In his play, Our Town , Thornton Wilder comments that in this life people are meant to through life two by two . God created woman for Adam ..and blessed them, Much of our life is spent in search of relationships ..and sometimes we do it with so much zeal and passion we seem unaware that God is seeking us ...In the early winter of 1995 nursing my bruised ego and missing companionship I found myself making a date to meet a woman I had never seen but had chatted with on the Internet in a town several miles to the west, a drive that took me over the Santiam pass and through the remainder of a recent snow storm.
People who have never been online see any online activity as a perversion at worse, and a silliness at best – while meeting a woman in the appropriate manner (In Sisters this involved getting drunk and having her drive you home) the idea that you might actually meet someone you have never even seen was considered flat-out foolishness. It kind of bothered me that my “friends” were more concerned about this part of the meeting than even venturing a, “You’re a damn fool for trying to drive that piece of crap over the mountain.” The piece of crap being my Aging Datsun .The I suspect if I were driving that piece of crap to the local saloon, they might have mentioned that to me. They were triaging the whole thing and, as friends, I suspect they had my best interest at heart. And as friends, I could count on them to tell everyone in the town what a fool I was.
I was not going to be dissuaded, so I loaded up the Datsun and headed out .It was my plan to check into a motel and freshen up before I met this woman who would suddenly fall for me like a ripe coconut. Although a few more erotic fantasies slipped passed my moral sensors, I sincerely had no plan to use this room for anything but a staging place. Dinner was to be at 8 and, in an effort to be punctual, I arrived at the Motel at 4pm. The drive was more or less uneventful; only twice did I see fear on the faces of the drivers of oncoming cars as I slid and careened my way over the mountain pass.
While some may think that arriving 4 hours early may be a bit eccentric, for me it’s normal. I hate to be late; I will leave early from places so that I won’t be late for the next engagement. But that’s another story.…
So, with four hours to go I did the responsible thing: I panicked !!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I mean, I suddenly thought, “Hey, my friends might be right! This person might be a homicidal maniac! She could be an IRS agent - or she might even be a HE!!!!” Believe there is nothing on cable TV that can prepare you for a moment like this. Nothing – zilch! I thought I would use up some time taking a shower, but the water ran cold after fifteen minutes - I was on a budget you realize. So I shaved, and shaved and shaved. I prepared as well as I could, and still had about 3½ hours left. I pulled out a book to read; it was about some true life horrific murder and it helped put my mind at ease. I watched the digital clock click away. Fifteen minutes later, I had still 3 hours and fifteen minutes left to go. Another responsible reaction: I shaved again and checked my deodorant (you can never be too careful about deodorant these days, especially if you’re going to meet a homicidal murderer who can smell fear a hundred yards away). Then I cleaned my fingernails, thinking that if I did turn up dead that maybe that would help some fledgling forensic assistant to better find out the identity of the mysterious woman.
I checked my pants and my shirt, I adjusted my belt, and thought about shaving again and I debated on when to put on my cologne: too soon and it would have no affect, too late and it might be overpowering. These are important decisions and, if nothing else, good reasons to be four hours early. Decisions should not be made in haste; I suspect that decisions also should not be made while in a strange motel room lying in your underwear while reading a book on a homicidal manic, while waiting to visit a stranger. By the way, I was lying in my underwear so as not to wrinkle my pants. If I would have sincerely thought I was going to get “lucky,” I would have laid nude so as not to wrinkle my underwear.
Well I could keep you on the edge of suspense and prolong this part; the thought of millions of readers caught up in the whirlwind of suspense, waiting to see if I get lucky at Denny’s almost makes me cry. It’s great to be an American!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Soon the hours had drizzled into minutes (in Oregon, we use rain metaphors a lot), and it was time to go.
And time for my next panic attack: I DIDN’T KNOW WHERE DENNY’S WAS!
I had totally forgotten to locate it. Now I knew that, after arriving four hours early, I might possibly end up being late. A scenario flashed in front of me: The woman who would soon bear my children was going to walk into Denny’s and meet another man - taller, with more hair, and younger.
