The Banker

 *An addendum has been made to this piece. It is bolded and italicized to indicate its addition.

During my senior year of college, I decided that I should be intentional about dating and find a man who was actually worth being in a relationship with. Ironically, this ends up on my agenda as a priority every year, so that let’s you know we didn’t seem to get it right in undergrad.

I wanted a real man.  A grown man.  It was about a year after I lost my virginity.  I felt lost.  I felt used.  I didn’t feel wanted. So, I yearned for an actual man to heal the wounds left by another.  To affirm that I was valuable, I was wanted and I was worthy.  Extremely high expectations that a partner cannot and should not fulfill.  This was inner work that was to be done by oneself and should be done by oneself before seeking or entering into a relationship.  But this is advice that my twenty-seven-year-old self can conjure now from healing and experience.  However, my twenty-one-year-old self didn’t understand the need for inner work.  Outward validation was this self’s fix.  So, in my attempt to make myself whole, I found The Banker. 

My cousin introduced us. He was her banker.  To what does a banker do?  I still don’t know, but it sounded professional. Grown.  I’ve always been a job snob.  I’m a Capricorn.  You should work towards success in all avenues of life. You should have an upstanding job.  Lawyer, Doctor, Engineer….Banker.  It fit within the mold and he had to wear suits to work.  Sexy. 

Later I found out, it was mostly business casual, but in my newfound crafted delusion, he wore suits.

I want to say my cousin gave me his number, which looking back genuinely makes me physically ill because texting a man first now would never occur.  I would happily cut off my own hand before I text a man first at present.  But I texted him. (2019 was a while ago, he may have texted me first, but as I scour my brain, my gut just says it was me.  I was thirsty for a fixer back then.)(*A fixer: Someone to heal the trauma wounds left by the first person I had sex with.)

Would you like to hear a joke?  Ask me what our first date was? What was your first date?  Well, he worked at Regions Bank.  This Regions was closely located to my college campus.  He asked me to come meet him at work. So, I went.  We met one another.  My pre-covid memory is fuzzy, but I want to say he told me to stick around while he worked and here’s the joke—I did!

Bitch you were down so bad.

That man said sit here and you sat there.  In the Regions lobby, just kicking it for a man you just met.  Oh, to be young and dumb. I pray to God he took me to lunch or dinner after waiting in that lobby, but the ending of the day fails my memory.  It’s possible he told me to wait in the lobby until his lunch break or until he was off, so we could go out.  It’s also very possible that I sat in that lobby and then trucked it back to Ford with nothing.  I honor myself but, I was very dumb back then so pick your poison on which story you’d like to go with.  Treat this portion of the blog like one of those alternate storyline books.

Want to hear another joke?  Ask me about our second date.  What happened on your second date?

Through conversation he told me that he played softball.  With a softball team and all.  How cute!

Now back then, fitness wasn’t as important to me as it is now.  So, him playing a sport and being physically fit, didn’t really move me.  I was more smitten by the fact that he had a hobby he enjoyed.  I felt like that was unique. 

The joke is that I again sat there and watched him play softball for an extended period of time.  I learned that I was not a softball or baseball girly.  I remember having an overall feeling of boredom during the game.

Nonetheless, I still have fond memories of this date to this day.  I’ll always remember, after every turn he had or whenever there was a transition in movement, he would run to the bench and talk to me.  It was so sweet.  It was quirky and cute.  I mean it was like a cartoon.  He would run back and forth.  Back and forth to always come to me.  It was actually interrupting the game and his teammates would joke with him about how giddy he was.  It was sweet.  I’ll always remember it as the sweetest little moment.  I felt attended to, appreciated and interested in.  A disastrous mix that can cause one to fall headfirst in; swirling past red flags, boundaries and senses.

When I think about that time, I really did like The Banker.  He was grown.  He was older than me.  He had graduated the year I became a freshman at TSU.  So, to twenty-one-year-old me, he seemed grown-grown.  A real man.  He seemed interested in adult things, like credit scores and finances.  He seemed to know about wine.  I just felt like he was so advanced and mature.

He lived in an apartment.  He had two roommates though.  That bothered me, but I also wasn’t paying rent, so I didn’t judge.  I still wanted him to eventually get his own place. 

