Crank Me Up

Crank Me Up By J.D. Walker “Daddy, Daddy!” Sherie ran into the kitchen, almost bumping into the table as she skidded to a stop by my side where I leaned against the kitchen counter. Putting out a hand to steady her, I gave my little miss a stern look. “Baby girl, how many times do I have to tell you not to run in the apartment? You could hurt yourself.” My daughter was a bundle of energy, couldn’t stay still for a second. When she was excited about something, it was off the chain. “I know, Daddy, but I can’t find my pink shoes! I looked everywhere.” She glanced up at me with big brown eyes, small brown hands clasped under her chin. “Please help me find them!” I swear this child could misplace her entire bedroom if she tried hard enough. Following her down the hall, I asked, “Where did you leave them last time? Didn’t you wear them to school yesterday?” “Yes, and now I can’t find them. I can’t go to school without my favorite shoes, Daddy!” Now she was nearing hysteria. My little drama queen. “Take a deep breath, princess. We’ll find them.” I searched the hall closet, the tiny living room, her bedroom, bathroom, and both of mine—still nothing. Then I had an idea. “Wait, didn’t you spend some time with Tonya last night before bedtime?” Tonya was her best friend who lived in the apartment across the hall with her uncle, Xavier McDay. Uncle Cranky, I liked to call him. The man had never cracked a smile at me, and even though he had to be the best looking man I’d ever seen, all five-foot-eleven inches of edible dark brown hotness, dude seemed to be moody as hell. Maybe it was all that time spent with computers. At least, Sherie had told me that’s what he did for a job. “That’s it! I left them next door. Can I go get them, please?” She tugged on my arm and bounced in place. “Go on, hurry up so you can have your breakfast. We don’t want to miss the train.” I watched as Sherie ran out of the apartment, then heard her bang hard on the door across the way. “Toooonya!” she yelled. “You have my pink shoes. I gotta have my shoes!” I hurried to the hallway. “Girl, we do not yell at people, ever. I know I raised you better than that.” As I chewed her out, the door opened and Uncle Cranky handed the precious pink shoes to Sherie, one of his eyebrows raised in my direction. After grabbing the shoes out of his hand—polite, isn’t she—Sherie ran back to our apartment. I shook my head and was about to apologize for her behavior, when I realized the door had closed in my face. Well, all righty, then. Hot or not, the man was an ass, though it was a very fine ass. I headed back inside my apartment and shut the door behind me. When I reached the kitchen, Sherie was already at the table, putting on her shoes. “I know you have better manners than that, young lady. Tonight, when we get home, you’ll apologize to Mr. McDay, you hear me? Now eat your oatmeal. We need to leave here in fifteen minutes for school, got it?” “But, Daddy…” “I don’t want to hear it.” With a sigh, Sherie picked up her spoon to eat her breakfast, pouting. Nine years old, and already had attitude. “Eat up, sweetheart. I love you, you know that. I just want you to understand these things so you can grow up to be a decent person who has good manners. You get that, right?” “Yes, Daddy, I know. I’m sorry.” She sat there, eyes downcast as her bottom lip trembled. I was such a sucker. I walked around the table, knelt beside her chair, and reached up to cup her precious face in my hands. “I love you, you know that, right?” Her little arms went around my neck and Sherie hugged me. I reciprocated. “Love you, too, Daddy.” She leaned back and kissed my cheek. “Okay. Finish your breakfast, grab your bagged lunch from the fridge, and let’s go.” For some reason, Sherie liked her oatmeal a little cold and lumpy. I don’t know who she got that from, but it surely wasn’t me. I was all about hot food. She placed her empty bowl in the sink, filled it with water, just like I taught her, so it wouldn’t be so hard to clean later on. Then she ran—didn’t I just tell her not to do that?—to get her backpack and stood by the front door of the apartment. She stomped her right foot. “Hurry up, Daddy. We’ll miss the train!” Oh so now I was the problem? Typical. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” I grabbed my wallet and my own backpack, got the keys from the hook high up on the wall by the front door and let us out. We were just in time to catch the train. I held her hand as we stood side by side in the packed car, my other hand on the rail above me while she held on to one of the seats beside her. It was five minutes to eight when we got to Sherie’s school. “Remember that Gramma Jo is picking you up today. I’ll come get you there after work, all right? Have a good day, listen to your teachers, and mind your Gramma.” I kissed her on the forehead, patted her little afro puffs, and gently pushed her toward the steps that led up to the front door of the building. “I will, Daddy! Bye!” She waved and ran up the steps to join the other third grade students. I watched her until she entered the building, then turned and headed back to the station. “Yo, Mary! What’s up, my man?” My boss Larry greeted me as I came into the office from the back room where I had stashed my stuff in a locker. I punched in at the time clock. “You got jokes. The name is Marius—Marius Rabineaux—not Mary. Why you always gotta mess with me like that, man?” I shook my head as I grabbed an apron and pinned my nametag on the front. “‘Cause you make it easy, dawg! Added to that, you’re gay. Ain’t one o’ you guys always the girl in the relationship? You look like a girl to me.” I did not, since I was six-foot-three and built like a linebacker, but Larry liked to play with me. “Whatever, dude. If you’re done flirting, can I go on the floor now? I gotta check the stock.” “You’re breaking my heart, man. What are friends for? You know you love it when I tease you.” He winked and waved me on my way. “Some friend. Don’t forget I can still call your mother and rat your ass out. Later, man.” I headed out on the floor to check the inventory and start my day in the washing machine section of the store.