The Date

I pulled the car up to her house and watched her make the short trip down the front porch and through the waist-high whitewashed wooden gate.  She was beautiful and I was briefly nervous about the evening.  This was my first time doing anything like this and I wanted to do everything perfectly and everything exactly right or it might never happen again.

            She slid into the passenger seat and said her hellos and I responded in kind.

            “You know, this is really sweet of you to pick me up like this.  I could have taken a cab.  You didn’t have to waste the gas with it being so goddamn expensive.”

            I nodded in silent agreement regarding the gas prices that I really had no control over, yet must succumb to just the same as everyone else, and yet everyone seems to make the same complaints.

            I quickly pulled the car away from her house that sat in the darkness like a silent monk who knew everything, yet refused to give up his silence vow.

            She looked over the interior of the car.  It was brand new.  Upholstery that smelled of amalgamated vinyl and leather.  A CD/MP3 radio installed in the dash.  Everything a guy could want for his most supreme of automobiles.

            “You know, you look familiar,” she began to say “My friend told me you were cute, but what she didn’t tell me was your age.  How old are you?”

            I responded immediately, “Does that matter?”

            “Well, no.  Not really.  I was just curious.  Where did you say you were from?”

            I stared out at the road silently, hoping to avoid the question.  I turned on the stereo and she flipped it back off immediately.  We sat in a disturbing silence that seemed to last for an eternity.

            “Why won’t you answer me?  Where were you born?  Where were you raised?  We’ve been driving for awhile now and you haven’t said more than five words to me the whole time.  When you spoke to me on the phone earlier, you were a chatterbox.  The only thing I can’t get from you is where you’re from and how old you are.”

            I snapped.  “Are you a cop?” My foot pressed the accelerator to the floor a bit harder, my anger flourished.  That goddamn mutual friend bullshit really chapped my ass.  A blind date is supposed to be completely blind to all aspects of your personality.  Why did she set me up like this with someone who wants to know who does my taxes for fuck’s sake?

            The drive was going smoothly until I noticed a pair of cherry-tops in my rearview mirror.  Damn.  I pulled the car off the road and my date’s eyes were wide as she smoothed her skirt and tightened her seatbelt.

            I reached behind the visor and retrieved a fake ID that corresponded with the fake plates and fake auto registration.

            “Are we still going to the movie?”  My date’s voice trembled, and her hands climbed her mountainous body to her mouth where she began to chew her nails.

            “Yes.  The movie is still okay.  Just don’t say anything, okay?”

            Her eyes narrowed.  I had said the wrong thing.  “You’re acting funny.”

            After what seemed like an hour, I watched through the side mirror the image of the police officer, clad in fall clothing, walk the distance from his car to my window.