Lonely Hearts Won't Break

SIX｜ SANDSTORMS & NEW SKY

Landon dribbled the worn basketball against the pavement one last time before releasing it from his palm and letting it roll to my feet. "That's game," he grumbled.

"Nah it ain't. Your ass is just tired of me beating you so effortlessly," I teased and bent down to retrieve it, then spun the orange sphere on the tip of my index finger. Landon waved my gloating off and sucked his teeth as he began trailing toward Maxwell who sat with his arms stretched across the back of the nearest bench. "Don't be a hater all your life."

"Nobody is hating on you."

"And those, my friend, are the words of a hater, indefinitely!" I taunted loudly, lagging behind him. "Aye yo, I meant to ask you. How was your little date last week?"

Landon sighed as I watched him plop down beside Maxwell. Rather than responding he remained oddly silent, almost as if he didn't hear me, but I know that he did. And now his sudden lack of excitement in regard to this woman he had been bragging about for the last almost month was throwing me for a loop. Every chance Landon got he was telling Maxwell and I how different she was from all the other women he had previously entertained. Apparently, she was perfect. In my world, that word was only a synonym for flawed, just embellished to give the illusion of anything being complete without fault, without harm, without danger. It gave the wrong perception of certainty because nothing is ever certain. Even being a firm believer in this, I still supported Landon with his infatuation and hoped something significant came out it. I didn't want one of my closest friends to end up too invested and attached. I didn't want him to end up like me.

"So?" I countered, switching the ball to tuck under my arm. "Cat got your tongue or something?"

"No, it's just...I haven't heard from her since our date. I kind of froze."

"Froze?" Maxwell repeated with his eyebrow arched. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Landon shrugged as he slouched down into the bench and titled his head to stare up at the clouds. "I guess I was nervous?"

"You and this girl talk almost every damn day now, and sometimes over Facetime. How could you possibly be that anxious?" Maxwell quizzed. "Was she not what you expected or something?"

Landon groaned and rubbed his hands down his clammy face. "Tatum was everything and more, man. I told you she was and still is perfect. The issue is me. I literally couldn't find the words to speak when I looked into her eyes. I didn't want to say the wrong things, so I didn't say much of anything most of the night. She was expecting me to be her equal; this renaissance man who has a thirst for knowledge and new experiences, someone who has an expertise in the arts and the passion to become skilled in every other matter. She wanted someone who is always curious and I'm just me. Coy ass Landon who spends most of his time at work and doesn't have any skills outside of computers. I'm no socialite, I barely socialize. I'm basically a fraud and I'm boring as hell."

Maxwell rolled his eyes. "Listen, bruh. The job of a man is to lie. That is how most relationships or better yet most marriages survive. Men tell the women in their lives what they want to hear, we do just enough to get them to believe us, and success." He reasoned as my eyebrows knitted together.

I made sure the ball was secured tightly and dug my hand into my pocket to retrieve my phone. Maxwell continued to provide unsolicited and straight up horrible advice to Landon while I entered my passcode and headed to Instagram.

Compared to the typical millennial that fell somewhere in the middle of the generation, I rarely used the app. In fact at some point I deleted it and abandoned my page, but recently I found myself logged in and following accounts owned by young artists of color and of every sort. Especially those located in New York City. There was one account in particular, blackphoenix, that I was tipped off about and after almost an hour of scrolling, stopping, examining and thinking, I without question became a supporter of their work. I was mesmerized and a bit jealous of the aptitude this artist had to tell a story with such precise, yet gentle strokes and color. Very often I would find myself as I was now, idly checking their account for something new, something challenging, something to inspire me or something that would strike up conversation if not within myself, then with others.