I crossed the field into the parking lot and approached my car. Jimmying open the door, I tossed my bag into the passenger’s seat and shut the door behind me. It was silent and peaceful in the musty interior. I closed my eyes just to breathe for a second while dust motes swirled in the sunbeams around me.
The tears took me by surprise. I felt an unexpected catch in my throat, then, before I knew it, water was streaming down my face and I was wrecked with sobs. I rested my head on the steering wheel and wept while my whole body jerked up and down. I couldn’t think or form words; all I could do was unclench and let the tears flow.
After a few long minutes, the crying dried up and the sobs died down into random hiccups. I sat up straight and wiped my eyes. It felt good to cry, although I wasn’t even sure what had prompted this random psychotic breakdown in the middle of a beautiful day.
But when I stopped, I felt silly. It was a picture-perfect spring afternoon, and yet here I was, bawling like a baby alone in my car. And over what? A clumsy interaction with some boy I’d probably never see again. I felt my phone buzz in my lap and I looked down to see a text pop up.
Hey, this is Dan, the guy from the park you called “beautiful” :) Nice to meet you today. Let me know if you’d like to grab dinner sometime.
I rubbed the bridge of my nose between my finger and thumb. As badly as I might want to—and I did—there was no way I could text him back right away. I needed some time to recover and consult with my friends about how to handle the situation before replying to him. Besides, I’d already looked pathetically desperate when we first talked. An immediate response would make it seem like I had been sitting with my phone clutched in my hands, just waiting for him to send me a message.
I texted my best friend, Lori, a short note. Hi. Are you home?
The response was immediate. Yesss come hang out.
Be there in a min xx
As I fired up the car and pulled out of the parking space, I wondered if the crying really was silly after all, or if maybe it was a tiny bit justified. After all, I didn’t know many other girls who were eighteen, in college, and still living at home with a curfew and serious restrictions on what they could do and with whom. Most of the time, I tried to convince myself that my life was normal, that everything was groovy, that I didn’t care if I wasn’t allowed to date or whatever. But every once in a while, like today, I had a tiny glimpse into how much I chafed at my dad’s rules. It didn’t matter how many times he explained his reasoning to me; I just wanted to go to dinner with Dan, for crying out loud. I’d never even been on a proper date at all, and this was a Greek god of a boy who had texted me even after the hideous display I’d put on.
I decided I would try to talk to Daddy. Maybe this time I’d be able to convince him to let me go.
# # #
“Girl, you have to!” Lori shrieked. “Oh my goodness, are you kidding me? He is gorgeous—drop dead, freaking gorgeous.”
We were an hour deep into some serious social media stalking. Every one of Dan’s profiles was pulled up on the screen of Lori’s laptop, and we were hunched over side by side, oohing and ahhing at his pictures, each more beautiful than the last.
“I know, I know,” I whined. I sounded miserable, even to my own ears. “But you know my dad’s rules.”
“Forget your dad’s rules! Do you see these abs?” She jabbed a finger at the shirtless picture on the screen, her mouth parted in unconcealed desire, and with good reason: they were out of this world.
“Shush,” I said, laughing. “Lower your voice; you’re screaming.”
“I’ve got every right to be screaming! This boy walked straight out of a magazine and into your life. It would be a crime to womankind everywhere if you didn’t go to dinner with him.”
I leaned up and rubbed at a kink in my neck. “I don’t know,” I said. “I just cannot imagine a world where my dad all of the sudden becomes this laidback, lenient parent. You know how he is. He’s been so uptight ever since what happened to my mom.”
Lori’s face softened and she laid a gentle hand on my knee. “That’s gotta be hard for him, though,” Lori said softly. “I mean, his wife gets brutally murdered and they never even track down who did it? The loss is hard enough, but to have to live with that kind of uncertainty…it must be tough, that’s all I’m saying. Tough for you, too, obviously.”