From the Desk of The DBeazy One-Man-Think-Tank

Let’s start by noting that this is Part 2. If you aren’t aware of what is happening, or if you are late to the table, have no fear. Just stop and click here: Exit to part 1

If you have completed part 1 GREAT! Thanks for playing along. It is my hope that my words are compelling and that you will hang in here as we watch this story unfold. 

**** THE FOLLOWING IS A WORK OF FICTION.  Any semblance to a person, place, or experience is 98.8% fabricated. 

****  Also, I’d like to call attention to the featured image, by the very talented, Chelsea McKenzie.

 

 

Time to Hit the Backroads

“For the next couple of hours, we rode from one end of town and back, stopping only to find a restroom and to buy a cheap Styrofoam cooler, ice, and a 12-pack of beer. The conversation was light at first, but not for long. I quickly found that she was not shy. In fact, she spoke with ease and seemed as if she would be completely comfortable in almost any social situation.  She didn’t ramble. She was to the point and she asked engaging questions, prompting me to inquire as to her truthfulness when she told me that she was a mere 18 years old.  As we drove around, we saw friends of hers, friends of mine, and the ones who gave us the more unusual looks, our mutual friends.  Obviously curious, they whispered to one another when they thought we weren’t paying attention. On one occasion when she caught some of our friends “comparing notes” she turned so that only I could see her and she mouthed the words to me, “they are freaking out!” Then she grabbed me by the hand and dragged me to her car for effect. We left them standing there in shock, and she yelled, “We’ll be back.” She enjoyed being in her own spotlight.

She had attended the local private school while I had attended one of the public schools, explaining why in addition to two years difference in our ages, we had not met before that night. Looking back, I knew of her, was certainly aware of who she was and I suppose that she at least had heard of me.  After all, it was a small town. She had the obvious “qualities” that guaranteed she would be noticed by most of the young bucks around, so I took much delight in being seen with her. In the South, beautiful women are everywhere. But there were other things as I recall about her that more or less set her apart in my mind. I don’t know, just things that I picked up about her along the way. She was in short, one of those people that one hears about, and on some immersed level, at least in my mind, has a deep-seated urge to know. For certain, she had that effect on me. From the first time I heard her name, I longed to know her; it just never happened until that night. It is my belief that she and I were destined to meet as if by cosmic decree or by a preordained plan, wheels were set in motion and deviation was inconceivable. There were hurdles though, some not having the least to do with her or with me. There were geographical, physical, economic, and even historical elements that separated the two of us. Some of the factors would have been the same in “Any town, USA.” Others, however, were specific to our locale. All of which made up the aggregate of rationale that so shocked those who saw us together for the first time.

So meet we did, and as we rode around our small town, I found myself checking the time as we passed the digital sign at Community Bank that displayed time and temperature. I was having fun, but an uneasy feeling began to grow. I tried to understand what was going on within me, but could not pinpoint the source. The feeling was not unlike the feeling I had as a kid one Sunday afternoon, the last day of Christmas break, and the realization that the next day would bring the return to school, and the hectic routine. A wave of nausea hit in the pit of my stomach, then subsided, not unlike that December Sunday years ago. The thought occurred to me that the night was similar. I was having a great time and didn’t want the night to come to an end. I feared that she might be subject to a curfew. My concern, however, was soon assuaged when she mentioned that her parents were out of town for the weekend.  Again, I defer to the stars, the gods, the elements, and to biometric rhythms within the universe because my folks were out of town as well, therefore, as she phrased it, ‘we have all night.’ I generally didn’t have a curfew but had the parents been home, they definitely would have been concerned if I stayed out all night. I didn’t want the momentum to end. I grew concerned that it might as the eleven o’clock hour neared and the streets became less populated with riders and more populated with a growing police presence. This fear was answered as well when she said, ‘Cops everywhere, time to hit the back roads.’ Of course, she got no argument from me. Within minutes the roads tapered and a bright moon became more pronounced as the lights of town disappeared. Soon we slowed and I asked her what was up and she said she was looking for a turn.  She said her Uncle owned land there and that it was her favorite place to park and look at the stars.

