Yo Yo Love

Kayla Simone Johnson

My life is a complicated one. I used to go out a lot, meet a lot of people, but now I don't feel like meeting anyone. My ginger brown complexion, long brown hair, and nice shape definitely turn heads. But I don't care about heads turning anymore, because I'm content with life. I used to think I needed a man, but now I know better. Actually, now I see I don't need one at all. I wish other women would realize that, too! Getting on talk shows arguing over men who lie and cheat and writing books about men. Who needs a man anyway? I don't. I met a man who proved it to me. Here is my story.

First, I'll tell you all about the boah, Emar. I met him one cold, rainy Wednesday morning as I was walking across Temple University's campus. I know the exact time, 11:40, because I was coming from an anthropology class I had forced myself to attend. Once I arrived at the class, I was told my professor would not be in. Damn. I had gotten up for nothing. I was mad as hell. I can't believe I'm only a sophomore and still have two more years of this shit.

It was one of those days when you just wanted to stay under the covers. That day, the sun must have gone on vacation and a nasty gray sky was subbing for it. It had to be about twenty-seven degrees outside, with freezing rain. I had on a gray sweat suit with a white tee hanging out and my Nike jogging sneakers. I was wearing my big coat, but the cold air was still going through my layers. Besides my coat, the only thing that somewhat protected me was my umbrella.

In no way did I feel attractive. I knew everybody else was feeling the exact same way-except for this one girl who was coordinated to the tee. Now, how some women manage to look like runway models when it's pouring down raining, I will never understand.

She was carrying a green, navy, and maroon plaid umbrella and wearing a navy beret that was tilted to the side with her hair peeking out. She also had on a navy wool pea coat with a maroon scarf wrapped around her neck that set it off just right. I was impressed. Here it was, I almost couldn't wake up and sis was looking like she was about to pose for Vogue magazine. All she needed was a poodle to walk and she would have been picture-perfect.

Well, back to my story.

It was cold and I was heading back to my small dorm room at Hardwick Hall when out of nowhere this guy came and got under my umbrella. I gave him a look like, "What the fuck?"

He smiled, and all I saw was his perfect gleaming white teeth, slanted eyes, and oak brown skin. He was about 6-feet 4-inches tall, with jet black hair. He also had a goatee and a little bit of peach fuzz above his lip.

"What's up, sis, can I get under here with you?" he asked with a huge smile.

I didn't say yes or no. He didn't give me a chance. All I knew was somehow he had steered me around and I was now walking in the opposite direction of my dorm.

"Where we going? I don't know you. Getting all under my umbrella like that. I never saw you on campus. You could be a killer." I jerked my arm away from his grip. Who the hell did he think he was, anyway? He was cute, but he wasn't all that.

"My bad. I'm not no killer. I don't bite and you never saw me 'cause I'm always on the road. You don't know me? You like basketball?"

"Yeah, I like basketball. Just not college ball. Why?" I said, shrugging.

"Why not college ball?"

"'Cause you don't know none of the guys who are playing. It's just a bunch of nobodies running up and down the court."

"I guess I'm one of those nobodies. I'm Emar Gerson and I play point guard for the Owls," he said, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe I didn't know who he was.

"Really," I said, embarrassed.

"Yes, really."

"Where you got me walking to anyway?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

"I don't know. You want to get some coffee or something?" he asked as he glanced at his watch.

"I don't drink coffee, but maybe I can get a tea or something."

So I walked with this cute stranger to the coffeehouse, which was in the middle of the campus student activity center. It was packed. Like us, everyone was trying to stay warm.

As we made our way in, it seemed as if everyone was speaking to Emar, who just nodded his head up like, "What's up?" and kept walking. It made sense that everyone knew him because he was a senior and had been at Temple four years, plus he was a star basketball player. Watching him, I was so intrigued with his coolness that I almost bumped into some airhead freshman girls who were just all in the way.

"Hey, E," they said, giggling.

He didn't respond. As a matter of fact, he acted as if he didn't know them. He kept me from colliding into the blushing girls by nudging me slightly out of the way. Emar ordered my tea and his coffee and found a table for us. I grabbed us some sugar and poured pack after pack into my hot, steaming tea. Then I leaned forward and inhaled the vapor of this man who stood before me. It was a long, deep breath. Whooph. Emar was the mar, short for marvelous-or was it just that I could marvel all day?

