by Omar Tyree
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Ronald responded with a nod. “Sometimes them systems give you headaches anyway.”
When Sharron made it back out, wearing a plain white T-shirt, she noticed Ronald at Anthony’s open window. She smiled, thinking, I wonder how well he gets along with people, and climbed back in on the passenger side. Anthony had the car hot for her arrival.
“Aw’ight, man,” he told Ronald. He backed out of the parking spot and pulled off.
Celena walked out and locked the apartment door a second later, wearing a floral dress that showed off her toned arms, shoulders, and legs, and smelling of sweet perfume and hair oil.
“Damn you look good!” Ronald told her. “And smell good, too.”
“Thank you, thank you,” she said as he opened the car door for her. That was a courtesy Anthony hadn’t bothered to offer either time for Sharron.
“So what do you think about Sharron’s friend?” Celena asked curiously. She figured that Ronald had met him. And she was right. Ronald was friendly that way.
“Well, he wasn’t too talkative. But other than that, he seems all right to me,” he answered.
“Yeah, but you’re talkative,” she responded with a grin. “You talk enough for both of y’all. So take me to get some ice cream first. That way, I can listen to all of your chatter and just lick my ice-cream cone.”
Ronald looked at her and smiled. “So what am I supposed to lick?”
Celena looked at him with half a grin and half a frown as she nestled into the tightly modeled sports car. “You know what?” she began. “No, I’m not even gonna respond to that. Let’s just drive.”
Back in Anthony’s Chevy, Sharron was just buckling her seat belt; the cranberry interior was as soft as a pillow.
Man, this feels good! she thought to herself. And look at that wooden dashboard, and the cool steering wheel. He put more money into this car than I first thought.
Out of the blue, Anthony asked her, “Is that the kind of guy your girl talks to?”
Sharron smiled. “No, not really. She’s just bored tonight.”
I know the feelin’, Anthony thought with a grin. But he didn’t dare say it. He’d told Sharron enough about him already. He expected her to ask him for more, and he planned not to tell her much. Surprisingly, she didn’t seem pressed at the moment to ask him anything. She was just enjoying the ride. After a while, with no clear destination in mind, he got curious.
“So, where are you trying to go?” he asked her.
She thought about it and decided to be creative.
“I don’t know. What’s it like up on the moon?”
He looked over to see if she was serious. Once he noticed her staring up at the full moon, right smack in the middle of his windshield, he decided to play along with her lead.
“As a matter of fact, I was just up there last week. And we couldn’t go up there dressed like this. We would need snowsuits,” he joked.
She looked at him and smiled, deciding to keep it going. “What’s there to do up there, you know, besides looking around?”
He said, “Well, we could go moon skiing, or play basketball on twenty-foot hoops.”
“Could you dunk the ball up there?”
“Like Jordan.”
“Me too?”
“It depends on how strong your legs are.”
She looked at him and flirted. “My legs are very strong.”
He looked back and returned her flirt. “So is my lower back.” Then he grinned.
“What kind of workouts do you do?” she asked, grinning back.
“Mainly push-ups, lifts, and curls,” he answered.
How silly can we get? they both wondered. It felt good to unwind with silliness. Everyone has it. And it sure does break the ice.
“So where would you take me if I let you take me anywhere? And don’t lie neither,” Sharron challenged.
Here she goes with that shit again, Anthony thought.
“You ever read encyclopedias before?” he decided to ask her instead.
“As a matter of fact, I did.”
“I can tell. Because you wanna know every damn thing!”
“And you don’t?”
He thought about it. “Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don’t. Because sometimes … you just don’t wanna know,” he told her. “That’s what gets women in so much trouble, wantin’ to know everything. So dead cats are laying up in the alleyways from here to California.
“And you know why?” he asked her.
“Why?”
“Because y’all only got nine lives, but y’all be asking twenty fatal questions. Then y’all find out answers that y’all can’t handle and start jumping out of twelve-story windows.”
She smiled, amused by his analogy, but not convinced of it.
“Not all of us.”
“Yeah, just most of you,” he said with a chuckle.
“Don’t think I forgot about my question, either,” she told him.
He shook his head and grinned. Then he came up with an idea. “Aw’ight then, I’ll tell you what. I’ve been wanting to do something for a while now, I just haven’t found anybody to do it with. So, since you have a million and one questions, you gon’ find out exactly what’s on my mind right now.” And he continued to grin, knowing that a woman’s natural curiosity would drive her insane with wonder. Then she would be pleasantly surprised. Or maybe not. Maybe she would think his idea was corny. Nevertheless, she was intriguing, playful, curious, and free enough to find out. Free, because she did not seem imprisoned by boredom and pressed about being entertained.
Some women needed entertainment constantly. And they were the worst women in the world to go out with. Especially on an unplanned date. Because they never knew how to enjoy the moment, transforming every decision or nondecision onto the man, whether he was up to it or not. Sometimes men were just not up for taking charge of every single situation. And God help the man who ends up with a woman who depends on his every move or thought for life. But this was Sharron Francis, a down-to-earth girl from Memphis, Tennessee, who knew how to live in empty space, filling it up with thoughts, ideas, and actions of her own.
