless, helpless, talentless moron. My boyfriend broke up with me and told me I’m a decent fuck and good eye candy, but I’m too dumb to be marriage material. Maybe he and my parents are right. I mean, I’m doing terrible in all of my classes.”
“Don’t think about yourself like that,” I said. “The first part of success is having confidence in your abilities. You just need the proper motivation. Use your ex’s negative words and your feelings toward your parents as strength to prove them wrong. Trust me, I have similar stress, and I’m here doing the same thing.”
She smiled. “Thanks. I feel a little better,” she said, dabbing her eyes with a napkin from her purse.
“I’m glad I could help,” I said, nodding and turning to head back to my chair.
“Wait, what’s your name?”
“Ben Turner.”
“Rebecca Preston, but please call me Becky. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too.”
We shook hands.
After a good two hours of studying, I rubbed my eyes and stretched. I looked up and noticed the outline of Becky’s huge breasts and protruding nipples in her tight V-neck shirt as she yawned and stretched. The two of us made eye contact before I could look away. I checked to see if she was still staring at me. She gave me a warm smile and said, “My eyes are shot.”
“Yeah, mine too. I think that’s it for me tonight.”
She ran her fingers through her honey-blond hair and bit her lip. “Are you hungry?”
“Somewhat, but I might just get something from the vending machine. Do you want anything?”
“I was wondering, since we’re both calling it quits, maybe we could get a quick bite to eat.”
“What did you have in mind?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Somewhere we can sit around, maybe get a drink or two, and get to know each other. I’m sorry. I didn’t even ask. Is there anyone special in your life?”
“Nah. No one special in my life. I could use a drink ... sure.”
I figured what the hell. I wasn’t doing anything tonight, and nothing was going to come out of just getting a meal together.
“Great,” she said, touching my shoulder.
Applebee’s was crowded. I was about to suggest going somewhere else, but Becky had already given her name to the hostess. We made small talk, mostly about our classes and majors, and in minutes, we were seated. Luckily for me, they sat us near the TV so I could catch the Knicks game.
The sounds of laughte
r, cheering, and talking caused us to speak louder so we could hear each other.
I glanced at my phone, making sure I hadn’t missed a call or text from Gabby, but there was nothing.
“So, let’s get to know each other,” Becky said.
“What do you want to know?”
“Well, for starters, what’s your favorite book?”
“That’s an interesting icebreaker question,” I said, as I toyed with the straw in my soda.
“Yup. I love seeing how other people think and view the world. So, which book is your favorite?”
“I don’t know. I guess if I had to pick one, I’d say Great Expectations. I’ve read it a million times.”
“True, it’s definitely a classic, but why that book? What makes it so special?”
“It’s fitting to my life. I’m like the main character, Pip, an idiot who wastes his time trying to build himself up to chase after a woman who doesn’t want him.”
Becky’s openness with sharing her painful experience with her ex, Dennis, made me feel comfortable enough to share my history with Gabby. Becky made me feel comfortable enough that I wasn’t my usual guarded self. After I finished telling her about Gabby, I felt stupid. I immediately regretted telling a complete stranger my business, but at the same time, it felt therapeutic to get it off my chest. I closed my eyes and exhaled, reopening them to a look of sympathy. Becky smiled, reached over the table, and closed her hand over mine.
“She didn’t appreciate you. Let’s not talk about our sad stories. From now on, we’ll just talk about things that make us happy, deal?”
“Deal.”
Neither Dennis nor Gabby’s names were mentioned the rest of the night. Our chatter was fun. The conversation between us flowed naturally and freely. We laughed and talked as if we’d known each other for years. We were so deep in conversation that we barely noticed when the waitress brought our food.
“What do you dream about?” Becky asked.
“You and these questions.” I laughed. “I don’t know. I dream of graduating at the top of my class and landing a job at a prestigious law firm one day. I dream about becoming a name partner in the firm and starting a family.”
Becky nodded.
“What do you dream about?” I asked.
“My dream is to have my own column in a national magazine and become a bestselling novelist.”
“What’s the book going to be about?”
“I’m not sure yet, but I want to write something that’s a game changer, something that will make people think.”
We continued to talk about everything. When our waitress returned, I reached for the check to pay.
“It’s OK. I got this one,” Becky said.
“No way.”
“I asked you out, remember?”
“That doesn’t matter. I got the bill,” I said, winking at her.
We stepped out of the Applebee’s.
“Well, it’s getting late. I guess we better call it a night,” I said.
“Where do you like?”
“I live near campus on Morning side Avenue. You?”
“I’m in Harlem on 126th Street. Walk me to the train station?”
“Sure.”
Becky slid her hand in mine. I smiled, and we strode hand in hand, enjoying each other’s company on our way to the train station on Forty-Second Street.
We said our goodbyes outside the station.
“I needed a friend tonight, and you were exactly that. Thank you,” Becky said.
“It’s no problem.”
“Can I see your cell one sec?” she asked.
“Sure.”
I handed her my cell phone. She typed something in and handed it back to me.
“I put my number in your phone so that we can stay in touch. Don’t be a stranger. Call me,” she said and kissed me on the cheek. I smiled as she walked away. She turned around and winked at me.
She was nice, but I was naïve and still held on to the small glimmer of hope that Gabby would come around.
