Talking with a close male friend on the never ending topic of relationships, we stumbled upon the idea of crushes that happen during a relationship. He was of the opinion that a solid relationship can be in danger if one person has a crush.
I listened to his explanation on the perils of maintaining a crush and full time beau and as he was talking to me, it brought back my own memories…….
He was perfect. The perfect shade of dark chocolate sans the bitter after taste; tall enough for my stiletto collection but normal enough for my nose to fit inside the crevice of his neck; cupped my face gently for a kiss but grabbed my arm and shook occasionally to signal he wasn’t playing; Mommy loved him to pieces but Daddy knew he was a bad boy somewhere inside. Thrilling, yet stable. Came with baggage but wouldn’t tolerate my dramatics. Would hop in the bed just long enough to say goodnight, and would slide out so that, when I rolled over, I’d see his silhouette as he pleaded for the words in a book to make sense by twilight, his pen air-drumming between his pointer and middle fingers. Oh, and he had “the dip.”* He read every version of every story I ever wrote.
And I loved him like I would die if I didn’t. Fervently, passionately, obsessively, I loved him.
But then… there was him. He wore a thermal shirt that hugged the tautness of his chest and skimmed the narrowness of his waist and hinted at boxer briefs before landing perfectly at the top of a pair of baggy grey sweats.
I hate when people call me Kay.
But him, he said it differently.
And his intelligence was as deep as the shots of melanin his father infused in his skin. His voice, a rumble from his throat that kind of merged into words at the last possible moment.
Ugh, he was fine. And I’m pretty sure he knew that I thought so. I’m pretty sure he knew everyone thought so.
He was my super crush. For years.
Yet, his looks, smile, skin and voice could never hold one candle to the boy who would pull me close and cup my face in his hands when we kissed. The boy who would lift his head as we stood at the cold bus stop, shivering, because he knew my sniffy nose would fit perfectly there in the crevice in his neck. The boy that would creep into bed just seconds before REM hit to whisper “sweet dreams” and kiss that spot on my shoulder. The boy whose eyes could make me stop mid sentence and blush.The boy who would read every version of every story I ever wrote.
So did I like Thermal Boy? Probably, if I’m honest with myself.
Could I have pursued that? Definitely.
Did I ever do anything with him? Never.
But I continued to listen to him elaborate his stance. (I wondered if he knew how unnecessary it was).
Because once upon a time, when things were great between us, nothing, not even Mr. Thermal and Sweats, could get me to focus on anyone else but him.
And I think all relationships should be like that.