By Britannie Richardson

We’ve been doing this for almost a year now, this back and forth, break-ups and make-ups. Each time we break up I tell myself and my friends that it’s for real this time because I’m trying hard to make it be. But there are these moments. Our moments. Our moments when she looks at me and we laugh the way we only do in private. I can just be naked and vulnerable and open. I don’t have to be ‘mama’. I don’t have to be in charge. I don’t have to have all the answers I can just be and enjoy us. I love the way she makes me laugh and how she cracks up at my jokes that honestly aren’t even that funny.

But the moments between those moments are really hard to bear. And today we are in a moment between a moment and I am crying. I’m hurting and the internet fucking sucks so our Skype call keeps dropping. What the hell? I’m in America right now.

Why the hell isn’t the Internet working?

“Britt, why are you crying? You Americans are always crying. Cry baby. It’s kind of cute though.”

I’m angry at that condescending statement, which makes me cry even more despite my efforts to cover up my nakedness and appear strong now. That statement hurt. It took away my permission to be weak in front of her, reminded me that my vulnerability was annoying. So I got some tissue, wiped my tears, locked my pain away and started talking about sweet potatoes. I didn’t finish crying until we hung up two hours later.

*This piece was developed at a one woman show workshop*

For another powerful piece by Britannie read her religious journey in a Narrative of The Religious.

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