So she responded, “Okay,” and waited to see what he had in store for her.
Anthony turned onto Lindbergh Boulevard and headed north toward the airport. Then he second-guessed his idea, thinking that Sharron had seen enough airplanes as it was. She worked at the airport. But he had already started on his mission, so he drove to the parking site where mainly white American couples watched airplanes take off and land.
“Now that I think about it, maybe this wasn’t a good idea for you. You work over there, right?” he said, referring to the St. Louis airport.
“So,” she told him. “You don’t.” She jumped out of the car before he did to enjoy the clear sight of the airplanes.
“Don’t you get tired of seeing these things though?” he asked.
“Not really. I’m never outside. Celena would get tired of seeing airplanes before I would.”
“Hmmph,” he grunted. “She’s the kind of woman who gets tired of everything.” And he would know. He knew all of the types. But that didn’t mean he could never fall for a woman. As long as he was willing to be loved and to love back, with courage and a woman that he could trust. But first he had to learn to trust himself.
Anthony thought about the idea of trust and love as they watched planes together in the cool night air, while leaning against his car. Then Sharron grabbed his hand.
“Does this make you feel uncomfortable?” she asked, expecting to let him go.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because a lot of guys don’t like holding hands.”
He smiled, knowing that the truth was simple.
“When were we ever into holding hands in the first place? I never did that shit. I didn’t even hold my mother’s hand. Then I had two older brothers, uncles and boy cousins. And none of us held hands.”
Sharron snapped her
hand away from his, playfully.
“So, what are you saying, that holding hands is only for girls and mommy’s boys?”
“Basically, yeah,” he admitted with a laugh.
Then she slammed her backside into him and tossed his hands around her hips.
“And this makes you feel uncomfortable, too, right? Because it makes you want me.”
He broke out laughing and never answered her.
“So what’s a woman to do, you know, when she just wants closeness? Not penetration, but closeness?” she asked him seriously. “I mean, don’t you ever want to be just … close to a woman? To smell how clean she is, and to touch how smooth her skin feels, and to stroke her hair and stuff.”
He chuckled, thinking silly thoughts, and said, “What if she don’t smell too good?”
“First of all, you need to find one who does,” she answered. Then she stepped away and turned to face him. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
He broke out laughing, watching the horror on her face.
“Naw, you smell good. I’m just saying. Come back here,” he told her, reaching for her hand of all things.
“Why? You’re not a mommy’s boy, right?”
“You know I’m not. But I’m not a murderer either. I’m human. And I like closeness like you do,” he said, pulling her back to his cozy spot.
“I’m not even supposed to be leading you on like this. This is our first date,” she told him, holding her ground and moving away.
“So what?” he commented, teased by her.
“So … I don’t want to give you too much too early. I want to give you a piece at a time, like you told me.”
Aw, man, he pouted to himself. She could read the disappointment written all over his face as he let her hand fall away.
“See that? Now you know why we don’t tell y’all nothing,” he complained out loud.
She knew she had the upper hand on him then. He wanted her. But she wasn’t giving in to him until she was ready. The power of the booty. It was legendary.
“So, if I was willing to give you some tonight, would you take it?”
He smiled.
“Dumb question, right?” she asked him.
He took the Fifth and kept his mouth shut. Nevertheless, his grin told her everything. He was a M-A-N. He was made to penetrate.
Sharron shook her head and didn’t find the idea as humorous.
“That’s the kind of thing that makes me wonder why we even go through it all. And it doesn’t matter what woman it is. If she’s down with it, then you’re down.”
Anthony denied it. He had taste.
“Naw, it ain’t that simple,” he told her. “Not for me.”
“Well, it seems simple enough to me,” she responded.
“Then why do y’all do it then? Why do y’all keep chasing after guys?” he asked.
“Because it’s natural to want somebody,” she snapped. It was obvious. She moved closer to him and whispered, “You know how pussy feels, right? So why do you keep fuckin’?”
Anthony was so surprised that he nearly covered his ears with his hands. He didn’t expect for a woman like Sharron to use such words. It didn’t fit her personality. That made him even more curious about her.
“You didn’t expect for me to say that to you, right?”
He was still speechless, staring at her.
“Naw, you right. I didn’t,” he answered with a chuckle.
“I usually don’t. But I know girls that do.”
“Yeah, like your roommate.”
Sharron paused for a moment and thought about Celena, her rambunctious friend with the yuck mouth, who generally received twice as much respect from guys as she did, even though Celena slept around and treated them more like thrill rides than companions.
“Would you rather be with her than with me? Tell the truth,” Sharron asked Anthony. She had no clue that she would ask him that. The question simply slipped out of her mouth. She was in a zone. A love zone. And she didn’t even realize it.
