BEAU? OH NO.
I re-read Beau’s letter a few times with a silly grin on my face. Who writes a sweet letter like that nowadays and this, from a complete albeit sexy stranger? I have to admit, his words appealed to my vanity and sufficiently stroked my ego. Was this too good to be true? Maybe, but I was game. He included his email and phone number, how could I say no or at least no thank you?
I called the next day. Email or text would have been rude and the three day rule is too. He answered, bonus point, and we chatted briefly about having met in the coffee shop and his lovely letter. I found myself getting lost in his sultry Texas drawl and thought I heard the distinct sound of brass balls clanking in the background as Mr. Sexy asked if I would like to join him on a picnic in the park this weekend. That we could enjoy the day and get to know each other better over a bottle of wine and cheese and anything else I would like. A picnic? This guy is good. Alas, my sensibilities made their presence known as I heard myself commending him on his fine choice but offered we instead meet for a drink near the park first and then could walk over if we wanted? It had been a sweltering 100 plus degrees all summer and the thought of pouring sweat while lounging on a blanket next to this handsome stranger didn’t seem ideal, not for a first date anyway.
I arrive at the restaurant and am immediately relieved we decided against a picnic. I feel the sweat beginning to trickle down my back and am thankful for the flowy skirt I’m wearing which I can later shove between my soon to be sweating inner thighs. Beau is already there and a slow smile spreads across his face as he gets up to offer his hand. Damn, that is one sexy fella. We have a quick hug and I feel his tight muscles under his plaid shirt. But now standing next to him, he’s not as tall as I thought and seeing his face in the bright daylight I can tell…he’s definitely young. His natural charm and perfect smile mesmerizes as he pulls out my chair, says order anything I like, and suggests two margaritas. I oblige coquettishly and try to do my best eyelash flutter. I feel like we’re about to star in our own Harlequin romance, set on a Southern plantation with a warm breeze blowing and his shirt snap buttons popping except that now my mascara is melting and the fluttering is sticking my eyelashes together. Take two.
Beau’s manners are apparent as he is polite to the wait staff, asks questions to get me talking, compliments and thanks me for joining him. Being an old and experienced goat, I steer the conversation towards him so I can sit back and daydream the next scene of “Her Southern Desire”. He is giddy and fun and excitable, full of life and hopes and dreams. He soon apologizes for talking about himself and offers an explanation for his exuberance. Brain damage. I hear the sound of screeching brakes and the director yelling cut. WHAT?! He takes off his hat to reveal a scar running from the top of his head down to his ear. He had been hit by a semi truck and by all accounts, should not have survived. But he did and after a year of being in the hospital recovering, he found himself in another horrific accident where he ran into a truck at 70mph and again, should have died. I order another round of drinks.
He says every day is a blessing and there is a reason he is still here. He enjoys the outdoors and doesn’t need much. He loves his momma and has a deep respect for women. He traveled the country on motorcycle with a guitar strapped to his back. He did not go to college but reads voraciously studying philosophy, science, and religions of the world but has a hard time remembering all he reads thanks to the brain damage. He goes to church and loves Jesus Christ. He believes in true love but doesn’t believe he has found it yet. His credit cards are maxed and he doesn’t have a job but is looking into working for a plumbing parts store since that’s what he did in Seattle. He is a recent transplant as his family is in Texas, and he now lives in his brother’s house. He drives a beat up old truck missing the tailgate which he also lives in…on occasion. He is 23.
The check comes and I offer to pay but he adamantly refuses. I wonder if his card will be declined and am relieved I only ordered an appetizer. He asks if we can please continue our date and go to the park. I stammer I have to meet a friend after this which is true, but find myself saying I have a blanket in my trunk and will meet him in an hour. By all accounts, the red flags have been thrown. Reality has shattered the fantasy yet again. But the Harlequin Hero always wins and is easy on the eyes and I find myself not wanting to exit the theater just yet. Intermission presents itself as the perfect opportunity to mull over Acts 1 and 2, prepare for an imminent Act 3, and go to the bathroom.