To all the boys I’ve known before…

It’s the end of another year and this has caused me to reminisce. It’s also because I spent Christmas in Montreal and I visited a lot of the places I used to hang out at when I was a youngster trying to get my education and get the heck out of dodge. From hanging out at Lionel-Groulx metro waiting for the train to go to Eaton Centre on a Friday night with my little girlfriends, to Bibleway Pentecostal Church where I spent many of my formative years, there was always a boy… or boys that caught my attention.

Today, I’m reminiscing about some of the giddy headed little boys I used to crush on and some who made my life miserable*. I guess they are all reflections of me and what my mind was like during those 10 years. Come walk down memory lane with me…

*Names have been changed to protect the guilty. Plus, I have my pride, I don’t know who’s going to be reading this blog. Do you think I want one of my crushes actually knowing that I had a crush on him? It’s been 10 years or more, but still…

Bilal and Shogun: 1987 to 1992
Bilal
Never was a person so happy to be done with high school than me. It was five years of misery and sadness.

No, the younger Urban Sista was definitely not a hot girl or a player (I’d post a picture of me back in high school, but I ain’t trying to shame myself. Some things are better left in a dusty closet.) I was a nerd, I admit it. I wanted to be cool, but with strict parents, braces, glasses and no fashion sense, it made it hard on a sister. Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and have a one on one with the young me. Just to let her know that high school isn’t the end all, be all.

One boy stands out from the rest: Bilal. We would see each other at Sunday School and on the bus all the time. Bilal was a cute boy – with some big ass teeth – but cute nonetheless. I heard from someone, who heard from someone, who heard from Bilal (leave me, I was 13 years old) that he thought I was cute.

Cute? Me? I was one of the happiest little girls in the world.

At Sunday School, he would sneak little peeks at me when we were supposed to be listening to our teacher. He would try to talk to me after class, but, I was too nervous. This went on for a couple of years. Bilal grew into his teeth and started dating super cute girls. I was still in glasses and had the shape of a McDonald’s straw. Once I turned 17, I started to blossom. I would see Bilal and we would talk, but we were on two different paths - I was in school and he was working at the hospital. Nothing ever came of our unrequited puppy love.

The last time I saw Bilal, he was walking down Ste. Catherine St. with his girlfriend. It was about four years ago and I wondered if he still remembered me.

Shogun
I never spoke a word to this boy. I would hear him running his loud mouth on the bus every day after school. I just kept out of his way and hung out with my little friends. One day in ninth grade (1989), he decided to pick on me. I tried to ignore him.

Shogun got up on the cafeteria table I was seated at and screamed, “Urban Sista is the UGLIEST girl here!”

I nearly fainted from embarrassment. I ran out of the cafeteria crying, with my bestfriend running after me. That one comment caused self-esteem issues for years to come.

But, don’t you worry, I got my revenge.

Fast-forward to fall 1992. The Lord was kind to me and the summer of 1992 -- 17 was a good year. I was cute – I had some stylish little outfits, I bought a curling iron and some Stiff Stuff.

One afternoon I was in Angrignon metro with my mom and this young man sidled up to me, all greasy-like.

“Yo, I know you. Where do I know you from?” Lo and behold, it was Shogun.

“Yo, cutie, can I get your number?” I wanted to laugh. Me, give that little greasy, Mike Tyson looking Negro my number? Please. I wanted to slap him in his face for shaming me all those years ago.

The Lord said, vengeance is mine. And it was His and it was good.

I looked him up and down and said, “no.” And I traipsed downstairs and joined my mom.

“Who was that boy?” asked my mother looking all concerned. If only she knew that Shogun was no one to worry about -- that boy would have had to lick my foot before I looked at him.

“Nobody.”

Ahhh, just like an ABC Afterschool Special.

Justin, Pretty Boy Dwayne, Andrew: 1992 to 1994
Justin
From the moment I spotted Justin in September 1992 working out in the gym of Dawson College, I nearly fainted. He said hi to one of my girlfriends and I grabbed her once we were out of his sight and asked: “Who is he?”

