A question of wine

Start writing...We met online. One of a hundred dating sites. A bunch of desperate people, and a few con artists, all looking for the same thing. That however is for another story and not what I am writing about here.

What I'm telling you here is an incredible first date that I sincerely hope is the first of many.

Let's start with an introduction, hi my name's Lawrence Crookedtree (Larry to most) I am Odawa, and live in the small town of Leland on the reservation in Michigan. I'm 58 years old. Yes someone like me visits dating sites on the web. I am not a con-artist so I guess that makes me one of the despirate folks looking for love.

It was on one of those sites that I met Judy around 2 or 3 months ago. Judy is 3 years my senior, she is incredibly beautiful, very intelligent, happy native American woman. Thing is Judy lives in Wisconsin, in the thriving metropolis of Milwaukee. I have not spent much time in city's too many people for a country N-D-N like me.

It all started with the two of us getting matched up by this dating site. Upon seeing the match I messaged her right away. We have alot of common interests both being native and all. I introduced myself and asked if she would like to chat sometime. She responded pretty quickly and it was no time until we exchanged numbers. I remember how nervous I was offering my number the first time. "If it's not too forward of me? Here's my number so if you wanted to call or text or whatever." That sounds so juvenile and silly now but I was so nervous. I even got butterflies sitting there waiting for her to respond.

Well through these chats, texts and there's actually been 4 real phone calls now. Two from Judy and two times I called her.

The second of the calls I made to her was when I had finally got the nerve to ask for a meet and greet. I know it sounds rediculous but I still get butterflies, especially on a call.

I said who it was and asked for Judy when she answered. She says "oh Larry great, hello, I was seriously just talking about you to my roommate." I question her "oh? Is that a fact? And just what were you saying about me?" To which Judy says "I was just saying that I really thought it was past time for us to have a meet and greet. That rather than waiting for you to ask that I was going to ask you the next time we talked." And I'm not kidding at all the words were no sooner spoken the phone rang."

I'm not sure if Judy believed me when I told her that was the reason for my call. We made plans to meet for dinner at an Italian restaurant Judy knew just on the outskirts of Chicago.

So it's date night. The butterflies aren't just back they're overwhelming. Couldn't nearly eat lunch today.

I had gone out earlier this week and bought some new threads for tonight. Not a new suit or anything. Just some new 501's and a new button up western style shirt. I remember trying them on and thinking how sharp I looked in these new dudes.

Now is when everything goes bad. First off when I go in to clean up no hot water. Tank is on the fritz. Luckily my older brother lives right down the street.

I hastely throw my stuff in a backpack and head out to my 1969 Boniville Triumph, my iron horse. I jump on kick her over. The backpack, that in my haste I didn't get closed, slings off my shoulder. You guessed it right in the mud. Everything is soaked.

I shake my head shut down the bike. Back in the house I seriously consider cancelling with Judy at this point. My momma never raised a quiter. I grab some clean clothes. I just leave the muddy ones on the floor right where I dropped them, by the sofa. I run back outside and just hoof it the 2 and a half blocks to my brothers. My brother is laughing at me the whole while. Teasing me about being so nervous. "What are you a little boy or are you a worrier?" "Little Traverse Bay Band, Bear Clan? A'HO!?"

Looking at my watch I sluff him off and head out the door. I'm now just 15 minutes behind schedule. The Triumph should have no problems making that up. I think confidentiality to myself, as I kick her to life. I gun the 650cc's pop the clutch and roar down the road.

Now for the first bit of the journey, I'm an N-D-N on the reservation, I pay no mind to the speedometer. I give the throttle the reach around, lean down over the gas tank and pour the coal to her. When I see the blue lights in the mirror I realize that I left the Rez. about 12 miles back. I finally look at the speedometer, needle is sitting right on 85! Oops this is a 55miles per hour highway. I'm so nervous and upset with myself for not paying attention and slowing down when I left the Rez that I drop my license twice trying to hand it to the trooper that pulled me over. He's a big redneck looking youngster. Probably didn't help my situation at all but I couldn't stop myself when he asked, "Do you know why I pulled you over?" I honestly was thinking, because I was speeding. But when I opened my mouth "Because I'm going to your mom's house?" Is what came out.

Oh no since of humor this guy. That and fumbling my license is probably why I'm now performing every sobriety test ever invented. By the time he's convinced I'm ok to drive I'm now over an hour late and I still have to find this place I've never been to before. Luckily it's well marked.

If I was nervous before ... I had no idea. The butterflies babies have had babies.

I open the door totally not expecting to see Judy anywhere. As my eyes adjust to the inside lighting, there she is. I know it's her from her profile picture and it's the only table with one person seated at it. That and the 10 inch tall sign on the table that reads, Larry?

Oh my she's even prettier than her picture. Absolutely gorgeous, long dark hair flowing around that beautiful brown face. Cascading over her shoulders and down her back.

As I approach the table Judy stands to greet me. When I get close, she takes both of my hands in hers. "Bozshoo," I say. I look into her eyes and I just melt. These are the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. They are exactly the same color as the glass of Merlot she was drinking while she so patiently waited.

Thomas Plourd