My Date
Part 1 So Much To Tell
Jason Carter
Copyright ©2003
So
much to tell.
Where to start? I think I'll
start before the beginning. Friday morning
driving to New Orleans to the airport with Aunt Sue, she is babbling
incessantly. That's not true.
She doesn't babble. She’s probably
saying something very
intelligent and interesting, but I'm not listening to her.
I'm listening for the sound of my doorbell
even though it won't ring until 6:30 that evening.
At least I don’t have to worry about cleaning.
I haven’t even seen my apartment for three
months but Mrs. Landry has been coming
by once a week to clean the dirt that isn’t there.
I'm trying to
remember what wine I have and which I might need to open or chill and
should I
have any open in advance or just ask when he gets there.
I know I don't have any cheese or bread,
probably no crackers, I'll have to stop by Byblos Market on the way
home. How many lights should I have on? Bright is cheery. Muted
is romantic. Candles?
No, we’re only gonna be there for a little
while before we go out to dinner.
Which music? How
loud? Classical is always good but
Vivaldi is overused. Maybe Mozart. John Prine!
Nobody knows John Prine and he's totally interior.
But lyrics get in the way of
conversation. Maybe Mozart.
Haydn is usually perkier. Robert
Palmer? Riptide should bend him
around a corner, especially if I
put it on repeat. Maybe Mozart. Boys Say Go would be pretty
obvious
but only if he could understand the lyrics.
He would understand but he already knows so why advertise? Scott Joplin is neutral. Maybe
Mozart. A Little Night Music for
our little night. Our big night.
What should I wear?
A shirt without a collar makes me look younger, a shirt with a
collar
makes me look more sophisticated. Well,
high school graduate, anyway. Levi’s
might be like I don't care but khakis are too conformist.
Cords are better. What does
he like? How
can I make everything perfect for him when I don't even know what
perfect
is? I have a hundred questions but only
one answer. At 75 mph, eastbound on
I-10, passing mile marker 145 I decided the answer is “Yes.” Whenever he asks, whatever he wants, the
answer is “Yes.” In fact, the answer is
“Yes, sir!” So that's all settled and I'm relieved not to have to
wonder about
that anymore. Maybe I
shouldn't make him ask or even wonder.
When he comes in I can just say, “Here's the living room;
here’s
the dining room; and here are the stairs that lead to the bedroom where
after
dinner we can take off our clothes and get to know each other better.” Maybe not.
After
that it's just a matter of details like how many will I have to buy and
exactly
where will I place them so that nowhere in my entire apartment,
upstairs or
down, will we be more than an arms reach from a condom and lube. Cause I'm definitely doing some sex tonight. Hopefully a lot. Then
it's getting really uncomfortable to drive with my
please-let-me-outta-here, you-waited-way-too-many-months-for-this
hard-on.
Unless that's not what he wants! Is
it possible that a fifty something man is driving forty miles
to take a twenty-four-year-old twink to a dark restaurant, a dark gay
restaurant, to ask his opinion on the possibility of war with Iraq or
the
future of interest rates? I don't think
so! So I'm okay on that but what if
he's taking some horrible blood pressure medicine that makes things not
work? What if he wants to get to know me
better
first? What if he wants to cry on my
shoulder about his divorce or his last boyfriend or his last girlfriend? No way!
He can cry on my cock!
Then Aunt Sue is telling me, “James, it's not safe or necessary
to drive 90 mph; we have plenty of time.
Just obey the speed limit and I’ll feel much better.” So I guess you could say I was experiencing
an avalanche of anxiety and insecurity.
So everything was normal.
Traffic
was light; we flew through the swamp and
cruised into Kenner. As we exited for
the airport, I explained that the New Orleans Airport isn’t actually in
New
Orleans. There was no line for security
inspections to get into the parking garage.
We instantly found a parking space right by the skyway bridge to
the
airport. We were so way early I couldn’t
believe it. After checking her baggage
we still had two hours to wait so we were having coffee and beignets
and Sue
was going on about what a wonderful marriage Mom and Dad had had for so
many years
and how rare that is and how she hopes when I get married I will be as
happy as
they were when I hear someone using my voice to say, “I'm never gonna
get
married.”
And she says of course I will. I'm
still very young; I shouldn't be
discouraged; what with all
that's been going on with Dad being sick for so long and the funeral
and how
hard I've been working to keep the family business going, it's not
surprising
that I'm not seeing anyone but all that will change when things get
back to
normal.
And I'm getting all shaky in the shoulders and tight in the
throat and I can't look at anything but my coffee and she just keeps on
talking
about how wonderful it is of me to have come home to help Mom, and
talking
about what a big sacrifice it was for me to give up graduate school,
and
talking about what a change it is to live in a small town again, and
talking
about what a great job I’ve been doing with the business, and talking
about how
proud of me Mom is, and talking about how she would never have been
able to go
home if she didn't know that I would be there for Mom and my heart is
pounding
against my chest trying to get out and I can count my pulse in my ears
and she
just keeps saying pleasant little things until she stops and we don't
say
anything for a while.
Until I say, “No, I'm never getting married, I'm sure.”
Then we're really quiet for a really
long time.
Until she says, “Don't ever tell your
mother.”
So, other than puking in a public
toilet for the next ten minutes while she waited for me, I thought that
went
really well.
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copyright ©2003 Jason Carter
For more Coming of Age stories join:
http://www.groups.yahoo.com/group/comingofage
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I’d be pleased to hear your thoughts about My Date
Please Email me at: jasoncarter85@yahoo.com
Monday, November 17, 2003
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