In a way it was like he had his own place.  One roommate who stayed in the room next to him, either was extremely quiet or never home—like ever.  Me and The Banker experienced one another for years in that apartment and I never saw the third roommate—ever.  To this day, if you pointed him out to me, I would have no idea who that man is.  In an alternate storyline book, the third roommate could have been a lie.  There was no third roommate and The Banker and the other roommate just gaslit me into thinking there was a third roommate for giggles.  Pick your poison. 

The second roommate lived downstairs, so he was never seen.  Anytime he was, he was the sweetest person to me.  To this day, I truly hope every day the second roommate has is a good one, he really is the sweetest and nicest man.  I liked The Banker more for having the second roommate as a friend and line brother.

With one roommate downstairs and the other working as a full-time ghost, the apartment was usually always ours.  So, the red flag of him having roommates never waived in my direction. 

I used to have fun with The Banker.  He knew a bartender at this nice restaurant in town.  If we’d ever eat there and she was working, she never charged us for drinks.  I felt like he was so cool for having that pull.  He loved sitting at the bar in restaurants.  I hated it.  In present time, I actually prefer the bar now—I’ll give him credit, I think its because of him. 

We would get drunk.  Whenever I think of him, I’ll always think of him and red wine.  We always drank red wine. 

He took me to a work event.  I felt chose y’all.  This man had made no commitment to me, but I was his plus one to his work event—I felt like I was his.

The work event was the classiest shin dig.  Super snobby white neighborhood.  Had to be a multimillion-dollar house.  Money was definitely in the room.  Food and my first open bar experience.  Wine only and of course, we were on the red wine. 

I don’t see how the masses love being wine drunk.  This was the night where I swore off red wine. I got so drunk at this event.  Events also transpired on this night that will forever be etched in my brain due to experiencing them at that level of drunkenness.  With how drunk I was anything that occurred that night was just chaotic.

I barely remember the drive home, but I do remember I’m still mad at him for the fight we had on the drive home.

I also remember waking up in the middle of the night and puking in his bathroom.  The way my memory goes, I freshened up and went back to bed like nothing happened and The Banker never knew what happened.  It’s also possible that he may have heard everything and just pretended to be asleep so I wouldn’t feel embarrassed or ashamed.  That’s sweet.  Was he being sweet or was he just asleep? Pick your poison.

He came to my college graduation party.  With family and close friends.  I really thought that he liked me.  Even though we had good times, we had a lot of bad ones too. 

I always felt like The Banker was trying to humble me.  Prove to me that I wasn’t the one that he wanted.  I felt like he was constantly trying to prove to me that women wanted him.  Women were on him.  Women prettier than me.  Women older than me.  Women with their lives together.  He told me who he had slept with at TSU.  I compared myself to them. 

He made me feel small.  Insecure.  Not pretty.  Not sexy.  Not worthy.  I had no place in his life.  I was a place holder.  I was a secret. 

I was the pull up girl.  Pull up. Get fucked.  Goodbye.

Within that mix of toxicity, I began to entertain other people, as he had clearly already been doing.  Our expectations weren’t aligned.  At all.  I believe we both yearned for someone.  Unfortunately for me, my someone was him and his someone was someone else.  Anyone else, just not me.

As the years progressed, I did me and he did him.  I can’t tell his version of the truth, but in my reality, I’d have my situations and I assumed he had his.  Prior to COVID, my situations would frequently overlap with The Banker, then post pandemic they became less frequent.  More “you up”, one-time things.

I remember we fought.  A LOT.  I felt like I would always lecture him.  You need to do this, do that.  I would go the hell off on him.  I’d never curse, but mile long paragraphs—yeah, I was on that. I wanted him to appreciate me more.  Be thankful I was giving him my body and the time of day.  Love me.  Choose me. Need me.  Save me.

I was in my early twenties.  I believed that this was going to be my man.  I was working for this to be my man.  I was fighting for this to be my man.  I was insane.

I wanted him to be better.  Hate your job?  Quit.  Find a new one.  A better one.  Don’t renew your lease with your roommates.  Get your own place.  Go back to school.  Choose me.  Choose me.  Choose me.

