It Was An Honest Mistake

It was a lovely start for these two early 20-somethings. The coy smiles, brief and playful dialogue, the innocence. It would not end as such.

They met at an airport. Both waiting at the same gate for the same flight, engaged in the same time-passing activity. Reading. Both of them with books. She enjoyed the novelty of another reader. Few of her friends were. What's this guy's story, she thought. She took two steps toward him and spoke.

"What book are you reading?"

He looked up. Hadn't even noticed her before. That smile. The eye contact. She had an ambience to her, as if gravity had less pull on her than everyone else. His brain went blank.

Though operating with a blank head, he had the good sense to smile back, not that he could help himself, then read the title off his book's cover. He had to read it, because he had forgotten, the excitement of the moment, smitten as he was.

He was not smooth at this. He lacked game, went the parlance of his friends and peers. He knew it, and had inadvertently turned his playful sincerity into his game. That in itself wouldn't make him a baller when it came to dating, not while lacking initiative and confidence. But heck, sometimes you nail the landing, even if only accidentally.

It was a brief exchange. What, two minutes? Their plane was boarding. Passengers were asked to line up in their groups. He would lose her. What'd he have to lose if he overextended himself here? Well, other than a shut down in front of an audience of all these other passengers listening in, though offering the courtesy of pretending not to. They were in their twenties, and handsome as heck, both of them, as is everyone at that age. All eyes were on them, the vicarious thrill, hoping for a connection. It would not disappoint.

"Are you local here? Or are you flying home," he asked.

She was local. Him too. And then, he doesn't quite know why or how he did it, but he mustered the courage to go forth, "When we return to southern California after our visits away, would you like to exchange books?"

She did. His heart leapt. Especially when she smiled, and looked back to him after they'd gotten in line. At this point, sadly, their relationship had already peaked.

When they returned to southern California, the two did get together, ostensibly to exchange books. Truth is, neither would read the other's. That possibility would be precluded.

Bowling and milkshakes, he proposed.

"I want to see you, but not over bowling. Milkshakes," she elegantly countered.

At the ice cream shop she excused herself to go to the restroom. But she was in a fun mood and ice cream is ice cream. It's all delicious. Difficult to order a mistake when dealing with this stuff.

"Hey, I'm going to the little girls room. Order something for me. Surprise me," she said as she walked away. Then, from 10 feet away she remembered, turned, and added, "No nuts."

The thing is, there were other patrons in there creating a distracting white noise, music was playing on the store-pumped ceiling audio system, and she had not completely turned toward him before speaking, the oblique angle causing lost clarity. It all coagulated to the fact that he missed the most important piece of the message.

He missed the No. Nuts, he heard. He smiled and issued a courtesy head nod. She likes nuts, he figured. That means Rocky Road, of course. He ordered. The shakes were made, paid for, and handed forward.

He sat at the tiny ice cream parlor table for two. Quaint. She returned and sat across from him. He liked being close to her. He handed the shake, they dinked their cups, and took big pulls off their straws. Then a second.

The result was almost immediate, but not immediate enough to stop that second draw. He'd never seen her without a smile. For a moment he didn't even recognize her.

A small cough at first. Then an almost grinding sound from her throat. Almost like a gas lawn mower engine trying to catch, but could not. A hand went to her throat. Her esophagus was closing in because of her nut allergy.

"What flavor . . .," she was having trouble speaking and could not complete her question. She held up her shake.

"Rocky Road. You like nuts," he replied, straight faced with a mounting terror.

"Allergic. Call 9 1 1," she breathed out, barely audible, clutching at her throat now with both hands.

She collapsed and fell over out of her chair onto the checkered black and white tile floor. The floor was pristinely clean, except for the Rocky Road shake spilled across all the way to the ice cream counter.

All eyes in the store were on her. Then on him standing over her with a terrified look on his face.

"Nut allergy," he said.

One of the employees was on their game and called an ambulance.

It was a tense few minutes before the ambulance arrived. They were so new to each other, these two, that he didn't know what to do or what to say to help her keep calm.

He reached for her hand, but his was sticky with ice cream so he released her hand and reached for a napkin. She knew not the reason for the vacated hand, not that it would have mattered in the high emotion of the moment, the stickiness. Her heart went empty.

She was looking into his face. She'd always enjoyed looking into his eyes. She felt she could see all the way into him. Except this time, without the eye contact, she saw shear fright, and his dumb sideburns that she was willing to generously forgive until now.

His hand rested nebulously on one of her shoes. A thick-soled Doc Marten. Purchased new for the date. It was safe contact, he figured.

"I'm sorry. Really, really sorry," he said to her, kneeling and hunched over her. She couldn't breath and was close to passing out. 

The ambulance arrived. The paramedics burst in. There were two of them.

"Nut allergy. Dork ordered her a Rocky Road," crisply briefed the employee, time being of the essence. Everyone looked at him.

One paramedic was down on his knees talking to her, calm and decisive, holding her hand. The second returned to the ambulance for the stretcher. They had her strapped in and heading out the door in three minutes. 

"It was an honest mistake," he practically yelled after her, having gotten to his feet and taken a few steps toward the door as the paramedics wheeled her out.

Everything had happened so fast that nobody had moved until after she was out and the ambulance had sped away.

"Don't look at me that way. It was an honest mistake," he said to the other patrons as he walked out the door, his shake in hand.

[Inspired by the song by The Bravery, It Was An Honest Mistake [click HERE to listen to song]. What kind of honest mistake could be so extraordinary as to compel a song, I'd thought in recent years whenever the song came on the radio. The milkshake idea struck me this morning while driving with my mom after picking up shrimp tacos from Del Taco. My mind often wanders to milkshakes in free moments. That's when it hit me. Nut allergy! wdk 4/29/2025]