Last Bording Call for Flight 595 to Shame

Stopping at a nearby shop I infrequent for various reasons now historical, I was drawn into converstaion with a man I recognize. Well, I know him, I suppose, but in the shallowest sense of know possible. I know they call him short man. I know he lives somewhere 'bout dey and I know he drinks too much.

So, coming out of the shop with my mustard and juice, I lingered too long and became the object of his romantic confessions which started almost sweet but deteriorated quickly, him having a slippery grasp of the english language. It went something like this: "I like you- don' mind you does pass me wid barely a shout and it would hurt me tuh see you hurt. Fuh trut', yeh... if you d'in pain, I would tek dat pain in my own heart. I see-rious...if you have problems you can speak wid me, yuh know, fuh real. But I is a man who does shy from girls like you, sight? And too besides when I does see you, you always rolling wid some udda man and I does respect my bruddas propety. But still, if I had you fuh my self, Jah knows, I would never let you out of my control. I got real love for you. No lies."

I thanked him and wished him a good evening.

A converation of this nature is something of a daily occurence for me. Most of the time it comes from the lower end of the social stratum as their dignity is somewhat less fragile, but in quiet surroundings with less of an audience a "better man" will lavish me with the same speech making corrections to the gammar and employing more exciting and ambiguous vocabulary.

A man has license to say anything doesn't he? He can confess love, appeal to guilt, appear vulnerable, pour out his soul... and the next morning wake up- claim it was all a game to get a little pussy and damn it's not his fault if the bitches are naive. Men just don't have to stand trial for their words. They're never accused of being damaged or scorned. They don't get branded pycho. In fact, their pathetic love-hurls actually enable them to score! Even faced with rejection their candour rewards them with a gentle bandage and a butterfly kiss of compassion.

Thank you. Good evening.

Then Friday night I was with a friend when he received a text that went a little something like this "How can you treat me like this? Leaving me to go with her. After all that's happened between us. I hope she fucks you as good as I think I did. (that's a direct quote) I like you blah blah blah but you hurt me boo hoo hoo." And from out of the mouth of a woman the same words holler- pathetic, desperate, run away before she boils your bunny. I felt so sad for her. I found her shame most painful. Except now I'm thinking what if she woke up the next morning and claimed it was all a game to get a little doggy and damn it's not her fault if the cocks are naive?

A woman is to be coy. She's to be calm. She's to sustain her mystery. A woman is to be aloof. She's to be guarded. She's to control her emotions. For whatever a woman says, a man will always pass it through the mental detector and query any alarm that suggests needyness. Whereas a man who is open and honest and passionate and candid and emotional and communicative- he sails through security, his bags don't get checked and he ends up getting it on in the loo.

I thought back to all the times when I might have been the author of that text. When I should have acted cool. When I came across as foolish. When I ran them away because of words and to be honest, I thought of enough incidents to fuel the shame plane. But now that I've had a chance to pick at the double standard and consider who I am I think back to the times when I might have been the author of that text and damn, I'm brave. I'm fucking hard core. And despite what all the words might suggest- I have no need for any pity. I got me under control and if it's scary it's only because I've got the Vincent Price laugh in my heart. Woooah ha ha ha ha ha !