I would be left eating alone in a booth, trying to decide on a nature burger or a Swiss cheese sandwich. Life, at times, is simply not fair. As luck would have it, as I was in a mild state of despair, I passed right by the Denny’s - and with a squeal of bald tires and a rather large horn blowing in my ear, I dove into the Denny’s lot. It was 7:45 I was almost LATE!
I did have enough time to sit and ponder the next move; should I be waiting for her, or should I let her wait for me? Each had their attractions and reservations. If I was waiting for her, the attraction would be my dependability - and I could of course orchestrate the best possible posture for her to see me in. First impressions are so important! However, if I was waiting for her, she might spot me and slip quietly out into the eroding evening, leaving me all alone in the winter of my discontent (and Mrs. Williams, my English teacher, thought I was not paying attention).
On the other hand (Have you ever wondered about that expression? Life is generally NOT ambidextrous; there hardly ever is another hand!), if she were waiting for me, she might first meet that airline captain, or think I’m a flake. She might also become so exhilarated by the anticipation she would fall into my arms in a swoon. I settled on being first (Was there ever really any doubt?).
So there I sat, looking as sexy and alluring as a short, pudgy, thinning-hair person could possibly look (did I mention I was getting older also?). Within a matter of seconds, it seemed that everyone knew what was up; I could hear whispering and murmuring.
“See that short pudgy guy over there?”
“...ahhhh, yes?”
“He’s meeting a known axe murderer.”
“No kidding! That’s horrible!”
“Well, that’s not the worst part! For one thing, he got here four hours early,”
“and his pants are wrinkled.”
“And I don’t know if I can tell you this, but...”
“...Yes, go on.... Come on, you can tell me!”
“...Well, OK, but don’t ever tell me I didn’t warn you....”
“Yes?”
“They met in a computer chat room!”
I’m not kidding you; the man fainted dead away. Pausing in reverie, I looked up just in time to see the woman I thought I was supposed to meet walk right past me and, before I could mutter anything, she strolled right up to a very elderly gentleman who was adjusting his teeth and said, “Are you Kenn???”
This caused my little heart to soar; I mean, there was no comparison - unless of course the guy was a millionaire. I sauntered up and said, in my best trembling squeaky voice, “Are you _____?” She was.
We sat down and ordered our food. Trying to make a good impression. I put a lot of thought into my selection, nothing that would be smelly, nothing that would leave stains on my hands, and nothing that would leave stringy bits of food stuck between my teeth. I think I ordered soup with a straw. We talked and shared brief life stories, we gazed into each other’s eyes. I guess we must have seen no one was home we wanted to get to know because we have never spoke again. Must have been like two passing ships on a stormy sea; both of us lonely, looking for answers and not even sure of the questions. We were polite to each other, but I suspect our real-life expectations did not match up with our online fantasies. We parted in that wet parking lot, me going my way and she going hers.
I drove back to the motel room to get the rest of my stuff; I had no desire to spend the night alone in an unfamiliar town. Somehow, it felt much better to spend the night alone in familiar territory. As I left the room, I took one look in the mirror. I wondered where that obnoxious but clever kid had gone. I looked closely and thought I could see a sparkle in my left eye, but the old guy in me just reached out, turned off the light, and went out into the parking lot and slid behind the wheel of a dirty green Datsun.
As the engine klubbered away, I eased out into the road and pointed the car towards home. I passed the old man walking down the sidewalk, his hand clasping a well-worn coat. The coat belonged to the woman he was with, and as we passed, our eyes met - and I realized he was a millionaire.
The return trip was uneventful. I got home early enough to go online and see who was on; by this time. I had started to meet a few people and, even thought they were miles away, there is a comfort to having friends to chat with. A few of my friends were on, and we joked and kidded and (with cyber palms) slapped each other on the back and gave each other comfort.
And all this time as I was searching for relationships He was over my shoulder , He was beside me as I pulled a 360 on the frozen Santiam highway , He was there as I ironed my pants and , gazed at menu and another lonely person across the table from me ....He was there and waiting for a moment to speak into my life.
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