three-sided conversation

you have no idea, do you?

"wasssup, nikki. how you doin?"

do you know i close my eyes briefly whenever i hear you utter my name? it becomes so much more than just letters and syllables when exiting your lips. it becomes a morning kiss heavy with the previous nights slumber, moist and hot as it presses itself against my ears. i shiver inside, wishing it was my name floating from your mouth in sated sounds as you hold me close while the night cloaks us in the aftermath of our lovemaking.

shit! my imagination is getting away from me.

"wassup, you. i'm doing aiight. what about you?"

calm down, nikki. you sounding just a bit too fucking eager. so what if you kept your cell phone close to you all day so you wouldn't miss his call? so what if your heart jumped out of your throat every time the phone rang because you were hoping it was him calling you?

"i'm doing pretty good. just sitting at home chillin."

so what if every molecule within you yearns to be there with him right now? we're just friends. this is how it's supposed to be.

isn't it?

"same here. home chillin while i figure out what i want for dinner."

you, damnit. i want you for dinner.

"i just nuked the last of the ribs and chicken i got from tamica's cookout. i'm fuller than a mothafucka."

i never should have invited you to that cookout. i should have stayed home and fought off thoughts of you in silence where i had a better chance of keeping the images of you at bay. i should have, but my heart wouldn't let me. the heffa had control of me that day. i couldn't not be with you, even if it meant carving a smile of amused indifference upon my face and pretending you have absolutely no affect on me. i preferred to be there with you, so close i could see the shadow of your momma's lipstick from the kiss she planted on your cheek...last week.

"i had a ball at that cookout. the food, the music, the company...all on point."

did i notice any of that? the 'on point' food crumbled like ashes in my dry mouth. the 'on point' music was little more than an irritating cacophony of dismembered notes grasping at the edges of my conscious. the 'on point' company was engaged with only the portion of my mind that would prevent my preoccupation with you and your every movement from being detected.

"yeah. speaking of good company, i was kinda feeling ya girl tamica."

i know. i saw you standing there in your blue polo shirt and jeans, staring at her with that arrested look in your eyes, your head bent close to hers as if every word she spoke was a drop of liquor hovering over the parted lips of a lush desperate to plunge from the wagon of sobriety. i counted the number of times she made you smile. five times i saw that dimple appear in your right cheek as whatever she said manipulated your mouth into a beatific grin that made my heart twist within me as if to turn its face away from you.

"really? i didn't notice you two talking to each other."

i noticed nothing else.

"we kicked it for most of the cookout. you know i had to pull out the sneak attack."

she didn't stand a chance, really. when you show your interest it's as if the world around you is sucked away like crumbs from a carpet and what's left is every single feature of you spotlighted like separate dishes revealed from beneath silver serving domes.

eyes...nose...ears...neck...collarbone...pectorals...biceps...fingertips...lips

would she even know the feast of you is to be nibbled and swallowed slowly, every inch of you lingered over with long, languid licks so that the palette is forever tattooed with the taste of you?

"tamica's a wonderful person. no doubt you two got along well."

no doubt i will vomit if you two end up together.

"she's amazing. how come you never mentioned her to me before?"

cuz i want you for myself, gawtdamnit! how the fuck i look introducing you to someone else when all i can think about is making memories with you, making a future with you, making love to you, making babies with you? i'm not THAT good, damnit. i'm not a fucking martyr! i won't ever badmouth the sista but i'll be damned if i'm gonna be the one to just hand you over to someone else. fuck THAT.

"my bad. i didn't realize she would have been your type."

oh, i knew she'd be your type. shit, she's exactly your fucking type. brown and natural and sexy and intelligent. just like me, only not me.

why can't it be me?

"she's definitely my type. you gotta tell me what you know about her."

oh no the fuck you DIDN'T. aiight, you wanna know about her? i'll tell you about her.

she's not a sports fan. she thinks a touchdown is a caress of "the place below the belt and above the knees."
she bites her fingernails. she's too cheap to get a manicure.
she's a horrible driver. you will fear for your life if you ever ride shotgun with her.
uh...she likes purple and you HATE purple.

so what if i'm reaching. it's still no less true, damnit!

"she's beautiful and intelligent and has a wonderful spirit about her."

where's 'the hater' when i really need that bitch?

"all of that i got from talking to her. what else you got?"

how about stop asking me shit like this! it's like i'm woody trying to convince andy that buzz lightyear is a better toy to play with. this is killing me. don't you see how this is killing me?

"if i tell you everything i know about her it will take all of the joy out of you discovering those things about her on your own."

thank goodness for my ability to come up with the swift cop out camaflogued by my false veneer of encouragement. hopefully, that shit worked.

"good point."

*whew*

"oh well, let me get up offa here. i think i'll go and get something to eat rather than cook tonight."

this conversation has become way too painful for me to continue. i understand we're just friends and have been for years. i know you see me as a sister to you. i'm not even sure when it happened. all i know is that one day i woke up and realized i wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. i hoped you would want that too.

only you see me as a lifelong friend. what kind of fucked up shit is that?

"aiight. well, hit me up later. i still have a few questions to ask you about tamica. just a couple. not enough to 'spoil the discovery' and all that other shit you said."

i'm not telling you shit else about her. find that shit out on your own, damnit. i can't do this anymore. i can't keep looking at you, being with you, and not being able to have you. this is more than any person should have to deal with. i'm ending this fucking friendship. FUCK this.

i can't tell you how i feel without feeling like a fool and i can't quit you because i can't see my life without you. how can you possibly be around me and not know? don't you feel my eyes burning into you whenever we're together?

they're are intoxicated with the sight of you. my ears can't go a day without hearing your voice. my hands are arthritic from all of the times i've had to clench them painfully so as not to touch you in a way that would reveal the secrets burdening my heart. my body is in a constant state of awareness whenever i'm around you, as if it awaits just one caress from you, even if it was a whisper of a caress, ANYTHING that would tell it you feel the same way.
it hopes. everything within me hopes. everything around me is tinted rose with hope. but i can't keep on hoping. it's obvious you'll never love me as i love you.

"and the sad part about it is i love you so much i'll continue to be your friend, praying with all my being that one day you'll fall in love with me."

"what did you just say, nikki?!?"

*stunned silence*

did i just say that out loud? oh SHIT.