* * *
The next day, I went back to the library. I couldn’t get Becky off my mind. I could’ve easily called her, but I didn’t want to admit to myself that I was feeling her. I figured if it were meant to be, fate would bring us to meet again.
I sat at the same table I did the day before. An hour passed, and then Becky walked into the library wearing a shimmery, curve-hugging black dress. The black heels she wore accentuated her ass. She looked like she was dressed more for partying than studying.
Her eyes lit up at the sight of me.
“Hey, you,” Becky said, flashing a warm smile. “Do you mind if I sit with you again?”
“Nah, I don’t mind,” I said, smiling back.
I couldn’t stop staring at her. She smiled again, letting me know she noticed. “I hope I’m not interrupting your studying.”
“No, it’s cool. It’s good seeing you again.”
“I figured it’d be a long shot, but I came at the same time I did last night, and I hoped you’d be here.”
“Why?”
“I was just wondering if maybe we could help each other study. If we’re together, we won’t be alone to drown in our sorrows about our heartaches.”
“We have different majors,” I said.
“That’s OK. It’ll be fun.”
I still hadn’t heard from Gabby, and this girl that I’d just met wanted to spend more time with me than my best friend.
“Sure. Studying together sounds good.”
She lightly clapped her hands. “Yea, but let’s start tomorrow. Tonight, let’s get dinner and talk again.”
“You’re making me break my rules,” I laughed.
“That’s a good thing. It’s always good to shake things up now and then.”
* * *
We went to Mel’s Burger Bar on Broadway and continued from the previous night, laughing and getting to know each other.
I looked up from my menu and saw two sistas sitting across from us, cutting their eyes at Becky and me. One woman whispered something to the other. They shook their heads and stared us down. Becky was oblivious to the drama. She looked up and saw my irritated expression. She followed my line of sight, and the women continued to give her the stank eye. Becky looked back at me.
“What’s their problem?” she asked.
I sighed. “They’re talking shit because they know we’re dating.”
Becky’s eyes sparkled, and her face lit up. “So, this is a date?” she asked.
I smiled. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
“Good. I’m enjoying our date,” she said, patting my hand.
She didn’t flinch at the looks we got from the two women. She acted as if only she and I existed.
Soon, Becky stood up, excused herself, and went to the bathroom. My phone vibrated, alerting me to a text. I checked to see if it was from Gabby, but it was Terrence.
Terrence: Just checking to see if you’re still alive, man.
I laughed.
Ben: Yeah, I’m good.
Terrence: I hope you’re not still caught in your feelings because of Gabby.
Ben: Nah, I’m getting over it. I’m actually on a date now.
Terrence: What! Well, play on, playa. Text me later.
Ben: No doubt.
Becky came back to the table. She looked irritated.
“Are you OK? You look mad,” I said.
“I’m good. Those women that were staring at us decided they’d give me a piece of their minds in the ladies’ room about our date.”
The women came back to their table and gave us the finger.
“What did they say?” I asked.
“It’s not important. I won’t let them have the satisfaction of ruining my night with you.”
I smiled at that.
We fought over which one of us was paying the bill, and when she finally let me take care of it, she made me promise I’d let her pick out our next activity, and I wouldn’t complain no matte
r what.
Becky surprised me with a cab ride to the 40/40 Club on West Twenty-Fifth Street. She grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the club.
“Oooh, let’s go dancing,” Becky said.
“You look good, but I’m not dressed for that.”
I had on khakis, with black shoes and a black Polo shirt. I was dressed decent enough, but not nice enough for clubbing.
“There’s no way we’ll get in there,” I said.
“Ye of little faith. Come on.”
I laughed. “OK, but answer this one question: did you have this planned?”
“Not entirely. If I didn’t see you in the library, I was going to go dancing regardless, but I wasn’t sure which club I’d go to.”
Becky dug inside her purse and pulled out a wad of money. She walked to the front of the line, dragging me with her up to the bouncer.
“My friend Ben and I are on the VIP list.”
She flashed him what had to be over $500 and handed it to him. He quickly snatched the money from her hand, pointed at his clipboard, and said, “Oh yeah, I see his name right here. Go right on in.”
He moved the rope and let us inside. Becky smiled and winked at him. There was a lot of cursing and angry faces from the people who were waiting in line to get in.
Becky took me by the hand, and we immediately went to the dance floor.
“Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you. Contrary to popular belief, this white girl can dance. I took dance classes almost all my life.”
She wasn’t kidding. She was twerking and gyrating better than most of the sistas in the club.
After we’d danced for a while, Becky held my hand as we maneuvered through the crowd to the bar.
My ears were buzzing from the music bumping loudly all night. We did all types of shots. I was tipsy but sober enough to function. Becky, on the other hand, was really knocking them back. Our date was cut short when it was obvious she was shitfaced. Her cheeks were bright red, and her words were slurred. She hopped off her barstool and could barely stand.
“I think it’s time to call it quits tonight,” I said.
“Why? We’re having a good time,” she said, wobbling as she struggled to pull her dress down.
“Yeah, but you might’ve had a little too much to drink tonight.”
Becky laughed. “Maybe just a little,” she said, stumbling to the ground.
Defining Moments Page 6