Shootin' Up and Gettin' High

I guess in order to get an idea where I'm going I should tell you where I've been. Though I have dated quite a few guys I have only ever been in love with one. Santos was the love of my life and I was genuinely riding in his rocket until he crashed me back to earth a couple of years ago. 4 years of love gone down the drain. I immersed my soul in trying to keep this man when in my heart I knew it was already over. You only set yourself up for failure by staying where you are obviously unwelcome. I tried to fix the relationship and ended up shattering my heart. Santos and I are very different and most people wouldn't think we'd have much in common, but we were indeed kindred spirits. We're both from the same hood; albeit life took us in different directions. Most people think I'm elite and assume I was reared with a silver spoon in my mouth. The truth is I'm a product of a single mother with two kids. I was a latch-key kid and spent most of my days after school watching tv and writing in my journal. I always had dreams bigger than Sheridan Park (our neighborhood). I remember my mother always telling me that although I was in the ghetto I was not of the ghetto. That always stayed with me. Through hard work, happenstance, and the grace of God I made it out of there and so did my family. I met Santos when we both were 11. All of the neighborhood kids would meet up at the playground of an elementary school none of us went to (afterhours) and get into all kinds of mischief. Santos was the cool kid-- you know the type... every girl wanted him and every guy wanted to be him. I remember the first time I saw him I couldn't do anything but stare. It was summer of 1997 and it was a fucking scorcher that day. I could hear Hypnotize by Notorious BIG blasting from someone's car. Santos had almond coloured skin, curly black hair that always looked wet, and the most inviting lips. He was extremely good-looking, but he didn't know it. What I mean is he wasn't stuck on himself. He was also racially ambiguous. Noone really knew what exactly he was and little did they know neither did he because he never knew his father. I always assumed he was 'Rican, but never brought it up because he was very sensitive about his past. His mother died of a drug overdose when he was 8 and he was raised my his grandparents. He's a man's man and he carries himself as such. He isn't much into fashion or primping; his swagger comes naturally. He can rock a white tee, fitted cap, and timbs like noone I've ever seen. Although all of us hung out at the playground we were all cliqued off and unfortunately I wasn't in the cool clique with Santos; so our interaction was limited in the early days. After high school we attended the same community college and had some classes together. That is where our story began. We decided to study together every Sunday. It got to the point where I would find myself looking forward to Sunday and even planning my outfit like it was a date. Santos knew I was gay, but he never mentioned it. "Just my luck", I thought. "Here I am spending time with the finest boy I've ever seen and he had to be straight." Santos and I bonded through conversation. We saw the world very differently, but we shared the same twisted sense of humor. Santos liked to smoke weed and my virginal lungs were curious. I always smelled it on him, but up until this point it never interested me. "So can we go smoke?", I asked. "Hahaha. Nik...you smoke? Stop dreaming." That night I convinced Santos to let me smoke some of his herb. That night I became addicted-- not to the weed but to Santos. I lived and breathed this man for 4 years strong. We were both 18 years old back then, but in that moment when we were smoking weed and looking at the stars as we layed in my convertible that vivid night in August I knew Santos would take a piece of my heart. He did. We were so high that night that we went to the local gas station and bought about 12 of those .50 cent honey buns and ate them all! We listened to Jon B's new album "Stronger Everyday" and reminisced about high school. Santos was captain of the basketball team and was always "shooting up" (which was slang for scoring). I still remember we were on track 15. Lay It Down-- Santos leaned over and kissed me. I lay there paralyzed not knowing what to say and so I said nothing; neither did Santos. Eventually our friendship blossomed into an intense love affair. In the prime of our relationship we were the couple all of my friends envied. Finishing eachother's sentences; cooking for one another--- hell we even moved in together. Everything was perfect until I was accepted as a transfer student into our State University. Santos never really took school that seriously and ended up dropping out of community college a year into it. He found illegal means of income that suited him just fine. We moved from our quaint first apartment into a condo 15 minutes out of town. I never approved of what Santos was doing, but I never disapproved of it either. It was what it was. All this time I kept my head in the books and a couple of years flew by. I graduated with an Associate of Arts in Business and got an invitation from the Dean of Business at State to finish my BA there. They offered me a full scholarship and I accepted. I talked it over with Santos and he encouraged me to go, and assured me we would work things out. We maintained two residences. Santos kept the condo and I rented an apartment not far from State which was an hour and a half away from home. He would come up and spend a week or two with me and I would spend every weekend home with him at the condo. Everything seemed great, but then I began to notice he became distant. The phone calls weren't returned as quickly, he started making excuses as to why he couldn't come be with me. The weekends I would spend at the condo he'd go out and get drunk with his friends so eventually I stopped coming home as often. We had simply grown apart, but me being the optimist I am didn't know when it was time to let go. I loved Santos, but I outgrew him. Hell I still love Santos even though what he did to me was unforgivable. (To be continued.)