Beyond his skin, into his heart

Recently, I ran into an old school friend.

He was stressed the hell out, chasing 8 children around at a Carnival. I never said anything to him, he was with a female, his wife or baby mama, I would guess.
We walked right past each other and smiled.
It was him, and I knew it—he hadn’t changed a bit. My eyes followed him and I turned around to watch him walk. He turned around and quickly glanced at me, trying not to get caught by his female companion.
He turned back around and continued walking.
He never looked back again.
He soon disappeared into the crowd.

For the second time in my life, I could not take my eyes off of him.

He was the first black man that I ever loved.

In High School, I was just one of those girls that everyone liked. I had not officially converged on the interracial scene, and I was pretty much open to dating anyone, I had not yet acquired the flava of a brutha.
Until I met him.

I was in the 10th grade. He was my biology partner, and he was beautiful.
He was beautiful from head to toe. I looked forward to seeing him every day.

I will never forget how we used to accidentally touch each other while working on a project. The first time, I pulled my hand away like I had touched fire. He looked at me with those sexy eyes. He shook his head and frowned at me. I had disappointed him.

He kept things strictly business for a while after that.
What did he want from me??
Neither one of us wanted any drama.

The more we worked together, the more I grew to like him. The more I liked him, the sexier he became. He was funny, and extremely bright. I started to love him. It scared me and excited me at the same time. I was caught up, and I knew it.

The distinct difference of our skin color was just so sexy to me. He always used to catch me starting at his hand resting near mine. I could feel him looking at me, and I would follow his arm, up to his face. He always looked at me with such intensity. Like I was a puzzle that he was trying to figure out where the next piece went. I was not afraid of him, or my feelings for him. I was not afraid to meet his intensity with mine. We were just time e'nuf for each other.

As it turned out, we were better at being friends than lovers. Yeah, it bugged me when I saw him with other girls, none of them ever white, which I found strange. Ultimately, we stopped talking altogether. I rarely ever saw him, but when I did, we would always exchange “we have a secret” glances. It never occurred to me to try to keep in contact with him. And I didn’t.
It's been a long time.

Seeing him made me remember the intensity of which I loved him, despite everything that I had to lose; It was against everything that my family wanted for me, and everything that my friends believed in. Everyone somehow thought that my life was ruined. I think they talked about me behind my back but I didn't care what people thought of me. We were intimate, and I cared about him.

He made me reach beyond the color of his skin and into his heart.
And I have nothin’ but love for the man that made me do that.