Tye “Swoon” Betelli
"So this is really it?” Ciara asked me, her voice trembling as I picked up my last box.
I had been moving at a snail’s pace, already wondering if I had overacted after hearing what I’d heard. The crazy thing was it wasn’t even intentional. I usually never listen to her and girlfriends rap about reality television shows, the next new diet they were about to try or bundle of hair that was on sale on some foreign website for an amount I founded to be quite offensive. Especially when natural hair was sexy as hell to me.
In fact, I wasn’t even tripping when I first heard it, assuming they were talking shit like they usually did when it came to their men. Not until I her heard her closest friend, Nyasha, chime in. That’s when I knew my current situation was fucked up and long overdue from being done. Whatever Ciara and I had was over and if it wasn’t, my overhearing what I’d just heard put a nail in the coffin.
“I don’t know why you’re complaining. If nothing else, Swoon is predictable. Why complain about something you already know is about to happen before it happens and then run to us?”
“Exactly,” the peanut gallery called her friend, Salantha, added.
“Well, just because he’s predictable doesn’t mean I don’t love him,” she replied, defending herself.
“To us or to yourself, because by tomorrow, you’ll be right back complaining and we’ll be asking about why you still stay,” Nyasha smoothly challenged her while the Salantha added her usual “that part” to the conversation.
“Okay, okay.” She sighed, a soft laugh following. “I agree that is what usually happens, but what am I supposed to do?”
“’Uh, tell that motherfucker you’re bored as hell with his routine. I mean he’s fine and all and paid, but when you can describe sex from the beginning to end as if a script has been written, I’m yawning. Pussy is sleep. I mean sleep, sleep,” Nyasha said, laughing.
“Yes, girl, yes,” the peanut gallery said, clapping her hands before I opened the door when she gasped.
“Why not, Ciara? Let’s just call it what it is and at least agree to disagree. After five years, not much won’t change about me and to be honest, not much has changed about you. You’re still sitting around spending my money while taking casting calls for shows that never call you back.”
“Not true. Charmin did call me back,” she spat back with squinted eyes.
“That they did and you how much are they paying?” I asked, smiling. I was being an asshole, but fuck her. She was too. Besides, just being my girl alone paid more, but that was the problem—I felt like I was paying to be in a relationship. She was too ashamed to admit it while I accepted that I was a live in, boring trick according to her friends’ standards.
“It doesn’t matter, Swoon, what they were paying. They are just starting to embraced full figured, dark skinned women,” she replied as if that would justify why I continued to provide for her despite her family being well off.
Truth is, I loved women of all complexions from chocolate to mocha to lightly tan, the color of heavily creamed coffee. Women period were the most beautiful creatures in the world and anyone that didn’t hold them in such regard, wasn’t worthy of them in the first fucking place.
I was convinced it was more about her attitude, her sense of entitlement because beauty is one thing Ciara did not lack at all. In fact, many compared her to Kandi Burress, the singer in the group, Xscape and Real Housewives of Atlanta, but when she was on the thicker side. So her complexion nor her size weren’t the reason Ciara wasn’t landing gigs.
She had a fucked up mentality with friends that would rather cosign her shenanigans just so they could go along for the ride on her tab. Well, my tab, but you know what I mean. Sure, it was easy for them to chime in and asked her why she stayed, but the real question should have been why the hell had I stayed.
That answer was easy—I love her. Correction, well, loved her. As of late, I just tolerated her and because at one time, we both were struggling in our careers. So I empathize with her journey, her plight. You feel me?
While her career remain stagnated, surprisingly, mine took off at a fast pace once I was hired by animated show. They were in their second season in search of new illustrators. After presenting some of my freelance work, I was brought on to the show, Sirens, the number one rating animated show on the Bloon Network. I never thought my passion for art and illustrating would generate a six figure income at twenty-nine, but it had. Meanwhile, Ciara’s casting calls and actual gigs were coming in once every few months or so she said.
“Look, I love your skin. Hell, I love your body even more,” I added, feeling bad since I know that was her own insecurities speaking and not that of cast producers. “Who would even look at you and think you’re not the shit?” I continued, taking her by both hands as she batted those big, bambi like eyes. They were eyes she knew I drew a thousand times after the first time I saw her. She was the inspiration of many images that were now on various art pieces, even a few characters on a television screen.
I didn’t care that Ciara was larger than the average woman I’d dated in the past. I’d learned to care about her first, then love her enough to take care of her while she continued to chase her dreams. Now here she was, making me feel bad for being me while she was still her which was stunningly beautiful and unemployed.
“Whatever, Swoon.” She pouted. “If I am, why are you leaving?” she probed, that confidence she had on the phone with her friends a thing of the past.
“Because one of us needs to. Like you said, I’m… predictable,” I pushed out, taking a deep breath as her hands became clammy. I could even feel the trembling in her body as she began to tear up. Still, I had to applaud her for her braveness for at least speaking her mind. I just wished she loved me enough to say that shit to my face.
If you want more, let me know! Coming 8/1!
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