Sweet St. Louis

  Yeah, she thought. Of course I have. But she did not want to be so direct with him. Maybe telling him pieces of the story would be better, and easier for him to swallow. After all, they did have a past together.

  “I thought I was in love with a football player at St. Louis University,” she answered him. “Actually, he played football, basketball, and ran track. But he obviously was not in love with me because he transferred to UCLA and never called me again.”

  “When was this?”

  That’s exactly what I was afraid of, she told herself. There was no way of getting around Sean’s feelings. She simply hadn’t chosen him to love, and what difference would it make to them now? She even regretted opening up the discussion.

  Sean read her hesitancy and eased her turmoil. “I understand that you had to do what you had to do, Sharron. I can’t hold that against you. But if we’re going to be open with each other and start over again, then we have to be honest with each other.”

  He said, “I need your honesty right now. More than anything, I need honesty.”

  “My freshman year at UMSL,” she answered.

  “Was it that hard to be honest with me?” he asked. “Why? I mean, women talk about honesty so much, but then when they have a good and honest man like myself, they can’t seem to be honest anymore. Or maybe I’m just meeting all of the wrong women.”

  Or maybe you hold yourself in such high regard that you make everyone else feel that they don’t deserve you, or that they don’t want to live up to the pressure of being perfect all of the time. Or of hurting your damn feelings every day, which is exactly how I feel with you right now! she mused with an edge. He was beginning to get under Sharron’s skin, with an itchy kind of irritation that made her want to scratch him off, feverishly.

  Sean had no idea how laboring he could be to a woman, even a good woman, with so much talk of his decency and of his suffering. Sharron asked herself, Am I that bad with the men that I meet? Suffering like that? And showing it? Because if I am, then no wonder I’m getting nothing but suffering in return.

  The next thing she knew, she was giving her high-school boyfriend advice:

  “Sean, you have to think more positive in order to have positive results,” she told him. “I have to do that myself sometimes. Because I’m learning, day by day, that nobody gives a damn about your suffering. Not yours, not mine, not anybody’s. Because we all have those days, and we all know how those days make us feel. So we choose to keep pushing forward and looking on the bright side.”

  “But that’s not reality,” he countered. “My fiancée was a bright and cheerful woman until all kinds of darkness climbed out of her closet. But if she had been honest with me in the beginning instead of projecting this Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs imagery of herself, we could have both dealt with her demons outright instead of being embarrassed by them later.”

  Sharron shook her head and grinned, stopping herself just short of laughing out loud. She could just imagine how corny her girl Celena would have thought Sean was if she heard his terminology. She would have laughed out loud and embarrassed him. He was definitely no match for Celena, nor could he hold up to Sharron’s standards.

  I’m sorry, Sean, but you will never be more than a friend to me, she leveled with herself. Because life is much too short for this kind of drama.

  “Well, when did she get pregnant?” she asked, for more information on the story.

  “About a month after we started dating.”

  A month?! Damn! Well, you both had demons to begin with, she thought.

  Sean interrupted before she could speak. “Now I know what you’re thinking, but I knew her for about three months before we started dating. So I knew, or at least I thought that she was a good woman when she became pregnant. And since the Lord our Savior doesn’t make accidents, we realized then that we were meant to be a family.”

  Sharron was speechless. Who could argue with the Lord our Savior? So she left it alone. But one thing was for sure: Sean Love had a lot more drama going on in his life than she ever had in hers!

  “I don’t know what else to say to you, Sean,” she told him. The words just tumbled out of her mouth without any thought behind them. She just wanted to end their conversation. It was depressing. She didn’t need to be depressed, she needed to be uplifted.

  “Yeah, I guess I shouldn’t be talking about my problems to you like this, but sometimes you just need someone who doesn’t know, or who hasn’t been around you, to just hear you out.”

  Sharron nodded and didn’t say a word.

  “Well, maybe you can call me back and start over again when you’ve cleared your mind about things,” she told him. And it was a good line. A line that she hoped and prayed would work. Unfortunately, it didn’t.

