Mister Right

It's been a while since I've posted a story, but then a hip replacement tends to slow one down for a few weeks. This is a story about two people of different ethnicities falling in love. Hopefully the powers that be will leave it in the romance category.

Mister Right

Unlike so many in this day and age I was raised going to church, it's what we did as a family. We were called holy rollers, Bible thumpers and a plethora of other derogatory names but the truth was, we were just like everyone else who made mistakes and encountered heartache along the way. What we weren't was religious with sets of unattainable rules and religious dogma dominating our lives. The way my dad explained it was this, if the teachings and examples of the Bible can't be applied in our everyday lives, then it's no more than a bunch of words on a page. His favorite mantra was from the story of the rich young ruler asking what must be done to see the Kingdom of heaven. Jesus' answer was simple when paraphrased into today's vernacular. Love God, love people.

Our homelife wasn't ultra-strict where kids couldn't grow up with the same normal curiosities all the non-church kids experienced. Following dad's view we learned we didn't necessarily have to believe as others believed or behave as they behaved to accept them. They were kids just like we were kids. Another of dad's teachings was, 'we live by our words, not the words of others'. He would often say, 'who cares what other people say, keep yourself right and ignore them.' Oh yes. I knew what it meant to be a good girl, to keep my legs together and not give the milk away if they weren't interested in buying the cow. (Yeah, we were farm kids 'pullin tits and doing chores daily.)

My brothers knew it was their responsibility to not be led around by the head of their dick. Dad didn't say it in those words, but they knew what he meant. We grew up with sports and dating and extracurricular activities like all the rest. All us kids knew what was meant when our parents said, 'behave yourself' before we left on a date. It was on my 17^th birthday that I had my first date, a farm boy down the road a mile. He wasn't black like me but that didn't matter much, we'd all been together since kindergarten. That first date ended with a kiss on the front porch at eleven sharp, just before dad opened the door and told Randall, "goodnight." He never asked me out again. Hmm, wonder why?

There were around a dozen of us black kids in high school, the community was growing and there were several black families in town, but most were younger. Though some of the black kids said they felt odd in an almost all white school it never seemed to bother me. I had never been treated with disdain, we went to a church that was probably 50/50 black and white, everyone got along, I wasn't sure why they felt that way. Later in life I determined most of that came from home, those thoughts and sentiments were never a topic in our home, therefore they weren't a part of our everyday thinking process.

I was the last of five kids, three older brothers, an older sister and me, the baby. A title I never outgrew. The two oldest went into the military shortly after 911, one losing his life in Afghanistan, the other a career soldier. The youngest brother became a dentist with a practice in Omaha. My older sister is what I call a career student. She's been in college since Moses floated down the river, or at least it seems that way. Just when you think she's going to graduate she starts another degree of some sort.

Then there's me. I acquired my RN and went on to become a surgical scrub nurse. It was another four years of training after working as an RN for two years but well worth it. Here I am today, 29, working with an orthopedic team that gets along great. In my eyes I had the world by the tail. Almost. What I don't have is someone who loves me unconditionally and wants to be my forever partner. It isn't as though I hadn't thought it might happen a time or two, but neither materialized beyond the initial excitement along with eventually knocking boots for a while. It was mostly my fault, I was in love with the idea of being in love, the others were looking for steady nooky.

People might say, 'oh, she's a church girl, how could she do such a thing?' It's simple, I'm human with human needs, desires and temptations. In the looks department I've never considered myself extraordinary. I'm only five foot seven, I don't work out but have been able to maintain a slender body by watching what I eat, long hours in surgery and riding my trusty three-wheel Schwinn with a big basket on the back for groceries, etc. If where I wanted to go was within a mile or two, I would jump on Sandy the Schwinn and away we go. Yes, I named my bike, I also named my car Fifi the Fiat, get over it.

At one hundred and thirty-seven pounds I'm not what one would consider as more than average. I have soft attractive facial features, I can rock a pair of tights or yoga pants with my slightly curvy hips and sturdy legs. My bust is more like 'meh' at only 34B, yet it fits the rest of my body quite well. If I have one feature in my favor it's that my hair is naturally curly instead of having a tight afro look. My sister is the exact opposite, she can rock an afro like nobody else's business. There are times my hair wants to friz and be unmanageable, but then that happens to most women in high humidity situations regardless of race.

