First Date

 

1993 Northern California

 

Coursing heavily of excitement and adrenaline he backed the car out of the carport hoving slightly too far portside. The beautiful young lady in the passenger seat proved to be too much on his mind resulting in a momentary lapse of focus. She was his date, their first. This lack of concentration, adversely affecting his driving skills, was subsequently disrupted by a collision. Not the vehicle’s chassis, but an appendage, the driver’s side mirror had been lopped off. It had been torn asunder by the carport’s vertical support pole. Hundreds of times he’d come and gone safely maneuvering the troublesome support pole, then this error at a most inopportune moment. 

 

Wanting the first impression not to be sullied by this silly blunder, he feigned cool. He stopped the car, popped the trunk, picked the shorn mirror fixture up off the ground and tossed it nonchalantly into the trunk, then returned to the helm.

 

“If you see any more of those difficult to avoid stationary poles, please let me know,” he offered weakly. This was met with courtesy laughter signaling that the date was not yet ruined but he’d better step up his game.

 

He loved the car, a Ford Mustang, even without the mirror, but more so with it. This was no baseline Mustang. The thing was amply juiced and was not for the tame of heart. He’d sometimes give the gas pedal a little tap just to hear the roar of the engine, feel the torque rumbling through the vehicle. He equated it to his own professional aspiration. Capable and aggressive. He was not willing to wait for his professional achievements to come to him, he’d go out there and get it. He reveled in this symbiotic relationship. 

 

The drive continued, dinner awaited, casual conversation was in force cobbling together rapport. As the mood turned to playful banter, they approached an intersection of tree-lined surface streets with a romantic dusk setting up nicely. 

 

The intersection ahead, a left turn on the approach to the main thoroughfare. Dozens of little birds, finches probably, in the street picking fruit off the asphalt from the bountiful branches above. He thought it might be fun to accelerate into the turn and send the cute little birds all aflutter. Maybe add excitement to the sparking that was brewing in the vehicle. Only, dammit, it didn’t happen as envisioned.

 

He accelerated into the turn followed immediately by a half dozen tiny bumps under the tires as if he’d run over several tennis balls.

 

‘What the hell,’ he played out in his head. ‘How many times have I approached a stretch of road with birds on the ground and they always scatter? I’ve never run over a bird before. Never. Now tonight, when it’s most problematic I knock off a bunch of inconvenient cute little avian carcasses.’

 

“Should I take you home now,” he offered playfully, smiling sheepishly hoping for a declination. He’d do it without argument if requested, but wanted not for the offer to be accepted.

 

She paused before answering. The expression on her face indicated shock. He panicked internally struggling to maintain his cool, but maintain he would by shear force of will. His armpits would soon be blown out if this were not quickly favorably rectified. No words yet spoken. Then she smiled and punched him in the shoulder with a closed fist.

 

He liked that she didn’t give him a dainty tap on the shoulder, too light and timid to signify sincerity. He liked also that she didn’t wind up and deliver a contusion-inducing blast. No. More like a shark in open water giving an initial contact before deciding the next course of action. Game on.

 

With that, he thankfully continued driving to the restaurant for a tasty meal. Having survived that asphalt massacre his confidence swelled, not that it needed a bump.

 

“Let’s eat.”

 

 

[Based on the dating experience of a pal, Adornato. He was awarded a second date. -klem]