Your Wildest Dreams

<<  Red MG spotted today in Owasso.


<<  Oldsmobile Calais (This is just a generic picture from the Internet, not Mitch's actual car, and no, that is NOT Mitch in the driver's seat!)

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<<  Blue Triumph 

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During an outing with my daughters today, I spied a little red MG.  I looked quickly at first, and memories of him came rushing back.  I had to stop and take a picture because seeing this car made me feel a feeling I haven't known in a long time...

The summer was 1994 and I could not wait to leave this place, this place called Nowata.  I was 17, and the place of my origin held no promise for me and the life I thought I wanted to live.  A small town, nothing ever happened here.  The water was cloudy and depressing and probably contaminated.  Nowata was just a general disappointment no matter you set your eyes.  After all, there is never a horizon when you are stuck in a black hole.  Instead, infinite darkness and despondence for someone with dreams as big as mine.  

And then, I met him.  Mitch was his name.  He was from an even smaller, more culturally dank little town than Nowata.  Imagine that!  I was working as a carhop for Allen Barnes at Sonic after school and on weekends, and of course during the summer.  He ordered something, and I was reluctant to deliver his meal.  I always got that feeling when cute guys were the customers, and it is hard to describe but here goes:  A quakey, jumbled up mess in the bottom of the stomach; not knowing whether you needed to use the porcelain throne to sit on or bend over!  It was a feeling of hope, sure, but it was also a feeling of dread.  What if he thinks I'm ugly?  What if he looks at my butt?!  So you tousle your hair blindly in your reflection in the Sonic windows you just Windexed.  You tuck in your tummy and crack your neck real good, try to take a deep breath, and then smooth out that ugly black apron on your waist.  You play with the change counter device attached to that same low-slung apron, and feel an odd comfort in the jingling of metal that comes with knowing you're always prepared with the right combination of coinage to get the job done!  No fidget spinner, but definitely just as therapeutic.  

Feeling a tad better about putting your best face forward, you thrill with that little dab of hope.  What am I going to say if he asks me out?  i wonder if he can kisssss?  How OLD is he?!  Bam, his order was ready.  I smiled at myself in the perpetual stainless steel that seemed to cover every inch of the interior of that drive-in, but could not make out whether or not I had anything in my teeth.  Here goes nothing, I thought, and gracefully clutched his tray.  

He parked over on the northern side with his back to the world, pulled up to the privacy fence.  I first noticed his car.  It was a blue Triumph, but looked like an MG.  Pretty classy, I thought.  I was intrigued.  Nobody around here had a car like that.  Then I noticed his hair.  It was black, and the sun made it look glossy like coal.  I sauntered up to his car.  His soft top was rolled down and I noticed it had nary a back seat!  

"Heeeyyy, nice ride," I had said.  

"Oh, hey, thanks," he replied, not missing a beat.  He had on Raybans that day.  Wayfarers, to be exact.  I was immediately and intensely in like.  He wore an army green Billabong tee-shirt and a pair of cut offs.  Yes, I most certainly did notice. 

We exchanged a few more pleasantries and he afforded me a $7 tip.  I can't remember what he ordered, I never remembered THAT kind of stuff, but knowing Mitch I'm sure it involved onion rings.  I headed back into the building before I was ready, but I heard him fire up that car and the sound was forever burned into my brain.  Not that it was a loud vehicle, it wasn't, but I do remember the purrrr quite well even now if I close my eyes and think long and hard enough.  

Because I was over 16, I could work until the close of business without breaking any of the labor laws, and during the summer months that is generally what I did.  I enjoyed working there!  I got to chitchat a little AND make money.  It was good for me and helped me bide my time until I could do my senior year and make my escape to college.  This is something else I must have inherited from my father, my work ethic.  Sure, I have his same blasted congenital underbite, but I also have a need to work, to be always doing something productive.   Growing up, my daddy always had a job, and I have always prided myself on the same.  So, I worked whenever I possibly could, sometimes even pulling extra hours if a friend needed off at the last minute.  Being young and not fully understanding how government taxation worked exactly, I saw dollar signs inside my eyelids when I closed my tired eyes every night.  It wasn't until I got my paycheck handed to me twice a month that I felt truly gypped!  

Anyway, I worked late that night, and when I clocked out he was waiting for me in the parking lot where Employees Only were privileged enough to park.  Stinky apron thrown over my shoulder, I smiled as I nervously walked up to his car.  It was dark and the Wayfarers weren't on his face.  A different Billabong shirt, too.  Wow.

"Are you a surfer?"  I asked, eyes wide. I couldn't make my smile go away, and believe me, I tried.

"Eh, not full time."   Oh.  Not exactly the answer I was hoping for.  I resigned myself to the possibility that he was in like with the style of Billabong just like I was in love with the style of the Hang Ten pieces I had.  Can you really love and wear something that much even if you don't live that lifestyle?  I think yes.  Yes, you most certainly can, because it represents a wild part of you that you haven't quite caught up with yet.  Someday, though.  Someday.  I knew he felt me on that level, and so many others.    

"Get in, I'll take you for a ride."  He nodded his head toward the passenger seat.  His eyes were soooo blue, a striking feature when paired with all that crazy black curly-coal hair.  