One of the prettiest boys I had ever seen in my life, Justin was one of the reasons I visited Dominican Republic in 2000 – I needed to see his countrymen. I made it my mission to get to know Justin and become his girlfriend.

Ha! Justin was so out of my league. He was the nicest guy you would ever want to meet, but he knew that he was one of the finest men in that school, so he was going for the girls in the big leagues. When we were 18, my man was dating a 30-year-old woman with two children.

We both took West Indian Literature and on the last day of class, he held my hand, looked deep into my eyes and said something in Spanish. Lawd. I nearly fainted. Don’t know what the heck he said, it could have been, “Urban Sista, you’re a real wretch, stay away from me in the future,” but it sounded so pretty.

I sent a message by a mutual friend a couple of years ago, just to say hi and he said, "Urban Sista? She's just too cute for me."

He may have been lying or our friend may have been pulling my leg, but it made me smile.

Pretty Boy Dwayne
I never found Dwayne all that pretty, but that’s the name the girls had given him. One day, I was sitting in the Atrium and one of the girls I used to run with came to sit with me. She was a pretty girl, always made up and dressed up, making me feel very plain next to her. I think she had a self-esteem problem, because she loved to pull me down and being the shy, nerdy chick I was, I let her. And I felt bad.

So, she struck up some conversation.

“Pretty Boy Dwayne asked about you,” she said.

“About me? Why?” I asked. What, did he need tutoring or something? The Urban Sista was always a good student.

“He said he thought you were cute and wanted me to introduce me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, but I told him no. He’s too cute for you.”

And with that, she left. If it was the Urban Sista of 2004, I would have went up to Dwayne and introduced myself. But being the shy, stupid kid I was, I sat there and felt bad.

Andrew
My first real boyfriend.

But I didn’t like him.

My friend Shawn kept insisting that I meet his co-worker – they both worked at McDonalds. Shawn’s then girlfriend thought that Andrew and I would be the perfect match.

I didn’t think so when I met him, but I was 18 years old and never had a real boyfriend or been kissed for that matter. So I was game for hooking up with this 19-year-old guy who hadn’t finished high school yet. (For those of you who don’t know, in Montreal, we finish high school at 16 and start college or CEGEP at 17.)

We dated for three months. During that time, I would daydream about Justin. Justin and I would chat in the Atrium, my knees knocking and my heart pining away for him. Alas, he didn’t know the teenage love that was brewing in me.

One day, Andrew informed me that I wasn’t keeping up my girlfriend duties. Huh? For me, at 18, that meant holding hands and sneaking pecks in the metro, nothing more. I was already sneaking around -- my parents had promised to break my back if I got pregnant or even had a boyfriend. And with that, at Georges Vanier metro, we broke up.

But the joke was, the boy had the audacity to tell me, “don’t cry about it.”

Cry? Ha! I was in no crying mood. Honestly, I was relieved by it -- it was too much pressure. I liked the idea of dating someone and saying that I had someone who liked me, but I didn't have any feelings for him. Besides,
I could concentrate my efforts on Justin.

As for Andrew, I believe he may still be working at that McDonalds on Peel St. If you see him, tell him the Urban Sista said, “wassup?”

Darren, Charles and Tony: 1995 to 1997
In the fall of 1994, I left Dawson College for Concordia University. My life was dedicated to books, studying and I had ABSOLUTELY NO TIME for guys. Ha! Don't let me fool you. Things were brown in Montreal. As far as I was concerned, there were no men. None. Nada. Nothing.

So, I would go to church, school and make the occasional Friday afternoon run to Eaton Centre, where my little friend Marianne and I would scout boys. Summertime was a little more fun...

Darren
Darren. What can I possibly say about him? I met him the summer of 1995. I was 19 years old and I had visited Toronto for Caribana with my older sister. My sister's then boyfriend picked us up Caribana Friday with the cutest boy in the front seat. He had a gumby with a comb sticking out of his hair. That was Darren -- he said he had dreams of being a lawyer. I sighed, 'cause the dudes I had met at home definitely had no dreams. One told me he was going to play the 6/49 until he 'hit de number.' Until then, he was going to collect welfare.

