Emotions
I remember
… telling her.
… her telling me it was my fault.
… it was my fault.
… telling her it was my fault.
… telling me it wasn’t my fault
… reminding her that she told me it was my fault.
…. her crying because she remembered she once told me it was my fault.
…
Now, I don’t know if I think it’s my fault or if I just remember once thinking it was because she told me it was.
Left Eye was the firecracker of TLC: unapologetic, confident, and still wore that heart of a lion of hers on her sleeve. Even ten years after her passing on April 25, 2002, we miss Lisa “Left Eye” Lopes for simply being herself.
Whether as individuals or a collective, TLC mirrored many young women, especially young women of color. They represented who we were and who we wanted to be, simultaneously. We found ourselves in their brutally honest, yet beautiful lyrics (personal favorites: “Damaged,” “Unpretty,” “Dear Lie”), their style (opt the condom, mama Ramirez would shank me if I ever pinned a condom on me), and their sarcasm. that I still play on any given day: “Diggin’ On You” and “Sumthin’ Wicked This Way Comes.”
Left Eye burnt down a dude’s house then posed on the cover of VIBE, in a firefighter suit, for God’s sake. Artists need that type of humor these days. We all need that type of humor.
I was nine years old when I purchased my second album ever, “Crazy Sexy Cool.” (First album being Brandy’s self-titled debut.) Aside from their hits at the time (“Waterfalls,” “Red Light Special,” which at the time I played at low volume), there are two songs in specific that I still play on any given day: “Diggin’ On You” and “Sumthin’ Wicked This Way Comes.”
“Sumthin’ Wicked This Way Comes,” aside from opening rhymes courtesy of Andre 3000, reminds me of one of my childhood friends, Laura Lopez.
Laura was the Left Eye of our childhood crew, our very own Mexican TLC: Laura, Rocio Sanchez and I. She was the crazy one of the three of us.
Laura simply didn’t give a f*ck. She drove her dad’s car around the projects at the age of 10 yrs. old. Even though it was only to the end of the street, I never got in the passenger seat, let alone in the driver’s seat. I was too much of a kitty. But not Laura. This chola of ours proudly wore dark lip liner, graffitied her crush’s name on her Nike Cortezs, and wore her Raiders parka every and any season. No matter the affairs, family or financial, she dealt with, Laura held me down as much a 10 yr. old best friend could, from turning on the light when I got scared playing “Bloody Mary,” to introducing me to the classic film, “Blood In, Blood Out.”
“I keep misfocusing my needs and this stress on my back,” Left Eye rhymes on “Sumthin’ Wicked This Way Comes.” “Ain’t no accidental deathtrap, my mishap is the fact that I’m destined to snap. It’s when I feel as though my body able is to go, my mind is ready to flow. Did you know first you catch then I throw? Its my own sense of time. If I’m late its cause I’m ending my day…”
That was Laura. Still may be, for unfortunately although friends on Facebook, we’ve been distant since she moved to southern California our junior year in highschool.
I’ve never told Laura this but I admired her. I admired her spitfire mouth, her confidence, and her “let’s just do this shit” mentality.
She knew what she wanted and who she was and you couldn’t tell her other wise cause she damn sure wasn’t apologizing.
Aside from the effortless blending of each others individual styles and personalities, TLC’s closeness and loyalty for one another always struck a chord with me, with us three. Even when each one faced their own challenges — tumultuous relationships, alcoholism, illness — at the end they had each other’s back.
And you know what’s better then standing amongst two of my best friends, singling out which and why we were what member of TLC? Being able to stand tall and close with two women throughout havoc and hardships.
Her: You don’t think it hurts me to see my BFF hurt?
Me: Wait, why is your boyfriend hurting?
Her: My ‘best friend forever.’ You.
Me: Oh.
It says something when I see BFF and think boyfriend. Or how my mind quickly correlates a male, a relationship when in talks of love. Not the love of my best friend.
All I wanted to do today was to:
Take the elevator up to the third floor of your building.
Walk to your closet, after your roommate would let me in.
Put on your camouflage jacket. (I’ve been looking for one for me, but I keep thinking of yours.)
Lay in your bed, sleep inside your jacket, till you came back home.
See you stand before me and smile. Smile like after the first time we kissed. Like you always smile at me when you saw me.
Hear you say, ‘It’s late. Let’s go to sleep, babe.” (A part of me wishes you would have fought me to stay. After our sweet, long good-bye.)
“Hold each other in weird ways.”
(While I was thinking all of this — of us, of how maybe it’s timing, that maybe we can be an us again, later — the 6 train stops at your stop and I have to walk out to get to another train even closer to your place.)
