Loves of her Life (2 of many)

This is part of a series I'm working on reflecting on growing up in Mississippi and being fast  falling in love.


So loves a strong word for … lets call him Beau, because really and truly he was my first beau. But if we’re talking about the loves of my life, the conversation can’t begin without Beau, because our relationship set the tone for all the great “loves” that followed.
At age 14 I had lived all of my adolescent years up to that point as the chubby sidekick of one Moniqa Henderson — think Fresh Prince of Bel-air era Tyra Banks — probably the most beautiful person I’d ever met.
Where she was tall, I was average, so by comparison short. Her long legs made her look like she just stepped off the catwalk. My long, athletic legs — topped by a muffin-like pear-shaped torso — made me look like I’d just stepped away from a Tweedle-Dee look-a-like contest
Where her hair was long and reddish brown, mine was shoulder-length, plainly black and never looked good in any style. Hers looked great in rollers.
Where her skin looked like a sun-kissed cinna-bun, mine couldn’t choose between a  pale, high-yellow and a boring, flushed bronze.
And while I thought my eyes were my best feature, my slightly slanted browns were mere buttons beside her flashy green peepers.
And just the thought of a guy  comparing her bubble-gum pink lips to mine, which thanks to a stupid birthmark always looked like I sneezed while applying lipstick, made me want to crawl into a hole and die.
A little dramatic, yes, but I was 14 with one friend and a cable subscription to Encore, which only played teen angst-filled flicks from the ’80s.
And as if her gorgeous looks wasn’t reason enough to hate her, my bestie was smart, funny, outgoing and fun to be around. Perfect. Ugh.
I tried really hard to hate her. But she told goofy jokes, watched Keenan and Kel and was determined to make her cool and exclusive friends accept me into their social circle.
Privately, she listened, she made me laugh and she never made fun of my excellent diction and superb grasp of the English language.
She also taught me how to dress, comb my hair and dance — well she tried her best to teach me how to dance. Regardless of how disgustingly perfect she was — did I mention the big boobs — Moniqa Henderson was good people. I loved her and I was glad to be a part of her world, even if I was just her chubby sidekick.

Loves of her Life (1 of many)

This is part of a series I'm working on reflecting on growing up in Mississippi and being fast  falling in love.

I should have known at age 7 that my love life was destined to be less the stuff that teen movies were made of and more a series of jubilant John Hughes-style bursts of romance, sandwiched in between  dull, passive lulls of reality.
Perhaps I should have picked a better role-model for my romantic interests. I  mean, I wanted to be like Lisa Turtle from “Saved By The Bell” The black, sassy, fashionable friend who never has a boyfriend, even though she’s hotter than some of her co-stars. Her only love interests were the geek, who seemed to grow dumber every year, and for one episode, her hottie best friend since grade school.
But that’s who I wanted to be, Crimped hair, neon tights, hot pink lipstick and all.
So naturally at age 7, when my I found out my best friend, Latericka Daniel Lockett,  and I liked the same guy — the only other black kid in school — we settled on letting the best girl win and singing the chorus to Candyman’s Knockin’ Boots in my bedroom mirror while jumping on my bed.
Of course, Latericka, who’s mom taught her beauty secrets and bought her socks with ruffles, had a strategy that involved more than batting her eyelashes and sighing longingly from across the room — After Lisa Turtle, Minnie Mouse was pretty much the coolest girl in the world. I mean, the eyelash move won Mickey over.
I just wish someone had told me then that my combined Lisa Turtle, Minnie Mouse Game, would get me stuck with losers and rats.