By the time I get home at night I want nothing more than a meal and sleep. I'm not a clubber or drinker, oh sure, a beer or cocktail, but that's pretty much my limit. I learned several unsavory lessons in my early nursing years and never forgot them. Sadly I wasn't as quick on the uptake with romance as I was with the bar scene.

The first mister right was when I was twenty-two. He was a nurse just as I was, three years older and full of charm. We were of the same ethnicity, he ticked all the boxes and we seemed to hit it off right away. He was the typical cute guy with a shaved head and gym rat body. He was kind, gentle, sweet beyond believability and exuded romance. Flowers, cards, unplanned dinners at swanky places, always a smile for me. It only took him a few months before I was in his bed two or three times a week, he was as good in bed as he was charming. I'd only had sex a few times previously so what he did basically enthralled me, he wasn't huge as they say, but he was certainly able to make my liver quiver. I had myself convinced a proposal and ring were in the very near future when I found out he was putting the moves on another nurse. When I confronted him he nonchalantly told me.

"Hey, we had fun didn't we? You had to know we weren't going to be a steady thing. It's time to move on Daisy. Don't worry, there are lots of guys looking for girls like you."

With that he walked away and never looked back. I found myself wondering what the term 'girls like me' was supposed to mean. I chose to do the same thing he did, I moved on. Not with another guy, with another job over three hundred miles away. It was also when I entered scrub nurse training. It was near the end of my second year of training that I was swept off my feet by a new doctor in town so to speak. I would learn later that he was anything but new except to unsuspecting girls like me. His Eastern European looks, mannerisms and accent had me in a tailspin.

I wasn't in bed with him right away, after the disaster of my first experience it took him months of hinting at matrimony until I lowered my defense as well as my panties. At about the nine-month mark of our relationship fate bit me in the butt a second time. He was moving back to Belgrade where his wife and family were. If there's such a thing as a kick in the balls for a girl, that was it. I was literally devastated, how could I have been so blind? The answer for me was to pour myself into the last half of the scrub nurse program. For the remainder of the program my life was school along with a shift here and there when possible, rest, study, repeat.

Upon passing my exam as a scrub nurse I lucked out and found work where I had been on a rotation basis for different surgeons. Some were great to work with, others weren't, they tended to wear their supposed superior intelligence on their sleeve making the work environment toxic. I was sitting in the cafeteria after a long day in surgery picking through a salad that looked as though it was fresh yesterday when a figure shadowed the table. I recognized him as Doctor Tanaka, an orthopedic surgeon I had worked with a time or two.

"May I sit with you Miss Clifton?" I nodded and extended my hand in a welcoming gesture.

He continued, "Was it a rough day? You look like you're worn out."

"Yes sir, very long day. I had no desire to try and make a meal at 8:30 so I chose to eat here."

He laughed, "Judging by the way you're picking at the salad I'm guessing some chips and a soda at home would have been just as satisfying."

I chuckled along with him, there was no disputing his comment.

"Why are you still here Doctor Tanaka? I've never seen you here this late before."

"There were complications with a knee surgery done by one of my associates. Unfortunately he had a few drinks during dinner, so they contacted me. Mind you, everyone knows if they're on call they're not to drink. He's already on thin ice and won't like our conversation tomorrow. Do you have time for a few questions Miss Clifton, nurse Clifton?"

"I do sir. What's on your mind?"

"I hear and have observed nothing but good about how you work. You may be aware that nurse Reynolds will be retiring soon. She's been on my team for over a decade, and I'll need to replace her. Would you be interested in her position by chance?"

Would I be interested I thought, this would need no thought or prayer. The answer would be an astounding yes. He was an older gentleman, late 50's, married to a college professor and a joy to work with. If you messed up he simply stopped and taught you, he didn't yell and carry on like some of the other ostentatious brassy surgeons.

"Yes sir. I would love to have a chance to work with your team."

"Thanks nurse Clifton. I'll have my secretary contact you tomorrow and get things started."

I put up my hand in a stop motion, "Please sir. If I'm going to work with you, it might be easier to call me Daisy."

