Summer Chic Lit: Diary of a Breakup

Dear Diary,

Oh no, scratch that. I’m too old to start off a journal entry with “dear diary.” I’m 25 years old dammit, I’m grown and “dear diary” is for a high school sophomore, but for some reason, I have the strangest hankering to give this diary a name. Can’t think of one at the moment, so until I do I guess I will begin my entries with what it is I want to write about.

I just got all my bags in my old room. Justin let me use the Pacifica to get all my clothes and shoes back to my parent’s house. I didn’t realize I had so many clothes, shoes, and, accessories until I had it to move it. Maybe Justin was right, my outfits may have been taking over the apartment, but I am a fashionista. Can’t help it, fashion is my fetish.

It feels odd being at home again. It’s been three years since Justin and I moved in together. My mom turned my old space into a workout room. The only thing I have in here now is a day bed and a TV--talk about down grade. I don’t even have a mirror in here so I can see my beautiful chocolate visage. Guess I really can’t complain, at least I had somewhere to go after Justin kicked me out, but still I can’t believe I had to leave an apartment in the East Village, go back to Union, New Jersey, and reside in a converted workout room.

When I arrived home my mom burst my bubble before I could even get one BCBG sandal through the door by telling me that I have to pay rent. She said, “Jade, when you left you were a young girl, but you’re a woman now. It is time to accept more responsibility. Your father and I have no problem helping you financially once classes begin again, that is if you and Justin don’t work things out. But if you two don’t, you will still need to pay rent.”

Pay rent…for my old room? Man, what a rip off. My mom should set up a three-card Monte table in Times Square cause this definitely feels like a scam. I mean how far does she think my paycheck from the campus administration office goes?

Dad was silent as usual while mom was spouting out her soliloquy. Daddy is a pussycat, I’m sure I can change his mind. After all, I have never paid rent, not ever. Justin’s parents paid the rent in our apartment and bought him a new car in January. He’s such a spoiled little rich boy. Justin has a full academic scholarship at NYU and his parents can afford to pay both our tuitions. My parents are the ones that struggle with tuition and student loans, and I don’t even want to think about what I will owe after I graduate next year.

After my mom’s reality check speech, I lugged my bags upstairs. I opened the door and looked around, and there was exercise crap everywhere: an elliptical, yoga mat, free weights, and a bike. I think my mom could sense my disappointment when I opened the door to my old/new room. She was standing behind me as I scanned every perimeter of my sanctuary covered in pink and sighed. While I was running my fingers through my Kelis haircut, she put her hand on my shoulder, and asked was I going to be o.k. I said, “I’m going to be.”

I knew when I said it that it wasn’t all together true. I know there will be a day when the sun will be shining through the window as I rise from my bed, stretching my arms out from a good rest, and the pain residing in my heart will be gone. When will that magical morning come? Damned if I know, because all I feel now is pain. The worst pain I’ve ever felt. It hurts so bad my chest is sore. Our summer wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Justin and I were supposed to be spending the summer in Cape Cod at his parent’s summer place. All the plans were set. We were supposed to be spending our weekdays with me lying in his chiseled caramel arms while we chilled on the beach. I had bought a ton of bikinis to model my 5’4 frame in and on the weekends we were suppose to come back to the city and club. We were going to celebrate our third anniversary in Provincetown, another year of the "Justin and Jade Show." In my mind we were always stars of our own private reality show--MTV, BET, or VH-1 just hadn’t picked it up yet. I thought we were Bobby and Whitney without the kids and the crack: completely in love and completely crazy. Similar yet so different, and I can’t believe we are estranged. How did we get like this?

Don’t want to think about that now, there is a lot to do. First and foremost I must organize my closet. Thank God I have that. My old dressers are gone. I think I will take a nap. Traffic going through the Holland Tunnel at rush hour is always a pain in the ass. I’m drained and a snooze on a small daybed will have to do. Hey, I could be sleeping on a yoga mat. Guess the old saying is right beggars can’t be choosers...

Wait a minute, did I just hear my mom yell that Justin is downstairs? What does he want?

***************

Afrika Brown is a senior at Kean University in New Jersey and has published a book of poetry, Sepia Sapphire.

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