My Redacted Life Chapter 20 (Cont._4)

My first date with young Brenda Cole was coming to a close. We left Arkansas Fats after a beer and drove back to the apartment building. I invited her in for a glass of wine. Surprisingly, she accepted. I seem to remember we sat and talked, but I can’t remember everything. I know she told me a bit about growing up as a farmer’s daughter.

I was terribly interested, and made every effort to express it in my demeanor.

Perhaps I played some music on the cheap phonograph I bought while in college for the express purpose of listening to Bob Dylan records. I still had some of them, but she didn’t seem like a Bob Dylan sort of girl. In all likelihood, I simply sat and stared, mostly, while she talked.

She asked, could she smoke? I was up like a flash and back with a saucer to use as an ashtray, making a mental note to purchase one. I did have a book of matches from some bar. She lit up and gave me a severe look that said, “This is as relaxed as I will get.”

I was emboldened by the wine.

I did tell her about getting my draft notice and hurriedly joining the Navy to keep from going to Vietnam, and how well that had worked out for me. This made her laugh. She finished the cigarette, mashed it in saucer and handed it to me. When I returned from putting the saucer away, I sat beside her. She didn’t shoo me away.

Summoning up the level of courage it took a WWII GI to charge a machine-gun nest, and helped by the wine, I ventured a kiss. To my surprise, she acquiesced. Not overly enthusiastic she was, but she didn’t slap me, which was an alternative response I had considered in planning the venture.

I was in what I imagined Heaven to be, except for the faint taste of smoke. “Well,” I said, “that was nice,” or something equally stupid.

Then she said, “I’ve got to go.” Just like that. She stood, straightened her long hair and said, It’s been interesting.” Not fun, but interesting?

I was devasted.

The wine became my pal again. “Tomorrow night?” I managed.

Dreams are dreams. I was
free to pick my own.

“We’ll see,” she said.

“We’ll see?” What the hell was that supposed to mean? Unless she got a better offer? Unless her basketball coach came to town? Unless her pals convinced her it might not be safe to pal around with an Arkansas Fats habitué?

I was encouraged.

At least she didn’t say, “No.” Instead, she said, “You don’t have to walk me upstairs. I think I can find the way.” I saw through that one. She knew there would be two sets of eyes peeking through curtains to see how the adventure ended: her sisters tried and true, Vernell and Rita. She wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction.

I was polite and understanding.

She stopped at the door, stood on her tiptoes, gave me a quick “peck,” and exited. The soft smell of her hair and perfume remained, but she was gone.

Me? I was lost forever.