Church Boy

“Heyy, I really liked your song. My name is Jay.”

Those were the first words you said to me. It was a Wednesday evening and we had just finished fellowship. You didn’t tell me Jay was short for Jesutijafunmi. But when I did find out, I couldn’t call you anything else.

“Oh.. thank you. I’m Teni.”

I plastered a huge smile on my face and walked away quickly. You never registered in my memory—not your sultry voice, or your fine face and the enticing smirk plastered on it. Nothing.

Later you would tell me how awkward you felt after I walked away because you had never seen a smile that fake.

“Teni, I can’t forget that day. The smile was gone almost as soon as it came. I was in shock wondering how someone could just suddenly smile that widely and then go back to such a harsh frown all in a split second. “

“It was probably like a full minute but you didn’t notice because you were mesmerized by  my beauty.”

“Indeed,” you said, with a smirk on your face as you pulled my nose. You always talked about how small it was and I’d get mad and try to bite you.

“Why do you like biting me?”

“Because I love youuuu!”

I couldn’t believe those words had escaped from my mouth. But it felt so right and the exhilarating rush of emotions had me laughing wildly. You sat there staring at me.

I couldn’t read your facial expressions and when you said, “I love you too,” my ears tingled and my heart fluttered but there was a part of me that didn’t believe you.

I’m not sure what it was— maybe the emptiness in your voice and the lack of eye contact. But there was something wrong and I refused to admit it until the day I asked you:

“Sooooo… what are we?”

“Oh, nothing. We’re just friends.”

I wanted to scream at you and tell you that friends didn’t always stare at the moon, counting stars and naming their future babies, but I just laughed. Wildly.

“Are you okay?”

“Oh, yesss.”

I walked away into the night with muffled tears and a repertoire of wild laughters that I learned to dish out when confronted with the pain.

It didn’t help that I had to run into you at church and watch you covertly, as you chatted with other girls.

I ran into you at the mall the other day. It’s been five years but I couldn’t fight the urge to ask:

“Did you ever wonder what God would say when you broke my heart? I wonder what you said to Him, Church Boy.”

You looked me in the eyes, and I couldn’t find the emptiness or pride that used to be there.

You said, “Church Girl, I’m not the boy I used to be. I’m a man now. God’s man.”

Your calmness humbled me. I wanted to throw it in your face that I was now with a man who didn’t let me ask, ‘What are we?’ but I swallowed the guile and smiled.

“Well, I found mine too.”