by Omar Tyree
“I doubt if you’ll ever know, brother, especially not from me,” I responded to Larry.
Larry was often my co-driver on long runs. He was nearly ten years younger than me, partying hard and playing the field of women like I used to do. He was one of the guys who was with me at the Black Women’s Expo when I met Denise.
“So, you mean you still ain’t gon’ tell me nothin’, playa’?” he asked, pressing me.
“That’s exactly what I mean, young blood. This ain’t no damn high school locker room.”
Larry frowned and said, “It never was, but that didn’t stop you from tellin’ me everything before.”
I moved away from him, heading for the driver’s side of my truck. “Yeah, well, I’ve changed. And this one is important to me,” I told him.
We were both wearing blue cotton T-shirts of fine, sand-knit quality. When it got cold in the wintertime, I broke out with the rugged Carhartt jackets and overalls that construction men liked to wear. There were no plaid shirts for me. I liked to travel in my own style. Whenever I needed a haircut and a shave—which, before I met Denise, was often—I usually wore a Chicago White Sox, Cubs, Bears, or Bulls hat to represent my proud city. It made for good conversation while out on the road at the truck stops. Guys were always willing to talk sports. And although Larry would joke about my being old, he broke his neck to copy everything I bought, right on down to my deodorant and socks. It was a wonder that he never asked me what kind of drawers I wore. That’s a typical young blood for you, always yapping, and rarely trying to figure out how to do their own thing. Most of them fail at something once, then they immediately start copying everybody else.
Larry climbed into the passenger side, still planning on bugging me about my personal life. “You really think … Naw, I’m not even gon’ get into it with you,” he said, stopping himself short.
I knew what he was thinking. He was thinking that Denise would never be as serious about me as I was becoming about her. I thought of our relationship as temporary for a while myself, but since we continued to enjoy each other’s company, I decided that I had to stop thinking so short termed.
Why wasn’t I worthy of a Denise? She wasn’t born with a silver spoon in her mouth. She came from modest roots just like I had, and just like Larry. On the job, the only thing the guys knew about Denise and I was that she was a kick-ass Chicago businesswoman, and I was a truck driver from Chicago’s South Side. They had no idea how affectionate we had become, or how vulnerable Denise could be sometimes. Her independence didn’t mean that she didn’t want or need a man. She wanted a steady man just like I wanted a steady woman in my life again. And despite her career stature, she never made me feel any less of a man. The guys at the job were assuming that Denise and I were oil and water, and that we couldn’t go the distance. It was an assumption that I was out to change.
I looked over at Larry and asked him, “What are you thinking, Larry, that I can’t hold my own up against this woman? Is that it? Because if that’s the case, then I got news for you, young blood. I’m not going anywhere, and she ain’t either,” I told him.
He smiled. “Are you sure about that?”
I revved up my engine and got ready for our three-day, two-night run to Florida, Arkansas, and back up to Illinois. “You damn right I’m sure,” I told him. “It’s just like you said; I’ve been with her long enough to know, right?”
He nodded to me, still grinning.
“Well, there you have it then,” I said, blowing my horn to clear out our path. The shipping and receiving docks in Cicero were always busy with truck traffic.
Larry chuckled and stared out the window as we began to pull off. He just wouldn’t wipe that damn smile off his face. He made it seem as if he knew something that I didn’t. I got so concerned about Larry’s opinions on the class issue that I refused to let the conversation die.
I said, “Hey, man, what the hell is wrong with you young bloods and sisters who make their own money anyway? Don’t you realize that the more money they make, the less you have to break your neck? I mean, does that make any kind of sense to you guys?”
“It would make sense if it worked that way, but it don’t,” Larry responded.
“What do you mean, ‘it don’t’?” I had an idea of what he meant, I just wanted to hear him explain it for himself.
He said, “It seems like the more money they make, the more you have to make.”
I nodded my head and smiled. Larry was telling me exactly what I knew already: the young bloods were scared to death of the challenge. “Larry, you know how much you can make as a truck driver?”
“A lot more than what some of these so-called corporate sisters make. Just because they work in a tall building and wear a damn suit and stockings don’t mean that they make all that much.”
“Exactly. So why are you so concerned about how much money you’re supposed to be making, when you already know that you can make more than they do.”
“I do make more than they do. Most of them, at least.”
I shook my head and pitied him. I couldn’t imagine anymore that I was once so young and petrified by successful women myself. I said, “Larry, it’s all in the mind. The more secure you feel about yourself, the less you worry about competing with a woman’s income.”
“I’m just saying though, Brock. I mean, I meet a lot of women nowadays, and the first thing that comes out their mouth is, ‘Oh, I got my MCA from this university, and my Ph.D. from that university, and I studied with so and so and worked for such and such company’ and on and on. You know what I mean, man? Nobody wants to hear all of that shit!”
“And nor do they want to hear, ‘Baby, my dick is a size nine, I can screw for three straight hours, and I can lift a woman over my shoulders thirty times.’”
Larry broke out laughing. “Are you sure they don’t want to hear that, brother?”
