Enamored with Lyulle, I was, eventually. He was nothing like I had encountered before. In fact, he was exactly the opposite of what I had previously gone for. The men in my life were always similar to me in spirit—inspired, well behaved, mild mannered, no strangers to hard work, dedicated, and full to the brim with passion. He was illusive, a mystery.
The day we met, he was cloaked in a maroon velvet sport coat a couple sizes too big, underneath it a nice vertical-striped button-down that was also too big, jeans, and light brown loafers he wore on his feet. His haircut was not fresh but was still decent enough to look good, dapper but not polished. I was intrigued but not taken. He looked decent. I could tell he was from another world, and that enticed me.
“Hello, I’m Jericho.” I extended my hand to him.
He grabbed back, never breaking eye contact. “Hi, Jericho. I am Lyulle.” And we shook. Our body language spoke of certainty, fear, and respect, neither of us really admiring the other. I spoke to the others in the room and quickly found a spot among them. We, my roommates and I, were chilling at home in our four-story townhome on Ohio State University’s campus during an afternoon among friends and now new friends. The fun began.
A pint of Everclear that one of us there smuggled from a neighboring state where this beverage was legal was passed around the room. Also passed around the circle of friends was Bacardi 151, laughter, jokes back to back, and a friendly roast or two among friends.
“Lyulle, bro, you should’ve gotten a haircut before we came down here,” one of the guys he’d come to visit us with said to him.
“I should’ve, huh?” Lyulle replied while rubbing his all-even one-centimeter-too-long black Caesar cut with the palm of his right hand. I was standing directly in front of him due to casual maneuvering across the room. The staircase in our townhouse was positioned directly in front of our makeshift couch, a combination of wooden lawn furniture and cushions the color of Lyulle’s sport coat.
“Jericho, you think I need a haircut?” Lyulle asked me directly.
“Yes,” I squarely replied. “You could use one.”
He smiled and continued rubbing the top of his head.
In the months to come, it became a game of cat a mouse between him and me. Never had someone pursued me so intently, so persistently. Because I was attractive, twenty years old, and five-foot-one with fair skin and confidence, getting a boyfriend was not a difficult task, and I had always had one, a boyfriend. This part of courting was new to me though. He kept calling me, and I was not trying to get his attention, I’d often chant, puzzled internally. I am sure he could have any girl he wanted with no problem, were my thoughts about him. Because he was so interested in me, it absolutely scared me.
“Say it,” he said to me over the phone.
“Say what?”
“Go ahead, say it,” he persisted.
“I love you?!” I guessed maybe I could in a way. Was this the “it” he was talking about? I began to question myself. However unsure of my feelings I may have been, the words were out there now. There was no way I could take them back …
“You do?” he asked.
“Ummm-hmmm.”
“Good. I love you too.”
We became a couple—a couple of kids, friends, and lovers.