But he did. Sharron was reaching Anthony, deep down inside, with her honesty.
“Does she ever keep any of her boyfriends long?” he asked of Celena.
Sharron shook her head and smiled. “You know, you’re very good at avoiding questions. And to think that I thought you might have been different.”
“I am different.”
“And so is everyone else.”
She stood there and leaned up against him on his car again.
He answered, “I would choose you. Because it would last longer.”
She thought on his answer for a second. It would last longer? What would last longer? The sex? The relationship? The love? The intrigue? Or all of the above?
“Everything would last longer,” he answered without her asking him.
She smiled and squeezed his arms tightly around her. Was this still a first date? It seemed like a hell of a lot more. To both of them! And Anthony was used to calling the shots. Maybe a little uncertainty was good for him. It sure had his full attention.
“Sometimes, I envy how close white couples are on their dates. It just seems like black love doesn’t get that close. Or at least not in public,” Sharron said out of the blue.
Anthony frowned and asked, “Where did you come from with that?”
“I mean, just look at them. Puppy love. At all ages.”
And it was true. They were surrounded by it. Old couples and young. Apple-pie Americans.
“That’s because they don’t have as much shit to worry about as we do. And they do more,” Anthony responded. “I was even unsure about bringing you out here. Not so much because you worked at the airport, but because you might have looked at me funny for doing it. My boy Tone would never bring a girl up here.”
“Nor would my roommate want to be here,” Sharron countered. “But that’s them, and this is us. That’s what stops couples from being themselves, judging what everybody else is doing.”
‘You’re doing that right now by talking about white couples,” he reminded her. “You don’t know how black people are in other countries. I hear that black guys in the Caribbean are supposed to be real affectionate.”
Sharron sucked her teeth and said, “They don’t seem affectionate to me. They seem just as rough as American men, and just as egotistical, if not more.”
“So, you’re saying that black men are not affectionate at all? Is that what you’re saying? Because I heard that white couples in Europe barely touch each other. What about them?”
Sharron shook her head and turned to face him.
“You know what, we’re both talking about a bunch of stereotypes. The bottom line is this: Are you, Anthony Poole, willing to be affectionate with me? That’s what I want to know.”
He pulled her gently into him and kissed her square on the lips before breaking away. A confident move.
She smiled, covering her lips, embarrassed and pleased by it at the same time.
“Does that answer your question?” he asked her.
“That wasn’t really affection though. That was more like … passion.”
He grinned. This girl is a trip, he thought to himself. But he was enjoying it. It was a new challenge for him, not being able to predict anything, while being forced to work a little harder. And as for Sharron, she knew that Anthony could take it. An intelligent edge in a woman was always attractive to a player. Intelligent women gave them a chance to test how strong their game was. Or how weak, so that they could return to the lab and work on it.
“What’s the difference?” he asked her.
“It’s simple, really. Affection is showing closeness, and expressing that you care in small ways, like holding hands, giving hugs, asking if everything is okay, and stuff like that. But passion is more assertive. Passion is like … taking over, and immersing yourself into the moment. Like, jumping into the bottom of the well. And there’s a big difference in the two.
“Because a lot of women end up in passio
nate, sexual relationships, when all they really want is affection,” she added. “And most guys would rather be passionate, because passion may lead straight to sex, where affection may not.”
Anthony chuckled at it. Sharron was telling the truth. Passion was for guys like him, who usually got the panties. Affection was for the softies. The mommy’s boys, walking around holding hands and forever being told, “No. Let’s wait.”
Fuck that waitin’ and debatin’ shit. I’ll take passion over affection any day! he told himself. Then he chuckled and blew his cool.
“See, that’s what I mean,” Sharron responded, reading his smile. “You know it’s true. And you know the difference,” she told him.
“Don’t you want to be passionate?” he asked. He couldn’t imagine her not wanting passion. She thought too much not to. Sharron thought too much to do without many feelings.
“Of course I want it. But I want it in a balance,” she answered. “A little bit of affection. A little bit of passion. And then both at the same time. But I would rather that a man be more passionate about loving me as a complete being than about just screwing me. You know what I mean?”
He nodded and understood her point. Men wanted to be loved for more than their wallets and the drama in their lives. Sometimes, they just wanted to chill, like they were doing. And before they knew it, it was close to one o’clock in the morning. They were one of the last couples standing.
“Damn! Where did all of the time go?” Anthony asked rhetorically.
“That’s the way it’s supposed to be,” Sharron responded to him. “Off the clock. Because we have all night long to be with each other.”
“We do?”
“Well, not tonight. No,” she answered quickly, heading back to her side of the car.
Anthony ran around and beat her to it, opening the passenger-side door to help her in.
“Is this affection?” he asked her, cheesing all the way.
“No. Opening car doors is more like chivalry and respect.”
Anthony looked at her and was stunned.
“Damn! We got manners, respect, chivalry, affection, passion, and what else?”