Ugh.

The car was packed solid with the boys and my sister and I. My sis got to sit in the front, while I was crushed up in the back with three full grown men.

"Urban Sis, you sit on Darren's lap. He's harmless." So I gingerly sat on him -- honestly, I weighed all of 95 lbs. at that point.

"Am I too heavy?" I asked.

"No," he said, smiling that smile that he would smile for the next eight years. "You're as light as a feather."

That night, I decided to wear my pretty shoes, not knowing that Caribana Friday night consisted of walking up and down Yonge St. parading your wares. By 1:30 that night, my toes were yamming off. I hobbled to the car and Darren hung back and waited for me.

"Are you OK?" he asked.

"My feet are killing me," I answered.

"Let me carry you." The boy bent over and picked me up. I thought I had died and ended up in an urban Harlequin romance. Since when do men just pick you up and carry you to a car when your feet hurt? He opened the car door and placed me in it. I exhaled.

Well, I should have kept my breath, 'cause like a Harlequin romance, it was all make-believe. I went back to Montreal after a wonderful weekend, thinking I had met my soulmate. Now I know that a weekend and some chat do not a soulmate make. But I was young...

Fast-forward the following year, I was gung ho! to get back to Toronto for Caribana. Darren had promised to write, but I never heard from him. He said he would get my information from my sister's boyfriend. Hmmph. Ladies, if a man runs that kind of game, he's only playing, don't take it seriously. Unfortunately, I did.

At Caribana 1996, I saw Darren. He grinned at me and hugged me as if we hung out just the other day. He was complimenting me and telling me how much he thought about me over the past year. That's when I made my decision -- I was going to tell him how I felt. I threw myself shamelessly at Darren. I didn't care, I was going to try. I'm saying what did I have to lose? Maybe my pride when he told me, "It wouldn't be right. I have a girlfriend."

What?

Self-righteousness, now? Why weren't you thinking about your girlfriend when you were telling me how you couldn't stop thinking about me.

I bawled all the way back to my sister's apartment in Scarborough. The story doesn't end here, but that's enough for this blog. It still makes me angry.

Charles
It was July 1996, Marianne and I got dolled up and went to Carifiesta, Montreal's answer to Caribana.

As we were walking down René-Levesque Blvd. a green-eyed man (I would soon learn he was a green-eyed wretch) caught Marianne's eye and love (lust?) bloomed right there before my eye. His name was Chris and he was from Toronto. And Marianne swooned. And they started dating.

I will admit, at first, I was a little jealous. She met a guy, who, at first, sounded great. But, I swallowed any jealousy and was happy for my friend. Heck, at least one of us found a decent (hmmph) guy. We visited Chris in T.O. where I met his gorgeous friend, Charles. Lawd 'a' mercy.

That man was fine, but stupid.

Lawd, was he stupid. It was a darned shame that a man so attractive didn't have any sense. Chris and Charles picked Marianne and I up at my sister's apartment to take us to Studio 69. Charles was all up in my grille from the minute I sat in the car.

"So," he said, looking through the rearview mirror, "I heard you're a churchgirl."

"I am."

"You know, I told my grandmama, before she died, that I would go back to church before the prophecies were fulfilled," he said as if I was supposed to know what the heck he was talking about.

"Right." But, a man like Charles was status. I know it sounds really bad, but he was the type of fine dude that you know all your girlfriends would be checking for and cussing you in their hearts for, saying, "What does HE see in HER?"

We made it to Studio and as quickly as Charles was trying to woo me with his talk about prophecy fulfillment, he was gone, chatting up to some other chick. I didn't see him for the rest of the evening, but at the end of the night, when some other dude was trying to convince me to take his number. Charles appeared and stood next to me. Had the gall to put his arm around me (actually, I didn't mind. I wasn't interested in that other dude at all).

"Oh, my bad," the dude said, backing off, "I didn't know you knew her like that."

Like what? I learned a lot about Charles that night. He had spent so much time on looking good -- hair cut just so, body hard, just FINE, that he had spent NO TIME on his personality or intelligence. So, he had to use what he had.