Don’t make me choose myself.  Don’t me realize that I’m chasing a dream.  My desires weren’t reality.  The man I wanted was not him. 

He didn’t want me.  He made me feel small, like I wasn’t good enough for him.  Like other girls were better than me, and better for him.  The man of my desires didn’t make me feel like that. 

He didn’t introduce me to his friends.  He and his roommates threw an annual Christmas sweater party.  From 2019-2023, was I ever invited? No.

He started a podcast.  Was I ever asked to be on the podcast? No.

He didn’t want me.  I was the secret. 

Don’t make me realize that.  Because if I realize that, then I have to face that.  Take accountability for my reluctance to growth and swallow the notion that I have forced a situationship for over four years. 

That’s a painful bullet to take and recover from.

Now if my best friend were to write this blog, she would tell you how this relationship with me and The Banker wasn’t one sided.  Don’t confuse the message here.  The Banker did many things that gave my younger self “hope” that we could work and that we would work.  I wasn’t delusional in the sense that it was clear as day that this man hated me, but I was selectively delusional to blatant red flags that should have ended our relationship rather than dragged it on for four years.

The Banker and I were off and on, and hot and cold throughout my master’s program.  We even continued to talk when I moved to Louisiana for law school.  He made this accomplishment feel small from conversations we would have.  I never leaned into these feelings when he would hurt my feelings—I should have.

During 1L year (2021), I was somewhat talking to someone else.  He lived in Atlanta.  I was heavy in my fitness journey at this time.  He was a personal trainer.  I wanted to go to Atlanta solely to eat and workout.  When I say heavy in my workout journey—I meant that.  I was obsessed with fitness influencers in Atlanta.  FINAO was like Alphaland to me.  I had to get there.  I had to take classes with specific influencers.  I just wanted to work out.  I wanted to be where the people were!

So, we (me and The Trainer) planned a long weekend.  I still have fond memories of this interaction as well to this day.  The Trainer made me a detailed itinerary of the weekend.  I don’t believe women should propose marriage to men, but call me Chrissy Lampkin, because any man who can make me, Thee Type A Capricorn, a detailed to the hour itinerary has to be wifed up immediately. 

Ask me what the problem was?  What was the problem? Money. 

Now let me hold your hand when I say this.  Jessica Alexandrea Fuqua?  Never gave broke—like ever.

However, a law student’s budget should be responsibly maintained.  A long weekend in Atlanta was doable, but not financially responsible.

Who’s usually financially responsible?  Bankers.

Let it also be known that I never used this man for money.  I never needed to, but I am a resourceful woman.  I said that me and The Banker continued talking into law school.  We were basically pen pals since I had since moved 500+ miles away.  Well during a pen pal conversation, he mentioned that his cousin was graduating in Atlanta.

Oh, how the universe just happens to move things for me. 

When is the graduation?  The weekend I planned on going to Atlanta.  Though I don’t have many nice things to say about The Banker, the man does seem to appreciate the finer things.  I mean look at me.

But in all seriousness, I knew he would pick a nice hotel.  And he did.  Now again, pick your poison.  Who used who?  Was anyone used at all?  We came to the conclusion that since we both had Atlanta weekend plans, it only made sense that we should stay together—and split the room. 

So, we did.  One negotiable—I get the room for an extra day, solo, before he comes to town.  Now, I had no intention of using this room with company.  I had no foul intentions at all.  I just needed the room for an earlier day because my trip started a day earlier than his. 

Through the years The Banker had made me mad to the point where I fantasized about sleeping with one of his line brothers to get back at him for constantly having sex with girls on me.  (This isn’t get back ladies, but I was in my early twenties.)

The line brother who I had in mind though was an extremely opinionated person.  I too, am an extremely opinionated person.  However, his opinions tend to always be the worst things I’ve ever heard.  In fact, I don’t believe I’ve ever heard a good opinion from him—ever.  His opinions make me wish that he would be drafted for a war so we wouldn’t be able to hear from him, and if that how I feel’ then I don’t believe we’ll make good bed fellows.

Nevertheless, I did not go into this Atlanta trip with the intentions of being grimy for get back. 

