Who sent you Hilly? William? There are eight empty rocking chairs on my porch. I dont ask him to sit in any of them.
He looks off at the west cotton field where the sun is dipping into the dirt. He shoves his hands down in his front pockets like a twelve-year-old boy. I know I was rude that night, and Ive been thinking about it a lot and
I laugh then. Im just so embarrassed that he would come out here and have me relive it.
Now look, he says, I told Hilly ten times I wasnt ready to go out on any date. I wasnt even close to being ready
I grit my teeth. I cant believe I feel the heat of tears; the date was months ago. But I remember how secondhand Id felt that night, how ridiculously fixed up Id gotten for him. Then whyd you even show up?
I dont know. He shakes his head. You know how Hilly can be.
I stand there waiting for whatever it is hes here for. He runs a hand through his light-brown hair. It is almost wiry its so thick. He looks tired.
I look away because hes cute in an overgrown boy kind of way and its not something I want to be thinking right now. I want him to leave I dont want to feel this awful feeling again, yet I hear myself saying, What do you mean, not ready?
Just not ready. Not after what happened.
I stare at him. You want me to guess?
Me and Patricia van Devender. We got engaged last year and then I thought you knew.
He sinks down in a rocking chair. I dont sit next to him. But I dont tell him to leave either.
What, she ran off with someone else?
Shoot. He drops his head down into his hands, mumbles, Thatd be a goddamn Mardi Gras[126] party compared to what happened.
I dont let myself say to him what Id like to, that he probably deserved whatever she did, but hes just too pathetic-looking. Now that all his good ole boy, tough bourbon talk has evaporated, I wonder if hes this pathetic all the time.
Wed been dating since we were fifteen. You know how it is, when youve been steady with somebody that long.
And I dont know why I admit this, except that I simply have nothing to lose. Actually, I wouldnt know, I say. Ive never dated anybody.
He looks up at me, kind of laughs. Well, that must be it, then.
Be what? I steel myself, recalling fertilizer and tractor references.
Youre different. Ive never met anybody that said exactly what they were thinking. Not a woman, anyway.
Believe me, I had a lot more to say.
He sighs. When I saw your face, out there by the truck Im not that guy. Im really not such a jerk.
I look away, embarrassed. Its just starting to hit me what he said, that even though Im different, maybe its not in a strange way or an abnormal, tall-girl way. But maybe in a good way.
I came by to see if youd like to come downtown with me for supper. We could talk, he says and stands up. We could I dont know, listen to each other this time.
I stand there, shocked. His eyes are blue and clear and fixed on me like my answer might really mean something to him. I take in a deep breath, about to say yes I mean, why would I of all people refuse and he bites his bottom lip, waiting.
And then I think about how he treated me like I was nothing. How he got shit-dog drunk he was so miserable to be stuck with me. I think about how he told me I smelled like fertilizer. It took me three months to stop thinking about that comment.
No, I blurt out. Thank you. But I really cant imagine anything worse.
He nods, looks down at his feet. Then he goes down the porch steps.
Im sorry, he says, the door to his car open. Thats what I came to say and, well, I guess I said it.
I stand on the porch, listening to the hollow sounds of the evening, gravel under Stuarts shifting feet, dogs moving in the early darkness. For a second, I remember Charles Gray, my only kiss in a lifetime. How Id pulled away, somehow sure the kiss hadnt been intended for me.
Stuart gets in his car and his door clicks shut. He props his arm up so his elbow pokes through the open window. But he keeps his eyes turned down.
Just give me a minute, I holler out to him. Let me get my sweater.
No one tells us, girls who dont go on dates, that remembering can be almost as good as what actually happens. Mother climbs all the way to the third floor and stands over me in my bed, but I act like Im still asleep. Because I just want to remember it awhile.
Wed driven to the Robert E. Lee for dinner last night. Id thrown on a light blue sweater and a slim white skirt. Id even let Mother brush out my hair, trying to drown out her nervous, complicated instructions.
And dont forget to smile. Men dont want a girl whos moping around all night, and dont sit like some squaw Indian, cross your
Wait, my legs or my ank
Your ankles. Dont you remember anything from Missus Rheimers etiquette class? And just go ahead and lie and tell him you go to church every Sunday, and whatever you do, do not crunch your ice at the table, its awful. Oh, and if the conversation starts to lag, you tell him about our second cousin whos a city councilman in Kosciusko
As she brushed and smoothed and brushed and smoothed, Mother kept asking how Id met him and what happened on our last date, but I managed to scoot out from under her and dash down the stairs, shaking with wonder and nervousness of my own. By the time Stuart and I walked into the hotel and sat down and put our napkins in our lap, the waiter said theyd be closing soon. All theyd serve us was dessert.