Kansas Summer

Dinner With The Jacksons

Saturday finally rolls around, and I have nothing to prepare for the Jacksons, despite my reassurances to Jenna (I have been getting calls every hour) that I have something ready. Now, I am pacing around the small room we call a kitchen, trying to find something that I can quickly put together. I have two hours. My eyes dart around everywhere, looking for something, anything. I am desperate.

I spy three boxes of macaroni and cheese. There. That should be enough to feed everyone, and I know how to make it. I snatch the boxes off of the shelf and set them next to the stove. Even though it may not be the most elaborate dinner, I will show Jenna that I can indeed cook. Smiling, I head to the shower to finish my preparations for the night that was to come.

I take pride in my hygiene. My hair is washed twice, and my teeth are brushed for five minutes. I want to be able to smell the minty freshness in my head. I am glued to the mirror for about half an hour combing an obnoxious loose hair. It won't stay down like all of its other identical siblings, so it frustrates me to no end. Finally, it forces me to run to the desk and fetch a pair of scissors. My hand shakes as I search for the exact hairs on my head. I don't see how the barber makes it look so easy, but eventually I find the right ones, and with a single snip, my hair is straight again. I smile at my reflection. I can almost see the twinkle as my reflection grins back.

I throw on a clean, white t-shirt that is clean, despite the presence of several wrinkles. However, I don't think it will really matter to Jenna. My leather jacket goes on on top of that, and I place my cap snugly on my head. Before I leave, I scribble a letter to my dad, reminding him of the engagement I have tonight, and then, grabbing my truck keys and the macaroni, I depart.

The drive to Jenna's house is shorter than I remember it. It might seem short because I have my Alan Jackson tape in the player and singing it enroute. Whatever the reason for the brevity of my course, I could only think of Jenna. Her voice sounded so angelic over the phone that I can only imagine seeing her in person again. I find that I arrive at the Jackson place sooner than I want to.

I turn off the engine of my truck, but don't get out of it. I take a moment to sit and figure out what I'm about to say. When I finish thinking through my scenario through, I get out of my truck, pushing the door slowly closed. I take a deep breath and walk up to the door, delivering three solid knocks.

Jenna opens the door almost immediately, making me think that she had been watching for my truck to drive up. I look at her clothes. She is wearing a white top and a black skirt; Jenna looks a lot better than I do.

“I'm sorry,” I mutter, “I didn't know that I was supposed to dress up.” Jenna smiles and laughs.

“Come on in!” she invites me, “May I take your coat?” I don't refuse, and I allow her to take it and hang it up. “Lemonade?” I pause for a second. She has hit my weakness. I don't have to say anything, and she hands me a glass, full to the brim with the yellowish nectar.

“Thanks a lot,” I tell her after I down half the glass. I love that stuff.

“I hope you brought something for dinner,” Jenna remarks.

“Yeah, I have something,” I beam proudly, showing off my two macaroni and cheese boxes. I don't think that I have ever heard Jenna laugh so much in my life. “What's so funny?” I ask, dumbfounded.

“Oh, Colin, if there's one thing that I have learned from my dad, it's that you can never trust a guy to make food.”

I am a little hurt, but I see her humor in her statement. “I can cook,” I tell her indignantly.

“But three boxes of macaroni?” she mocks.

“Well, I don't really have anything else,” I confess.