I Think He Wants Me For My Turbans (FICTION)
We dated for three months. It's one of those things that I didn't weigh too heavily. His name is Kevin. He was cute in a hes-really-boring-but-I-wasn’t-talking-to-anyone-else sort of way. We met at the bookstore. I was scanning through the non-fiction section searching for a good autobiography when I turned the corner and ran straight into him. Looking back I guess it was a foreshadowing how awkward dating him would be.
He’s from some city in Iowa. I don’t remember which one because I tuned him out when he went on those elaborate rants about himself. After we exchanged numbers I agreed that we could meet for drinks. I was free the night he asked, so why not. He picked a place called Zombie Hut in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn. The atmosphere was laid back and decorated with bamboo walls everywhere. It felt like I was on a tropical island, maybe Hawaii. Glad I kept it cute and simple with a halter top, a pair of jeans, and heels. I poked my head in the back patio. Then I spotted him. He was wearing a black t-shirt, black skinny jeans, and a pair of black snakeskin Jordan 1’s.
I smiled, but felt nothing. No excitement, anticipation, nor a trace of butterflies.
I greeted him with a church hug, we found a quiet spot, then he asked about it. You know, it.
“So do you always wear turbans?”
I was completely thrown off. My first thought was to rebuttal Do you always wear skinny jeans that are too skinny. Does it hurt? Can you breathe? I couldn’t say that, it was too mean. The question didn’t upset me as much as the way he said it. As if my tribal head wrap had somehow offended him.
“Maybe.”
“Good. Because I like it.”
“Thank you,” I said and gave a weak smile. Weirdo.
The trick about Kevin was that he was always charming and funny via text messages. Oh, how deceitful technology has made us all. I thought I was being shallow and passing judgment on him a bit too soon so I decided to go out with him again.
The next time he picked me up and we went to the movies. That night I chose to let my locks hang and twist a black turban around my head. He started off the night pretty good, until we were watching the movie. Instead of the cheesy yawn and putting his arm around me gesture, he chose to be more lame. Mid-yawn he stopped and palmed the back of my head like a basketball, then wrapped his arm around me. I was so thrown off I couldn’t even find words to address him. All I could think of was did he just.. I know he didn’t just…
The night ended with both of us standing on the top step of my stoop. My mind racing trying to figure out how to hurry up and avoid the inevitable goodnight kiss. He leaned in. I kept thinking, no no no no, and before I knew it his lips were there. Kissing the place where my head wrap laid perfectly on my forehead. I didn’t know what to think. Maybe it was an accident and he was being a gentleman.
The last straw was when he came over to pick me up for the fight watch party at his best friend Thomas’ house. I asked him to have a seat in the living room, while I finished getting ready. I came out dressed. No turban. He said,
“Baby you look good, but I was thinking that you should wear one of your head wraps. I mean, I like your hair, but you look sexier when you look like a queen.”
I could feel my entire body get hot. Excuse me? I went to my closet and grabbed a new scarf and came back and handed it to him.
“First off, I’m a queen because of what’s in my head, not on it. Second, you have some sick fetish that I’m not here for. Use the scarf. Maybe when you adjust what’s in your crown, you can also wrap it like one. I suggest you lose my number,” I said holding the front door open.
Moral of the story: Ladies guard your crown. Some fools are obsessed with the wrong things.
