Northern Belle

Skype/FaceTime was a Godsend. Saying a long-distant relationship is challenging is like saying to a NASA engineer the sun is hot. It’s obvious. We have to trust each other to obey the Seventh Commandment (even though we’re not married, we still consider cheating adultery). But today is the day we each start driving toward each other. See, my name is George, and the way I see it, phone sex is the next best thing to sex, but it still isn’t sex. Now, as any good man can tell you a relationship is more than sex, but sex is an important part of the equation, for both of us. We dream of cuddling together and having pillow chat on real pillows instead of just imagining ourselves next to each other. We’ve known each other for five years via Skype/FaceTime. We have an intimate relationship.  Today, though, I start my trip from Florida to the Melting Pot in Kentucky. The Melting Pot is a fancy, expensive restaurant in Kentucky. I want to impress her on our actual first date ‘cause I love her.  

See, she’s driving from Chicago where she works as a tax attorney. She says it’s drama with irresponsible idiots all day long. Things like, “You haven’t filed your taxes in fifteen years and now the IRS is auditing you. Hmm. Whatever shall we do?” They’re idiots, but she does her best to help them. Now, me, I’m a DJ. Any kind of party you’re having, you can hire me and I’ll make sure they have a great time. I’ve done Bar/Bat Mitzvahs, weddings, bachelor/bachelorette parties. You name it, if your party needs music, I can be your bleeping DJ and you all’ll have a great time. I sure hope Jane has a great time with me.  

Because I’m thinking that if we get along as well in person as we do over Skype, maybe she’ll be the one I settle down with and have kids with, ya know? Maybe we’ll have that big traditional Southern Wedding with pot roast, a different DJ, a big cake, y’all know, the works. There’s another delay on the road. Maybe it’s rush hour. I honk my horn.  

“Come on you idiots, move. Quit rubbernecking and move your sorry asses.” I’ve had girlfriends before but none of them seem to’ve worked out. I’ve been engaged five times and I broke up two of them and they broke up three of them. Sometimes it feels like I’m broken, like there’s something wrong with me. But, Jane and I seem to be doing well and five years is a long time. Maybe this time . . . Son-of-a-bitch cut me off so I give him? No give her the bird. I’m not even out of Florida yet.  

I wonder what she’s thinking as she’s driving to meet me in Kentucky.  When y’all look at children, we find that boys play with G.I. Joes, Hot Wheels, etc. But what do girls play with and dream of? Girls play with Barbie and dolls. They dream about some day being mamas and having their own babies. Or at least some of them do. But, I dream about getting married and having my own babies, too.  

“Why am I always the only one on the goddamn road who knows how the hell to drive? Why? It’s called a fucking turn signal, asshole, use it.”

I’m a great driver. I could’ve been in NASCAR if I wanted. See, I learned when driving to follow the thin black line in the middle of the road. That’s the exhaust from the other cars and if I follow that, I’ll stay on the middle of the road. I wonder if Jane knows that. When I saw Jane on Skype last night, she was wearing her usual blouse and short/shorts and we talked about where we’d meet and what we’d do.  

I just hope it works out this time. My parents, when I told them about Jane, rolled their eyes. They don’t think I’ll ever be successful in a marriage ‘cause of all the times before with them girlfriends and breakings up. But me dad was divorced once before he met ma and ma was divorced twice so what the hell d’they know ‘bout it? But sometimes I worry they’re right, y’know? Maybe for some reason God don’t want me to get married ‘n have little ones. I dunno. You have now reached the Georgia Border. And they have big fucking advertisements for Georgia Peaches.  

But see, sometimes it don’t seem fair. I got two sisters and a brother both in their twenties and they’s all married, so why ain’t I married? My sister’s expectin’ and I wish I was havin’ one, too. But, that’s why I’m driving all this way. So, I can get what them‘ns have. A house, a car, n’ two kids.  That’s the American dream. By the way, the people in Georgia drive even worse than the fucking idiots in Florida.  

But Jane and I talked ‘bout things like the latest movies and TV shows. We talked about where she went to school and why she became an accountant. She’s younger’n me and has never been engaged. She’s dated. She ain’t a virgin, but she’s never been engaged. As I drive along I look at the double yellow lie in the middle and look at the cars going in the other direction. I could still turn back if I wanted to. I could come up with an excuse ‘bout why I couldn’t make it, but she’s an attorney and I think she could tell if I was fibbin’.  Maybe ma and pa were right though. Maybe.