High Speed Love

By Marlon leTerrance

Two weeks after I met Sheila, she claimed she loved me. Two days later, she was upset because I still had not expressed my undying love for her as well. Our relationship soon turned into an emotional tug-of-war. She wanted me to give her more of myself than I was ready to give. And I refused to tell her something that simply wasn’t true.

I can still remember our last conversation. We were sitting inside my apartment, sharing an intimate, candle-lit dinner. Around us, it seemed as though everything we had built together was suddenly falling apart. I was both afraid and uncertain. I knew Sheila was about to issue me an ultimatum, but I was not certain how best to deal with it. She had become an important part of my world and I did not want to lose her. Yet, her impatient and emotional demands were leaving me no choice.


There were tears in her dark brown eyes and her lips trembled a little as she spoke. “I love you, Marlon,” she began, her voice laced with a cold sense of determination. “But I will not continue loving a man who does not love me back.”

I was too shocked and amazed to respond immediately. I had not expected her to be so blunt. In some odd way, the whole situation seemed terribly amusing. When I thought about it longer, I found it damn near hilarious. Here was the strong, intelligent black woman I’d always dreamed about, and she ends up being so strong and so demanding that it was impossible for me to please her.

Sheila was special to me. I cared for her deeply. But, in all honesty, I did not love her.

I handed her a hanker-chief from my vest pocket and sighed deeply. I needed a moment to gather my thoughts before offering a response. No matter how wrong and impulsive I believed her ultimatum to be, I still could not muster up the courage to break her heart. At the time, I didn’t want to begin a promising relationship with lies and falsehoods. I felt trapped.


Finally, I raked all my doubts aside and approached the problem head-on. “Sweetheart,” I whispered. “I want, so badly, to love you also. But I can’t love a woman I hardly know.”

I spent the rest of the night trying to explain to Sheila the importance of knowing a person before falling in love. But she could not understand this. Like many sisters I’ve known, Sheila still believed in soap opera romances and storybook relationships where everyone falls in love overnight and then lives happily ever after. She was so desperate to somehow experience this fantasy love that she never allowed real love the time and space it needs to grow.

Love is not a vendor machine. I cannot place a quarter into my heart, press a couple emotional buttons, and order up a bag of romantic feelings. The process is far more complex than this. And whenever someone tries to lower the standards for love, she only robs herself of life’s most precious gift.


A lot of women counter this argument by claiming that black men are simply irresponsible and afraid of commitment. They believe that most brothers are so lost in our struggle for manhood that we equate love with weakness, commitment with prison. I beg to differ. I think brothers like me are just less inclined to believe in love at first sight. We have learned, usually from bitter experience, that it takes more than interesting conversations and extraordinary sex to produce love. We have to know who we are about to dedicate our lives to-and knowing her name and phone number is simply not enough.

Most Black men are not afraid of commitment. I believe we just respect love and commitment so much that we are not willing to make a mockery out of our feelings the way far too many women do.

Sometimes, women act as though men have stopwatches on our hearts. This is ridiculous. I can’t meet a woman and command my feelings to mutate into love by a certain time period.

“Marlon, if you don’t know me by now, you never will.” Sheila stood up suddenly and made her way toward the door. I asked her to stay a little longer but she didn’t respond. I would have been surprised if she had. Like far too many sisters, she didn’t want to start talking about the specific problems because that was the first step on the road to possible acceptance.


“Where do we go from here?” I wondered aloud, just as Sheila was about to leave. She smiled at me, the saddest smile I had ever seen, and silently walked away. I stared at her departure, still hurt and emotional in her wake. If only she had taken the time to learn what true love really is. If only she had waited a little longer.

Two weeks simply was not enough time.