This may or may not be a true story....
Once upon a time, I lay on the couch eating Jello-O Mousse Temptations. My stomach churned as I waited for my date to arrive. Our
first date couldn't have gone any better; the beach, the pier, gelato, a cozy bonfire... it was perfect. And for the first time ever, there were no red flags... except for that part where that skateboarder was all bloodied and semi-unconscious and when someone asked me to call 911 my date stepped in smiled wide and said 'That won't be necessary'. Apparently, cops scare him, but that's totally normal, right?
Anyway, back to the first date. He opened my door, never took out his phone unless he was using the GPS, and texted me afterwards to let me know he had a good time and wants to get together again. From then on we have been texting and talking on the phone, and when he returned from San Francisco, he set up our second date. The second date that is happening tonight.... I finished one last bite of the mousse when my phone rang. It's him. Brandon.
"Hello?"
"You were right about the abduction," Brandon says.
"Huh?"
"Your cousins! We were just supposed to go over the menu, but they had me stay for dinner and wine."
Did I mention how Brandon and I met? He was the chef at my distant and older cousins wedding. He and I were 2 of the few youngsters in attendance so he was definitely a sight for young eyes. Next he'll be catering that same cousins 83rd birthday party next month and they'll be prepping until then. He told me it'd be a quick trip to their place and I told him it would be the opposite since they adore him so much. I believe my exact words were '
They're going to kidnap you.'
"Oh yeah! Told ya," I said.
"We're still on for the movies tonight right?"
"Yup. Come on down."
"Alright, see you soon."
I hang up the phone and brush my teeth for the second time. Brandon smiles big as I hop into the car. His crystal blue eyes were glowing and his curly blonde hair was just as cute as I remembered. I greet him with a hug; he goes in for the kiss. Oops. We kiss now. I'll remember that next time.
He holds my hand as we drive to the Spectrum. On the very short ride he tells me about the scallops and miscellaneous food my cousins served him. We park in the structure and walk to the theater. I get to pick the movie.
Super 8. He pays; we enter and he offers to buy me treats. I decline, but thank him. My appetite's been off since the day I met him. I'd like to say it's butterflies, but I think it's food poisoning. We enter the empty theater.
"Where would you like to sit?" He asks sweetly, blue eyes still sparkling.
"The back," I answer.
"Lead the way."
We pop a squat in the center back - my usual spot because, in the back, no one can creep up from behind. He lifts the arm rest that divides us. I like arm rests. This will be an adjustment. I hope me suggesting we sit in the back didn't translate as '
Lets not use arm rests and make out'...
We talk and talk before the previews start. I like cartoons, he doesn't. He likes to read food magazines, I don't, but we agree that eating is more important anyway. I like Dave & Busters, he doesn't. That's okay though; he's got pearly white teeth, dimples, and a Southern accent. I've hit gold. Oh, and we've both been hit by cars!
There's something we have in common.
"I should run to the restroom before the movie starts," I say, getting up. The lights dim and the commercials before the previews begin. I sit back down.
"Go for it. I'll go with you," he says.
"No way. I can't miss the previews."
I lean back in my seat and he smiles even bigger. Does he ever stop smiling? I hope not. He's just too darn cute. The previews begin and suddenly his lips are on mine. This is nice, but wait, the previews! I perk my ears, but keep my eyes closed. I hear animal noises and Kevin James.
Zookeeper. I've seen this one, we're good. We keep kissing.
Did someone just sit next to me? Out of all the seats in the theater, who would pick the one next to the couple making out? ...Gasp! I'm making out in the back of a movie theater! This is embarrassing and so cliche'! And so....... Jr. High. Not that I did that in Jr. High. I heard about it though.
Wait, a new preview. I perk my ears again. Robots, punching, a random kid, and Hugh Jackman.
Real Steel. Good, I've seen this one too.... How are we still kissing? Did he not hear me when I said I love previews? Hm.
The next preview starts.
