“So, what movies did your boys get from the video store?” I asked her. I was just making small talk. We were so hesitant with each other that it was like starting over again on a first date. I knew that our conversation would get serious sooner or later. There was no sense in rushing into it.
“They, ah, had the Tupac Shakur fever. So they got Gridlock’d and Poetic Justice.”
I nodded. “Yeah, this rapper stuff is getting to be a sad situation.”
Denise sighed and responded, “If you live by the sword, you die by the sword.”
“I hear his estate is worth millions of dollars now.”
“I bet it would be. The young man had a lot going for him. He just took a fast turn in the wrong direction. I hope that my boys will be able to learn something from it. That’s the only reason why I let them watch it. I don’t believe that shielding kids away from all of the things that are going on will necessarily be successful. Sometimes they need to be able to see these things so that they can be strong enough to make their own decisions about what’s right.”
I nodded, while wondering in what direction we had turned, and what decisions we had made about what seemed right for us. “What do you think about our direction?” I couldn’t help asking.
“What about it?”
I don’t know what Denise was thinking about, but her mind didn’t seem to be into things that night. Maybe she was thinking about an issue concerning her sons, her younger sister, her job, her mother … There were so many things that she juggled around in her life that I didn’t know where to begin with her sometimes.
I said, “Are we headed up the road, down the road, or do we have a flat tire that needs fixin’?”
She smiled at that one. “I’d say we were on cruise control, just trying to figure out where we’d like to go. Unless you know already.”
She raised a brow at me, throwing the ball back on my side of the court. Did I know where I wanted to go with things? I don’t think I did. I knew that I loved Denise’s company, and I felt comfortable being around her and her sons, but there were many obstacles in the way of us becoming a committed couple. Denise had only recently told her sons’ fathers about me. Then again, maybe that meant that she was ready to be serious about us.
Our food began to arrive before I could comment. We had various small dishes to share from with some very different tastes.
“Mmm, have you eaten here before?” Denise asked me after trying an appetizer she seemed pleased with.
I smiled. I was always trying different things with her. “No. I just figured we’d do something different,” I told her. She had taken me to a few different places as well.
“You know, I’ll be honest with you, Dennis, I just don’t know what to think about relationships anymore,” Denise told me out of the blue. “It just seems that the more you expect, the less you get. Then when you don’t expect anything, everything just falls into your lap. And I don’t know how to respond anymore.
“Sometimes I feel like a bumper car,” she explained. “You turn on your engine and start moving ahead, and then you get knocked sideways. So then you say, ‘What the hell?’ and you start bumping right back. But frankly, the shit hurts, so you tell yourself, ‘Let me see if I can make it around this track without getting hit anymore.’ And you get to rolling around, feeling good about it, then all of a sudden, boom! Somebody hits you out of nowhere. And as soon as you get rolling again, that’s when your damn car cuts the hell off.”
I broke out laughing. You couldn’t get any more clarity with any other analogy, unless you’ve never been on bumper cars before. Denise didn’t find it humorous though.
“I’m serious,” she said with a straight face. “You know why I’ve never been married?” she asked me. We had never spoken about it before. We had only talked about my previous marriage.
“Why?” I asked her.
“Well, number one; I didn’t want to force anything, and number two; I didn’t need anybody’s pity. And a lot of brothers would run that same game, acting as if my life was ruined because I had kids out of wedlock. ‘Aw, baby, you got two kids? What happened to their fathers?’ At the same time, they’re busy trying to screw you, right? Then if you say anything even halfway serious, they get to acting like assholes—‘Oh, I just don’t know if I’m ready to handle them two kids you got.’
“It was just pitiful. It was the worst kind of dating you could ever imagine.”
“Is that why you have this hot and cold approach with me?” I asked her.
“How else am I supposed to feel? I mean, it’s hard enough to deal with a man nowadays, when you don’t have kids. We could have everything clicking between us, and then at the end of the day, the question pops up, ‘What do we do about your kids?’ And I’m like, ‘Well, you know, they’re not going anywhere, at least not until it’s time for college.’ Because, see, I’m not some crazy white girl who’s gonna drown her kids in a car, and blame it on a carjacking, just to keep some damn man. Hell no! I’m not that kind of crazy!”
“Yeah, that was kind of sick,” I agreed with her.
Denise snapped. “That girl was out of her damn mind! I may get horny sometimes, but I ain’t crazy.”
I smiled. We calmed down and dug into our food after that. I wasn’t sure what else to say. I still hadn’t answered Denise’s question about my intentions toward her. You can think about a lot of different things in life, but then when it comes to making a split-second decision, it can rattle your brains. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing at such a critical time. I still wanted to be patient and think everything through.
“To tell you the truth, Dennis, I really think that we need to slow down,” Denise finally decided for me. “I mean, I usually didn’t allow too many men around my kids, but after we talked about them a few times, I just wanted to see how you would respond to them. I guess I just wanted to see what the chemistry would be like. And once I saw that they liked you, I pretty much let things get out of hand without really talking about it.
