“For Pete’s sake, Pete! Stop! Turn off the motor. Get out! I am driving!”
I should’ve known better than to let this town boy drive my 1978 Ford F-250. Hell! He didn’t know what a manual transmission was. While he hadn’t scraped the gears too much, I was tired of the “What do you mean?” every time I gave him an instruction. That’s what I get for thinking this cute, preppy towny’s pleading to drive my truck was sweet.
Pete, thankfully, eased the truck to a stop, turned off the ignition and got out. I had both feet on the ground before the truck stopped moving and stalked around the front of my baby and gently patted the hood, causing Pete, who was standing by the driver’s door, to look at me like I was crazy. I decided that I was crazy for even thinking about letting anyone besides me drive this fine machine I had spent five years restoring.
“Annie, why did you tell me to stop? And turn off the motor?”
If this guy asked one more question like that, I was going to leave him standing in the middle of this back road and hope his cell phone got a signal so he could call 9-1-1 for a ride back to town. If anyone could find him, that is.
“Never mind why. Just get in – on the other side. I am driving this truck the way it deserves to be driven.”
I got in, slammed the door, pushed in the clutch, held the brake, cranked the motor over and revved it a couple of times. And looked through the windshield at Pete whose expression told me that he apparently thought I was mistreating the truck. Hell! That 460 could take it. It was built for danger.
“Are you going to get in or stand here?” I yelled at Pete.
He shrugged, walked to the passenger side of the truck and climbed in. “Where are we going now?”
"Places you’ll regret,” I told him, shoved the shifter into first and peeled out. From the corner of my eye I saw him reaching for a shoulder strap but this vintage vehicle only had a lap belt. A ninety-degree curve was just ahead and I fish-tailed around it, causing Pete to gasp. I hoped he didn’t upchuck; even though the bench seat was vinyl-clad, it’d be weeks before the smell disappeared.
I should’ve known better than to let this town boy drive my 1978 Ford F-250. Hell! He didn’t know what a manual transmission was. While he hadn’t scraped the gears too much, I was tired of the “What do you mean?” every time I gave him an instruction. That’s what I get for thinking this cute, preppy towny’s pleading to drive my truck was sweet.
Pete, thankfully, eased the truck to a stop, turned off the ignition and got out. I had both feet on the ground before the truck stopped moving and stalked around the front of my baby and gently patted the hood, causing Pete, who was standing by the driver’s door, to look at me like I was crazy. I decided that I was crazy for even thinking about letting anyone besides me drive this fine machine I had spent five years restoring.
“Annie, why did you tell me to stop? And turn off the motor?”
If this guy asked one more question like that, I was going to leave him standing in the middle of this back road and hope his cell phone got a signal so he could call 9-1-1 for a ride back to town. If anyone could find him, that is.
“Never mind why. Just get in – on the other side. I am driving this truck the way it deserves to be driven.”
I got in, slammed the door, pushed in the clutch, held the brake, cranked the motor over and revved it a couple of times. And looked through the windshield at Pete whose expression told me that he apparently thought I was mistreating the truck. Hell! That 460 could take it. It was built for danger.
“Are you going to get in or stand here?” I yelled at Pete.
He shrugged, walked to the passenger side of the truck and climbed in. “Where are we going now?”
"Places you’ll regret,” I told him, shoved the shifter into first and peeled out. From the corner of my eye I saw him reaching for a shoulder strap but this vintage vehicle only had a lap belt. A ninety-degree curve was just ahead and I fish-tailed around it, causing Pete to gasp. I hoped he didn’t upchuck; even though the bench seat was vinyl-clad, it’d be weeks before the smell disappeared.
A hundred miles later, I dropped Pete off at his new fully-automatic Camry in Walmart’s parking lot. He didn’t even bother to say good-bye, have a nice evening, or I’ll see you later. I snickered as I watched him carefully click his key fob to unlock his city ride. I peeled out of the parking lot, hoping to make him jump, but didn’t look in the mirrors to see if he did.