Cowboys and Aliens. I've seen it, but I shant miss it. I unlock our lips and avert my eyes to the screen. I cant wait to see this. Sheesh, Daniel Craig is really buff and look at that waist! I heard he married Rachel Weisz. She's cool. Man, Olivia Wilde is getting a lot of roles. She must really bring the heat in those auditions. Brandon wraps his arm around me. The random guy next to me regrets sitting here. Don't worry guy, just two more hours.
The movie starts. I've been waiting forever to see th---. Is Brandon kissing me again? I like you Brandon, I do, but movies and I have been together a long time. I compromised during the previews, but this is where I draw the line. I quickly unlock our lips again, kiss his cheek, and point to the screen. He readjusts himself, pulls me close, and lightly rests his head on mine...
...Ouch! I need to stretch my obliques or something because this mess hurts. I'll stay here a little while longer and then reposition myself. Back to the movie...
...What's that noise? ...It's a slow heavy breathing. I listen closer, it's not the movie. Brandon? Yes, it's Brandon. His head suddenly feels heavy on mine. The breathing gets slower and heavier and louder. Is he dying? No. I recognize that breath. It's the breathing of someone in a deep sleep. Well, he wasn't lying when he said he doesn't care too much for movies. But why did he suggest it? Well, all I know is, if
I can hear this loud breathing, so can everyone else. I must put a stop to this at once. I shift abruptly, snapping him out of whatever deathly breathing pattern he's under. He squeezes my hand and holds it tight. That's better. Back to the movie....
....Haha. That part was funny. Why didn't Brandon laugh? The random guy next to me laughed.... The movie is over. Oh wait, no it's not. I love it when they show footage when the credits are rolling. I wonder what they call that...Haha this is funny. This is pretty funny. I cant stop laughing. Brandon's not laughing. Why isn't he laughing? This is clearly funny. The random guy next to me is still laughing. Should I turn and acknowledge the fact that we both think this is funny? No. That's weird.
Now the movie is over.
"Did you sleep well?" I ask.
"Little bit," Brandon laughs.
"You're the worst."
Brandon kisses me. I suddenly feel the need to swallow. I hate it when that happens. The employees start cleaning up the popcorn on the floor.
"Man, you guys are fast," Brandon says.
We hop up and out of the theater hand in hand, our steps in sync. We exchange thoughts on the movie and we're in his car and out of the parking structure in no time. But suddenly, his car shuts off. Uh oh. I smile nervously. Dang it, Dayna! This isn't a smiling matter. Oh wait, he's smiling too. Good. As long as he's smiling, I'm free to do the same. He turns the key in the ignition over and over again. No dice. We're in the middle of the road and there's no shoulder to pull over onto. Even if we wanted to pull over, how would we?.... Push. That's the only way.
"Maybe it's the battery?"
"No. It wouldn't have turned on at all," he says, turning the key again.
"Oh, right."
"This has never happened before." I can see the wheels in his brain turning.
"Don't worry. This kind of stuff has happened to me a million times. One time, my car shut off while I was on the freeway! In the fast lane!"
"What happened?" he asks curiously.
"I just had to roll through the carpool lane and onto the left shoulder."
"What was wrong with it?"
"I don't remember. Engine maybe?" I answer.
Wrong. It was the timing best. Should I correct myself? No. My past car issues wont make him feel any better. I look at the clock. It's past eleven. My dad would know what to do. He can fix anything. I suggest it. I'm glad Brandon declined. How would that conversation go?
Hi Dad. Remember the chef from Marlena's wedding? Well, I'm 'hanging out with him' and his car broke down. No he doesn't have TripleA. Yes Dad, this is reminiscent of that incident senior year. Can we argue about this after you fix his car?.... I'll avoid that convo. It's solution time.
"Well, I do live across the street, if we can just push it to the side of the road there's a gas station not far from here. Maybe it just needs oil. I don't know. I'm not going to pretend I know anything about cars."
"Yeah, I guess we gotta push it," he says unbuckling his seat belt.
"You steer, I push."
My stomach immediately turns to knots. I don't want to steer a dead car - correction -
his dead car. I've changed my mind. I don't want to do this anymore.
"Where do you live again? I cant tell from here," he asks, looking around.