He laughed as he stood, "If you'll stop calling me sir I'll call you Daisy. I'm fine with Doc, that's what everyone else calls me. Goodnight Daisy, I look forward to working with you."

The smile didn't leave my face until I went to sleep that night. A job working with a private practice, fairly regular hours, an increase in pay in all likelihood and not having to move. Dr. Tanaka and three other orthopedic surgeons worked out of his business known as The Bone and Joint Clinic. The best part for me, they did all of their surgeries in two hospitals, one in the hospital I presently worked at and another a mere 40 miles away. Even if I had to drive to St. Lukes a few days a week, the one further away, it would be no big deal. My car isn't brand new, but it's reliable, well maintained, and very economical to drive. I liked the fact that I'm also a seasoned driver, should I encounter inclement weather a little snow wouldn't be an issue.

I made the transition to Dr. Tanaka's team with ease. The other nurses were great to get along with, we would cover for one another if someone needed a day off. We didn't bicker or act snarky, other than one older lady in her 40's the rest of us were late 20's, early thirties. Over the next three months I became so engrossed with work that I had no social life. It hit me between the eyes when one of the other nurses asked if I would like to join she and her friends on a Saturday evening. The plans were to go for a drink and then dancing.

I dressed modestly for the evening. A simple mid-thigh skirt with a cotton blouse and comfortable shoes. A little make-up, some earrings and a bracelet were the final touch. The others insisted I have a glass of wine with them during dinner. I've never liked wine but went along with it, I'd only gotten about half of it down before we left. The others were into their third or fourth glass by that time, I began wondering what I'd gotten myself into. In essence these were not the same girls I worked with, outside of their scrubs and the hospital environment they dressed, and acted, well, like floozies.

Had I known in advance they all had a guy they were meeting at the dance place I would have declined. It officially turned to crap when they invited a colored guy to sit at our table, next to me. I say a colored guy because even though my skin is a light brown, if he didn't have African American features, you wouldn't know he was black. When he tried to kiss my cheek as we were introduced, I stepped back. The puffy little creep then looked at the others while laughing. His words pissed me off.

"Yo baby. My names Dante. I've heard about you, we're gonna be great together." Reaching for my hand he continued, "Let's go, time to show you some moves."

I backed away further wondering what bygone movie this guy stepped out of? No one talks like that anymore. In response I scoffed. "No thanks, I think I'll be leaving." Which is exactly what I did.

On the way home I wondered. 'Where did they find that character? I work with a lot of black people in the medical field, but nobody, and I mean nobody, talks like that anymore. It's like he was a throwback to the 80's or 90's. At any rate, he wasn't for me. I made the decision that I didn't need others to introduce me, I was going to make my own way from there on. I knew how to be friendly and cordial, it was a matter of finding the right guy. The one who in my dreamy girl state of mind was mister right.

Having grown up in a community of mixed races being around white guys never intimidated me or made me wonder. They were guys, just like all the rest. If I'm being honest, I did find that I was more drawn to white guys than men of color. I couldn't put my finger on any one thing in particular, I just was. About four weeks after the dance hall fiasco was when I saw him for the first time, working next door to the duplex I rented. Where we were located was an area that had been built in the late seventies, the homes all had city water but not sewer. Thus, every home had a septic tank that from time to time would need to be pumped if something was wrong.

He wasn't a big man per se, maybe three inches taller than me with a solid frame and muscular body. His hair was longish and looked to be natural blonde with a brown tinge, or as my mom would say, sandy blonde. He had finished and was cleaning up, putting the hoses away, etc as I walked onto the small patio to start my grill.

He noticed me, smiled and waved. And was gone by the time I went back out to start cooking. I heard the truck as it pulled away and looked past the fence to see it going down the road. At first glance it made me smile, the tank was painted in cosmopolitan ice cream fashion. The bottom brown, the middle pink and the top white with Annie's Septic Service in huge bold letters across the top. The slogan on the back of the truck caused me to laugh out loud. Bright pink letters on a black background stated. "We deal in used food." In my opinion you had to be pretty ballsy to put something like that on your truck.