  “I have a better idea,” he told her, filled with new energy. “How about I fly to St. Louis and take you out on your birthday next month? It’s June twenty-seventh, right? You’re a sensitive Cancer. I remember.”

  I’m not that sensitive, she thought. “Well, we’ll have to see about that, okay? I mean, I don’t know what I’m doing for my birthday yet.”

  “Well, now you do,” he told her.

  “No, no I don’t,” she countered. “So just call me in a week or so, and we’ll talk again. Okay?”

  She was trying her best to end their phone call without being short or rude to him. Nevertheless, he was really pushing her to the edge of her calm sanity.

  He paused and finally agreed to let her go.

  “Okay. That’s fair. I’ll call you in a week then.”

  Sharron hung up the phone and said, “Jesus Christ!” Then she caught herself. “I mean, God, I didn’t mean that. I mean … What am I saying?!” she finally stopped and asked herself.

  She was that confused and frustrated. She actually felt ashamed of herself for rejecting Sean again, because love was what she wanted. But the suffering part of love, she wanted to push away. She desired only its sweetness, the bright yellow sunshine of love and never the suffering dark grays. Because the suffering part of love was too painful. Life was far too short to have to face such … pain. Knowingly. So Sharron vowed to avoid it, like she would avoid Sean.

  Pain and suffering was what Ant had to endure every time his partner Tone wanted to tag along with him. However, Ant could take the pain because he loved his partner. Dearly! For as nagging as Tone could be, Ant felt committed to him, responsible for him, and driven by him. And Ant no doubt suffered an everyday gray, while forcing his boy to understand that life was meant to be lived and experienced, and not just talked about or bullshitted through.

  “Man, you’re the one who keeps talking this stuff about being bored. I’m always out to do stuff,” Tone refuted, decked out again in his red Cardinals baseball jersey. Ant had been compelled to take his own St. Louis Cardinals jersey off, for fear of showing up like twins. He redressed in a plain blue Wilson Athletics T-shirt with his jeans.

  Ant had control of his wheels, and control of their destination to the skating rink on Lindbergh Boulevard, northwest of St. Louis, and not far from the airport. On Thursday nights, the grown-ups got their groove on. Tone was simply concerned about how grown they would be.

  “It’s gon’ be a bunch of old folks in here, man. Watch,” he continued to complain.

  “Aw, man, you probably scared ’cause you can’t skate,” Ant joked.

  “I can skate. I just don’t want to run over no old folks.”

  Ant stared into Tone’s face in disbelief. “How old do you think people are going to be in here? Seventy? I mean, we’re almost thirty our damn selves. Grow the hell up, man!”

  Tone looked away and out of the passenger-side window. “Yeah, I hope they’re our age. You just remember that this was your idea,” he turned and said to his friend.

  As soon as they pulled up into the slowly filling parking lot of the skating rink, Tone noticed more couples than singles walking from their parked cars and moving through the short line.
/>
  “Are you sure that this is old heads night, or is it couples night?”

  “When you get our age and older, most people start connecting like that. We ain’t teenagers no more,” Ant responded. “I’m not out here to meet nobody anyway. I’m just out here to skate. You know, to do something different.”

  Tone shook his head and grinned, deciding to leave his partner alone as they reached the front entrance. He knew that he wanted to meet someone regardless of what Ant was there for.

  Tone whispered, “Damn, she look good!” referring to the cashier, an attractive sister who was full of body. “Look at that backyard in there,” he added.

  Ant smiled and looked the woman over himself. “Are you gonna be collecting money all night, or do you go out there and skate?” he asked her.

  She smiled, real reserved, and nodded. “Yeah, I skate.”

  “We’ll be out there on the dance floor lookin’ for you then,” Tone interjected.

  “My husband will be looking for me too,” she responded as cool as water.

  “We don’t wanna see him,” Tone countered as they moved along to the skate rental booth.

  Ant stopped him and asked, “Why you always gotta jump in on my shit?”

