Drive By First Date

“Did I ruin your life?

I’m sorry.

I’m just so sorry.”

There’s not a hint of sarcasm in the liquid delivery of her voice.

Remorseful though?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Maybe she’s just fucking with me.

Clearly, she’s drinking.

“What are you drinking?” I ask

“I have a glass of Merlot in front of me, now…”

She pauses

“I’m waiting for you.”

“I know,” I say. “I’m driving”

“I know,” she repeats back to me.

“I can hear the rain on your car.”

She’s right. The cold, black sky pours rain from a bucket out of the dark and on to my car. I’m driving through it, too fast over a two lane country highway. There’s water standing on the road.

“I’m sorry I made you drive in this weather.”

“You didn’t,” I reply. “My choice.”

She’s quiet.

I hear her wine glass come up to her mouth. She’s keeping the phone close. The expensive audio system parses and amplifies every nuance that passes between her phone and mine in the car. I’m surrounded by the sound of deep red, vinted Merlot leaving her glass and passing between her parted lips. She wants me to hear her drink.

“It’s good,” she says slowly. “It’s beautiful. There’s some age on it. Brick colored.”

She's got me tasting phantom wine in my mouth as I navigate the highway and the slosh and slap of water beneath my car.

She’s definitely fucking with me. Won’t meet in public because of Covid but agrees to see me if I come to her. Now I’m driving through this deluge, parched, dry and she’s at home drinking wine - making sure I can hear it.

“Bye”, I hear through the speakers. “Got to take another call. See you soon.”

“Enjoy your wine,” I say. “Save me some.”

No reply. Phone call disappears. Stereo resurfaces at low volume with a random 90s dance tune keeping time to the metronome beat of the windshield wipers.

The wash of the wipers pulls my gaze through the windshield. Everything’s a haze. Steam on the windows. All the world awash outside. Fat April snow flakes start to mix in with the rain. The weight of it splats unevenly on the windshield and the car roof.

The wipers continue to sweep the glass not really keeping up with the thickening downpour. I fixate on the eerily lit heads suspended above the glare of approaching headlights. Faces, floating behind glass, lit by dash panel LEDs and more often the not a light from their lap, probably an open iPhone. They shoot by. The interior lights refracted through the water take away the dimension and the weight from the heads and present them as floating right in front of me. They continue to slip by me and disappear. More come towards me now then before. I’m getting closer to my destination and traffic is increasing. Further down the solid white line in the middle of the highway, I see more bright eyed cars with smudges of light above them. And further back from that just individual smudges of light.

The phone rings through the car. Shutting down the music and my trance like state.

I connect with the button on the steering wheel.

“Hello” I venture.

“I’m back” she says. Like she never left. “Hello? I’m back. Are you still there”

“I’m here,” I reply. “I’m getting close.”

“That’s good,” she says. “It’s beautiful. You coming here. First Dates are magical, special, like shooting stars.”

I shake my head. “Weird you’re calling this a first date. Not the first time we’ve spent an evening together. Not the first time we’ve seen each other. Right?”

“Riiight,” she draws it out. “First time we’ve been physically near each other. That’s a first date.”

“Oh,” I say. I look down at the array of masks hanging from my steering column and the door handle on my left. Covid has warped life. Fucked reality but good.

“Guess you’re right,” I tell her.

“Of course I am,” she says.

“Will be great to be in the same place,” I say.

I’m signaling to leave the highway and turn onto a newly minted suburban road. The rain seems to slow with the change in speed. A half a mile down this road on the left is my first date.

She and I have been texting each other across a state line, almost continuously since meeting a week ago at a celebrated winemaker's online wine tasting. It was a good time. Lots of give and take and the winemaker seemed to have an inexhaustible knowledge of the wines. She and I chimed in on each other’s comments and and it wasn’t too much later we were privately DM-ing while the rest of the wine tasting drifted back behind us and finally was no more than a distant murmur.

“Tell me more about the Merlot you’re drinking,” I say. “Is it a Cali wine? Napa? Sonoma?”

“Napa, old school,” she replies. “All chocolate and cherries. Unctuous. You can feel the weight of it, coats your tongue forever.”

“Geez, save some,” I tell her again even though I've brought wine myself. “Even just a taste would do me.”

“Of course I will!” she says a little too brightly. “Did you bring your own glass?”

“Uh, no. Hadn’t thought of that.” I’ve got three premium bottles rolling around in the back seat and a waiter’s key in the glove box, but no glassware.

