by J. J. Murray
No. Look at her! She’s been your lifeline these past six months.
I turn to those dark eyes. “Shawna, I’ve been sitting in the parking lot afraid to come in.” Honesty is always the best policy. “So, I’ll understand if you—”
“Why don’t you sit down, Joe?”
“Sit?”
She smiles. Yeah, I knew her eyes would light up like that. “Yes, sit down, Joe, before you fall down.”
“Right.” I sit, immediately grabbing for a tortilla chip. “Have you been waiting long?” What a stupid question! Of course she’s been waiting long, and I’m the reason!
“Not too long.” She sips her water. “Joe, why didn’t you tell me you were white?”
The tortilla chip slips out of my grasp, spinning on the table. “It, um, I guess it never came up in all our conversations. I mean, you didn’t tell me you were ... um ...”
“Black?”
Beautiful. So direct. So ... conversational, so to-the-point like all our online conversations have been. “Yeah.”
“We talked about so many things.” She shakes her head. “Does it matter to you?”
“No.” And it doesn’t. She saved me from the abyss.
“Really?”
“No. Does it matter to you?”
She takes a deep breath, and I hold mine.
20
Shawna
No, of course it doesn’t matter to me. This man has a beautiful mind and the purest of hearts.
But as for my kids?
It might matter to my kids. And his kids. And his family and my family, even though they live far away. And my coworkers. And his coworkers. And the people in this town ...
“No, uh, Joe. In fact, it’s an unexpected blessing. And anyway, we’re, um, we’re too far along in our, um, friendship, to let that stand in our way.” Am I pushing it? He seems unaffected, but I’ve never really been able to tell with white men. His face hasn’t moved. “I mean, it’s been, what, five or six months?”
“Yeah. And this is kind of our first date, right?”
I want to touch his hand, to feel the man who has nearly felt up my entire soul with a bunch of letters on a computer screen. “Joe, we’ve been, um, dating nearly every day for close to six months, right?”
“You’re right. Has it been six months?”
I nod.
Oh, no! Here comes my burrito. “I, um, I already ordered.” And that is a huge burrito! I can’t eat all that! Not after all these tortilla chips! And why does it have to be wrapped up in foil and stuck in a paper bag? Oh, yeah. I ordered it to go. “Joe, do you, um, do you like beef burritos?”
“Sure.”
Finally, he smiles. Good. My feet can stop running laps under this table.
I turn to the waiter. “Two forks, please.”
Then ... we eat a beef burrito resting on aluminum foil on a table at El Toreo.
It is so ... normal.
Even a little romantic.
I like this.
I’m even letting him have more than half of the burrito.
21
Joe
“So, how’s Rose doing?” she asks.
“Better. Church yesterday seemed to help.” I can’t take my eyes off ... my hands. Why is it so hard to look at her face? And if my hands are so chapped and dry, why are they still sweating?
“Church always helps. Makes the rest of the week bearable sometimes.”
I glance up to smile at her to find that she’s looking at her hands, too. I wonder if hers are sweating as well. It’s funny, but after all we’ve been through, we’re just two shy middle-aged parents who don’t know what to say or do.
We must be made for each other.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you how you figured out I was here in Roanoke.”
She looks up. “Well, we have met before at McDonald’s. Big Mac, large fries, Coke, right?” She looks back at her hands. “You’ve been coming in for lunch for years.”
“And you remember my face?”
She looks at my face, and my face gets hot. She has dark brown laser beams for eyes. “I remember the regulars.”
“But ... there has to be more to it. When did you know that I, um, was the Joe who had been writing to you?” That made no sense.
“I don’t know where to begin, but ...” She sighs. “You’ve already met my youngest daughter.”
“I have?”
“Yeah. You pushed her in a swing on Saturday.”
The little girl ... “That was Toni?”
“Yeah. That’s a little game she plays to find herself a daddy.” She quickly looks away. “And my son came over ...”
“To protect her. I understand.” So he wasn’t angry with me. He was just being a good brother.
“And my daughter knows your daughter from what happened at PH.”
Oh, no! “Was she one of the ones who Rose—”
She shakes her head. “No. The ones she, um, spoke to were friends of hers, though.”
So it has even affected Crystal. “Wait. That means Joey, Junior, Rose, and Crystal ride the same bus.”
She nods.
“So, they might all know each other already.”
She sits back, her eyes drifting up to mine. “Yeah, I guess. But riding the bus and really knowing who you’re riding with isn’t necessarily the same thing.”
True. “Okay, our kids have a passing knowledge of each other. That’s something.”
She nods.
Now what? I hear more silence, and instead of the ticking of a clock, I hear Mexican music. “Shawna, I want to take you out to eat, to a movie, to a show, something, but ...”
“But what?” She smiles, and my heart hurts.
“But I’m not sure how we can get away from our kids to do that.”
“Crystal or Junior will mind Toni.”
“And I guess Rose can mind the boys.” I try to laugh but end up coughing. “But trying to explain to them where I was going, um, might get ugly.”
Her eyes drop.
“Oh,” I say, “I didn’t mean ... I just want this to work, you know?”
Her eyes rise. “Me, too.”
