When I first moved into my dorm freshman year, my roommate and I would get calls for a “Cyron.” I think we would get about two or three calls a day from girls (obviously black) asking “Kean eye speak to Sy-roooone?”
Sometimes we’d say “sorry you have the wrong number?” sometimes we’d say he ain’t here, but most of the time we’d just say “who?”
Invariably the girls would say “Cyron ain’t there? You know, a six-eight big black guy?”
I would respond, “Um, if a big black guy was standing in the room, I think I’d notice.”
Well, this went on for a few weeks.
My roommate was then watching the football game and lo and behold guess who was carrying the ball? “Cyroooon for the touchdown!!”
Football season ended and I soon forgot about the big black man who wasn’t standing in my room.
Around February, I was cleaning my bed and found a love letter to Cyron. It was loooong. I showed it to my roommate who refused to read it. Not knowing what to do with it, I just shoved it back under the bed for someone else to find.
A month later, I was studying in my room with the door open. A big black man with a can of ravioli in his hand walks up and asks, “hey do you have a fork?”
“Sorry man, I got chopsticks though” I say.
He looks in my room like he’s going to jack my stereo and says, “this used to be my room”
It then dawns on me, “are you Cyron?”
“Yup” he says while nodding his head.
I then ask “so what are you doing here?” By that I meant, what are you doing around the dorms if you don’t live here.
I honestly expected him to say, “I was visiting my friend who lives down the hall,” but instead he said. “I play football here.” He apparently thought I was asking him what he was doing at the university. That made me see how student-athletes see their role.
Out of nowhere he then said “I fucked a lot of bitches up in here. Lot of bitches.”
Sometimes we’d say “sorry you have the wrong number?” sometimes we’d say he ain’t here, but most of the time we’d just say “who?”
Invariably the girls would say “Cyron ain’t there? You know, a six-eight big black guy?”
I would respond, “Um, if a big black guy was standing in the room, I think I’d notice.”
Well, this went on for a few weeks.
My roommate was then watching the football game and lo and behold guess who was carrying the ball? “Cyroooon for the touchdown!!”
Football season ended and I soon forgot about the big black man who wasn’t standing in my room.
Around February, I was cleaning my bed and found a love letter to Cyron. It was loooong. I showed it to my roommate who refused to read it. Not knowing what to do with it, I just shoved it back under the bed for someone else to find.
A month later, I was studying in my room with the door open. A big black man with a can of ravioli in his hand walks up and asks, “hey do you have a fork?”
“Sorry man, I got chopsticks though” I say.
He looks in my room like he’s going to jack my stereo and says, “this used to be my room”
It then dawns on me, “are you Cyron?”
“Yup” he says while nodding his head.
I then ask “so what are you doing here?” By that I meant, what are you doing around the dorms if you don’t live here.
I honestly expected him to say, “I was visiting my friend who lives down the hall,” but instead he said. “I play football here.” He apparently thought I was asking him what he was doing at the university. That made me see how student-athletes see their role.
Out of nowhere he then said “I fucked a lot of bitches up in here. Lot of bitches.”
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