Well.  Me being me and not having any kind of parental guidance or routine or life structure, of course I climbed in.  Why not?  After all, people who eat onion rings on the fly inside a blue convertible don't chop unsuspecting young women into little pieces.  Do they?  

"Just so you know, I'm not having sex with you," I had blurted out, just like that.  I didn't want him to even THINK about trying to collect on that $7 tip from earlier.  

He snorted and said, "Wow, you really need to lighten up.  You're gonna die before you hit 30 if you keep that up!"

"Well, at least I won't die of an STD or in childbirth!" I retorted.  I was proud of myself that night because I had a bad habit of not speaking my mind.  But not that night, and NEVER with Mitchell!  And anyway, I could tell he was impressed that I had such a backbone about the subject.  He'd probably never encountered that before, nope, especially not with his stallion good looks and driving charm.  I was no fool!  

We made the loop from Sonic and went up Main Street, past the post office, back around by the donut shop and back over the tracks.  Nine Inch Nails' 'Pretty Hate Machine' was in his installed aftermarket tape deck, and the volume was lower than I would have liked.  The town was quiet and dark; nobody was out.  There were no onlookers parked, and I remember feeling cheated because that meant nobody witnessed me being out with a boy, in his hot car, no less!  Tomorrow, I would call either Melody or Chasity or Jamie or Angela or Shawna to tell them, sure, but SOMEbody needed to see this to be able to vouch for me, by golly.  

We made a couple more loops through town with the top down, listening to NIN and tossing conversation back and forth like an engaging tennis match.  He was leaving for the Navy in 2 months, so of course we had very little time to hang out before he would be gone.  It was a fun summer we spent together taking drives, hanging out with his mom and dad at his house in Alluwe, eating snow cones sold at any roadside stand we could find within a 200-mile radius, and driving to Allen's Point to swim (back before I became too cowardice to swim in something I couldn't see through to the bottom).  We saw Marilyn Manson in concert, too, and went to the Greenwood Jazz Festival in late June that year.  It was a simpler time to date, for sure, and the days opened up before us like the pulling apart of the curtains at a play I had been dying to see.  He was adventurous, Italian, and he enjoyed photography and travel.  The blue Triumph belonged to his father and he drove it sometimes, but mostly he drove his Oldsmobile Calais.  It was mysterious just like Mitch, too:  Maroon in color, ground effects, and the darkest tinted windows I had ever seen.  It was a 2-door car and had plenty of leg room in the front seat.  Leather interior seasoned just so, too.  When I rode with him in that Oldsmobubble, I was incognito.  I could be whatever I wanted to be, whomever I wanted to be.  I could even take a nap, it was so comfortable.  Aaah.  Just like him.  His olive complexion, blue eyes, black hair.  With him, I got lost.  And I loved it.  

As the summer drew to a close, I did my back-to-school shopping and prepared for my senior year as he went off to do his Navy thing.  He ended up on a ship and he would send pictures of his vessel, his crew mates, and of himself in his letters.  He sent me pictures of he and his buddies in front of a lingerie store in Italy, and I remember blushing when I opened the envelope donning his obstinate penmanship.  The ink looked like he pressed down way too hard as he wrote, and I remember always wondering how he could write in such a manner without causing himself pain.  Arthritis waiting to happen, I thought.  He once sent a box of handkerchiefs to me from Turkey, and I am sure they are still in the same box they came in, somewhere inside the cluttered chaos that is my dad's house.  Another time, Mitch sent a book back to me, Ayn Rand's 'The Fountainhead'.  "READ THIS, LIZ," he had inscribed inside the front cover.  Not only was he pretty, he was a thinking man, too, and that was fine by me.  Jackpot.

In the fall of 1994, he wrote a letter inviting me to meet him on base in Jacksonville, Florida.  I had considered Florida for college, and because I was visiting colleges I could take back proof of my visit and I would ultimately be excused from missing school.  Within a few days, I had called and scheduled a visit to University of Northern Florida (Jacksonville) and some college I can't even remember the name of in St. Augustine.  I drove to Tulsa International and walked from counter to counter to check rates for flights into JAX.  Before that day was over, I had a stack of tickets printed, in hand, on fire and ready to go.  I mentioned going to my dad and my grandmother briefly, but neither one had much to say about it.  They likely did not even know I was gone for 3 nights and 4 days.  I wish I could tell you I am kidding, but I'm not kidding.  

With Mitch, I did have a few of my wildest dreams come true.  It proved to be a fun relationship, but I will admit of course I wanted it to work out long term.  Obviously, it did not, but it was fun while it lasted. I still feel exhilerated when one of our songs comes on the radio or when I search one out on YouTube.  He's nowhere on Facebook, so maybe he is dead now, I don't know.  Either that or he has blocked me as a precautionary measure!  His parents have both died within the past 10 years.  I always wonder what happened to that Triumph and that Calais he drove, and from time to time I contemplate that same dichotomy that carried over into his life:  Roaring and adventurous and eclectic against sleek and secretive and seductive.  Isn't it puzzling how when we are young and naive everything is so black and white?  Back then, I never recognized the correlation.  Through the years, though, I have pondered these things for reasons still unknown to me...