I’m not sure of the thoughts that were going through my mind.  If there was some sort of gauge to measure confusion inside the mind of a human, I was certain that mine was “redlining” at that point. I can remember thinking that night about how coaches had spoken of luck and opportunity, but I really never considered myself lucky; only that luck is a justification of an intended goal. There was no doubt that I was on a hot roll that night. Things just didn’t happen so easily for me, yet, that night, things came together like never before. Never since either, for that matter. I kept thinking, ‘Son, Son, what is happening? What are you going to do? Is this some sort of practical joke being played on me? Are there things about this girl that I don’t know, and more importantly, things that I need to be aware of? Is there a jealous boyfriend that is going to show up out of nowhere with a gang and jump me when least expected? Is she just using me to make someone else jealous?’ Then, thoughts like this, ‘Son, Son, you are going to screw this up. This night is not going to end without you saying something stupid to piss this girl off.’ So I made a decision to speak as little as possible.

As a 20-year-old male in the eighties, getting lucky with a girl on the first night was unheard of, and this wasn’t even a date. The term, “hooking up” had not been thought of and what we know of today as “hooking up” was rare back then. To my knowledge, that whole unspoken “third date rule” idea had not come into existence yet. At least not down in the Bible belt.  To be sure, I was not totally inexperienced at that point. There were a few girls that were known to be “sure things,” but this just didn’t feel that way. The male hormones, obviously, had a course set, but I wasn’t sure if I even wanted that. At the moment I was so confused, so out of my element. I just knew that there was something about her that made me behave like I was here for the sole purpose of meeting her and getting to know her. I had never felt this comfortable with a woman before, though I had the feeling that I was in over my head. I also wondered if this was the way life was supposed to be. Meet someone. Know immediately that she’s the one and start planning the rest of your lives together. Before my brain totally short-circuited, I had to make something happen.

She turned down a narrow dirt road and almost immediately, we began a descent down a steep hill.  At the bottom, I looked back and noted that we were no longer visible from the highway above. Tall pine trees lined both sides of the farming road and moonlight eerily filtered through, exaggerating their size. Bullfrogs croaked noisily indicating that a source of water was nearby. I knew that a creek, a pond, or a low-lying slough was there as the air grew cooler and the smell confirmed. We rounded a slight bend and ahead was a large clearing in the pines, moonlight illuminating the area and all I could say was ‘WOW!”

The August nights were only marginally cooler than sweltering August days common to the Deep South.  But in the Mustang with the top down and the music blaring, a sense of total freedom swept over me and I paid no attention to the heat. The water near the clearing in the pines served to lower the temperature some, and cooler weather was still a couple of months away.  We were young, though, and oblivious to the world around us, yes, even to the August heat.

She stopped the car and killed the lights. The moon seemed to triple in brightness. We leaned against the back of the Mustang and opened 12-ounce cans of Coors Light. I languidly sipped on mine while it seemed that she was off to the races, seemingly within seconds, she threw her empty can across the road beside a large mud puddle. Not to be outdone, I finished mine, and just like that, my empty joined hers by the pool.  She extracted two more cans from the ice chest, opened one for me, then another for herself, an act that at the time, didn’t mean much, but in retrospect, I see as a sort of imprinting on my mind, on my soul. I continued to remain as tight-lipped as possible, limiting my words to small talk, holding to the thought that speaking could potentially do more harm than good.  Here, for the first time, I stopped to really look at her, to take her in. She had big hair, curled and flared back from a center part, and feathered, not unlike that famous poster of Farrah Fawcett in the orange one-piece. She wore an inexpensive gold necklace with a single opal, a pink and blue button-down, tied at a slender 18-year-old waist, and denim jeans, wrapped and cuffed at the ankles. You see, in 1982, one didn’t leave home looking just any way, like they do today.

