The Hero with the Honda

Dr. Sherwood Wolf-Palmarium

 

          This time, it’s different. There’s no keyboard to hide behind. The soothing sounds of Death From Above 1979 are nowhere to be found. No backspace key to protect me. I’m vulnerable and I’m pretty sure it shows. Warcraft did nothing to train me for the dating world. You can’t respawn in real-life. If I mess up, I’m done. As good as blocked on MSN. I can’t blame it on lag this time.

          I am not going to get through this car-ride easily.

          I can see it now: <spoilers> our budding relationship – time of death: March 7^th, 2006 at approximately 11:42 P.M. Cause of death: lame joke. </spoilers>

          After 6 months, she’ll walk out of my life forever. All of this meticulous planning my friends and I conducted, all of the accidental meetings and the coincidental alone time squandered.

          Wasted.

          It seems that I’ve been organizing my life around hers. To coincide with where she is at every given time of the school day in order to bump into her.

+1 Suave.

          “Obsessed” isn’t the right word, but it’s the first word that comes to mind.

          Even this very ‘opportunity’ for ‘progress’ had been planned. Robert had offered a ride home to one too many people and she was the odd-girl out. And there I was. The man with his parents’ car. The hero with the Honda.

          At this very point and time, it’s silent. I’m failing. Every minute is a mile closer to her home. Regression every wasted breath.

          “So, Rob’s crazy, eh?” She said. Finally.

          OMG. This isn’t a lost cause.

          “Yeah! Well, yeah, he is. I’m not disagreeing with you. I totally agree. He’s crazy, but not the mentally handicapped crazy. I’d never laugh at someone with a disability. Yeah, crazy.” My brain – 404: Item Not Found.

          If only life had an undo button. But if that were the case, a lot of people wouldn’t exist.

          I guess it’s for the better.

          “He was very weird tonight. He kept looking at me, smiling and looking away…I think he may have a crush on me.” She concluded.

          “He was doing the same thing to me…but I don’t think he has a crush on me. I hope he doesn’t, at least. I mean, if he were gay, I’d have no problem with it. It’s just that…you know, Alex would probably be upset.” And fade to silence. Right now, I’m convinced I blew it. The whole thing. Everything.

          Wasted.

          It’s time for a miracle. Something biblical…I think that’s a Muse lyric. I have to save this opportunity, if not myself.

          The equivalent of polishing the brass on the Titanic.

          Like satin in a coffin.

          Yeah, I’m deep. The kids on MySpace would agree. Tom too.

          “This may sound creepy or whatever, but I’m glad he couldn’t give you a ride home.” That was the beat that my heart skipped.

          “Me too.” She adds.

          OMG.

          Count that as the first time she has ever shown any sort of affection towards me. I think you can mark this down as a victory. Just wait until the hunters in my guild hear about this.

          When she said that, she looked at me. And while that may sound like nothing, I once read in Cosmopolitan that eye contact is a good sign. Just so you know, I was reading it at the orthodontist’s office. It’s not like I have a subscription or anything. I was just bored.

          But I digress. What’s really important is that she looked at me. And in that moment, I wanted to grab her and kiss her. Romantically. But there are a number of problems with that.

One: I’m driving a car. I’m not known for my multi-tasking.

Two: What if she pulls away? I’m screwed. Totally awkward.

Three: I’m pretty sure ambushing her like that is an early symptom of a rapist.

“It’s only a few kilometers ahead on the right.” The words dance from her mouth and into my ear canals like only the finest music is capable of. I could totally be a romance writer.

My car is not ideal for night driving. What kind of person needs windows with this amount of tint? What were my parents thinking? Or planning? Gross. I don’t even want to think about it. My headlights aren’t the greatest either. What a combination. What I’m driving is a 1998 Honda Ghost Car.

          Out of my growing fear of silence, I strike up a conversation about families.

According to Cosmo: -2 Intelligence.

Turns out, she has a sister and her parents are still together. Non-divorced parents…a rarity. Today’s average family is going through more combinations than the guy from "Memento" trying to open his gym locker. Today, we have stepparents, half-brothers, surrogate mothers, first wives, foster kids, and adoptive parents.

Oh, and she has a dog. A dog she loves. Her whole family, quite simply, adores. I believe her wording was, “I love it a butt-load.” Seriously. She actually said that. Weird.

Its name is Askem. You see, the family had a joke where if someone asked what the dog’s name is, they’d reply, “Askem”. Hilarious. If you don’t get it, sound it out. It’s not that hard. Here’s a hint: it’s supposed to sound like, “ask him.” Get it?

Well anyways, they found it on the side of the road one day. She actually went on about how much she loved the dog. It had grown to be a part of her personality and being.

She described him as having a long silky gray coat, with an oddly striped tail similar to a raccoon’s, and great tufted ears.

How eloquent.

She suddenly burst into laughter. Is this a joke? Am I being set up? Like the “Truman Show” or something. Oh God. But she finally concludes, “Sorry. It must sound silly to love something that ugly.”

I laugh. But out of relief. What she said wasn’t that funny.

On the right hand of the road shines her mailbox with her family’s surname on it. How perfect. And easy. Even for the Ghost Car to spot.

+4 Navigation. I’m a regular Magellan.

“Here you are, Madame.” My voice cracks as I spurt out my best attempt at wit. She graciously steps out the car door and turns, leaning down slightly with her head back in the car, and looking at me. Those early symptoms of a rapist start arising. But that’s not the only thing acting up.

She’s much prettier than her display picture gives her credit for.

“We should get together again sometime.” It seems like she draws out the enunciation of every syllable. The breath of her words lingers around the edges of my ear. And then it hits my pants.

Let’s just say that I’m glad the car is dark.

“’Kay.” My voice is pretty much non-existent. But I try to act cool. I lie to myself: ‘what are you doing? This happens all of time.’ Riiiiiiight.

“Goodnight!” and she’s gone. It’s over. I made it.

w00t.

+86 Progress.

There is no emoticon that does my current mood justice.

All that’s left to do is go home, I suppose.  I slowly back out of her driveway, recalling every event, second by second. If you couldn’t figure it out, my mind wasn’t exactly on driving.

My brain: <AFK>

As I started down the road, I feel a bump beneath the wheels. Front and back. Too small to be a human. Too big to be a rabbit.

I stop and carefully step out of my Ghost Car.  In front of the car there laid a small dark mound silhouetted by the reflection of the moon’s glare. I could see fur rustling in the light breeze.  My heart fell as my eyes adjusted to the scene before me.

Tufted ears.  Silky gray coat.  A raccoon tail.  The only differences between this dog and the one my dear amour so lovingly described a few minutes earlier were the glazed eyes and the small trickle of blood that escaped out of its mouth. 

Askem is dead.

Wasted.

“Oh shit.”

How eloquent.