A Decision

The following reflection was written in 2003, when I was between 25 and 26 years old.


We woke up in Nydia’s dorm room and I don’t think we ate breakfast. I don’t think we did, but we must have. She tried to get me to go with her to the Berklee bookstore to get her shit for class but I don’t think she won me over. I do remember that we spent some time that morning in the Tower Records on the corner of Mass Ave and Newbury and that we spent most of that time going in different directions. That small bit of symbolism wasn’t lost on me as the day wore on.

Eventually Nydia walked me to the Hynes Convention Center green-line T-stop and we said our goodbyes. We hugged. We might’ve kissed, but I don’t think we did. Mostly, I remember that as I walked through the turnstyle and took a look back at her, I think I knew that would be the last time I saw the sweet, sorta round face of that pretty black girl who took something precious from me and forgot to give it back.

I rode the green line till it connected with the orange at Haymarket and then took the orange line out to Malden Center Station, where I’d parked my Tempo. In the car on the way back to Bradford, I listened to the radio, every station replaying the new version of that song Elton John sang at Princess Diana’s funeral. I thought a lot about why I’d visited Nydia, what I’d hoped to get out of it, and how empty I still felt.

In the car that afternoon, I decided it was over and it was time to focus on something else. I wish I’d focused on school. My GPA could have used that. Instead I focused on cleaning up the social and psychological mess I’d created for myself during the summer of my Big Blue Funk.

But I knew that afternoon, even if I spoke with her again (which I don’t think I did), that it was over between Nydia and I.