The Atlanta trip comes.  I spend the first day with The Trainer.  He asks to come back to my hotel.  I allow him to.  We slept.  Nothing happened.  Is it grimy that I let another man sleep in the bed?  Maybe.  I know men will think so, but I had room service change the sheets before The Banker got there. 

We spent the weekend apart, aside from spending our nights together.  I was working out.  He was with family.  I was never invited or introduced.  Who used who?  Was anyone used? Pick your poison.

Eventually The Banker moved out of the apartment with his roommates.  Of course I was elated, but the overarching opinion on the matter was pride.  I was so proud of him.  He was finally becoming the man I was pressing for. 

He cooked me dinner in his new apartment.  Gave me a tour.  I was very happy for him.  I remember the layout of his apartment well.  I want to say I was invited over on a few occasions.  I remember him wanting me to stay with him when I came home for a break from law school.  My point being, this is all fairly recent.  The memories are stronger.  This wasn’t long ago, which makes the drastic shift we’ve experienced all the more peculiar.

I historically have been an added user on his Hulu account.  I remember asking him what if a girl he was dating asked who the “Jess” account belonged to?  He would say there were no girls.  With twenty-seven-year-old lenses on: he probably told women I was his sister, and they thought nothing of it.

Binging Family Guy and The Handmaid’s Tale got me through some rough patches in law school, so thanks to The Banker for the streaming service, but this Hulu account became a ball and chain for me.

Since I was using the Hulu account, he had access.  He could reach out when he wanted to and I had to respond.  I’m not saying he forced me to respond, but I felt like if I didn’t respond, Papa was going to change that password, and if I didn’t have Hulu to save me from the chaos that was my Law Center, I was going to have a psychotic break.   

I struggled with the question of: was the Hulu account worth extending access to me? He was pandering.  He was fishing.  Keeping tabs to try to fuck occasionally, and at this point in time, I was over being the sex toy.  I was over not being her for him.  The girl.  The girl worthy of being his girlfriend.  I was over waiting and I was done pandering for commitment. 

The Hulu account wasn’t worth it.  I played spoiled brat and had my mom pay for me an account. 

I texted him.  I was honest.  I didn’t feel like he was genuine in trying to reach out to me, I felt like it was sexually motivated.  I was no longer interested in having any type of relationship with him.  I only wanted the Hulu account. 

I told him that straight up.  He got mad.  I was instantly locked out of the account.

Now our next encounter either happened before or after the Hulu account incident.  I feel like it happened after, but pick your poison and you decide which one happened first.

The next time I saw The Banker was at an event in Nashville.  My graduate sorority chapter was having its 25th Anniversary Gala.  Each member was required to purchase two tickets.  Despite being in Louisiana, I made the drive home—because those tickets were not cheap.  Who do I see? Of course a Pretty Boy will find his way amongst the Pretty Girls.

We took shots.  He tried to invite me back to his place.  We took pictures together like a couple.  Guess what year we’re in?  2023! As in last year.  As in we’re getting close to where things get weird. 

The gala is my last memory with The Banker.  The gala was a fun time.  We were friendly, even a bit flirty.  No fighting, no weird vibes.  An immense measure of growth for us. We were on good terms, or so I thought.

The Banker and I were always off and on.  However, even when we were off, I still always desired to be cordial.  We had been apart of each other’s lives for years.  We had seen each other naked.  I never wanted us to hate one another.  I always desired for us to remain cordial.  For some reason he didn’t.

In October of 2022, I came home to Nashville for TSU’s homecoming.  I called him to meet up at the tailgate.  My best friend was with me.  When we eventually found him, he was silent.  He didn’t acknowledge us.  I felt that that was odd.  By 2022, we had been in each other’s lives for three years.  He was very familiar with my best friend.  He was extremely familiar with me. So why not speak?

Not speaking at Homecoming has become a cultural norm for many, but let’s be very serious—I have seen this man naked.  He knows me. 

So I called it out.  I pulled him to the side and confronted him. “Why are you being weird to me???”

He told me that he didn’t know what reaction I would have when I saw him.  That confused me.

As if my 5’3”, 120 pound self would have reached in my purse, grabbed a glock, and mowed him down in the middle of Nissan Stadium for all to see. Ruin my life and my law school career all for him.  Because he was definitely worth it.