He told me he was an athlete, actor, and poet and about to get drafted into the NBA. He explained how he was going to be in the second round, 'cause he had hurt his leg his sophomore year and needed to prove himself. The scouts had been saying he got it but he wasn't cut out for the NBA. But Emar was sure somebody was going to grip him up. Plus, his coach had put the word out and a couple of teams had been inquiring about him. All he had to do now was prove himself.

I took another sip of my tea as my thoughts raced from today to tomorrow with Emar Gerson. I imagined myself being Emar's girl, being Mrs. Gerson and the perfect life we would live together. I could see myself watching from the sideline of one of E's games. Probably in Chicago somewhere, cheering him on. I would be a basketballer's wife. I would travel with my husband all over the country.

Or maybe I would just stay home, go shopping, and do rich things, like take my Pekinese dog to the hair salon with me and have my own personal fashion designer. I would get massaged, manicured, pedicured, facialed, and pampered all day. I would have a personal cook and a fitness trainer available twenty-four hours a day to get me into shape after I gave birth to Emar Jr.

To keep myself busy, I would find a favorite charity to dedicate myself to. And I would hire an interior decorator just to decorate my car. Yeah, I would be rich and have nothing better to do than to spend E's money from his 56.9-million-dollar Nike contract.

When I start thinking E's been acting up, I'll go over to Mrs. Jordan's house for marital tips. I'll ask her how her marriage survived. And she'll confide in me because I'll remind her so much of herself when she was younger. She'll tell me what to do to keep Emar in check, and even share some of her favorite recipes with me. We'd even call each other every now and then just to keep in touch.

It was meant for me to meet Emar. We were meant to be together. It was fate. How else would you explain my not even wanting to go to class, getting up anyway and throwing on my old gray sweat suit only to meet him in the middle of a rainstorm?

Anyway, it was still pouring down rain outside and the coffeehouse was becoming crowded. The manager asked us to leave. We had already stayed past the time allowed, which was two hours, and he needed our table.

We tried to keep ordering food so we could stay, but I was full from cookies, tea, and a turkey sandwich. Emar had three coffees and a bagel. We had to face it: It was time to go.

I didn't want to leave Emar. He was so interesting. I mean, the only thing I said in those two hours was an occasional "Really?" He told me so many basketball stories-how he actually met Michael Jordan at a basketball camp and played with Kobe Bryant in a summer league. He said he used to bust Kobe's butt, and he couldn't wait to play against him again.

"Where to now?" I asked Emar as I gathered my things.

"To my room. Can you hang?" he asked as he picked up his book bag and turned toward the door.

I couldn't say no to my dream of happily ever after, could I? I had to seize the opportunity.

"Yeah, I can hang," I replied, trying to sound unimpressed.

I knew exactly what he was talking about. He wanted some of me and I wanted a piece of him. He licked his plump, juicy, bubble-gum-colored lips as he led me out of the coffeehouse and across campus to his dorm room. His roommate, Rodney, was there. With his short, fat body, light skin, and curly hair, he looked like a bad imitation Heavy D. But I didn't have to look at him long. He scattered in a matter of minutes, leaving Emar and me alone.

I thought Emar was going to rush me, but he didn't. He took his time. He sat down on his black-and-white striped sheets, then grabbed a pillow and put it behind his head and leaned against the wall. Then he turned the television on with his remote.

When Emar noticed I was still standing by the door, he patted the space next to him and said, "Come have a seat. You don't have to be scared." Once I sat down next to him on the bed, he started playing in my hair. Then he asked me if I wanted to watch a movie.

"Sure, what do you have?" I asked.

He jumped off the bed and pulled a box out of the closet that was full of VHS tapes. He joked and asked me if I wanted to watch a porno.

"Ill no, boy." I said in disgust.

"Psyche," he said, grinning.

We watched a comedy, then a gangster flick. Don't ask me what happened in either movie. I don't remember, because it was getting dark and the lights were out. I could feel Emar's hands going up and down my back. His touch sent waves of exciting energy into my system.

I knew I shouldn't have sex with a guy on the first date. Damn, it wasn't even a date. We had just met about five hours ago when it was so cold and now it was so unbearably hot where I was lying. But ... but ... there was no excuse.