“Okay, then ... I haven’t been on a date in ...” How long has it been? “In a long time.”
“Same here.”
At least we’re in this predicament together. “The last date I went on I think Cheryl and I went out for ice cream.” I smile. “Back when Baskin-Robbins only had a dozen flavors. How about you?”
She counts on her fingers. “Whew. Close to twenty years? The older Bush was president.”
I feel a lot better now. “Where do people—couples ...” That sounds so strange. “Where do couples go out around here? Cheryl and I only went on family dates.” My fingers start drumming on the table again. “How about some ice cream?”
“And a walk in the park?”
A walk! Why didn’t I think of that? “Sure.”
“Tonight?”
More Mexican music with lots of guitar, the tempo fast and frenetic, as if it’s background music to this scene. “Sure.” I swallow. “Tonight, uh, after dinner, say ... seven thirty?” We ought to be through with dinner by—
“Seven thirty would be fine.”
Wow. She’s really eager. My hands are practically dripping.
“I’ll just, um ... walk down to your house, okay?” she asks.
This is really about to happen. “Sure.”
She squeezes my hand, and I squeeze back. Nice eyes. Very nice eyes.
22
Shawna
I can’t believe I’ve just forced this man into a date in only a few hours and we’re holding greasy hands across a table in public and—
What am I thinking? Am I thinking? I can’t believe I just said I’d walk down to his place. He should pick me up, right?
“I could pick you up,” he offers.
Cute. He’s ... cute. “Yeah. Maybe you better.” I give him directions, which is pretty silly, considering he only has
to cruise up the street a few blocks. I look at our hands. Such contrasts, such—
He pulls his hands away. “I, uh, I should go.”
I check my watch. I’m late! “Me, too.”
We stand together and step out from the table. He leans in—oh, my beating heart—and gives me the most delicious hug right there in El Toreo.
“See you soon,” he says.
Soon.
Too soon?
I have to get back to work, rush home and throw a meal together, make myself prettier, and ... and ...
I got a hug today ... a hug from a man. Oh, getting hugs from my children is heavenly, don’t get me wrong, but a hug from a man ...
A man-hug.
My body feels ten years younger already.
Unlike the movies where the clock never seems to move, the rest of my shift flies by, and instead of whipping up a meal, I bring home Quarter Pounder meals for everyone, something I do maybe once or twice a year.
And that’s when my children get suspicious.
“Why aren’t you cooking tonight, Mama?” Crystal asks.
I ignore her and concentrate on the fries. These aren’t that crispy. They should have changed the oil in the fry vats—
“Something wrong, Mama?” Junior asks.
“No,” I say, picking up and barely nibbling at a fry.
They keep looking at each other, and other than Toni smacking her lips over her fries, the kitchen is silent.
“So why ...” Crystal says.
I have no idea what I’m about to say. “I was tired, okay? I didn’t feel like cooking.”
Silence. They don’t believe me.
Here we go ... “Okay, okay. I was tired, and I didn’t want to rush because ...” Help me here, Lord Jesus. “Because I am going out for ice cream with a friend later this evening.”
“A friend?” Crystal says. “Rema?”
Who is about the only true friend I have other than a few wonderful Christian women at church, but Rema and I rarely even get to go clothes shopping or holiday shopping together because of our work schedules. “His name is Joe.”
Toni stops smacking her lips. “Joe? The man on the computer?”
I look at Crystal. “Yes.” I flash my don’t-you-say-a-word eyes.
Crystal pushes away from the table, shaking her head, folding her arms in front of her. My don’t-you-say-a-word eyes must still be working.
“Joe will be picking me up at seven thirty,” I say to Crystal the Angry, “and I’ll need you to babysit Toni.”
“I’m not a baby,” Toni says.
“I know you aren’t, honey, but you’re too young to be here by—”
“And what if I had plans?” Crystal interrupts. My don’t-you-say-a-word eyes only work for so long, I guess.
“On a Monday night?” I ask. “On a school night? You know the rules.”
“I can’t believe this,” Crystal says, and she leaves the table.
At least she didn’t throw her half-eaten Quarter Pounder at me.
I look at Junior. “We’ll be out about an hour or so. I think.”
“Cool,” Junior says. “Take your time. We’ll be all right.”
Toni leaves her chair, gives me a hug, and then returns to her fries. I’d ask her what the hug was for, but I already know.
She thinks she’s getting herself a daddy.
And ... maybe ... who knows—other than God, of course—what might happen.
23
Joe
“I’m taking a friend out for ice cream tonight,” I state asas nonchalantly as I can while my fingers ooze pints of sweat under the dinner table. “I shouldn’t be out long.”
“A friend? Who?” Jimmy asks.
“A woman named Shawna,” I say. “I have been writing to her for about six months online, and it turns out she lives right here in Roanoke. Just up the street, as a matter of fact. I want to take her out to thank her for helping me, you know?”
The mantel clock ticks on.
“I’ll be taking her to Katie’s and then we’ll probably walk around a bit,” I say, “but I’m sure I’ll be back by eight thirty at the latest.”
More silence.
That wasn’t so bad. I must have the least suspicious kids on the planet.