“Honestly, I was a little afraid to talk about them, because I didn’t want to hear that same old lame excuse from you,” she told me. “I mean, you brothers have to understand that when you’re dealing with a woman who has kids, that there’s gonna be complications involved. Some brothers act like your kids are fine when things are going well, but all of a sudden, they’re a burden when you start talking about more than sleeping around.”
“Well, that’s because it’s the truth,” I leveled with her. “Especially when the kids are extra young. I mean, tonight is a perfect example. Your kids are old enough to stay at home and watch videos while we go out, but what if they weren’t? Then we’d have to get baby-sitters, take them with us, or we wouldn’t be able to go out at all.”
“Speaking of which, let me call these boys up right now,” she responded with a smile, excusing herself from our wide, circular table.
I sat there and thought about things. It’s normal for a man to not want a ready-made family. Fatherhood is something you grow into, just like motherhood, and it makes things a lot easier when it’s your seed you’re watching grow. I thought about it a few times, but I never asked Denise if she was finished having kids yet. With her career ambitions and all, I just took it for granted that she was. That was another complication I had to think about. A lot of questions I simply had to ask her about. How could I effectively come to any conclusions about where I wanted to go, without even knowing what Denise’s boundaries would be?
When she returned, I was tempted to ask her a bunch of things. I said, “What do you think about having more kids?”
“I thought about it. Plenty of times,” she answered. “But I wasn’t gonna do it alone again. And since I didn’t have any stable relations with men, time just passed by.”
My next question got stuck in my throat. Denise jumped the gun on it anyway.
“What about now?” she asked. “Honestly, I don’t know. I mean, of course, I’m in a better situation n
ow than I was years ago, with my sons being older and me being economically secure and all, but it would really have to be something I felt strongly about doing.”
“Yeah, I would imagine so,” I responded with a grin. Having children was no easy business, and I had never been through it before, so it would be a whole new experience for me.
“Actually, I was surprised that you didn’t have any kids of your own,” she told me. “Once you cross that big three-o, you can’t look forward to dating too many men your age who don’t have children. I’ve been around a lot of different situations, especially being a founding member of the Single Mothers’ Organization with Camellia. We’ve heard all kinds of stories. Some men went as far as to even lie about their children. I wondered if my sons’ fathers ever did that.”
I asked, “Remember that first night we spent together in that hotel room near the airport?”
She grinned and answered, “Mmm hmm. What about it?”
“Did I sound like a man who would lie to you that night, with all the things that I told you in that room about my past sex life?”
She thought about it. “Yeah, you have a point. You went from A to Z with me. I wasn’t expecting all of that,” she said.
“That took a lot of courage for me to do. And I appreciate the fact that you didn’t up and run away from me after that,” I told her.
“You didn’t say anything that was that outrageous.”
“Nevertheless, I put myself on the line for you.”
“And I’ve done the same with you by letting you into my sons’ lives and telling their fathers about you,” she responded.
I nodded with a smile. “It took you a while.”
She smiled back at me. “It was only a matter of time. But even with everything being out in the open now, I still think that we should slow down a bit and get our bearings. I don’t want either one of us rushing.”
I said, “I agree,” right before the waiter asked us if everything was all right. “Yeah, it was a splendid dinner. Everything was perfect. Now we’d like to have the check.”
We did some small talk on the way back to Oak Park, then I walked Denise back to her front door, where we were hesitant again.
“Well, ah, I had a beautiful dinner tonight, how ’bout you?” I asked her.
“Like you said, it was perfect.”
I was speechless, wondering if it was okay to ask for a kiss. I felt ridiculous. Then Denise started to laugh.
“You can kiss me if you want,” she told me.
I smiled. “Was I wet around the lips for one? How’d you know what I was thinking?”
“I’m thirty-four years old, Brock. Give me credit for learning something in this lifetime.”
“Momma knows best,” I told her, moving in for the kill.
We had one of those slow, tender kisses that men and women give each other when they’ve been together for a while. It wasn’t long enough for lust, and it wasn’t short enough for a peck. It was somewhere in between.
I backed up and Denise said, “Have a safe trip home. Okay?”
I nodded and smiled at her, taking in all of her beauty, poise, strength, dignity, intelligence, and everything else. I walked back to my car with a bounce to my step, feeling relaxed and secure again. A good slow-down date was just what we needed, especially with me heading out of town. I could have a peaceful trip without thinking too much or too little. It was perfect. So I turned my radio up loud on V103, and jammed with the DJ as I cruised on back to my apartment on the South Side.
September 1997
Severe Growing Pains
T was only the second week of school, and already I was about to have a heart attack! Ms. Walker, one of Walter’s seventh-grade schoolteachers, was calling to inform me that he had been involved in a stabbing incident at school, and that he was being taken to the hospital for minor stab wounds.
“Which hospital?” I asked her. “Forest Park?” I was already packing up my things to leave, and I had a full schedule that Tuesday.
