« April 2008 | Main | June 2008 »
May 31, 2008
The (Mis)adventures of Darnell & Lorraine - A Love Story
The following is the first in a series of a fictitous (but somewhat autobiographical) collaborative invention of the imaginary courtship between Darnell and Lorraine; it's a boy-meets-girl story designed to create a history that could not actually exist between a couple that didn't meet until they were in middle age (gah, I hate that term); in other words, an exercise in "what might have been"...
Darnell was but a sophomore, sixteen years old and just starting to wake up to concerns other than homework, hockey practice, and his pride-and-joy '58 Oldsmobile, which he had hopped-up with the help of his good buddy and classmate, Dan.
As usual, after practice he drove over to Dan's and parked on the front lawn so he wouldn't leak oil on the immaculately-kept driveway; either way, Dan's dad was less than thrilled with the arrangement, yet he thought that Darnell was a good influence on Dan (little did he know!), so no real harm done. Darnell and Dan debated the merits of Ram Induction vs. Fuel Injection, Holley 4-barrels vs. 3 dueces, and Rocky River vs. Bay Village girls.
Between stolen sips of their carefully stashed Molson's and wiping the engine grease from their hands off on the driveway bushes, Darnell caught occasional glimpses of Dan's younger sister Lorraine paying absolutely no attention to them whatsoever.
Lorraine, all of thirteen, tanned, kinda cute but really snotty, always had her nose buried in some book. There was something about her...but he just couldn't put his finger on it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Darnell’s parents had a ’73 Mercury Cougar (dark brown hard top) that Darnell drove whenever the ’58 Olds was broken down (quite often), if he wasn’t in any hot water with the folks, that is. It wasn’t much of a cruising car, but it got him from Point A to Point B in relative luxury.
During college break in December of ’75, Darnell knew Lorraine was taking Driver’s Ed and was preparing to take the state driver’s test. It was a typical Cleveland winter (before global warming) and the streets were covered in snow. Lorraine complained that her mom’s car, the Ford LTD station wagon with imitation wood paneling on the side, was an unwieldy “boat” and would surely doom her driver’s test, especially in this horrible weather.
Darnell was seized by a flash of afflatus: teach Lorraine to do donuts in the high school parking lot in the Cougar. That would really help her to learn how to control a vehicle in the snow.
He drove to Lorraine’s house and had her get behind the wheel of the Cougar. “Now, this car is a breeze to drive,” he said. “Just take it easy, it has power brakes and power steering, so don’t overcompensate. Just tap the brakes when you feel yourself slipping.”
Lorraine was seriously nervous, and the Old Spice Darnell had slapped on, obviously only minutes before arriving, made her a little queasy.
“Sheesh, Darnell. What’s with the aftershave?”
“Hey,” Darnell pouted, “You told me never to wear that Brut again or you wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole.”
“I don’t much like this stuff, either. All my men wear English Leather or nothing at all.”
“Oh, Turdblossom!!,” mumbled Darnell. “Just drive. Easy. Easy on that brake, Honey.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Darnell arrived at Lorraine’s house unannounced one Friday afternoon, after spending over twelve hours hitchhiking from Madison to Cleveland along 400 miles of Interstate 90, waiting at truck stops drinking flat Coke and bad coffee to stay awake between rides. He had to rebuff, in his inimitable, vituperous, hockey-player fashion (by threatening to commit grievous bodily harm), a balding, flatulent trucker who took a shine to him. After the trucker spent an hour ogling Darnell’s fine young form from a corner table, and slurping down a plate of runny eggs and a half pound of bacon, the grease dripping from his chin, he wiped his mouth with the back of a grimy paw and stood up, grinned lasciviously (and partially toothless) at Darnell and asked, “Hey, Sonny, you need a lift someplace?”
Darnell’s foul mood grew even darker when he was told that Lorraine was “out for the evening” by her younger sister, Margaret.
“Where’d she go?” He asked, frowning, impatiently kicking the brick wall of the front porch.
“I dunno,” replied Margaret. “Out with some guy.”
“Hillary Rodham Clinton!”, mumbled Darnell colorfully, as he turned to leave.
Where could she be? he wondered. She didn’t go to the football game, did she? Nahh, she hadn’t been to a football game since she quit that pansy-ass band with all those fairy bandos: clarinet players, sissy trombone players and that nerdy trumpet player, whatshisface, Keith? Guy with a stupid polka-dot hat Lorraine liked for awhile. Not with him, please.
