Bellwether

I removed the bread crumbs from the mats and seats in my Camry in anticipation for our date. I remember washing my car and meticulously applying Armor-All to each tire, making sure the polish didn't drip into the rim.

When I entered the house, my mom and dad both asked me if I needed some help getting ready; me going on a date was as alien to them as it was to me. I played it off and marched straight into the bathroom, massaging my head with gel and studying hair's stubborn ways. The barber had cut it too short that day. I told myself that hair wasn't a big deal, that no one cared, but spent an hour staring at it anyway. When the time drew near, I grabbed my Red Hot Chili Peppers "By The Way" single and jumped into my car. I checked to see that the gas was at "F", put on the CD, and drove to your house, excited and scared out of my mind.

I don't remember if I prayed to God before knocking on your door. If I didn't, that's only because I forgot to.

Your mom gave me a full interrogation:

Where are you going to college?

Where are you taking my daughter?

What is your SAT score?

I was deathly nervous, but determined to win your mom over. I gave the answers any mother would love to hear, each capped with my signature smile. At the end, she seemed relaxed and accepting, and hoped to see me back around. It was a first, minor victory, I thought, and hoped it was an omen of good things to come.

That didn't happen. Four days later, you said it wasn't working out. I was devastated. I replayed scenes from our date over and over, counting the awkward silences and flat jokes that I knew I could fix. For those next few months, I was inconsolable. I spent many nights drinking Coke and listening to "By The Way" hundreds of times, wishing I could show up to your house as Anthony Kiedis and take you away forever. My melancholy wouldn't last very long - senior year quickly came to an end, and before long, I was off to Northern California where I would have much better luck than I ever did with you.

Some of the disappointment I suffered has stayed with me, like cigarette smoke lingering in a closed room. But for what it's worth, I did want to say this: when you ended it, you had nothing but the kindest words for me to hear. I didn't want to listen, but those words stayed with me. I know now that everything you said was the absolute truth, and in time I've learned to appreciate them. Thank you.

You know, your name comes up in conversation here and there. And after all these years, I find myself smiling and hoping that you're doing well, wherever you are.