Waiting
by Sam Douglas

A man spends half his life waiting for a woman, he said to himself, at least. And that's not just for the good stuff, he continued in his mind. That's waiting outside ladies restrooms, waiting outside dressing rooms, waiting for them to get ready to go to a movie, go to a party, go to whatever. He shook his head at the futility of it. But the good stuff makes all that worthwhile, he reminded himself and nodded his head unconsciously at that universal truth.

But waiting, like outside the ladies restroom in the Stars and Bars cafe like he was doing now, brought out his worst features. For one thing, the cafes here in the South were always hot. even with the air conditioning running full blast, the in and out traffic let in too much of that humid Carolina heat. That alone had him sweating. And the aggravation of just standing there in one place doing nothing added to the frustration. He should have ordered another Coke and sat down at a table while he waited, but sheâd decided she had to go just as they were walking out. And now the combination of the heat and the sweat and the frustration took his naturally ruddy Irish complexion and turned it up to a red, harried look all the way from his bristly, damp, sandy hair to his damp, sticky collar. Red faced, red necked, he seemed to fit right in at the Stars and Bars Cafe in Calhoun Crossing, South Carolina.

He brushed the sweat from his brow and turned his head toward the outer door as it opened again letting in more of the stifling heat. Occasionally there are compensations, he thought as he spotted the elegant, statuesque blonde entering the cafe from the steaming sidewalk. She showed no sign that the heat was affecting her. She was tall with flowing shoulder length hair which curled around and framed her flawless ivory face. Her transparent, pale blue eyes shone out over a pursed, blood red mouth and took his breath away.

He realized he was staring and tore his eyes away from her face. It was only then that he realized she was pushing a baby carriage. He looked down into the buggy and found an obviously mixed race baby, with dark skin and coarse hair. The baby was round cheeked and chubby and had a big grin on its face emphasizing the two teeth that stood out in the middle. That made him grin back at it.

"What are you looking at?" asked the woman.

"Cute kid," he replied.

"Listen," she said, "you don't need to lie to me about what you think of my child. I know exactly what you think. I know what all you good old boys think about a white woman with a black baby. So don't lie to me, don't look at me, don't look at my baby, and keep your red neck and your racist views out of my business."

"But, I ....," he wanted to tell her he didn't feel that way at all; but before he could say anything, the woman drove the baby carriage past him, running over his toes in the process. He stared after her as she charged around the corner and disappeared into the separate dining room in the back of the cafe.

He still hadn't gotten his mind back into its harried but complacent rut when the door to the restroom opened and out walked a tall, elegant African-American woman. She walked with the regal presence of tribal royalty, her slender body commanding the attention of all around her. Her bronze skin was smooth and looked soft and warm. Her face had the classic features of the Greek goddesses. Her deep, dark eyes penetrated wherever her gaze rested. He felt like bowing down.

"What are you looking at?" she asked.

"You are a very beautiful woman," he said.

Her head snapped up and fixed those penetrating black eyes on his face. The gaze burned into him. "And you," she said, "are a very discerning man. That's one of the reasons I married you."

THe eND