This was one of those Saturday evenings I would have appreciated a good bar in this one-horse more-pious-than-thou burgh. If people knew how well-stocked the home bars were of the city council members who’d put in a city ordinance banning bars, there would be a major revolt.
I didn’t want to drive another hundred miles just to find a bar so cruised past Lance’s house to see if he was home. He was. I pulled into the driveway and laid on the horn.
A minute later, Lance flung open the front door and yelled, “Why can’t you just come to the door and knock like normal people?”
I shut the motor down, got out, walked the five steps to the front porch, and replied, “What fun would that be?”
“Annie, if it wasn’t the twenty-first century, and you’re packing a cell phone instead of a forty-five, you’d definitely be an outlaw. Come on in.”
I entered Lance’s neat-as-a-pin residence. How anyone managed to keep house like this eluded me. But Lance did. One of the many reasons we could never live together. Oh, we had tried, and tried, and tried. And gave up, and gave up, and gave up. I’m not sure if it was my lack of housekeeping skills that kept us separated most of the time, or that we were both leery of commitment, or the fireworks that appeared whenever we spent any length of time together.
While I took someone for an occasional non-romantic wild ride like this afternoon, Lance was my one and only and had been since we were small children. I’m sure he felt the same way about me as he had never seriously dated anyone else, even though a few luscious females had tried to snare him.
“Got any Maker’s?” I asked.
“As always,” he replied. “You know where it is.”
So much for getting Lance to wait on me.
I retrieved the Maker’s from the top shelf of the Hoosier cupboard, got a shot glass from the bow-front china cabinet, and sat at the round oak table Lance had refinished one of the times we thought we could survive more than two weeks together. We did last three weeks that time.
“I’ve already heard about your mistreatment of Pete,” Lance said. “Damn! What did you mean?”
“I didn’t do anything that I’ve not done before,” I said while pouring a short shot. All I really wanted the bourbon for was the aroma. Mmmm . . .
Lance snorted. He had a good idea where I had taken Pete, as he’d been on a ride or two through that country with me himself. “I’m surprised he didn’t kiss the ground when he got out.”
I snorted at that one. “He probably felt like it. I was a little rough on him. Couldn’t help myself.”
“Damn it, Annie. You’re gonna get yourself killed one of these days with those crazy driving stunts you pull. Then what am I gonna do?”
Hmmm . . . Lance must be ready for another trial run at commitment and sharing a residence.
“You know I wouldn’t do anything that’d scratch my truck.”
“No, you wouldn’t. Guess that’s a blessing.”
“Got any Maker’s?” I asked.
“As always,” he replied. “You know where it is.”
So much for getting Lance to wait on me.
I retrieved the Maker’s from the top shelf of the Hoosier cupboard, got a shot glass from the bow-front china cabinet, and sat at the round oak table Lance had refinished one of the times we thought we could survive more than two weeks together. We did last three weeks that time.
“I’ve already heard about your mistreatment of Pete,” Lance said. “Damn! What did you mean?”
“I didn’t do anything that I’ve not done before,” I said while pouring a short shot. All I really wanted the bourbon for was the aroma. Mmmm . . .
Lance snorted. He had a good idea where I had taken Pete, as he’d been on a ride or two through that country with me himself. “I’m surprised he didn’t kiss the ground when he got out.”
I snorted at that one. “He probably felt like it. I was a little rough on him. Couldn’t help myself.”
“Damn it, Annie. You’re gonna get yourself killed one of these days with those crazy driving stunts you pull. Then what am I gonna do?”
Hmmm . . . Lance must be ready for another trial run at commitment and sharing a residence.
“You know I wouldn’t do anything that’d scratch my truck.”
“No, you wouldn’t. Guess that’s a blessing.”
Lance had been in the process of preparing supper when I interrupted. I knew he always cooked enough for at least a half dozen people so I sat at the table while supper was simmering on the stove. We talked about the local events, gossip or not, the weather, a couple of movies we’d like to see, and when Lance removed the cast iron skillet holding freshly baked cornbread from the oven, I got up and set the table. We enjoyed a meal of pintos, a mix of mustard, kale and poke greens, potato salad and dressed eggs. Maybe I should move in with Lance. Damn! I could cook, but he was a much better cook than I was.