“Ah, yes,” Ms. Walker responded. She sounded rushed and paranoid. I bet she never imagined having to call a parent regarding a stabbing incident of one of her students. Stabbings in junior high school she had probably only heard about on the news. I was embarrassed by it myself, but at the moment, I was too concerned about my son’s welfare to show it. I had just met Ms. Walker and plenty of concerned parents at a PTA meeting at the school that previous Friday.
“Okay, I’m on my way,” I told her.
She wasn’t finished with me yet. “Ah, Ms. Stewart, I think they have a few questions they want to ask you.”
“Well, they’ll have to wait,” I responded, quickly hanging up the phone. I was in a rush to get down to that hospital. I didn’t have time to dispute who “they” were, or what “they” would want from me. I just wanted to see my son.
Fortunately, I had gotten the call concerning my son shortly before my lunch hour. I told Elmira to reschedule all of my appointments for the day.
Elmira looked at me and said, “All of them?” with a pained expression on her face.
I didn’t want to tell her too much of my personal business, but I knew I had to tell her something.
“Walter was involved in an incident at school that I need to take care of, ASAP!”
Elmira immediately read the panic in my eyes, and the seriousness of my tone. “Okay. I’ll get on it right away,” she said.
“Thank you,” I told her. I was out the door in a heartbeat!
After rushing through lunchtime traffic, I arrived at the hospital, gave the receptionist my name, and asked to see my son.
“Oh, yeah, he’s in room two-fourteen,” the receptionist informed me.
It appeared as if my son’s stabbing was the hot gossip of the day. I noticed the other patients and family members all eying me from the waiting room as I rushed up the hallway and to the stairs. I damn sure was not going to wait for an elevator!
Three police officers were waiting outside Walter’s room; two white men and one black man.
“Are you the mother?” one of the white officers asked me.
“Yes, I am,” I responded, stepping by him and into the room. I didn’t have time for any of their questions at the moment. The only thing on my mind was seeing my son alive, and examining how badly he had been cut.
Once Walter saw me, he dropped his head and was ashamed of himself. I think he was a bit nervous, too, about what I was going to say or do to him.
I forcibly calmed myself and asked him, “Are you okay?”
He nodded. He had white bandages wrapped around both of his hands.
I looked down at them and held them up. “What happened?”
A dark-haired Indian doctor addressed me. “Ah, Mrs. Perry, I’m Dr. Houran,” she said with her hand extended.
I took her hand and said, “I’m Ms. Stewart.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She humbled herself. “Okay, now, Walter is your son, right?” she asked, to make sure.
“Yes, he is,” I told her.
“Okay,” she said, relieved. I knew exactly how she felt. Women, of all nationalities, had it extra tough as professionals. We could not afford to make any mistakes.
“Walter has minor cut wounds on both of his hands,” she informed me. “They’re not deep enough for stitches, but they are deep enough to need cleaning and rewrapping with antibiotics at least three times a day. You’ll need to wrap them in gauze, preferably in the morning, in the afternoon, and before he goes to bed. His hands may take up to a week to heal, but they’ll still be sore for a while. So I wouldn’t have him doing anything too strenuous with them for at least a couple of weeks.
“I’ll set up an appointment for him to come back in next week, to check up on his progress,” she added.
I looked at my son’s wrapped hands again, and then back to the woman doctor. “So that means he won’t be able to do his schoolwork.”
She shook her head with a grimace. “Well, he won’t b
e able to take any notes for a while, unless he can write with his left hand. He has a cut on his right thumb, and that’s going to be awfully sore for at least a week. In fact, sometimes the shallow cuts are a lot more irritating and painful than much deeper wounds.”
“Tell me about it,” I agreed. “I’ve had plenty of paper cuts to attest to that.”
The doctor and I shared a short, controlled laugh. Walter wasn’t laughing though. He fully realized that he would be the one in pain.
Once I knew that my son would live, I was ready to get to the bottom of things.
“Okay, now, what happened?”
All of a sudden, the three police officers decided to inch their way into the room, invading my privacy.
“Ah, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to my son alone, please. And my lawyer is on the way,” I lied.
“Ah, ma’am, we just want to ask a few basic questions.”
“And you can ask them when my lawyer gets here,” I told them.
Dr. Houran smiled at me. She said, “Are there any other questions you’d like to ask me?”
“Not yet, but give me a minute to think,” I told her with half a smile.
“Okay, well, I’ll leave you two alone. I’ll have the nurse give you plenty of gauze and antibiotic ointment before Walter checks out today.”
“Okay. Thank you very much,” I told her.
The doctor left the room and closed the door behind her. The three police officers were still waiting outside to harass me, as if my son were a full-fledged criminal.
“Okay, now tell me what happened,” I asked him again.
Walter took a deep breath and said, “These guys came up to the school at lunchtime, looking for my friend. And then we all got into an argument.”
“What friend is this?” I asked him.
“Mikey.”
“Mikey?” I snapped. “What’s the boy’s full name, Walter? Is he in your classroom?”