All people are aged eighteen
I was in my forties and I was convinced I'd probably spend the rest of my life alone. Both my parents had passed, and a chronic back problem which kept being aggravated by my old job and other issues led me to retire. So, I had plenty of free time on my hands. At first it was great, but then boredom set in. Then loneliness. That was the worst. Thanks to my parents' wise investments throughout the years, I was able to live comfortably. It's not extravagant in the least, but it is comfortable and that's fine with me.
But the loneliness...
I'd had two real relationships in my adult life, and they were by no means lengthy ones. I came to regard the institution of marriage negatively; I thought the phrase was apropos since I felt you probably needed to be institutionalized if you wanted to be married. I saw it as an archaic tradition out of step with modern life. When my best friend got married, I thought that it was probably a mistake (and, as it turned out, the marriage was a brief one, as was the second one.) But as I got older, I began to see things differently and even began to really appreciate those couples who managed to stay together for years and years. I'd had sex with many women over the years. It was fun, but I came to realize that it was just sex. I realized that without a tangible emotional bond, sex was a just a temporary release. Of course, some ladies were more memorable than others, but when all was said and done, it was still a case of everyone getting what they wanted and thank you and good night.
I thought a relationship and a lasting marriage were not going to happen.
Thinking it might be time to look for companionship with someone near my age, I tried a dating service, but none of the three women I supposedly matched well with were good matches. Oh, they were all very nice, very attractive ladies in their thirties, but it just would not have worked out. There was no spark; there was nothing that made me say, "Yeah,
her
. She's the one for me." For various reasons, it had been close to two years since I had been with a woman. I was strongly considering dipping into an annuity account and flying to Nevada to visit a legal brothel. It may have been another temporary release, but at least it would've been some kind of release. I became depressed. It was like that for months. I considered myself a loner to begin with, but it got unbearable at times. I contemplated suicide and I actually did try it once and got my arm bleeding. And I said to myself, "My God, George, what in the hell are you doing?" I thought I might need stitches and concocted an excuse in case I needed to go to the hospital to prevent them from calling police or committing me. Luckily the bleeding stopped with pressure.
It's a cliché, but every dark cloud has a silver lining. And for me, Tina was that silver lining. More than that though: I am convinced she saved my life.
A new steakhouse opened in town and I decided to check it out. And that's where I first saw Tina. She was a waitress. Most times I went there, I was usually seated at one of her tables. Tina's a gray-eyed, auburn-haired natural beauty who never failed to get the attention of the 15-to-50 male clientele -- me included. On a few occasions, I'd even seen women check her out, too. Not that you can blame them. I also noticed that on a couple of occasions, she had to call another waitress over to serve beer or wine, a sure sign she was under 21. She was 19 as I soon learned.
One day, I guess it was perhaps my eighth or ninth time there, Tina was again waiting on my table, and we had an unfortunate meeting of the minds. She dropped her pen and I bent down to pick it up for her. Unfortunately, she also had the same idea and BAM! We knocked heads. It was actually more embarrassing than painful. I immediately apologized and asked if she was alright. She said she was.
"I guess my reputation for being hard-headed is intact, huh?" I joked, rubbing my head.
"Oh, no more than mine," she said, grimacing and rubbing hers.
I made sure she was alright and she said she was.
"You know, I sure see you in here an awful lot," she said.
"I live alone and I'm a horrible cook," I replied. "And I'm sick to death of fast food."
"I don't blame you," said Tina. "And I always seem to get your table. By the way, thank you for the tips and..." She hesitated.
"And what?"
She looked slightly embarrassed, but leaned in and quietly said, "For not trying to hit on me. You would not believe some of the guys who do it. Totally creepy. And it happens practically every day. Gawd, some guy just asked for my freaking phone number!"
Her exasperation was evident.
"You're welcome. I was in the business off and on for twenty years. I know how rough this business can be at times."
"Yeah. Well, it's a job and it helps pay the bills," she replied. "Anyway, thank you again."
"You're welcome," I said. The next thing I said I immediately regretted because I thought Tina would think it was a lame pickup line.
"Listen, try not to let those people get to you, Tina. You're beautiful on the outside, but I've been here enough to learn that you're more beautiful on the inside."
And I began stammering trying to explain I wasn't making a pass, but a genuine compliment.
"Aw, thank you. I know what you meant." And she gently squeezed my hand.
Two days later, I was there again for a to-go order for a sandwich and a Coke and Tina greeted me: "You know, George, I think you must be getting infatuated with me," she joshed. Deep down, I think I really was on some level.
"Well can you blame me?" And I grimaced. Tina laughed. I love her laugh.
"How's your head?" I asked.
"Oh, it's fine," she said.
"Good," I replied. "Say, Tina, I hope you don't think this is inappropriate, but would you like to maybe meet when you're off and talk? Mind you, I'm not asking you out on a date, because it's not a date. Just friends talking. I'm not some old man trying to pick up a young girl, honestly. It's not some cheap move; it'll be talk only."
And somewhere in all that, Tina said something, but I was futzing around trying to tell her I was not some pervert to hear it. My face had to have been a thousand shades of red and my stomach felt like it was in knots.
"George!" she said sharply.
"Um, yeah?"
"I said yes. I would love to. I get off at eight then we've got cleanup. Maybe 8:30 or 8:40. Why don't we meet at the UDF and have a milkshake?"
"Um, yeah," I said stunned. "Sounds great."
I was halfway expecting her to not show up, but she exited the restaurant and saw me and waved and walked toward me.
"Been looking forward to this all day," she said.
That first night, we talked about our families, our upbringings, sports, other things. It was talk only. She gave me a light kiss on the cheek as she left and said she'd like to do it again. We made a date for two nights later. We met at the UDF ten or so times over the next three weeks. We'd have milkshakes or share a banana split. Tina was intelligent, funny, and very easy to talk to. She could've cared less about what was popular or cool or in fashion at the moment. Like me, she was not a partier or a social butterfly. Unless it was a ballgame, neither of us was particularly fond of crowds. She gave me her cell phone number and I gave her mine. And I hoped and prayed that what I was feeling was not infatuation or me going through a mid-life crisis and that I had really found someone. Since my track record with relationships wasn't great, it was difficult to tell. Soon, however, in the parlance of when I was her age, we were going steady. Soon, this going steady developed into a serious relationship and we began going to different places. Movies, ballgames, or just simply walking and talking. I eventually met her parents, Bob and Linda, and her older brother, Chris. Good people. I thought it was odd no one asked my age or commented that I looked older than Tina, and it bugged me for a while. And I thought that maybe because of the two decade age gap it was getting too serious too fast. One night at the UDF, I brought it up.
"Tina, look. There's something I think we really need to talk seriously about. The last couple of months have been wonderful for me and I hope you feel the same way, but -- and please don't take this the wrong way, but..."
And usually even-tempered Tina looked at me sternly and said, "George, don't you even dare bring up the age thing!"
She read my mind. She's good at that.
"But what people will think?" I asked. "How many people have confused us for father and daughter already?"
"Their damn opinions don't matter.
At all!"