24
Shawna
WhatdoIwearwhatdoIwearwhatdoIwear ...
For goodness’ sake, Shawna, it’s only ice cream and a walk in the park. Jeans, Nikes, a sweatshirt, and a coat. Okay, it’s weird to get ice cream in February and go walking in a park with snow in the forecast, but it’s a beginning. I don’t have to put on airs to get some fresh air.
WhatdoIdowithmyhairwithmyhairwithmyplainol’dull-and —
A hat.
It’s February, we’ll be eating ice cream, it’s cold, it may snow, my hair needs a wash.
I put on a plain black knit hat and pose in front of the mirror over my dresser. Very chic. Very ...
Plain. Oh, God, I am so plain. I have a decent smile, a medium nose, ordinary eyes, scary eyebrows, a body that doesn’t look as if it’s been pregnant three times—
It’s only ice cream. Just a cone with one scoop ... or should I get it in a cup? Do I want him to see me licking on an ice-cream cone? It could be kind of seductive—
Sorry, Lord. I’ll put it in a cup, okay?
“Mama, he’s here!” Toni yells from outside my door.
I look at my watch. He’s early. Ten minutes early.
I grab my coat and open the door to see Toni jumping up and down in front of me.
“He’s the man who pushed me on the swing!” she shouts.
I look past Toni to Junior, who only smiles and points to the door.
“I’ll, uh, I’ll get it,” I say, moving toward the door. I wish I had heard him knock. He must have knocked softly. Yeah, Joe’s been knocking softly on my heart for so long, and it’s about time I opened the door.
I put my hand on the knob and look back to see if Crystal is around. Nope. Hmm. Not a good sign, but at least there won’t be any drama. I open the door.
“Hi,” Joe says.
“Hi,” I say. “Want to come in for a minute? I’m almost ready.”
“Sure.”
He steps inside, nodding at Junior and Toni.
“Hi, Joe,” Toni says. “Remember me?”
He nods. “Sure. At the park on the swings.”
“I’ll, uh, I’ll ...” I return to my room, throw a brush through my hair until it almost looks fuller, and toss the hat on the floor. My ears will just have to be cold. I return to the front door. “Ready.” I turn to Junior. “I’ll be back in a few—”
“Just go, Mama,” Junior says.
“Oh, okay,” I say.
Joe steps aside, I walk out the door, Junior closing the door behind us.
“Well,” I say, and it’s the only thing I can think to say.
“Yeah,” he says.
We are just a couple of kids!
He holds out his hand, and I take it, and hand in hand we walk to a green minivan. He opens my door, I get in, he gets in, he backs out ...
I exhale.
Have I been holding my breath the entire time? I feel light-headed.
“You look nice,” he says.
“Thank you,” I say.
“Any, um, difficulties?” he asks.
“Just Crystal,” I say. “Any difficulties on your end?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Really. None visible, anyway. I’m sure Rose will say something eventually.”
I nod. “Um, Joe, you do know it’s February, right?”
“Yes.”
“And we’re about to get ice cream and go walking outside.”
He doesn’t speak right away. “Oh. Would you rather do something else?”
The answers I could give him ... Lord, it’s been eight years, right? “I’m just saying that we’re crazy for doing this.”
He smiles. “Yep.”
I watch the scenery, such as it is, roll by and giggle inside my head. I like Joe. I mean, I actually like him. We’re not exactly soul mate material, but ... he has a sense of humor, he’s polite, and he’s willing to take risks.
We walk hand in hand again into Katie’s, a well-lit, clean ice-cream parlor that also sells plush toys, Beanie Babies, and party supplies. As I had expected, we’re the only two crazy customers out on a chilly February night. We each get one scoop in a cup of Moose Tracks, vanilla ice cream loaded with caramel candies, and then we walk around Towers Mall looking into store windows.
This is so romantic!
25
Joe
I wish this were more romantic.
also wish we had gotten cones so we could still hold hands.
That might make this a little more romantic.
When we finish our ice cream outside Kroger, I reach for Shawna’s hand. “Let’s find a park.”
“I have a better idea,” she says, and she pulls me inside Kroger.
Kroger? A date at a grocery store?
I hesitate and tug a little.
“Come on, Joe. It will be fun.”
I let her pull me to the fresh produce section where she studies and touches and lifts and weighs grapes, of all things.
“You like grapes?” I ask. Another stupid question.
“Don’t you?” she asks.
“Sure.”
But when she ends up buying nearly eight pounds of grapes, I start to wonder. Does she make her own wine? Are her kids grape addicts or something?
I offer to pay for the grapes, but Shawna shakes her head. “We’re going Dutch, Joe. This is on me.” And once she pays for the grapes, she hands me nearly half of them. “Eat up,” she says.
Grapes? On top of ice cream?
She takes a grape from one of her bunches and pushes it into my mouth. Sweet. Delicious. I get a vision of Shawna feeding me grapes while I recline ...
Whoa.
This is romantic.
“How is it?” she asks.
“Sweet,” I say. I take a grape from my bag and put it on her lips. She doesn’t bite into it right away, slowly, painfully using her tongue to take that grape into her mouth.