Nobody's Son by Zaria Garrison

door. Frightened, she stepped back and called out.
    â€œWho is it?” she yelled.
    â€œI’m your date. Butterbean Logan.”
    Tentatively, Ellen grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door open and looked down. Standing before her she recognized the handsome face of the man she’d been speaking to online for the past three weeks before setting a date. However, she was sure that he’d stolen the body of a ten-year-old boy. At five foot six, Ellen had not met many men who were shorter than she, but Butterbean was the exception. Even with the lifts he later told her were in his shoes, he still only stood at five foot two.
    Any physical attraction that she’d felt online instantly dissipated into thin air, and she seriously considered slamming the door in his face until she realized that would not be the Christian thing to do. Instead, she put on a bogus smile and grabbed her purse so that they could go out to dinner.
    In the parking lot she expected him to walk over to a small Toyota or maybe even a Honda as his car. She was shocked when he stepped up to a shiny white Hummer and clicked the auto unlock on his key chain. He politely walked Ellen to her side of the truck, and when the door opened, a custom, three-stair ladder fell down.
    â€œClimb in,” he said.
    Ellen did as he said, and then waited while he walked around and climbed up on his customer ladder.
    As if reading her mind he began to explain. “I know it looks odd to see such a short man in a big vehicle. No, I’m not overcompensating for anything,” he said, then winked at her. “I just happen to like big trucks. When I bought this I had it specially customized to fit my stature. The dealership welded blocks on the clutch pedal. They put smaller blocks on the brake pedal. They also raised the floorboard.”
    â€œUm, oh, okay,” she said. Ellen realized that he must have plenty of money in order to make all of those changes, but she was seriously unimpressed.
    When they arrived at the restaurant she’d chosen Ellen looked around to make sure her escape plan was there. Prior to accepting his invitation to dinner she’d asked Jenise and Reggie to accidentally show up at the same restaurant just in case he turned out to be dangerous or worse and she needed to make a quick exit. The two of them were seated near the front, and Jenise winked at her as she and Butterbean walked by on the way to their table. Reggie burst out laughing, and Jenise had to quiet him down to keep the entire restaurant from staring at him.
    â€œDon’t worry about that jerk,” Butterbean said as they took their seats. “I get laughed at and stared at all the time. It doesn’t bother me because I remind myself that I’m twice as tall as them when I’m standing on my wallet.” He smiled broadly at her.
    Realizing that she needed to make the most of the situation, Ellen tried her best at polite conversation. “So your profile listed Butterbean as your handle. What’s your real name?”
    â€œButterbean Logan is my real name. It was my mother’s favorite bean.”
    Ellen stared at him in disbelief.
    â€œMy mother was kind of spacey. She was probably one of the last leftovers from the hippies of the sixties. I loved her dearly, God rest her soul, but she smoked up most of her brain cells long before I or my siblings were born,” he explained in a matter-of-fact manner.
    As the evening dragged on, Butterbean told Ellen about his brother that everyone called Hal, but his birth name was Jalapeño. Their mother had named him after her favorite pepper. And he couldn’t leave out his sister, Holiday, who was not born on Christmas, Easter, or even Arbor Day. She was born during one of the hottest summers on record in Brooklyn, New York. Butterbean explained that at that time his mother was one of those people that you’d see on Oprah Winfrey or TLC who said they didn’t realize they