I smiled and thought about it. “Actually, a few of them might,” I added with a chuckle. “But what I’m trying to say here, Larry, is that you can’t let these women scare you away when they start talking about their degrees and whatnot. That’s just their way of telling you who they are, so you don’t go in there thinking that they’re gonna put up with no bullshit. And the proper term, I believe, is M-B-A.”
Larry calmed down for a minute. He knew that I was right.
He looked over and said, “They still treat you like shit when they find out that you don’t have any of them damn degrees that they got. You ever been to college?” he asked me.
I nodded. “I went to DePaul for a few years and dropped out. It wasn’t my kind of ball game.”
“Well, it wasn’t mine either. I dropped out before I even went,” Larry said with a chuckle. He seemed to be proud of it.
“And that’s exactly why you feel inferior to them,” I told him.
“Why, because I didn’t go to college? That don’t mean everything, man. I shouldn’t have to walk around braggin’ about degrees and shit. Just let me be me, plain old Larry Nicholson.”
I smiled at him again and said, “Exactly. And that’s why ‘plain old Larry Nicholson’ needs to stay away from ‘Corporate Susie,’ because he can’t handle her. And it’s not because he doesn’t have a college education, but because he doesn’t feel comfortable with not having one.”
Larry frowned at me. “Yeah, whatever, man. Fuck ’em anyway. They got the same thing every other woman got.”
“And you want some of it, too. Don’t you?” I asked, teasing him. “You just don’t know how to go about getting it. Therefore, it’s driving you crazy. And it would drive you crazier if you saw one of these sisters walking around with a white man on her arm.”
Larry looked at me with his eyes blazing. “You damned right I’d be mad!” he yelled at me. “They don’t have to necessarily talk to me, but it’s plenty of other brothers that they could talk to. They need to at least keep it in the family.”
“Well, that means that more of you young brothers need
to get busy working on your confidence, education, and everything else. Because I’m gonna tell you something, young blood, these women ain’t looking for no ‘plain old Larry.’ In this day and time, they’re looking for a Superman. And I’m not talking about just the money, either. I’m talking about a man who feels good about himself and who takes care of his business. You hear me, Larry?”
“Yeah, I hear you. And I’m a Superman right here,” he said, pounding his chest with a smile.
I shook my head and pitied him some more. Larry didn’t have a clue. It was going to take him another ten years to find out what I already knew. Maybe longer than that. Some brothers never learn; a woman can never be more than an equal match for a confident man, no matter how many degrees she has or how much money she makes. A confident man can always rise to the occasion. I firmly believed that. That’s just the way the Lord made it. One confident man and one confident woman make for plenty of confident children.
Before I knew it, Larry was falling to sleep in his chair. I told him to climb in the sleeper and get some rest so he could take over the wheel that night. Then I got to thinking about Denise. Thinking about her made my trips seem a hell of a lot shorter, and my return a lot more meaningful. There was a time, back in my early years of truck driving, where I looked forward to getting away and seeing new places. Even while I was married, I looked forward to getting away. Every trip was like a mini vacation to me. But after twelve years on the job, I’ve seen just about all I want to see, and the thrill of going away is gone. Denise gave me the thrill of returning home.
I reminisced on the first time she agreed to go out with me on a real date. It was after the Fourth of July weekend. Both of her boys had gone away to summer camp, and Denise had a full week to herself, which was a blessing in disguise; and a big opportunity for me.
I bought some Giorgio Armani cologne because of its mellow, nonaggressive appeal. Although I had stopped working out, at six foot one and two hundred pounds, I was still no cream puff, and I didn’t want to overwhelm Denise with my physical presence. I wanted that first date to be a meeting of our minds.
I hopped out of my Maxima, fresh from the car wash, and knocked on her door. It was the first time I had ever worn a suit on a first date in my life. Denise opened her door, wearing a midnight blue, curve-hugging, knee-length dress.
I smiled and said, “Hello, gorgeous,” before handing her the two red roses I had bought for the occasion. I was trying to make the best impression I could. I told her one rose represented her and the other represented me, two hearts and souls coming together.
“Aww, isn’t that the sweetest thing,” she gushed at me, with a peck on the cheek. As I walked her to the car with the roses in hand, she added, “Mmm, you smell good, too. What kind of cologne are you wearing?”
I answered her like a king. “Armani.” Then I opened the passenger-side door for her and helped her to slide her sexy brown legs in. When I first went to lunch with Denise, I asked her if she worked out, because her body was in such great shape. She said, “Yes, every day from six-thirty A.M. until eleven-thirty P.M.” I broke out laughing. The woman was so darn busy that her body remained skin tight naturally.
“So, where are we going?” she asked me.
“You ever heard of The Retreat, on the far South Side?” I asked her.
Denise’s face lit up. “That’s the place where they turned a mansion into a restaurant, isn’t it?”
I smiled. I figured she had heard of it. I said, “Yeah, that’s the one.” I was proud of my good choice of a first date.
“Have you ever been there before?” she asked me.
“I sure haven’t, but I always wanted to go there. Now I get the chance to do it with you.”
