It wasn’t one of the proudest moments of my life, but I’d be lying if said I didn’t think of it from time to time and smile. He invited me to dinner and I showed up an hour late, intoxicated on a Tuesday. This was an unforgivable offense to him. Fridays and Saturdays were when you had fun. The only fun allowed on weekdays was sensible fun, which did not include being rum drunk at a semi-upscale restaurant in flip flops while loudly recreating the Bewitched theme song. I assured him we would have a nice evening, but the look on his face suggested otherwise.
“How drunk are you?”
“If my skin was see-through, you could shake me like a snow globe and see all the rum and food in me just floating around like little snow flakes.”
“We’re leaving.”
“We’re leaving?”
We left.
The car ride was much like a funeral procession, and when he pulled into the gas station, I was convinced he was just going to tell me to get out and then drive off. Instead he told me to go inside and get some coffee while he filled up his tank. I returned with 4 bags of jalapeno kettle cooked chips and curled up in his backseat, waiting. I knew it was coming. You always know when it’s coming. It’s like stepping outside and sensing a storm just by how the air feels.
He got into the car but didn’t start it. Every few seconds he’d make eye contact with me in the rear view mirror and sigh. I remember him speaking for a very long time. Ages. There were no breaks or pauses, no real places for comments. It’s not like I had any to offer up so I was fine with how this conversation was progressing. All I know is he had his life too figured out and too scheduled and I had a strange distrust for anyone who had their shit together.
“Are you really going to just sit there and eat chips while I break up with you?”
I don’t remember what I said exactly. Something along the lines of, these aren’t just chips… They are kettle cooked chips. His voice picked up and he began the hysterics and I remember thinking only of how thankful I was for choosing such a crunchy snack. I began shaking my own hand to congratulate myself for such a smart purchase but forgot my one hand was still in the bag of chips. The chips spilled everywhere. The car started.
I never saw him again after that. I don’t see why I would. Life and fun to him was like meal prepping. He’d portion it out and could only have as much as he decided was appropriate each day. Our paths felt as though they were on two completely separate spheres within the universe, but I was okay with that because I am nobody’s sensible Tuesday evening. I am my own.