Last I saw him was August 2003 at Eaton Centre. He gave me a big hug and I was surprised how old he looked.

Tony
My last year and last semester at Concordia University. I was bored -- everything was just dry and I prayed for some excitement in my life. Well, be careful what you wish for, you just may get it.

At the end of summer (things always seem to happen during summertime), Marianne and I met three guys. They were... umm... undesirables for lack of a better words. One of them, Tony, took a liking to me. I thought he was checking Marianne, but he called me and we talked a couple of times.

He seemed like a decent guy.

One afternoon, we were supposed to meet to hangout. I didn't think Tony was all that (Marianne thought he was gorgeous -- he looked like the brother who didn't sing in Next) and I was just looking for a friendship. I met him outside of Alexis-Nihon plaza in downtown Montreal. He looked all stressed.

Supposedly, his little nephew had been at the hospital all night suffering from an asthma attack.

"Oh my goodness! Is he ok?"

"Yeah, he's ok. My mom is with him. Look, can we stop at my place so I can pick up my work clothes? I just live a couple of minutes away."

I was wary of going to his house, but he was with his nephew, at the hospital, all night. What could it hurt to go to his place, quickly pick up his stuff and be out?

Gosh, I was naive.

So, we took a taxi to his apartment. He walked in and stripped off his shirt and faced me in his wifebeater. I stood at the door with my shoes on.

"Don't be shy, come in." I hesitantly took off my shoes and knapsack. "Let me just clean up this kitchen and we'll be on our way."

Isn't he sweet? I thought. His mom's at the hospital and he's at home cleaning up the kitchen so that she doesn't have to come home and do it. I took a seat in the kitchen and we chitchatted about life, school, work, goals and this guy seemed to have his head on straight.

We were having such a good talk, it didn't even faze me when he said: "Why don't we stay here? We can watch Days of Our Lives."

Sure. Why not?

"The TV in the family room is broken. We can watch it in my room."

Yes. All of you can see what this older guy was doing (he was 25, I think), but I had ABSOLUTELY NO CLUE he was plotting to get me up in his room. See, that's what happens when your child is too sheltered.

We went into his bedroom and I sat at the very edge of the bed. He laughed at me and said, "get comfortable" and put a pillow behind my back. He was being so nice and friendly, I didn't think anything of it. I sat on the bed, we watched Days and at the end of the soap, I had totally dropped my guard.

"Do you like Jodeci?" Today, that would have been a red alert, Girl! Get your little tail outta there! This man ain't up to no good!

"Yeah, I like Jodeci." So, my man put on the tunes and pulled the pillow that I was propping up on from behind me. Now, I was lying flat on the bed, next to him -- I started to, finally, get uncomfortable.

"Let's dance," he said trying to sound all suave-like.

"OK." I thought, that way I wouldn't be on his bed anymore. Tony picked me up and put me on his chest and started, what he called, 'dancing.' "Ummm..." I said, "people don't dance lying down..." Once I said that, the light finally went on and something started to scream, 'get the heck out of there!'

Which I did -- unscathed, thank God. My older friend Egbert cussed me out something fierce when I ran into the community newspaper where I worked and told him what happened.

But, it didn't end there.

Tony's friend Kirk called me the next day. "Why are you acting like such a baby?"

"Pardon me?" I asked. I was still annoyed by the whole thing.

"You heard me. It's just sex -- act your age."

"What? Look, if you're so interested in your boy's sex life, you sleep with him." With that, I hung up the phone, livid.

I've seen Tony since -- about three years ago, close to the spot where I met him. Loser was playing in the alley like a 10-year-old boy, watching me like I was a piece of meat. Nasty dog.

So, that's high school, college and university. I've had some highs, I've had some lows. I'm just going to chalk it up to experience. But, you know what? I wouldn't change any of those experiences because they have made me into the person I am today. Yes, I know, it sounds all goofy, but it's true. I wouldn't be Urban Sista, if I hadn't known those boys... and a few others that I didn't mention.

Gotta keep something to myself ;)