She grew quiet as well so we sipped and listened to a song emanating from the speakers inside the car.  I think it was something from Styx or Journey, or no, I’m pretty sure it was Jefferson Starship.  Two more cans joined the two that were already next to the puddle.  She opened two more, took a long pull from hers, sat it down, and began to play “air guitar” along with Starship and one of those rock anthems for which they were known. Not speaking and not playing the “air guitar,” I felt a little alone at the moment, so I nervously gathered a couple of rocks and took aim at one of the empty cans. I felt that the vibe we had experienced in town was waning and began to feel that my idea of silence was the wrong move. My mind raced and I struggled for anything that might get the flow going again. I needed to know more of her, to learn what she was about and how I needed to proceed. I looked into those eyes, those green eyes, and asked if she would like to play a game. She cocked her head and looked at me. Caught in her gaze, I heard crickets, bullfrogs, and Jefferson Starship in the background. I saw the way that the moon illuminated strands of her hair and one side of her face while casting shadows across the other.

She agreed to play my game and I stood 4 empty beer cans up at the edge of the mud puddle and handed her 3 rocks from the gravel road. Our hands touched and I felt a static bolt run up my arm. I grabbed both of her hands and said, “For each can you knock over, I will reveal something personal about me, and likewise, each time I hit a can, you will have to share something about yourself.” It kind of sounds dumb as I think about it now, though, at the time, I made it out to be a sort of “Truth or Dare,” only I never mentioned the “Dare” part. What I did know was that I was skilled at the art of throwing rocks and therefore, held an advantage.

She stood at the established distance and threw the first rock, missing by at least 2 feet. I hurled my first rock and nailed a can. I looked at her and said, “OK, let’s have it. Enlighten me.”  She took a few steps toward me until she was straight in front of me and staring directly at me. I was so struck by those green eyes, but I noticed a quick one-sided smile appear, and a dimple appeared on her right cheek.  She rose up on her toes and whispered in my ear.  “I’ve seen you around before, know a little about you, and I’ve always thought that I’d like to meet you.”  Before lowering herself back to flat feet, she gave me a little peck on the cheek.  I found myself in need of a different kind of gauge to monitor my elevated heartbeat, my heavy breathing, and what I can imagine was an increased amount of sweat leaving my body. She said, “Now, share something about you.” I regained my composure and informed her that she would be required to knock over a can.   She returned to her mark, took careful aim, and hurled her second rock, making a big splash in the puddle, but missing the cans. With my next rock, I sent another can flying with a loud clink.  She approached and again, chose to whisper her secret.  “I ….. I ….. I suck at throwing rocks.” With some argument over that being an appropriate answer, I decided to allow it and was rewarded with a kiss on my ear.  I released my rock, banishing the third can.  Again, she approached, and whispered, “I want to kiss you.”  Our eyes met, and we kissed somewhat deeply, and now, I think both of us were having trouble maintaining our composure. She threw again and missed again, but before I could find another rock, she strolled toward the remaining can and gave it a kick, and said, “Oops! I lose, so I will reveal one more thing.  She kissed me hard again, and whispered, “I want you.”

I am embarrassed to share these sordid details, but the details are by my belief, integral to the story. I’ll just say that it was clumsy, awkward, funny, and HOT, HOT, HOT.  We managed to find a rhythm, and in the cramped back seat of that convertible, we explored each other.  We learned each other, and I can still see her in my mind’s eye, moonlight shining through a clearing in the trees and sweat glistening on her body.  I made mention of the cramped back seat because as you can probably imagine, the best position was with her on top.  As we both moved, her grasp of me got tighter, movements more hurried, and I began to feel, well, you know.  So I attempted to extricate myself, but she was “there,” and she pressed hard against me and whispered huskily for me not to stop.  I possessed neither the desire nor the ability.”

to be continued……

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