The Alabama air was hot, heavy and wet as we sat in her car. Her name escapes me but her car was a red fox body Mustang convertible with a white top and grey interior. I was a senior in high school and she a senior in college. My first serious girlfriend.
The rain had let up just in time for the town’s annual Independence Day fireworks. We sat watching the exploding colors in the sky. The dampness made it difficult for the pyrotechnicians to do their job. Sporadically the mortars sounded their report celebrating the end of a war by imitating the sounds of war. Ironic.
The multi-colored sparkling display that we were expecting never came. Instead, we were to be entertained by a series of disappointing and poorly timed blasts. This was no way to celebrate. I’d had a very tiring day at work. It’s amazing how many people want pizza on the fourth of July.
I sank deeper into the seat; leaning back to get a better view of the display that would surely be improving soon. She caressed my thigh, gently, adding to my comfort and exacerbating my exhaustion. As we sat in the church parking lot watching the vacant sky the day began to catch up with my eyelids.
“Let me know if something comes up.” I said to her, hoping that a few minutes with my eyes closed would allow me to enjoy the evening a bit longer.
“You let me know.” She replied, still stroking my thigh slowly and intently.
In my naiveté I didn’t understand that she had plans that would have eliminated boredom for both of us. Instead, I opened my eyes, returned my seat to its upright position and said “Okay.” I was ready to wait for the explosions in the sky, completely unaware that I was missing out on explosions right there in the car. She never explained what she wanted. It would be quite some time before I realized that I’d missed every teenager’s dream opportunity that night.
I am often taken by just how little we know when we are young.
chas
I know what you mean.