Or, my quiet and timid self could have cussed him out in front of all his line brothers and neos.  Both options would have never happened. 

I never did anything volatile to The Banker.  The most I would do is lecture him in private and talk his head off in texts.  The hesitation, and fear and silent treatment confused me. 

I made it very clear that day that I never wanted our relationship to reflect his actions at the tailgate. I told him I always wanted to be cordial.  I made that very clear.  I specifically told him, if he ever sees me or my best friend (this is important) to speak and he would be warmly acknowledged. 

Unbeknownst to me, I was clearly speaking Spanish during this conversation, because he either did not understand what I said, or he blatantly disregarded it for whatever reason. 

The Banker is a member of a Nashville graduate fraternity chapter.  The same chapter that my best friend’s brother in law is a member of.  With that being said, the probability of my best friend and The Banker being around one another was fairly high. 

As such, she saw him at a graduate chapter picnic.  He acted like he didn’t know her.  Odd.  Here we go again. 

I call him.  “Oh so you don’t know ____ anymore?” “No, I saw her.”  “Well, you didn’t acknowledge her, why would you do that?” 

My memory fails on how the conversation concluded.  He either relayed the same excuse: “I didn’t know if she would want to speak to me… blah, blah, blah” or he blatantly didn’t speak.  Beef was brewing.  Who knows?  Pick your version of how the events went, but remember this conversation and interaction.

Congratulations!  We’ve made it to the present year: 2024. 

I’m still in law school.  The Banker and I no longer speak, however I still believe that we both operate from a place of being cordial to one another, since at this point, I have lectured on the matter more than once. 

One day my best friend texts me:

She says: “I saw The Banker at a speed dating event.  He acted like he didn’t know me, but he talked about you.”

At this point, I’m extremely upset about his continuing Oscar-worthy performance of the confused man who has no idea who my best friend is.  The fact that he mentioned me, blew past my head.  She reiterated the point.

“Well what did he say?”

“I have a cousin named Jessica, she was also at the event.  He was talking to her.  When she introduced herself, he said ‘I have an ex named Jessica, she was crazy’.”

Remember, I said that that Banker would tell me the names of who he had slept with, dated, etc.  I ran threw the names in my head.  No other Jessica. 

I…..I know he isn’t talking about me. Crazy?  When?  Where? 

Mind you, I said that we continued to talk well into my law school journey.  I was raped 1L year.  I confided in him.  He knew that I was ridiculed on campus for speaking out about my assault.  What do you think the student body was calling me?

Crazy. 

One word.  Five letters.  And the fact that he was using it in reference to me, in public, so boldly, around my best friend, with the knowledge that it would get back to me, broke me.

He could always make me feel small.  Like red wine, pain became associated with him.  The man I gave my body to. The man who knew of the turmoil that my rape and law school community put me through decided to disregard our “peace treaty” and call me the one word that diminished my story and voice as a victim and attacked my character as a partner.

Never once did I do anything crazy to him. I never cursed at him.  I never hit him.  I never touched any of his property. 

I was his puppy.  I followed him around.  I did what he said.  I operated on his terms.  A delusional girl trying to find healing of old wounds in him? Yes, that was me for an extended portion of time throughout our relationship, but never crazy.  Once upon a time, I actually did like him.  He was my person.  I wanted nothing but the best for him.  For him to be better.  A better man, a better person, just better. 

Unfortunately those desires did not translate, because somewhere, somehow, he had deemed me crazy.

Game on.

I accepted the comment.  I moved on.  I was getting a law degree.  I lived in a different state.  The comment was not a priority on my long list of motion.  The comment truly faded in memory… until it was said again.

The weekend before this year’s homecoming, the fraternity graduate chapter held a gala event.  Oh how Greeks love galas. 

My best friend’s sister and brother in law were in attendance.  Of course The Banker was too.  As any big sister would, her sister confronted The Banker.

“Why do you keep acting like you don’t know my sister when you see her.”

I don’t have the details of the full conversation.  I wasn’t there, but a brief synopsis is, he gave an excuse why he continually denies knowing someone he is extremely familiar with and somehow he blamed his early onset dementia on me.

“My ex is crazy.” He told the sister that I was crazy.  That my craziness was the catalyst for his calculated amnesia. 

