It is a cold night. A very cold night. I have on no coat, no boots, not even a sweater. Just a tight blue shirt with a short skirt and some flats so shiny you can see your reflection.
So although I am slayin', I am very underdressed. And I am freezing. Please remember this.
I climb on the subway, my whole body quivering like my dog Marshmallow when he is happy to see me. My heart aches as I think of him.
I wish his soft little body can be pressed up to mine right now, and he can warm me.
All I carry is my small purse, and my Bible, and I clutch both close to my chest as the doors whoosh to a close. I flop down on the nearest seat, which caused the Bible to fly open in my lap.
Better read this before I get home.
How could I say no to a party over a, I have to admit, a Bible study where you can just fall asleep from the droning monotones?
I just want to curl up in bed once I enter my dorm, and Netflix and chill. Good plan, Alana!
The train chugs, vibrating under me, as I start reading. "Purity." That is all I read. My eyes blur, and I yawn, still tense from the cold.
Hey, I'm still a Christian, don't look at me like that. I just want to have some fun. What's wrong with that? My parents don't need to know that I went to a party.
I'll just quote a few verses and they'll leave me alone. That always works.
We have been moving for a few minutes when I feel a slight touch on my shoulder. I ignore it; in New York, you are used to such touches. But then, I feel someone's head weighing on my shoulder.
I view the suspect. He is a boy. I believe he’s a boy my age, 17 or 18. His head leans closer on my shoulder, and a smile blossoms on my face before I can stop it.
Is he so tired that he isn’t aware of what he is doing?
I wonder if I should shake him off. But his head is already heavy on me and I believe it will be painful for him if I moved, even an inch. He can fall, clunk, right on the hard plastic seat.
He has a flat top, which is cool. My father met my mother in that style. This boy has nice hair. It is tightly curled and the fade...I look closer. The fade is pretty nice.
Who cut his hair? My brothers will be so jealous.
I look back at my Bible, but...his head is touching my hair. I’m trying to grow it out. I believe it’s longer than the average black girl’s hair. Girls always think I’m mixed because of this.
But no, I am a beautiful dark skinned girl who just happens to take care of my hair. What? I'm not afraid to say I'm beautiful.
I see people eying me when I sashay into the club, the bartenders, all the guys, those girls with their shiny lip sticky mouths forming into a pout. I'm just stating a fact. Where was I? Oh yes.
Water and exercise, that’s the key. I want to grow my eyelashes, though…
I sneak another peek. He has some long eyelashes. How come boys' eyelashes are longer than girls? I want to touch them. I want to touch his hair too.
But I won’t. I glance at my Bible. The words look like squiggly ants. Uggh, boring... no point of reading them.
His hair is brushing my cheeks now. I grow warm. I stare at him. I hope he is taller than me, but I can’t really tell, since he is slouching.
He has a strong jawline, but there is a softness to him. Maybe it’s because he’s sleeping on me. I don’t know. He may be a vulnerable person. Maybe he has a childlike innocence...
enough to sleep on me.
Has he ever slept on his girlfriend's shoulder? If he has one. I hold my breath.
Can he be a guy I can date?
I just got out of a relationship. He never treated me right. He never told me anything, how he felt. He just wanted to feel on me.
We would makeout, snuggle, all that stuff.
But it never felt right to me. It seemed like that was all he wanted from me.
One time he tried to take me to his bedroom.
I wasn't ready for that.
"Don't!" I had yelled.
He stared silently at me.
The next week, no calls, no texts from him.
When I went to the movies one day, he was exposed in the darkness.
He was kissing on a blonde girl.
She was melting, melting all on him, he a pancake, she the butter.
I sobbed all the way home.