"Right over there," I answer. What does that matter? I don't want to push the car to my apartment, I want to push it to that empty parking lot right there in front of our faces. Straight shot - problem solved. Then we can just walk to my place, get my car, and go to the gas station.
"I'm not comfortable steering," I add.
The car is in neutral and rolling before I even get into the drivers seat. He pushes us along. Crap. We're in the left turn lane. I should have ignored his orders and forced us to go straight. Red light. Gosh, stepping on the brake does absolutely nothing. Brandon appears next to me at the window. He's sweating. He takes off his shirt and tosses it on the seat.
"I feel kinda sick. I think I'm gonna throw up," he says, trying to cool down.
It's all in his head. Stress will do that to you. His car is messed up, it's close to midnight, and he has to work at 5am.
"Do you think we should just try to pull off to the side here?" I suggest.
"Making a left and then a right isn't a good idea. I really don't want to do that."
Where is he going? Who are those guys? Green light. Great. Now I have
three guys pushing me in a car I don't want to be driving. At least we made the left turn, here comes the right. I want to stop.
"Keep going!" Brandon calls out.
Luckily, it's a green light. But wait, the next one isn't. I step on the brakes sooner than normal this time. I peek in the rear view mirror. Is Brandon even back there? He appears at the window again, sweating even more. I guess that uphill part really did him over. Where'd those guys go? Lucky them. Now, how can I get Brandon to listen to me without yelling and without sounding bossy? We're not going to the gas station, I already suggested we pull over into the empty parking lot, and I'm still stuck steering.
Destination: My parking garage. I try to talk myself into the pros of this option. It's out of every one's way, its 24 hours, and not at risk of getting a ticket.
But the reality is: this is another dunb idea I want nothing to do with.
I'm completely aware that this is what men do. They push cars and do man things. They don't listen to girls who don't know much about cars, but know about danger. Especially, not Southern boys who drive tractors and cook fried chicken that can apparently 'make my hat fly off'. I, on the other hand, have been told I'm a bit tom-boyish. I decided to keep that in mind on this date, relinquish control, and get in touch with my feminine side. Little did I know it is far easier to be a girl when you're with a man a knows what he's doing.
Dayna, the girl who takes note of all emergency exits when entering a room thought this: If he wants to get into that parking garage, there will be TWO sharp turns (both of which are downhill). I have no power steering and if anyone is coming out of that garage - they're in for a rude awakening. What Would Jesus Do? He wouldn't yell that's for sure. I think he'd give the facts and then let them make their own decision, right? It's
his car...
"So in order to get into the parking garage, there are two sharp turns and I'm afraid I wont be able to turn the wheel fast enough," I said calmly.
Is he ignoring me or have I gone deaf?
Now, where is he going? Oh, a new guy is going to 'help' us. We don't need help; we need to be out of this situation. Magically. This man is only going to push me further to my doom. Can I push instead? I feel as though I can push better than steer. But Brandon shouldn't know that. So far, he's only seen me in heels. I won't destroy that image.
Our random 'savior' peeks into the car with his date. I stare out listening to Brandon explain the sitch. My eyes feel wider than usual. I wonder what I look like to them... Bambi. That's it. I probably look like Bambi all doe-eyed and malnourished... The guy has agreed to help. His date stands on the side walk.
"Do you want to get in?" I ask.
"No thanks," she answers as she watches us roll away. She's smart. Maybe I should have said
Help Me instead.
And we're off. We're rolling and rolling through the light and here come the sharp turns! I turn the wheel with all my might and turn it again. We're in the parking garage! This is good.
"You missed it," Brandon says.
What? Surely he wasn't expecting me to spin into this teeny tiny parking space he's standing next to. There's no way he's referring to that.
"You missed it," he says again.
"You had three of them, see?"
He points to three miscellaneous spots - all had cars on either side and a gate in front. He throws both hands up and through his hair expressing his frustration. Oh yes, he
was talking about that narrow parking spot. Really? If I would have attempted to park at that speed I would have hit the passengers' side of that persons car and then slammed into the gate. Physics. Duh.
Our little helper says good luck and goes off with his date. It's just me and Brandon now. We're stuck. I get out of the car. I want this to be over. Brandon sits in the drivers seat. Apparently, he
is capable of not smiling.
