My Type

I’ve never really handled the “What is your type?” question in a suave or concise way- it’s always started with a long pause and the reminder that every English teacher would correct the Umm’s and No’s and most people would cringe at the indecisiveness of my answer. Umm, yeah let me write something now, so that I actually sound interested next time.

The day was one of an Autumn morning, one rare day that LA had to offer to vary the season. I woke up having merely brushed my teeth and managed to flatten my hair with a Nike SB cap. The stem of my banana was sticking out of my pant pocket and exposed itself to the wind of my run in hopes that I could catch the next earliest subway. I got on the Purple line – the one that extends through La Brea & Wilshire- and I met her. There she was- a standout sitting down reading a Marcel Proust novel. She was dressed in black skinnies with black boots while closer to her face brushed a pigment of the blue collar and white sweater that made her look like a hip millennial with a religious approach. A glance wasn’t it. I looked and started floating in the “What if’s”.

The clouds appeared closer than they were and the promise that I kept constrained under the title “Single” for the past 6 years was finally about to meet its natural end.

“Hi, would you like to grab coffee one day?”

Our one year anniversary hit and the plan was to bring her back to the place that started our meet. “You look very pretty”. I noticed again, that her makeup was light and her smile somehow extended mine as well. She looked long and the normal LA weather caused her to wear a white lace Peplum dress. Coffee was our order and conversation was our connection. The more we talked the more we synced to finish each other’s sentences and to laugh and play make-believe with silly representations of life. We knew we were two lovers who grew with the answer to each other’s questions about the past, present, and future. Throughout our year, our words hit the scale and trust became the weight to present more internal discussions- we were both tremendously flawed and our stories were redeemed through a Savior who wasn’t for Himself. He was for us and with us. We took that faith on our journey every Wednesday and Thursday nights- the block of the week that we dedicated to each other and let our faces mask the emojis that we were adept to picking to relate throughout the week. We loved long winded hikes at far-away Mammoth and short winded runs at close-by Griffith, and supported each other’s hobbies – mine on a basketball court and hers at a choir practice. She would be my Cinderella at every formal gathering and my Beyonce at more ratchet conventions. Every praise between us wasn’t forced and every complaint between us wasn’t breached. We disciplined each other to turn the bad into good and sought the privacy of every tear to be as meaningful as the laughter that gave us reason to hope. Today was a celebration.

You know what? I still won’t have a clear way of explaining who I’m into- or who my type is- but I’m happy I dreamt a little while.


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