“Ok”, she’s quiet. “Did you bring wine to drink?”

“I did,” I tell her. “I thought we would drink it together?”

I’ve slowed down to identify her street number on a mailbox and signal to turn left across traffic to enter her drive. My blinker flashes in the wet murk. A car sloshes by and I turn into her drive. I lower my front windows to see better and I hear the wet tires crunch on the white decorative gravel. The cold air is a bracing slap in the face and I can smell the heat of the engine as I creep forward onto what turns out to be a circular drive. I’m suddenly aware of the house. There's not a single light on.

“Where are you?” she asks

“I’m in your driveway. I think.”

As I roll forward, I can make out that it’s a grand Georgian style brick house. All right angles with a large impressive portico over the front door and two large nautical looking porch lights on either side, neither lit.

I’ve absentmindedly stopped the car to look up at the house and wonder why there are no lights on.

“Fuck,” I state simply to myself.

“What? Where are you? You’re running a bit late.” She startles me back to the moment.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. Weather sucked. Took me a bit longer than I expected.”

“Ok, just keep driving. You’ve got to keep driving around to get to me”

“Why is the house dark? Are you even here?”

“Of course I’m here. Just keep driving.”

I put the car back in drive and roll forward. The rain has slowed considerably but the cold mist and fog make it difficult to see much more than several feet ahead. My car and I follow the arc of the circular drive. It takes me just past the corner of the house, close to a sentry-like Spruce shrub thats stretches upward at least 20 feet towards the gutter running along the roof. I stop again. My eyes travel up then back down the length of the shrub, down to the first floor and a warm, yellow light just beyond the shrub on the side of the house and inside a large picture window.

Propped up in the picture window are two feminine feet. Toenails painted red and illuminated by several large white candles. Amongst the candles is a bottle of high end, older vintage Napa Merlot, label facing out towards me.

The car is still just out of her line of sight. Behind the candles and feet, it’s dark with only a hint of a form connected to the painted toenails.

“Hey. I’m looking at your feet.”

“What!? Oh my god, you weirdo. Pull up so I can see you.”

I edge the car forward watching the window and suddenly the feet disappear and then she appears in the window all shadow and candle lit behind glass like something out of a 19th century gothic novel.

Except. She’s wearing sweat pants and a hoodie. Dirty blonde hair pulled back into a pony tail. Attractive. Maybe even adorable. Red lipstick, no, wine stained lips and a big lopsided, I’ve been drinking for awhile smile.

“Hey you! There you are!” She gives a wave.

She’s got the phone up to her ear ten feet from me and her voice is blaring all around me from the car’s surround sound. I look down at my pressed designer jeans, cuban boots then back to my brand new, collared shirt and I nod back.

“Hey” I say. At a loss for much else to say.

I decide to get to the point.

“You going to share some of that Merlot with me?”

“Like inside. Are you going to invite me in? Or is there a covered patio? Or you know, what’s up?”

“No. “ She says. Pauses for a second to look at me in the car then continues. “Weather sucks way too much to be outside. I'm not comfortable sharing one of my wine glasses with you if you don’t have one of your own and no way I'm letting you in the house, with or without a mask. Just too risky and I’m not talking about you, I’m talking about the virus.

My chin drops to my chest and I’m smiling. It’s an inadvertent gesture but she doesn’t like it.

“Look, I’m sorry. Just soooo sorry I ruined your night but I’m not going to ruin your life or mine by making a dumb mistake here. Now, I'll put some disposable paper cups out for you on the back porch. You can drink in the car. We can talk through the window.”

Then she adds, “We should probably keep it short anyway because you’ve still got to drive all the way back tonight in this fog and mist.”

“Ok” I reply . I’m working hard not to act like a small child denied something it wants badly, even though that’s exactly how I feel.

“You ok,” she asks knowing I’m not.

“Yeah, I’m fine” I say, putting on my best big boy smile. “Let’s just call it a night here and pick it up when this all makes more sense.”

Without skipping a beat she blurts. “Ok, good idea. Be careful driving back. Text me when you get home safe.”

Whoah. Just like that. I’m now that small child kicked in the gut.

I’m stunned but I give her a grimace and a wave and the car is moving around the circular drive before I know it.

At the bottom of the drive, at the exit onto the road, another car quickly pulls into the driveway before I can exit and stops across from me. He’s heading in. I’m heading out. He looks surprised. I am not.