"This is the worst night of my life," he declares.
Awesome. I'm associated with the worst night of someones life. And what a waste of a cute top. I finally find a classy color blocked number and this is what happens when I wear it?
"I feel really sick. I think I'm gonna throw up," he adds.
Still? Yes, this situation sucks, but is it puke worthy? These dramatics have got to stop.
"You ready?" he asks, getting up.
"We gotta park it."
Why hasn't he asked some random person to steer while I stand on the side of the road like a normal date? I explain for the billionth time that I don't want to hit another car and I just cant do it.
"I'll tell you exactly what to do," he says looking deep into my eyes.
Famous last words. I get into the car.
"You ready?" he asks again.
Never, I think.
"Turn hard right."
I turn and turn. Okay. Hard right. He pushes and we're rolling.
"Hey! Hey!" he screams.
My foot is on the brake, but it doesn't matter. The car scrapes against the pillar between two parking spots. It scrapes so hard I feel like it's my own flesh....Titanic, that's what it reminds me of. The pillar is the iceberg punching small holes into the ship, Brandon's ship. Finally, the scraping stops.
"F*ck!" Brandon screams.
Oh no, the nervous smile is creeping up on me. Now is not the time! I pull my cheeks down with both hands. That doesn't work for long. I decide to just cover my face with my hands completely.
After what seems like ages of silence, Brandon walks around to the hood of the car and starts to push. What's he trying to do, reverse the damage? The car scrapes more and more. I keep my hands on my face, but peek between my fingers. He keeps pushing, but now the side mirror has hit the pillar.
"F*ck!" he screams again.
The mirror is cracked. He suggests we back into the spot behind us. I don't argue. He pushes from the hood this time and he directs my steering. We're very close to the car parked on the right, but by some miracle, we're parked with no further damages. It's after midnight. He gives me his spare key, just in case, and I struggle to put it on my key ring. I give up and drop it in my purse.
"Man, I gotta get up early," he says sounding defeated,
"and I really think I'm going to throw up."
"Well, do you want to come upstairs and use the restroom or get some water or something and then I can drive you home?"
He agrees.
"One of my roommates' cars is getting jacked tomorrow," he attempts to joke. Good, now my nervous smile can be put to good use. We're in my apartment. He leans on the counter, sweaty, his shirt still off. I walk to the fridge and toss him a water bottle. He takes a few sips and heads to the bathroom. After a minute, he comes out. No vomit.
"Do you want some fruit?" I ask and walk to the fridge again.
"I'm not sure what's good for pukiness."
I turn around and he's gone. I hear the atrocious sound of vomit splash against the toilet bowl. Again and again. My stress theory flew out the window. More splashing. I sit on the couch, not wanting to listen. Should I turn on the TV? I imagine what scallops, wine, and whatever else he ate looked like after being chewed up and spit out. I walk towards my sisters bedroom and knock. No answer. She must have her headphones on. I walk back to the kitchen. What is a TripleA bag doing on the counter?! I don't have TripleA. Could my sister have purchased it earlier today? He mustn't see this. He'll think I've been holding out. I grab the bag, shove it in the closet and sit back on the couch. He enters the living room.
"Did you puke?" pretending I didn't hear.
"I took your advice," he says.
Advice? I don't remember
suggesting he throw up. And even if I did, why listen to that advice and nothing else? I'm missing something, but I don't care. It's late. I grab my keys and we head out, but in the wrong direction.
"Wait. My car is this way," I say. We back track.
"You're all messed up too, huh?"
We take the elevator down to the parking garage. The drive is silent and awkward.
"This is the kind of music you listen to?" he finally speaks.
"On occasion," I answer,
"depends on my mood. It's actually my friends' band." Silence. He quickly reaches over and squeezes my thigh. I smile slightly, but keep both hands at 10 and 2.
"Years from now, we'll laugh at this," Brandon says.
"Maybe."
We finally make it to his place. Dead car + crashed car + vomit = HUG. It was 1:00am by the time I got home. I had a text from him when I checked my phone:
Hey, sorry if it seemed like I was mad.
