If it ever ends….. Was
this the question she asked herself all evening? Was she deciding what to do once the evening
finally expired? Was she sorry she’d
agreed to this date?
Adolescent fears are mostly exaggerated feelings that spin
around too much self-absorption. My
fears and insecurities were no exception.
So, I did the usual thing and went way over the top trying to impress
this new girl whose life intersected with mine in a most unlikely way.
We drove along Blue Ridge Boulevard and through Swope Park
and I talked about the mysteries of Colonel Swope. (The traffic in the park was light and a good
ghost story might lead to a snuggle.)
Starlight Theater was an open air theater and I said it would be neat to
see a show there (trying to express my grasp of the arts!) I showed her through Waldo and my old house
and then through Brookside on the way to the Plaza. Along Brush Creek Boulevard I told her about
Boss Tom Pendergast – more spooky stories about gangsters of the 1930’s. We went by an almost abandoned Union Station
and looked toward the World War I Memorial with its eternal flame. After rolling through Downtown we drove up to
Quality Hill and stopped for a few minutes to watch the landing lights of
airplanes as they flew over downtown, across the river and approached the
runway of Municipal Airport. Watching
planes wasn’t the usual reason teenagers stopped here.
These were the days before cars had seat belts. Bucket seats were only available in sports
cars or as expensive options in luxury sedans.
Dad’s ’56 Chevy had a bench seat with a 3-speed gear shift on the
column. Even though I’d washed and waxed
it, there was no hiding the slightly cracked vinyl seat that always led to a
sweaty fanny on summer days. When “car
dating” happened, there were advantages to a ’56 Chevy. You could begin to tell if a girl liked you
by whether or not she scooted a little closer to the middle of the seat – close
enough to touch. Didn’t happen that
night.
The windows were down.
The evening breeze was just a touch cool as the pavement and buildings
released the heat accumulated through the sunny day. The sounds of the traffic provided the
constant background in a vibrant city. My
radio was tuned to WHB – 710. It was the
top 40 station until it changed its format a couple of decades later. The Beatles were a favorite of hers – I was
more into the Platters or the Drifters but we had plenty of tunes to fill those
uncomfortable quiet periods when neither of us knew what to say next. We did make it to Sydney’s and pulled into a
spot and ordered a Coke and a Dr. Pepper – that and gas had depleted my cash.
We sat at Sydney’s watching couples in other cars spin
through with the girl next to the guy – he often had his right arm around her
and drove with his left. Shifting gears
with your left hand was a skill that every teenage boy diligently practiced so
his right arm would be free for more enjoyable pursuits. This place hadn’t turned out to be the best
choice because first-daters stood out under the bright lights of the parking
canopies and the neon lights that circled the building. Teenagers never want to appear to stand out.
The drinks were empty.
The conversation lagged. No
excuse remained to avoid heading back to 82nd street in Raytown and
to set this new girl free. The ritual of
ending a date was a bit more formal than dumping her off from the carpool. I jumped out of the car and circled around to
open her door. This is the time when
every teenage boy began to anticipate the thrill of a good-night kiss. We walked up the steps to her front door and
paused for a moment under the brightest porch light I’d ever seen. The drapes in the living room fluttered
slightly letting me know that this final moment was not a private one.
No hug, no kiss on this first date. It seems quaint in these days when
discussions of moving in together punctuate some first dates. Not so in 1964. Sitcoms have been made out of the awkward
actions of teenage boys trying to deny their inner urges and act like gentlemen. They come off as klutzes because they are
klutzes. I’m not sure how that interlude
ended but I found myself back in the car headed home.
The evening was already a memory. She smiled a lot. She seemed completely comfortable talking to
someone new. I, on the other hand, was
not adept at conversation. My mind
jumped to reviewing all the dumb things I’d said. Fear started to set in about looking her in
the eye when the carpool would roll tomorrow morning.
But then ….. She came through the door with a piece of toast
and make-up in hand.
--td