  “Aw, dawg, I saw her first. You wasn’t even payin’ attention.”

  Ant shook his head and said, “Anyway, I told you, sisters start hookin’ up once they get a certain age. I bet her husband is having big fun with that! No doubt!”

  “No doubt indeed!” Tone agreed with a smile. “That’s exactly why we don’t need to be in here. It’s gon’ be a bunch of old, worn-out, divorced, and kid-having women up in here. We need to hook up with some college girls, or girls who just got out of college. You know, still wet behind the ears and shit.

  “Look, it ain’t even that many people up in here yet,” Tone continued whining.

  Ant said, “You know, it’s CPT time. Black people always come late.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, we black, so how come we up in here so damn early?”

  Ant had finally heard enough. He sat down to jam his rented skates on. “Damn, man, can you stop complainin’ so much and just enjoy yourself? I mean, you act like a kid brother sometimes. Are you sure you’re older than me? My name need to be Tone and your name should be Ant,” he added with a chuckle.

  Tone said, “You can talk that kid brother shit if you want, but I’ll whip your ass. Now how many kid brothers can do that?”

  Ant smiled, tied up his skates, and headed for the disco lights that flashed on the skating rink, while the DJ played the hit song from Usher “You Make Me Wanna …” But when your body hasn’t performed a certain task or used specific muscles for some time, it’s amazing how out of shape you can feel. Both Ant and Tone felt like amateurs. They skated right out into the rink, trying their best to be cool, black, macho men. And it wasn’t working.

  “Shit, man! These things hurt my feet!” Tone went back to complaining. “We need some better skates, dawg. They gave us the damn welfare department skates. Mine don’t even turn.”

  “They’re not supposed to turn. Your legs are supposed to turn the skates,” Ant said with a laugh. He wasn’t making the curves too comfortably himself. The rentals felt more like stiff ice skates than roller skates. The real skaters had their own wheels, and were grooving along to the bass-driven song as if they were born for it.

  By the fifth lap, Tone was already looking to retire. It was a pity, however, that he failed to guide himself to the edge of the rink instead of stopping in the middle of traffic:

  BLOOMP!

  BLOOMP! BLOOMP! BLOOMP!

  SQUUEEEEETT!

  SQUUEEEEETT!

  CLACKK!

  CLACKK! CLACKK!

  Tone created a three-skater wipeout, with two breakers and three jumpers.

  Ant nervously headed for the walls, regaining his balance before he wiped out himself from laughter.

  Tone climbed to his feet and gingerly made his way from the rink to recover. I knew this shit was a bad idea, he thought to himself. He felt like his right arm was broken.

  Ant made it to his partner, filled with laughter. “You aw’ight?” he asked, still chuckling.

  “Shut up, man. I hit my damn funny bone. My arm feel like it’s broke,” Tone responded, cradling his right arm.

  “Aw, man, stop whinin’. Who the girl now?”

  They stopped right in front of twin basketball machines and read each other’s mind.

  “You too hurt to get it on?” Ant challenged.

  Tone smiled, worked out his arm, and faced the machines. “We can get it on.”

  “I don’t wanna hear no excuses about your arm, Tone. I’m not tryin’ to hear that shit.”

  “Just get your money up,” Tone huffed.

  “How much we playin’ for?”

  “Twenty dollars a game.”

  “Twenty dollars a game?” Ant questioned. “What, are you trying to make an income off of me, man? If we playin’ for twenty dollars, we gon’ make it two out of three games,” Ant said as they headed for the nearby change machine.

  Another skater headed for the basketball machines before they made their change.

  Tone said, “Dawg, we ’bout to play for money over here. You wanna get in on it?”

  The brother smiled and shook his head. “Naw. Just let me play a quick game before you get started then.”

  Tone sucked his teeth. “Scared money don’t make none.”

  The brother ignored him and finished up his game before returning to the skating rink.

  Tone looked at his meager score of thirty-two points and said, “Shit, he had reason to be scared. I would have taken all of his money.”

