I took a sip of my ‘Redman’ juice.
I replaced the bottle cap and stuffed the bottle into my front pocket.
People walked to and from the store entrance as I canvassed the area, wondering if anyone witnessed my date being snatched up and driven off into the night.
Either no one saw or no one cared, because people went about their business in spite of a ‘kidnapping.’
I approached the driver side of my date’s car and stepped around the opened door. With one foot on the ground, I sat behind the wheel, reached for the ignition, and turned off the engine.
I decided to walk back to the apartment.
The store was just at the end of the street from the complex and my date could come back and find her car the same as she left it.
Whether her ex brought her back or if he pushed her out his car somewhere along I-77, she would need a ride home.
The safe keep of her property was important to me—and so was keeping my name off the police report. (I was certain there would be a police report.)
I got out of the car and closed the door, having left the key in the ignition. I walked away from the store and looked back, thinking, if someone stole the car the surveillance footage would show my good intentions.
The walk home would be about a mile long, but even the distance from the store parking lot to the street seemed farther than I anticipated.
I walked along the edge of the dark road that led back to the complex, which had a few streetlights dotted along the way and no sidewalk.
Cars veered toward the centerline to avoid me as they whizzed by, some flashing their high beams as if to say, “Get your @ss out the street!”
I was still baffled at what had happened in the parking lot. My date had told me about her disgruntled ex-boyfriend but I hadn’t given him a second thought.
She and he had been in an on-again, off-again relationship for years. And recently, during their ‘off’ phases, he would threaten to hurt himself.
He had gone to her home a few weeks prior, according to her, and got into an argument with her and her mother, which resulted in him drinking an entire bottle a Nyquil cold medicine that he had in his car, and then taking off running down the street. (Who keeps Nyquil in the car?)
My date said she ran behind him until he stopped running and “fell out” on the sidewalk.
She revived him by smacking his face and calling his name.
The guy obviously had problems, and I’m sure seeing my date and I at the store together didn’t help matters.
I don’t know if he followed her to the apartment when she picked me up, or if he saw her car en route to, or from the restaurant and followed us to the store, but he was distraught in the parking lot and had no regard for her explanation—or her ankles.
The apartment was dark inside when I returned to the complex. I opened the door and walked in, realizing I had left my food in my date’s car. I was home sooner than expected, date-less, and hungry.
I had a stash of large baking potatoes in the kitchen cabinet that were usually reserved for lunch. I zapped one in the microwave, topped it with shredded cheese and sour cream, and ate it before retreating to my bedroom.
I heard my roommates arrive an hour or so later.
Geech was the most boisterous. “Man, that ain’t been ’bout nuttin’,” he said, as the apartment door closed. “I could’a stay home for that.”
His Charleston accent was most prominent in private conversations. He worked part-time at the Richs’ department store in the mall and it was undetectable there.
Malcolm followed suit. “Yeah, I don’t know what that was about,” he said. “Did you see that one skinny girl that was up there?”
“Yeah, she been pitiful. I thought she been gon’ fall out.”
I walked into the living room to greet them and to inquire about their night before they inquired about mine. “Y’all are back early. How was the strip club?”
“Man, D (they called me D), you ain’t muss nuttin’,” said Geech. “Them h*es been beat up.’”
“Oh, the girls didn’t look good?” I said.
“Nah, man.” Geech shook his head. “One chick been up there dancing, I thought she had two belly buttons—but that been her appendix scar.”
“Yeah, they were looking rough out there,” said Malcolm. He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of juice from the refrigerator. He brought the juice into the living room, twisted off the cap, and took a sip. “So, where’s your girl at, D?”
“Yeah, D,” said Geech. “I thought we been gon’ come back and catch you in your boxers.”
“Nah, things didn’t go as planned,” I said, with a chuckle.
“What happened?” they said, almost at the same time.
I told them about the food, the convenience store, the ex-boyfriend, the abduction from the parking lot, and the walk home.
Geech’s eyes stretched wide. “You mean, you walked back here and left her car at the store?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Maaaaan.” He threw his arms over his head. “I would’a drive that car to Charleston and see my mama before I give it back … and you ain’t drive it just up the road?”
“Nope.”
“Man, D, I wish I been nice like you … I would’a drive that car here, park it in the parking lot, and when they come to get it, I would’a cuss both of them out.”
“I don’t have a problem with the dude,” I said. “She jumped in the car with him. That’s on her.”
“But he shouldn’t of ride up on y’all like that … what if you ain’t been wanna be ride up on?”
Geech had a point. But I had no intention of getting involved in a lover’s quarrel that had nothing to do with me, and that would likely end with my date and her ex living happily ever after—or with one of them catching a charge (whichever came first).
I was fine with my decision, but Geech was adamant. He turned to Malcolm. “So, Malcolm, what you would’a done?”
“I don’t know,” said Malcolm, putting his half-empty juice bottle on the coffee table. “I probably would’ve drove the car home, but not the other stuff you said.”
“Maaaan, ya’ll buggin’.” Geech grew more animate. “I would’a flipped on both of them—him, for riding up on me, and her, for leaving my @ss at the parking lot.”
“I don’t have time for lovers’ spats,” I said.
“I got time for it,” he said. “As a matter of fact, she ain’t even his broad … that ain’t his broad!”
“What do you mean, she’s not his broad?”
“That ain’t that man’s broad. She come here to pick you up … she ain’t his broad!”
Geech went on a 10-minute rant about my date, her ex, and how she “wasn’t his broad.” Malcolm and I laughed until he calmed down,
The night ended with the two of them telling me more about their experience at the strip club, and with me giving a few more details about the parking lot. “One of us”—I’m sure you can assume who—suggested we go to the store to see if my date’s car was still there.
But rational minds prevailed and we all went to our beds.
I never saw, or heard from my date after that night, but I assume she left for the Basic Training the next day, as planned (or maybe not).
She was the catalyst of a very important lesson that started with a double bacon cheeseburger.
If I were ever in the same situation again, I would likely drive the car home—right after I drove to Capt’n D’s to get a decent fish sandwich to go with my fries.
At the time, I was in my “Do the right thing—be responsible” mode.
But that’s what I get for trying to be “mannish,” anyway.
Lesson Learned: “That ain’t that man’s broad … she ain’t his broad!”