Fuck it. I gave him some.

Fifteen minutes later, after the intensity and fire was over, I wanted him to hold me, snuggle with me, and cuddle me.

But Emar did the exact opposite. He went from burning hot to ice cold in a matter of minutes. He leaped up from the bed and said he had some running around to do and needed to take a shower.

I smiled and said "OK." I knew what time it was. He might as well have said, "get to steppin'" like Martin Lawrence on TV.

Yeah, I could catch a hint. Mr. Emar Gerson was throwing me out.

When he was in the shower, I wrote my number down and left it on his dresser next to his watch.

Nah, I wasn't going to act pressed, like what had just happened meant something when it didn't. It was just another blow to take on the chin, and not a very powerful one at that.

I should have been blocking myself, keeping my guard up. Instead, I had let my opponent into my zone and he hit me. It was my own fault. You can't be doing crazy stuff like meeting a man and having passionate sex with him when you don't know him. If he wanted me, he would have to call me. I threw on my coat and left.

On my way home, I began to feel like a slut. Bad thoughts started racing through my head. What if he don't call me-or, even worse, how about if he knows somebody I know and disrespects me? He could start going around telling everybody he "had me" like some nutty guys do. Emar could be a nut.

That would ruin everything. There were plenty of guys on campus who had been trying to get with me for the last two years. They would feel some type of way to know all it took was some smooth talk, a little tea, and a bunch of basketball stories to part these legs.

By now, I was walking so fast, I was almost jogging. I was sweating. My heart was pounding and tears were streaming down my face. I wiped my tears away as I noticed people getting off the bus coming home from work. It was only 6:30 in the evening, but all I wanted to do was go home and get in my bed.

But it was taking forever to get there. It had gotten colder-at least it felt that way. Finally, I reached my building, where I flashed my school ID at the security officer and ran up the steps to my room.

Damn. Who was there but my roommate Tuesday with her why-did-I-cut-my-hair-if-I'm-not-going-to-keep-it-up serf, and her boyfriend, Sherman, with his reformed nerdy wannabe-bodybuilder serf.

There they were, cuddling in front of the television, watching a rerun of "Married with Children."

Damn. I couldn't even cry in peace. They were the last people I needed to see. They were just so happy, so perfect, so fucking sickening. All that lovey-dovey bullshit depressed the hell out of me.

I must have had get out written all over my face, because suddenly Tuesday jumped up and said in her always happy tone, "Kayla, we were about to get something from the Chinese joint. Want us to get you something?"

"No," I responded sadly, dropping my book bag on our pine desk.

"OK, see you later then," Tuesday said as they left.

After I heard the door slam, I thought about how I wished I could tell Tuesday about what just happened. But she would never understand. No, she would just look at me with judgmental eyes and give her typical goody-two-shoes opinion. No thank-you.

She was so good. I was so bad. She had good grades and a good man. I wished I had a Sherm, a nice considerate man.

Well, I almost did. When we first started school, I met Sherm first. But I thought he was a corny young boah. He used to meet me after classes and help me do my laundry. He was nice, but I didn't like him romantically. So I dissed him. I thought he was a nut. He was too damn nice.

But Tuesday saw something in him. She worked with him and molded him. Shit! How was I supposed to know he was going to turn into such a good man? I know I will never have what they have. Never ever. Good things like that don't happen to me.

I thought about calling Yaz. She would understand. Yazmine is my best friend. She was in a good relationship for the most part. I mean, her boyfriend do be doing his thing, but they're happy. I could ask her for some advice.

Nah, I didn't feel like talking to her either. I didn't feel like talking to anyone. Sleep is more understanding. It doesn't ask any questions or criticize. So I dozed off around 7:30 P.M.

The rain tapping on my window woke me up. I got up out of the bed and looked at the alarm clock. It was 3 A.M. I couldn't believe I had been asleep for so long. Tuesday hadn't come home. She must have stayed with Sherman. I walked to the bathroom and then crawled back in the bed.

But this time, I had a hard time falling asleep. I kept thinking about Emar Gerson and how I had played myself.

Continues...

Excerpted from YO YO LOVE by Daaimah S. Poole Copyright © 2002 by Daaimah S. Poole
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.