  Ant shook his head. He said, “I don’t believe you in here trying to hustle people.”

  “Yeah, yeah, just shut up and put your quarters in.”

  They played two furious, trash-talking games, with Ant winning them both with the same approach: nailing long, three-point baskets to seal his last-second victories, 56-53 and 64-60.

  “Give them twenty dollars up, boy!”

  Tone was hesitant. “Wait a minute, man. You know I couldn’t shoot them three-pointers with my elbow being messed up.”

  “Naw, naw, man. I told you, I don’t wanna hear that shit.”

  “I’m sayin’, dawg, you won off of three-pointers. So let’s play two out of three games where we just shoot short shots, you know, because I’m a handicap right now.”

  Ant started to skate away. “Let me go back out here and skate then while your little arm heals.” He didn’t want to take his partner’s money anyway. Tone needed it.

  “Yeah, whatever, man. Anybody wanna play me for money!” Tone went back to challenging.

  While they played basketball, the skating rink had filled up a bit. It wasn’t wall-to-wall skaters or anything, but it was enough. There were a lot more singles who had shown up with the later crowd as well. Tone didn’t know what he was missing. And although Ant said he wasn’t there to meet anyone, he just couldn’t help himself. The brother had a real weakness for available women. One of the skaters even looked familiar to him. She was in blue jeans and a thin green blouse that trailed in the wind as she skated. Ant put a little extra in his stride to catch up to her, hoping that he wouldn’t wipe her out in a clumsy crash, or look too damned anxious and blow his cool.

  “Hey, miss, don’t I know you from somewhere?”

  She looked straight into his face, recognized him, and grinned. It was the “piece of me for a piece of you” man. She couldn’t help herself either, smiling at him again. A smile like hers tended to send the wrong message to a man. A message of easiness. Easiness was the last image in the world a woman wanted to present to a full-grown player like Anthony Poole. Knowing as much, Sharron Francis continued to skate away from him. Her reasoning: If he wants me, then he’s gonna have to come and get me, whether I’ve been thinking about meeting him or not. And she had been thinking about meeting him again. Constantly!
But she realized the game of seduction and counterseduction had to be played regardless. She couldn’t just stop and talk to him. Especially after smiling like she did. Or could she? Could she just stop all of the bullshit and ask him what he wanted from her without scaring him away like a dog with his tail caught between his hind legs?

  Guys just had to play their games. Otherwise, they didn’t seem to know how to function. Besides, the game was good in the beginning. All of the mental foreplay was hard to outright ignore. Yet, how long did men and women have to continue playing games? She loves me. She loves me not. Or maybe she just loves my pocket knot. He wants me. He wants me not. Or maybe he just wants my pleasure spot.

  As Sharron skated around the rink to the DJ’s driving rhythms, Ant remembered her. She was the only woman whom he had used his precious line on. How could he forget? He had wasted it on her. Or maybe not. Because she was smiling again. And he still wanted to find out what that meant. That smile. And this time, she was not getting away from him.

  “Who was that?” Celena skated in and asked, much swifter on her own skates than Ant could ever hope to be on rentals.

  “I don’t know yet,” Sharron answered. “But why don’t you skate ahead so I can find out.”

  Her girl looked and grinned. “Oh, it’s like that now.”

  “Yes, it is. Now go on somewhere,” she advised, with no apologies.

  “Is he that important, Sharron?”

  Ain’t it a trip how your friends can know exactly when they’re getting in the middle of a good thing? It almost makes you want to throw them a stiff elbow. Instead, Sharron put on the brakes and let Celena skate right by and out of her damn face, causing Ant to do exactly what he was trying so hard to avoid, clumsily wiping out and taking his chase down with him.

  BLOOMP! BLOOMP!

  “Damn! Now you done made me embarrass myself,” he complained. “Why did you just stop like that?”

  Sharron smiled again and remained sitting while the crowd skated around them.

  “Why were you right behind me like that?” she asked him.

  Weird. How is it that we can feel an automatic connection to someone we’ve never been around before? A complete stranger.