It was a short time later that I had received a substantial sum of money quite unexpectedly. Nothing gargantuan, a little less than ten K, but it was a lot to me. Prior to moving where I was I had taken care of an elderly lady from church who was in the last stages of cancer. I sat with and did for her evenings and weekends while I studied. I knew she wasn't going to last long, my pay was free room and board, which fit my financial situation nicely. Ironically, she lived through the winter which helped me greatly. According to the letter I received with the check, she had passed on and included me in her will. My understanding is it peeved the siblings learning that she had left me an inheritance. I never thought I had made enough of an impression to receive such a blessing, but apparently she did.

I needed to celebrate in some way. I considered several fancy dining places but didn't want to dine somewhere like that alone. What I really wanted and hadn't had in a very long time was a bacon cheeseburger from Ed's Bone Yard. A tavern owned by a former mortician. When it came to burgers his tavern was in the top three of the city year after year. He'd won the coveted Best Cheeseburger in Town award six out of the past ten years. What I hadn't thought about as I entered was how busy they would be on a Friday night.

Waitresses scurried here and there, taking orders, yelling them out as they passed the kitchen and hung the ticket. I lucked out and claimed an open table for two as a couple stood to leave. The bus boy was on his way and had it cleaned by the time the waitress returned. Setting the beer before me she asked politely if I minded her seating another patron at my table. I shrugged, what the heck, why not? Two minutes later who should be sitting across from me? None other than the septic tank guy, cuter than a fuzzy bunny, as mom would have said.

Setting his beer on the table he sat and smiled, "Thanks for lettin me sit here. Kinda crowded tonight."

He took a swig, set the bottle on the table and stared at me for a solid minute. He grinned, then chuckled out loud and smiled pointing a finger at me.

"Now I remember. You're the girl next door to the Morris place. Saw you just as I was gettin ready to leave. What brings you to Ed's?" Then he laughed, "I guess it's kinda obvious why you're here. Sorry, dumb me."

I instantly loved his quaint home boy attitude and demeanor. Polite, yet funny at the same time. He reminded me of Opie on the old Andy Griffith show. His hair was a bit longish just covering the upper half of his ears, on the table next to his elbow was a well-worn slightly frayed OU hat. Extending his hand to shake mine he spoke with a soft confident voice.

"Name's Willis, or Will. What's yours?"

I grinned as I reached for his hand, "Daisy, nice to meet you, Willis, or Will."

Then I began to laugh. His grin slowly faded as he asked.

"What's so funny miss Daisy?"

"Oh please. Don't call me miss Daisy." I blurted. "I get that all the time. Please, just Daisy. As for me laughing, I'm sorry, but you remind me of Opie on the Andy Griffith show."

With a grin he responded, "Opie huh? I like that show, aint full of killin and cussin and queers and whatnot. Guess I'm flattered you'd wanna call me Opie. Mind you, aint nobody else gonna get away with callin me Opie, don't mind you sayin it though."

I couldn't get past the good old boy small town attitude considering we lived in a city of nearly twelve thousand people. It made me wonder where he had originally come from, because it sure wasn't the city. The meal arrived, we had a second beer and it was time to ride Sandy home. Ed's is only a mile and a half from my place, with flashing LED's front and back, and an LED headlamp I wasn't concerned with not being seen. Besides, I would be able to ride on sidewalks most of the way home. He insisted on paying the bill, I was more than happy to be treated like a lady. I was unlocking the bike chain when he walked out.

"Hey. Is that yer bike?" He asked.

I looked at him and chuckled, "Nah. Somebody put their bike on my chain."

I turned on the flashing safety lights, climbed on Sandy and bid him goodnight. He was still laughing as I rode away yelling to him, "thanks for the burger."

His voice rang out in the darkness, "See you round then Daisy."

I yelled back, "You will Opie. You will."

Riding along I realized that I smelled like cheeseburgers, fries and stale beer, a shower was certainly in order. After putting the bike away I walked through the house stripping as I went. The drapes were closed and only the hallway night light was on, being seen naked never crossed my mind. Walking into the bathroom I dropped my clothes in the hamper, as I did that something caught my attention. My cute white with yellow butterfly panties were on top, it was a glint of light across the slimy residue in the gusset that had caused me to stop and look closer.