Who's Babysitting Whom? Chapter 11

"Dammit! I feel like a freakin’ girl!" Chris groaned, looking in his closet.


  Usually he’d just slip on a t-shirt, jeans and a cap; wardrobe decision solved. Not today, though. Chris feverishly searched his closet to find something a little more hip to wear for the big date.

"Fuck!  Now I know why I don't DATE," he  grumbled to Bailey, who sat in the corner with nary a care in the world as she watched Chris scramble.


  Chris' concentration was suddenly broken by the irritatingly loud ring of the shop doorbell up front.

 He raced from the cottage,  through the long, industrial hallways through the shop  and opened the thick, steel door to find Thomas standing with an ear to ear smile splashed across his face; his chest pushed outward to draw attention to his brand-new shirt.


  Chris stared for a second and smiled. Thomas donned a brand new blue work shirt; his name boldly emblazoned on the left pocket with the logo of a quick oil change shop.


"Please, tell me you’re actually working there and that you didn’t steal it from a guy who happens to be named Thomas," Chris cautiously asked.

"Very funny, asshole; I been workin’ there for about two weeks."

"That’s great,  Thomas! Come on in," Chris invited.

  Thomas felt an overflowing sense of excitement as he told Chris about his gainful employment.

"...They don’t pay a whole bunch, but I got some benefits with this here job, bro, so it’s all good."

"It’s certainly a good start," Chris assured.

"Yeah, and looka here, them motherfuckers, they got the slow move...Like Forrest Gump or some shit.  I run circles round’ their ass, dog, and the manager loves my ass," Thomas bragged.

  Chris laughed;  "what‘s not to love? I’m happy for you, Thomas."

"What you got goin’ on?" Thomas asked."

"I got a date later tonight, with Erin."


  Thomas trained is eyes over to Chris’ bed where he spotted clothes that Chris planned to wear.

"You not wearin’ that, are ya', boy?" Thomas asked, pointing to the clothes.

"Yeah, why? What’s wrong with it?"

"Nothin’, if you plan on takin’ her to a batting cage and then some Burger King."

"What the fuck?  Thomas, seriously?"

"Settle down, my man...Look, the jeans are cool but let’s go back to my house; we gotta find a better shirt." Thomas diverted his attention to Chris’ closet.

"Man!  How the hell you ever get laid, boy?"

"Shut the fuck up and help me find something to wear," Chris begged. 

"Don’t worry, I think I got ONE shirt that’ll work. It’s the whitest, white boy, shirt I got," Thomas laughed, slapping Chris on the back.

"Mr. Chris!!!" Felicia screamed, running to the front door to greet the boys at Thomas’ house.

"Hey little girl; do I know you?" Chris scratched his chin, as though he were lost.

  Felicia giggled. "You know who I am, Mr. Chris!!"

"Oh, yeah…That’s right, you ate my pizza when I wasn’t lookin’ the other night," Chris said as he hoisted Felicia and gave her a big hug. "...Let’s see,"  Chris faked a guess, "it’s Felina, right?"

"Nooo!" Felicia giggled even harder.

"Ok, ok...It’s comin’ to me, wait! Uh, it’s…Felicia!!!"

"Yaaaaay!  YES!!" Felicia screamed with a shrill laugh.

"Are you gonna take me to the Zoo on Sunday, Mr. Chris??"  Chris  seemed puzzled as he glanced to Thomas. Thomas hesitantly explained to Felicia, "...Uh, we were just gettin’ ready to talk bout' that baby girl; go see what auntie’s doin', we’ll be out in a second," Thomas said.


"So, I take it you need a babysitter on Sunday?" Chris reluctantly asked.

"Yeah, man, I’m workin’ and so is my girlfriend and my aunt’s got a church thing all afternoon.  I don't know how long a bunch of people can be praisin' the Lord like they do, but it seems to be an all day thing.  Everybody in dat' church goin' straight to heaven, for sure," Thomas laughed.


"OK," Chris gave in. "I’ll take her for the day."

"Thanks, bro," Thomas sighed.