“Dennis, you really didn’t have to do all this.” She seemed embarrassed by my hospitality.
“But I wanted to,” I insisted. “Now get ready to enjoy yourself, because I put a lot of thought into this.” I damn sure wasn’t going to take her to some low-budget place to eat. I wanted the best, and I figured that The Retreat would represent success in black business.
We got there and enjoyed the place and sucked in all of its elegance, but Denise seemed to be missing something. I could just feel it. She became too silent not to have things on her mind. The wisdom that age and experience gives you was beginning to kick in for me. You get a certain calmness that makes you feel you can tell what’s going on in a woman’s mind.
I asked her, “So, what are you striving for now?” I wanted her to tell me that she needed something, or someone. Someone like me.
“I’m just trying to maintain what I have, basically. I mean, we’re only human. All we can really do is strive to be better people.”
“What if we never quite reach our goals, whatever they may be?” I asked for the hell of it. I just wanted to keep her talking to find out who she was and how she felt about things.
“Well, in that case, I would ask, ‘How hard did you try?’ And if you gave it your all and still didn’t succeed, I’d tell you to come up with another game plan.”
I smiled at her. I thought she was going to say that your all is the best you can do.
Denise chuckled and proceeded to read my mind. “I get tired of people telling me they’ve done all that they can do. The truth is, many of us haven’t done half of what we can do. Everybody needs to push a little harder to accomplish their goals. That’s a major problem in society today; too many people are half-steppin’.
“Like you, for instance,” she said to me. “Dennis, you could have taken me any place, worn whatever you wanted to wear, and spent a lot less energy on me, but you chose to do more, and I really do appreciate it. However, that still doesn’t mean that you’re gonna get under my dress anytime soon,” she told me with a grin.
I laughed out loud. She was as honest as I was. “And that is the truth,” I admitted. What else could I say?
She reached out and held my hand. “You know, it’s amazing how when people don’t get what they want the first time around, a lot of them just get sour and never put their hearts back into it. Because the bottom line is that we’re not gonna get everything we want when we want it. The world just doesn’t work that way. At least not for most of us. Only a few of us are lucky that way,” she said.
I nodded to her. “Yeah, and those are usually the type of people who are never satisfied with anything.”
“Because they never had to struggle,” she responded. “They take things for granted. Struggle makes us all a lot stronger, and those who are afraid of struggle are the ones who are just plain immature. They’re like little children, needing somebody to lead them through every step of the way. Then they want to get tired all of a sudden. ‘Oh, I’m so tired.’”
I found that Denise could go on for a while, talking about the shortcomings of society, motivation, positive thinking, and the general lack of progression. She was just a dynamic woman. By the time our food came, I hardly had an appetite. I just wanted to listen to her. I kept wondering why she wasn’t married, or at least taken.
“So how did you wind up getting into the finance business?” I asked her. Before that night, I had only asked her about the business, and not how she got into it.
“It was just something that I found I could do well,” she answered, eating a tender salmon dish. I ordered steak, cooked well.
“Most of us never fully utilize our talents,” I told her. “I took piano lessons for about eight years, and just decided to give it up after high school. It just didn’t seem like a manly thing to do, you know. But sometimes I find myself daydreaming about continuing on with it, like Thelonious Monk or Herbie Hancock or somebody.”
“Oh,” Denise perked. “I thought your hands felt kind of soft for a truck driver. So, you’re a Mr. Piano, incognito.”
“Now, wait a minute, I didn’t say I was a pro,” I told her.
“You don’t have to be. Can you play the doggone thing?”
“Oh yeah, I can play. I ju
st didn’t wanna get to lying on myself, having you think that I can jam on the thing. Because I’m not that good.”
“You’re better than me. I never played the piano a day in my life,” she told me. “We never owned one.”
“Well, in that case, I’m sure I can show you a thing or two, just to get you started with a little something.”
She gave me this long, mischievous grin that made me think of us together, naked. It was one of the many small hints I observed that told me Denise was definitely interested in me.
“I would like that,” she said.
I was certain that she would, but like she said before, we don’t always get what we want the first time around. I would have to go over what I knew before I even thought about showing her anything! I knew I would have been rusty.
I didn’t expect a kiss on the lips that night, but to my surprise, Denise gave me a wet one at her doorstep anyway.
“That’s for your effort,” she told me with a smile.
“All I ask is that we can do it again,” I responded.
She held my hand again and said, “Don’t worry. We will. I promise. It just might not be when you want, or when I want. It may be sometime in between.”
“Well, that’s what they say, ‘Real relationships are about compromise,’” I told her. “Okay then. I can agree to those terms.”
I went home alone that night and remembered it being the most pleasing closure of a first date that I ever had. It was maturity. I thought of Denise as a worthwhile mission, and I had my heart all the way into it. I had committed myself to going that extra mile for something, someone, I should say, who was definitely worth it.
Back on the road, my ten legal hours of driving were up. Larry and I had stopped at a truck station in Kentucky, ate some fattening fast food, and were ready to get back on our way to Orlando, Florida. It was close to nine o’clock at night, and time for Larry to do his part at the wheel.