The Last Picnic

    I thought it to be a good idea at the time. A surprise, not the normal jump out of the bush surprise, but something out of character, not for her, but me. I’m not one for grandiose displays of, well everything, but it was her birthday and it was the first nice day in a while. Even though it was July, it felt like spring. Why, I have no idea, but then sometimes something gives us that push; it might be stupidity, or love, but we do something no one would expect us doing, a picnic. 

    I assumed never having been on a picnic before that it was similar to eating anywhere really, home, friends, tables, chairs, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. I spoke to my neighbor Jake, who said he had a basket I could borrow. He said the utensils I would need he couldn’t supply, he’d had a bad experience with a bear. I didn’t ask. The basket was a bit banged up, but then it was the thought that counted, at least as far as Jake was concerned.

    He attempted to inform me of what was needed. It was a bit exhausting just listening to the number specialty implements I’d need. He said I could go minimalist, which appealed to me; paper plates, cups, plastic silver ware, “That will do it for implements,” he concluded. I asked how silver ware translated to plastic, but he dismissed my question by saying it was America and we did things differently. Apparently he hadn’t realized I was also from America, but I let it go. I was grateful for his help, as puzzling as it was.

    “And, oh yah,” he ran into his garage and came back with a green can with a skull and cross bones on the label. “You’ll need this, ants,” he offered the can to me. The cap was missing and it felt like it was nearly empty. “You won’t need much, but you’ll need it, believe me.”

     Not being much for the out of doors, I had no idea what he was talking about. I know about ants, but hadn’t thought about being attacked by them. But when in Rome I thought, even though I was no where near Rome, I appreciated the sentiment. 

     “Food” Jake had said, "depended upon what your intentions were." I didn’t bother to ask what he meant by that. He then asked if I planned on cooking an

thing. I told him I didn’t cook at home, why would he think I’d cook outside. I wouldn’t know where to begin. He looked like he understood. 

    “Sandwiches,” he said, “maybe some chips, wine, chocolate of course. You planning on proposing or anything like that?” Well I wasn’t, but considered his list more than adquate, as I’d planned to spend maybe an hour, maybe less, navigating the outdoor dining experience. With any luck it would rain and we could just eat in the car.

     When I broke the news to her, I believed she was about to cry. I don’t know if that was because what I was proposing was so beyond expectations she was actually in shock. I’d heard that a lot of people cry when in shock, or that I happened to find the one thing that she truly loved to do. After a brief consoling effort, and a quick synopsis of what and where we would carry out the ritual, she seemed much calmer. Apparently she’d never been on a picnic before either, or the tears were from the shock the opportunity presented. I don’t think she was much of an outdoor person either.

    I spent a few days in preparation before the big day arrived. I had no idea that you needed to buy everything by packaged volume, twenty-five plates, a dozen cups, and what looked to be enough plastic to deserve having an oil well being named after it. The forecast predicted a sunny warm day, so I brought the umbrella knowing the unpredictability of our local weather people. I know they are young and anyone can call themselves a weather man, no matter which way the wind blows, but these people I believe live somewhere else and don’t know where their forecasts are meant to be televised. 

    I was to meet her at noon on that fateful day. I was prepared to leave by eleven, just to be sure. But as fate would have it, I had a flat tire and the spare was also flat, so I was a little late. In the chaos I forgot to call, so she believed I’d stood her up. She sat at our ronde vu spot on the wet grass by herself, thinking no doubt I’d confused her with another date and was picnicking somewhere else with someone else.

In an effort to right the ship I went to her house in hopes of finding her still there.

 Her father met me at the door. He looked upset, but said nothing. As I turned to leave he handed me a green can with the skull and cross bones on the label. I smiled and thanked him. He told me I’d best be going, as he looked to the sky. “looks like rain,” he offered, “Got an umbrella?”

    I have the ability to pick up on the emotional state of people. I felt as though her father had been in my shoes at one time, and hadn’t forgotten the ordeal. I was nearly confident that when I explained the trials and tribulations of my day she would forgive my tardiness, and we would just laugh at the unpredictability of life. But alas, it didn’t go as I’d imagined. 

    I should have mentioned earlier that our date was to be a blind date arranged by my neighbor. My assumptions of what type of person she was changed drastically when I got to the park by the river. I told her we’d have our picnic across from the rose garden. She seemed to know the spot and commented on how beautiful the park was after the ants had been exterminated, which she informed me was routinely carried out every spring in an effort to allow park visitors to enjoy the natural beauty. 

    I myself enjoy the park, mostly the rose garden. I’ve spent many a happy minute enjoying the different colors and aromas emitted by the roses. As I walked the path towards our meeting place I could smell the roses scent heavy in the air. A good omen. I pictured a wonderful afternoon despite being a new picnicker. I looked for the predicted inverted cones of sand alerting people to the presence of ants. There were none. It was looking as though the day might work out as planned.

    I passed the rose garden and looked to the river. Never having met Genia, and that we were to meet at a public park, I told her in my individual humorous style that I would be the one with the picnic basket. She said she would be wearing a floppy straw hat with an artificial paper sun flower that she had made herself, tied to the hats band. From the path I could see the hat and the large yellow glob of paper atop the head of a woman sitting on a blanket. I’d forgotten to bring a blanket; I was relieved she had the forethought to bring one. 

    Seated next to her was a man. He was shirtless, it being a warm, although not that warm a day. He was holding a overly large wine glass in one hand while offering her a duplicate overly large wine glass with the other. He was laughing, she was laughing, I didn’t know what to do. Being the third wheel only works out when training wheels are involved. I decided to leave discretely knowing that I’d paid the price for not calling. Se la vie as they say, I suppose only in France and in songs, but it seemed appropriate.

   I assumed I’d heard the last from her. I’d thought of calling to apologize, but how does one apologize for something they had no control over, and as it appeared to me she was more than appropriately compensated. It was during my internal deliberation the phone wrang. To my surprise it was her. “Where the hell were you yesterday?” 

    I was so taken back by the questioning tone I didn’t answer immediately, which allowed her to continue uninterrupted. “I waited until two O’clock and finally left. I don’t know what kind of person you are, but I’d hoped you’d have the decency if you were not going to show up, to at least let me know. I’ve never been so disappointed by anyone in my life. I finally left, knowing you weren’t coming. I was so upset I forgot my hat. I hope you are ashamed of yourself.” And she hung up.

   “Que sera, sera,” the words swirling through my mind, tripping over one another, and falling flat on my face. 

    Jake has asked me to come over. He wants to know how the picnic date went. I told him I got stung, and let it go at that. I could only assume he knew that when someone, not an outdoors type person gets stung, they will be incapacitated for at least a few days.