I was just bummed about my car.
I really enjoyed my time with you.
Have a good night.
The next day, he got a ride down to my complex to fix his car while I was at work. But the car he got a ride in had a gas leak and they had to fix that one too. Some luck. I didn't talk to him until two days later when he informed me he couldn't go to Disneyland. We had planned our third date before the second. That was a mistake.
A part of me knew we weren't going to survive that date, but I'm thankful for a few things:
1) We didn't die.
2) No one else died.
3) We didn't kill each other.
Sunday morning, I prep for a lovely day at the happiest place on Earth. I even decided to borrow my sisters fancy camera and try to take a few
pictures. Sure, I'm not going with Brandon, but that doesn't mean I wont go at all. Turns out a few of my friends were going too. I grab my bag and dig deep in to the pocket. Suddenly, I feel an unfamiliar object. I pull it out. Brandon's key. I lean against my bed and sigh....
ONE DAY LATER....
I didn't want to text him about the key. I didn't want to text him at all, but my mom gave me the idea to suggest that I mail the key instead. So I sent the text:
I just noticed I have your car key.
Do you want me to save you the trip
and just drop it in the mail?
If I were him, I would have said yes, but instead he said:
Oh no mam I would love to see you
but I'm really busy this week. Could we
meet up this weekend?
I waited two hours to respond. I wasn't prepared for such. Can we pick up where we left off? Better yet, can we not pick up where we left off and rewind to date one minus the bloody skateboarder? But then I remembered that life isn't about gelato and walks on the beach. It sometimes consists of puke and dented cars. If you can survive it together, than that's the true test.
I told him I was free that Saturday.
ONE DAY LATER.....
No response. I send him a text asking if he died.
TWO DAYS LATER....
He texts me:
Hey sorry it took me so long to get
back to you I have had big things
going on. How was your day? Would
you like to do something Saturday night?
'Big things'? In the age of the iPhone there is no excuse to not respond to a text and if things were that 'big' there would have been some sort of mobile uploading. My response to him was nicer than I felt. I told him I made plans on Saturday and asked if we could switch to Sunday. My only goal is to get this key out of my life.
ONE DAY LATER....
No response. I've played nice for too long. Hello??? I'm Dayna Freakin Copeland. I have no desire to see him or be made a fool of. I sent a nice, but telling text:
Hey, looks like we're both pretty busy
these days so just send me your address
when you get this and I'll mail your key.
ONE MONTH LATER....
Brandon never responded. My cousins 83rd birthday came and went. Was I in attendance? No. It coincided with my sisters birthday. My mom went though and Brandon was there cheffing it up. She said he acted like he didn't see her until she said something; only then did he ask how my sister and I were doing....
THREE MONTHS LATER....
I had completely forgotten about the date from hell. In fact, Brandon's number had been deleted from my phone. I decided to spend my Sunday night at my friends hockey game. The game was going good. The cold numbed my fingers and toes but I was having fun when, suddenly, my phone vibrated. A text from a strange area code appeared:
Hey this is Brandon I know it has been a
long time but I was wondering if you could
mail me that spare key to my car my address
is 55555 Cherry Ave Garden Stove CA
55555 thank you hope all is well with you and
the family
And no, he didn't use any commas or periods. I couldn't believe it. I looked frantically around my group of friends to see who had heard the story about The Boy Who Barfed so I could fill them in on the new details... Jojo. Jojo was the first person I told that day at Disneyland. He was shocked.
"Give him the wrong key!" He said.
"Give him a hotel key," someone else chimed in.
"Give him a bag of keys with a note that reads 'Figure it out'," a friend suggested later.
All good ideas. I didn't respond till the next day - to teach him a lesson - and all I said was:
I'll have to find it first.
And that was the truth. He called me when he received the text. I didn't pick up. I was at work anyway and what's there to talk about? I found the key a day later and mailed it with no return address. He sent a thankful text and that was the end. I wish him the best, but it never would have worked out. I now only date those who have TripleA and an iPhone.
And we lived happily ever after....
Separately.
Happy Valentine's Day :)
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