"Ah HA! There it is!" Thomas pulled a shirt out for Chris.

"I’m not fucking wearin' that!," Chris barked. 

"Why not??" Thomas asked, indignantly.
 
  The shirt was, to say the least, loud and splattered with, what Chris thought to be, every color in the spectrum.

"Because, it looks like someone’s splashed digestive enzymes all over it…I’ll look ridiculous in that."

"Aw, man; that shirt’s stylin’, this shit's tight, boy!"

"...no matter how hard they try, white guys will never be as cool as black dudes," Chris sighed, as he held the shirt up to his chest.

"Naw, my man; it looks good."


  Chris reluctantly took the shirt. "OK, I’ll try it. Thanks."


  Chris and Thomas wandered to the porch;  "I’ll be by on Sunday to get Felicia."

After a short pause, Chris continued by diverting to a more delicate subject. 

"What about your other line of work?"  Chris asked, skeptically.

"Fuck dat!  I ain’t messin’ with those niggahs' much no more," Thomas replied, looking sheepishly at the floor.

  Chris sensed that Thomas wasn’t being completely truthful.

"Well, I’m glad you got a real job, Thomas, keep at it, OK?"

  Felicia bolted outside, nearly severing the screen door. "...See you on Sunday, Mr. Chris!!"

"It’s a date; see ya’ then, sweetie," Chris assured with a high-five. 

  Thomas lifted Felicia in his arms as Chris walked away. Chris looked back to the front porch to Thomas and Felicia, hoping that things would finally be on the right track for Thomas and his family. They looked so perfect on that porch, so happy. So beautiful. 

  In his previous world, Chris would probably have never associated with the likes of Thomas. He felt rather guilty about that social disparity, but it had nothing to do with skin color or socioeconomics; it was quite simple, Chris had become jaded. Thomas would have quickly been discounted as a lost cause becauseof lifestyle pitfalls. 
 
  Chris had done a hundred stories on the Thomas’ of the world. The stories all ended the same. Usually punctuated by the sound of a body bag zipper. To Chris, it finally felt good to have more hope and optimism in his life; it also felt good to care about others as he once did.  He smiled to himself  as he strolled down the sidewalk, ready for his big date.

  Sitting at the end of the bar, Chris watched the clock, waiting until it was finally time to go get Erin. He felt nervous. He left his shirt in the car, wearing only jeans and a white T-shirt so his extremely loud date shirt  wouldn’t smell like stale cigarettes from the bar. 


"Will you calm down?" Marie scolded, walking toward Chris from behind the bar.

"I can’t help it, I want this to go well…I’m nervous. I’m not much of a dater, Marie."

"No shit," Marie sarcastically agreed before giving him the final checklist.  "...OK, let me smell your cologne," Marie sniffed Chris’ neck. "Nice! Now, open your mouth."

"What the fuck?" Chris asked.

"Your breath, let’s smell."

"No, I won’t be opening my mouth," Chris assured.

"That's a first," Marie quipped.


  Marie seemed just as nervous as Chris.

"Let’s see your nails."

"Which nails?  Finger or toe?"  Chris sarcastically asked.

"Depends on what you two plan on doin' later," Marie shot back with a mischievous smile.

"Will you stop it, you’re making me more nervous!" Chris snapped. 

"Ok, ok, I’m just tryin’ to help. You look good. I know you’ll be fine tonight, babe."

  Chris looked at his watch, "OK, time to go." He headed for the door.

"HEY," Marie yelled to him.  "You got the opening the car door thing down, right?" she reminded.

"Yeah, I got it down."

'Okay; you got a condom?"  She yelled, causing dead silence in the pub.

  Chris spun around, looking stone-faced toward Marie, and about twenty strangers in the bar who focused their eyes toward Chris. 

"I’m kidding!" Marie laughed. "...But, you never know when sexual urges might pop up."

The pub patrons gave a round of applause to Chris.

"Are you done?" Chris impatiently asked.

"Yes...Good luck, honey."

"Thanks," Chris hurriedly replied as he exited the pub.

copyright, Pontchartrain Press 2008