This sent me over the edge.  Now I’m mad.  It was too bold.  To say that in front of my best friend’s sister?  Extremely bold.  To either know or act like you wouldn’t be checked in that moment?  To be proud to say that. 

Wanted a reaction?  You got it.

I was coming home in a week.  I wanted war, but I knew the Banker wouldn’t put up a fight.  I knew he was all talk…behind my back.  I knew if confronted, he would be silent.  He wasn’t worth it.

I still was going to pop my shit regardless.  I tweeted his full government name and told him to keep my name out of his mouth.  I posted it on my Instagram story and I let the messiness that is TSU be my messenger.  I did attempt to text him to confront him before bringing the mess to social media, but surprisingly I was blocked.

I couldn’t figure out what I did to him.  I wondered why he was acting like this.

Remember the second roommate?  The sweet one.  Their fraternity throws an annual tea party during homecoming.  I’ve liked the event ever since it was at BB Kings. It was already on my list to attend, but the roommate invited me. 

He is the sweetest person yall, but in his invitation message: he mentions The Banker.  He says: hopefully, The Banker has already invited you to the tea party, but if not, pull up.

Why does your friend still think that we’re on good terms? Talking terms?  I mean, I, myself thought that we were still on good terms and talking terms.  Does anyone know what is going on?  Where is the disconnect?

I asked the roommate for The Banker’s number.  I cross verified that I did in fact have the correct number and I came to the conclusion that I had in fact been blocked.

Why?

*Since the publication of this piece, I have discovered that I had The Banker blocked. The text went through and I did not receive the response. Does this change or excuse the actions that transpired after? You decide, pick your poison.

Homecoming comes.  I attend the tea.  His former roommate speaks—the sweetest man.  The line brother with the God awful opinions speaks. The Banker? 

Look around everybody on mute!

It’s weird.  His line was hosting the event.  Be a host!  Smile, say hi, enjoy.  I’m not Chun Li, the street fighter.  What can I do to this man? This man has to be at least a good six feet tall and over two hundred pounds.  Even if I were to swing, there would have been several red and white varsity jackets pulling me off him.  He wouldn’t even have had a scratch. 

Four years, many memories together and nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  I received the silent treatment.  I was nothing to him.

His line donated $20,000 to the Nashville TSU Alunmi Chapter.  Want to know my initial thoughts?  I’m so proud of HIS line.  For doing a noble and necessary service to our school.  It was exemplary.

But that interaction solidified our relationship.  It was never what I thought it was. 

I’ve analyzed my relationship with The Banker many times.  When I think about it now, I remember pain and negativity, but those are not my overarching emotions.  I feel sorry for him.  Sorry for whatever battles he’s fighting that makes him believe I wish him any ill intent or that we have to coexist as enemies.  That we have to move as if there is no history between us.  No fond memories, no good times. 

I feel sorry for the fact that he cannot see how much love I once upon a time had for him.  That he sees my interactions with him as crazy. 

I’ve found myself.  I no longer yearn for a fixer.  I am the fixer.  I’ve healed.  I’m still healing.  I’ve grown.  I’m still growing.  I honor myself. Now and through all my phases of growth, which includes my phases with The Banker. 

I honor my time with him.  I give myself grace for mistakes made with him.  I do not view him with malice.  I only view him with the understanding that we are not right for one another.  I still desire to see him grow and accomplish things that will fulfill him and make him happy.  There is nothing negative towards him on my end.  Yes, his actions can still make me upset, but in the grand scheme of things, I wish him well.  I want him to grow.

I’ve evolved past the young belief that you can make someone be the person you want them to be.  That you can influence partnership.  I now realize that my choice is the priority over being chosen. 

I may call my past decisions “dumb” for comedic effect, but I don’t regret any of the decisions I have made in my dating past.  For all I am now, and for all I know, it was because of the girl who was exploring and navigating.  Failing and learning. 

The level of security within my self that I have now is worth every embarrassment, every mistake, every low moment, every tear, and every self-doubting thought. I no longer chase being whole by having another.  I am whole with self.  Validation should come from within and external actions of others are reflections of how they operate within. 

Allow everyone grace.  Wish them well. Control how you act, and always grow.

-Your Curlfriend