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| A Breed Apart |
| by Wolfman |
A Breed Apart by Wolfman.
I am new in college.
I look no different from anybody else.
Six foot two, black, kind of large.
I am not what I look like.
I long for freedom.
I long for a mate.
I am new to this land.
It is partly blessed and cursed.
A land of fascinating things and people.
The land of America.
A very different place from my land.
"Grande terre. Terre haute. Terre montagneuse."
Great land. High land. mountain land.
A land where a very different people dwell.
I call them my People.
The American world fascinates me.
Here are men and women of an amazing age.
They are young and old.
Free to do as they please.
Pursuing happiness how they see fit.
They are Godless.
I envy them.
Their malls. Their proms.
Their liberated women.
Their diversity.
It's all very fascinating.
These beautiful people. I call Boston my home.
Well, for the time being. I am living in a world of driven,
charismatic men. Alluring and tricky women.
Brave young people. Such a brave new world.
I walk down the street. There are men who love women.
Men who love men. Women who love women.
They are all trying to find each other.
I watch them.
Their lives are fascinating. Risky but ultimately enjoyable.
I have seen them all. I like them all. I am not prejudiced.
Sex, I'm told is something erotic and highly enjoyable.
I seek the company of these people. I watch their lovemaking and their love lives.
They notice me.
The tall, good-looking foreigner walking down the street. The one wearing the typical afro
american clothing. Phat pharm and denim and the like. Durag on the head. Still, I do not blend in.
I stick out like a sore thumb.
Many a man and woman has approached me.
I am considered attractive, though I do not think so.
I have a little belly. I do not care for the gym
other than to watch certain ladies stretch.
I am amazed at the multiplicity and diversity around me.
Straight people. Bisexuals. And those who fit at the bottom of the Kinsey Scale.
After them come the Transsexuals. Transsexuals. Those I find fascinating.
They are plain hilarious and not a little erotic. If offered an encounter with such,
I would decline. This would offend me not but I simply do not get down like that.
I would find it within myself to watch, though. Watch a T-girl with a male or a female.
I walk down the street.
I see a stunning black latina.
Wow. I'm sorry, I was going to the other street
but her booty is so hot I must get a look, or ten.
She is eyeing a white waitress who is busy serving some snotty rich folk.
They look at each other. Eyes meet.
No one notices. I do. It would seem this "sistah" is not
into the "brothers". Not surprising, since most
brothers are in jail.
Ah, Interracial lesbian love.
I must make a memo to Google this when I get home.
They will meet.
They will make love.
I envy them.
I walk down the street, further.
I see a tall, model-like blond male accompanied by a
foxy redhead. He stares at me. I ignore him.
He still looks at me. I smile to myself.
I feel sorry for his girlfriend.
This will be a surprise, someday.
I do not understand myself. I like to watch sexuality. I do not do it.
It matters not who does it.
The only turnoff in porn is the complete absence
of anything even ressembling
a female.
This will make me click out or
walk away or whatever.
I am sorry. I guess I have my limits.
In my college library sits a very cute girl named Lara.
We talk. She is cute, chatty. No bullshit. No foolishness. Blunt
honesty. Oh, cute butt too. Her attitude is the greatest aphrodisiac.
I want to take her.
Right then and there.
But I don't.
I could talk to her.
Become her boyfriend.
This would please my mother, for she goes to church praying I don't become
"one of those". My guy friends would respect me. I am attracted to girls.
Guys do nothing for me. I say that again and again. Still, I get weird smiles.
I don't know. Something about being a heterosexual virgin black male
at the age of eighteen being unbelievable. Especially in the year 2003.
A lot of people are attracted to me. I fear no one. I love the attention.
I am still looking for someone like me.
Once, I saw an amazing girl.
I don't remember her name. Only her face. She was cute and foxy.
Once, I joined the guys when they were dissing girls. Saying they
are weaker. Personally, I think women are inferior to men only in that
they have a lower sex drive but that's just my opinion.
The Nameless Girl called me. Challenged me. Calling me names. The
guys were there so I had to do something.
She challenged me to a fight.
I was a 6'2, 240-pound semi-angry black intellectual of a man.
She was a 5'1, punk-haired, slim girl.
For some reason, she threw me against a wall and I
was hurt. No one had ever hit me this hard. Not my angry father. Not
the boys who used to bully me in kids school. Not even the abusive camp
counselor.
I was bruised, broken and battered.
For the first time in my life, I was defeated.
It is one thing to get beat up. That can happen even to Mike Tyson.
Defeat feels different. She helped me up. I got up.
A tall guy with a bloody mouth and nose.
I was shocked and surprised and everything else.
She did not smile. She did not mock. She just looked at me.
I was in awe. I did not know her name. No one did.
I had no idea where she had come from.
After that, I was obsessed with her. At first for revenge but out of curiosity.
Where did she find that strength ?
I found out who she was. Damn, why can't I remember ? Anyway.
She was a simple girl with a single mother and a kid brother. I got to know her.
She told me to keep away or she'd beat me up. Calmly. Some guys might be scared.
I was in love.
We got to know each other. Not as friends but something close.
I had read practically every book in the library. She was a tough fighter who could teach me things about assertiveness. We knew each other for the summer. Climbing trees.
She'd play look-out while I stole Ps from the Video Store.
I loved her.
Rolling in the grass. Smoking. I did not smoke but when she offered i accepted.
She was mad at me for smoking and said I should not, just for her. Well, I've never
smoked anything in my life.
This happened in my native island paradise, somewhere in the Caribbean.
I was fourteen years old.
It's been four years. I have loved. I have lost.
I have been interested and disappointed.
She is still in my memory.
The only human being in existence who ever defeated me. She is on the island. I am in Boston.
Studying. I miss her still. In my head, I pictured us being married. Me, a somewhat intellectual version
of Hercules, her a short haired Xena. The kids would be..... I dont know.
God, I miss her.
I do not even remember her name. I have seen so many things in the wide spectrum of humanity.
So many people. Some mundane. Others fascinating. No one has touched my heart more than
the Nameless Girl who defeated me in Combat.
I sometimes wonder what she is doing. Who is with her. Perhaps she has a child. Women marry very young in my Island. I pity and envy her husband. I remember once telling her I loved her. She told me to shut up or she'd stick something up my something. I tried to grab her and kiss her. I managed to lock lips before her knee endangered my chances of becoming a father in the future.
She asked if it was worth it. Once I caught my breath, I smiled. She told me to never do it again. This time she flashed a knife. I asked if she enjoyed it. She just smiled and walked away. I am a man so women will always be a mystery to me.
The Nameless Girl walked away.
The Summer ended. Father decided my siblings and I would go to America to study. I never saw her again.
I dream about her often. I know that whatever I do, Whatever I become, I will always love her. The part when we kiss is one of my favorites, in my head.
I will always treasure that.
Gee, I wonder if she will one day read this. To know that somewhere is a boy who loves her. A boy
a lot of people seem to want. This boy who can't stop dreaming about her no matter what he does.
This boy who will one day return to this Island to love her, and be with her, no matter how brief, even if he doesnt survive it. The boy who questions the lives he sees unfolding around him and opens his mind to the world though not his bedroom.
I year for her. I want her. She was not beautiful. She was not sexy. She was absolutely not
ordinary or mundane. She was not perfect. She was just She. And She stole my heart.
She is the one I talked to my mother about with a dreamy look on my face. She is the one I keep hoping will one day materialize in the City and be with me. I'd give my life for her in a heartbeat.
Yes, I know how dopey that sounds.
But she just got to me. No one else has, or ever will.
The end. |
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