anyway.
“Okay, okay. I’ll wear the dress.” After tearing off the jeans, I wadded them into a ball and tossed them into the corner. “What about you and Chase? Spelunking or date?”
“I’m still working on him. Later. Smooches.” She hung up.
I put on the dress and after a few minutes standing in front of the mirror, I had to admit the dress seemed a better choice for the balmy evening. The weather, not Petra or Rom, dictated my choice I assured myself. Topping the dress with a light half-sleeve sweater would cover the scar on my arm. I wouldn’t worry about the scratch on my leg.
Convincing my mother to allow me to leave home that night had been impossible until I told her about my date. Then her entire face lit up with a smile. She couldn’t agree fast enough at that point. Mom barely remembered to make a perfunctory inquiry about whether I’d finished my homework, which of course I said I had. Although “finished” was a stretch. So when Rom arrived promptly at seven p.m., Mom practically danced to the door to answer it.
She saw Rom, sharply dressed in a white shirt over jeans topped with a black jacket, and she glanced at me with a gleam in her eyes. Was that a thumbs up she gave behind his back as he walked in? All my strength went into preventing an eye roll.
At least Mom didn’t interrogate him. She did however, bring up my stepfather and his deployment to Iraq as if the fact he had access to guns would intimidate Rom out of trying anything funny.
Rom accepted it all with his signature twist of a smile, assuring Mom my care would be of “preeminence” to him. With Mom’s admonition to be home by 10 p.m. and “have fun, honey,” we were finally out the door.
Outside a red and rust Mustang, probably 1980s vintage, sat at the curb.
“My chariot awaits.” Rom made a sweeping arm gesture toward the car.
“Wow,” I exclaimed running toward the Mustang. “I didn’t know you had your license already.”
What a dumb thing to say , I thought. Talk about stating the obvious. Duh.
“I have attained my sixteenth year,” Rom said with a smile.
We both reached for the passenger door handle at the same time, but Rom beat me to it. Opening the door, he waited while I got inside before he closed it after me. I have to admit it made me feel pretty special.
A short drive later, we came to a stop in the parking lot of Forsyth Park. Rom twisted toward me in the seat.
“I am thinking we dine in the air.” He pointed to the picnic basket in the back seat.
“You mean al fresco?”
He grinned. “Just so.”
Grinning back I threw my hands up. “Sounds great to me.”
The fast setting sun just peaked over the tree line as we walked down the center of the park, talking about school. Rom laughed about an incident in his math class and I noted that I’d almost received detention in science class. We made our way past the civil war monument at the park’s center, and then veered off eastward toward the band shell area.
A few people jogged the perimeter of the park. A dozen or so sat lounging on the grass or were milling about on the interior sidewalks. But as no music activities were taking place tonight, our destination was relatively empty. The band shell was situated with a fountain at its front shooting water in two separate arcs. Along the backside was a concrete building known as the Fort, which had been used for troop maneuvers during WWI and now housed a visitor center and a coffee shop.
The stage, defined by a semi-circle of columns and topped by a white sail shaped roof, was vacant. After proceeding onto the stage, Rom placed the picnic basket down, opened it and took out a blanket, which he then spread out for us to sit on. The rest of the basket's contents consisted of drinks, sandwiches and chips. I might have spotted brownies in there too. We made short order of unpacking the food and drink.
The western sky went pink and gold as the sunset.
“Where are you from?” After
“Okay, okay. I’ll wear the dress.” After tearing off the jeans, I wadded them into a ball and tossed them into the corner. “What about you and Chase? Spelunking or date?”
“I’m still working on him. Later. Smooches.” She hung up.
I put on the dress and after a few minutes standing in front of the mirror, I had to admit the dress seemed a better choice for the balmy evening. The weather, not Petra or Rom, dictated my choice I assured myself. Topping the dress with a light half-sleeve sweater would cover the scar on my arm. I wouldn’t worry about the scratch on my leg.
Convincing my mother to allow me to leave home that night had been impossible until I told her about my date. Then her entire face lit up with a smile. She couldn’t agree fast enough at that point. Mom barely remembered to make a perfunctory inquiry about whether I’d finished my homework, which of course I said I had. Although “finished” was a stretch. So when Rom arrived promptly at seven p.m., Mom practically danced to the door to answer it.
She saw Rom, sharply dressed in a white shirt over jeans topped with a black jacket, and she glanced at me with a gleam in her eyes. Was that a thumbs up she gave behind his back as he walked in? All my strength went into preventing an eye roll.
At least Mom didn’t interrogate him. She did however, bring up my stepfather and his deployment to Iraq as if the fact he had access to guns would intimidate Rom out of trying anything funny.
Rom accepted it all with his signature twist of a smile, assuring Mom my care would be of “preeminence” to him. With Mom’s admonition to be home by 10 p.m. and “have fun, honey,” we were finally out the door.
Outside a red and rust Mustang, probably 1980s vintage, sat at the curb.
“My chariot awaits.” Rom made a sweeping arm gesture toward the car.
“Wow,” I exclaimed running toward the Mustang. “I didn’t know you had your license already.”
What a dumb thing to say , I thought. Talk about stating the obvious. Duh.
“I have attained my sixteenth year,” Rom said with a smile.
We both reached for the passenger door handle at the same time, but Rom beat me to it. Opening the door, he waited while I got inside before he closed it after me. I have to admit it made me feel pretty special.
A short drive later, we came to a stop in the parking lot of Forsyth Park. Rom twisted toward me in the seat.
“I am thinking we dine in the air.” He pointed to the picnic basket in the back seat.
“You mean al fresco?”
He grinned. “Just so.”
Grinning back I threw my hands up. “Sounds great to me.”
The fast setting sun just peaked over the tree line as we walked down the center of the park, talking about school. Rom laughed about an incident in his math class and I noted that I’d almost received detention in science class. We made our way past the civil war monument at the park’s center, and then veered off eastward toward the band shell area.
A few people jogged the perimeter of the park. A dozen or so sat lounging on the grass or were milling about on the interior sidewalks. But as no music activities were taking place tonight, our destination was relatively empty. The band shell was situated with a fountain at its front shooting water in two separate arcs. Along the backside was a concrete building known as the Fort, which had been used for troop maneuvers during WWI and now housed a visitor center and a coffee shop.
The stage, defined by a semi-circle of columns and topped by a white sail shaped roof, was vacant. After proceeding onto the stage, Rom placed the picnic basket down, opened it and took out a blanket, which he then spread out for us to sit on. The rest of the basket's contents consisted of drinks, sandwiches and chips. I might have spotted brownies in there too. We made short order of unpacking the food and drink.
The western sky went pink and gold as the sunset.
“Where are you from?” After
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