Supper finished, I cleared the table and did the dishes, a job I thoroughly despise. I figured Lance was getting suspicious of my actions and his question proved it.
“Annie, why did you come by here?”
I stopped drying my hands on the dish towel and hung it on the rack by the sink. “I don’t know, Lance. It just seemed the thing to do at the moment.”
I didn’t tell him I’d been missing him like crazy while he was working construction out of town. We hadn’t seen each other for a month.
I loved Lance and had for years, but I never knew how to talk to him about our relationship. I wanted to be with him as much as possible, but we were so volatile when together very long, that I didn’t know if we could work around that.
Sometimes he would attempt a conversation about it, but soon dropped it, and we would wind up in bed together, enjoying a passionate evening, and peacefully coexisting for at least one night. Why we couldn’t combine all those nights and work them into our days so we could live together halfway calmly was something I didn’t understand.
I sat down at the table. “Lance, you know I love you, always have. Why can’t we get along when we’re under the same roof?”
He sat down beside me. “I don’t know. I wish I did so we could fix it. I love you, too, since first grade.” Lance reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “You were hanging from the monkey bars, daring some big kid to try to get you down.”
I laughed. “That big kid is now the high school principal and I think he’s still pissed he couldn’t get me off the monkey bars from the way he glowers at me when I’m waiting on him in the hardware store.”
Lance didn’t laugh. I looked at him. He was watching me, a much more serious expression on his face than I expected.
“What?” I asked.
“What? Annie, you know what. We love each other and can’t live together. I don’t know if it’s your outlaw nature or my need for tranquility that brings on the fights. Whichever, we bring out the best and the worst in each other.”
I looked at Lance with dread. Surely he wasn’t dumping me. No, he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. What would I do without him?
“What are you saying?”
“Are you willing to give us another try? And this time, try to understand that we are two different people whose basic personalities are nowhere near the same. I need to do that, too. I want you to be more sedate and that’s not in your nature. You want me to be more of a daredevil and that’s not in my nature. Can we just understand we’re different people who love each other like mad but can’t change our basic personalities? I know. I’ve got to work on that as well as you do.”
“Lance . . .” I didn’t know what to say. I felt the same way. I knew our love for each other was strong, but was I strong enough to not give in to my fiery disposition? I would have to be if I wanted this man in my life forever. “Lance, all I can tell you is that I will do my best.”
“That’s all I needed to hear.” He leaned over, gave me a gentle kiss, and asked, “Do you want to move in tomorrow?”
He sat down beside me. “I don’t know. I wish I did so we could fix it. I love you, too, since first grade.” Lance reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “You were hanging from the monkey bars, daring some big kid to try to get you down.”
I laughed. “That big kid is now the high school principal and I think he’s still pissed he couldn’t get me off the monkey bars from the way he glowers at me when I’m waiting on him in the hardware store.”
Lance didn’t laugh. I looked at him. He was watching me, a much more serious expression on his face than I expected.
“What?” I asked.
“What? Annie, you know what. We love each other and can’t live together. I don’t know if it’s your outlaw nature or my need for tranquility that brings on the fights. Whichever, we bring out the best and the worst in each other.”
I looked at Lance with dread. Surely he wasn’t dumping me. No, he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. What would I do without him?
“What are you saying?”
“Are you willing to give us another try? And this time, try to understand that we are two different people whose basic personalities are nowhere near the same. I need to do that, too. I want you to be more sedate and that’s not in your nature. You want me to be more of a daredevil and that’s not in my nature. Can we just understand we’re different people who love each other like mad but can’t change our basic personalities? I know. I’ve got to work on that as well as you do.”
“Lance . . .” I didn’t know what to say. I felt the same way. I knew our love for each other was strong, but was I strong enough to not give in to my fiery disposition? I would have to be if I wanted this man in my life forever. “Lance, all I can tell you is that I will do my best.”
“That’s all I needed to hear.” He leaned over, gave me a gentle kiss, and asked, “Do you want to move in tomorrow?”
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