Dark, violent thoughts flashed like small fireworks in Darnell’s exhausted brain. He shrugged and walked to the high school stadium, thinking the worst.
From two blocks away, Darnell could hear the cadence of the snare drums and strains of the band playing a pep song. He remembered his own high school football career and its attendant inanity: goofy parents dressed in puffy down jackets, blank eyed cheerleaders waving pom-poms with smiles like plastic dolls, hormone-surged boys eyeing insipid girls who alternately flirted and snubbed with faux derision. Now, as a sophisticated college boy, the mating game bored him, the band bored him, the game bored him, it all bored him. He needed a beer.
From twenty feet away, he spotted Lorraine in the bleachers. On one side of her was her best friend, Patty, an elfin brunette with thick glasses and a heart-shaped mouth Darnell found slightly appealing, but the attraction was immediately quashed once Patty emitted a giggle that sounded like an animal in a trap. On Lorraine’s left was her presumptive date, a blonde geek named Alex who was captain of the computer club, a guy who carried his IBM punch cards with his latest FORTRAN program in his pocket like a talisman. Darnell recalled Lorraine mentioning that Alex dressed as Captain Kirk for Halloween. Probably wore Star Trek pajamas, too, thought Darnell. What a wuss. What’s she doin’ with him?
She must still be in her techie phase, he thought. She was always curious about technology, God knows why. Strange girl, that one. Audiophile, technophile, clown. He nevertheless was a little relieved, because he knew she would never really like this guy. Probably felt sorry for him and went out with him out of charity. She was sweet like that. She could never, well, probably never really like him, could she?
He stopped short of bounding up the bleachers to surprise her and paused, deliberating whether to alert her to his presence. He looked up again.
Sugar.
She saw him. He was busted.
"I gotta go talk to her," he thought.
Darnell hiked up the bleachers, not making too obvious eye contact, trying to look cool and unhurried (even though his heart was thumping), stopping en route to exchange insults with his goalie who was half watchin the game but more interested in his smuggled-in flask of Jack Daniels.
"Hi Lorraine, how are you?"
"Hi Darnell. Fine, thanks."
"Hey Patty...and Hi, uh, Adam?"
"Alex."
"Sorry, man" Darnell offered Alex a firm and friendly handshake.
"So, Lorraine, I don't mean to interrupt you guys, but I've got a paper coming up in English Lit, on Yeats and Shelley. And your brother told me that you were good with poetry, so I was wondering if you could maybe help me with my paper?"
"I could maybe do that."
"Yeah, I'm not all that well versed in those guys, but I really liked Shelley's wife's "Frankenstein"; and I like Yeats a lot. "Innisfree", right? And he was a poet/revolutionary. Pretty cool, eh?"
"We could talk about it."
"OK, I'll call you. See you guys later."
All he could think was "Damn, she's cute. Looks even better up close. And she's smart...I've had it with those vacuous cheerleaders."
Lorraine mused "Hmmm...he's not so dumb, even for a hockey player."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lorraine watched Darnell descend the bleachers, stifling a laugh at his obvious ploy to talk to her. Poetry paper, indeed, she thought. He didn’t need any help with that; not like he needed help in his art class, since even a stick figure proved too challenging for him. She wondered where he was going and guessed he might linger at the only decent hangout in town, Trio’s pizza joint on Lake Road where the jukebox was pretty decent. She smiled recalling one night she and her friends were in there and Darnell and some of his hockey buddies were trying to commandeer the jukebox. Patty kept playing the insipid Steve Miller song:
Youre the cutest thing
That I ever did see
I really love your peaches
Want to shake your tree
After the song came up the third or fourth time (she lost count), Darnell shouted over to their table, “Holy Mother of Dick Cheney, I hate that song!” Lorraine hated the song, too, so it was a little bonding moment.
But Yeats? Did he really like Yeats? She supposed she could test him with a few references of “no country for old men” or “centres not holding.” He could be paying attention, which would be interesting. And if he liked Dylan Thomas, she might have to reevaluate his candidacy. She tried to push aside thoughts of their first stolen kiss that made Keith Talbot seem like a lipless frog.
Wait. Keith Talbot was a lipless frog.
Her reverie was interrupted by a tap on her shoulder from her sort-of date, Alex.
“Hey, Lorraine. They lost again.”
“Yep. As usual. That team is so bad, the marching band doesn’t even know a victory march, just like when we were in it.”
Alex laughed. “So, where do you want to go, now?”
Lorraine paused, pretending to deliberate.
“I know! Let’s go to Trio’s!”
To be continued...
Posted by lorelei at 06:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)