Whitney Among the Seniors

               The adage of a wedding being a good place to meet single women is, in my estimation, not existent.  I have been to a number of weddings and found the number of women that attend with boyfriends, husbands, or significant others vastly outweigh the number of women who are proverbially overcome with the romantic and emotional innuendos of the marriage ritual.   That has never stopped me, however, from trying. 

                It was in this setting that I along with everyone else at the wedding laid eyes on Whitney, men out of lust, and women out of a jealous dislike.  Whitney had a pair of really long legs that protruded from the end of her little black dress (I know, red flag), and a tattoo that was slightly covered by the straps of her black high heels that wrapped around her ankles like a vine of ivy climbing a trellis .  She had reddish brown hair, clipped at the top with what I’m guessing was a burette so that it drooped down onto her shoulders at two decisive lengths, and a face that was as cute as it was naughty.  I could not take my eyes off of her, which eventually became detrimental to conversations.  I glanced intermittently at her all throughout dinner, and then she was gone.  I saw out of the corner of my eye Whitney leaving and I grew anxious.  But even a hurried race to the door after her would have failed due to lack of space.

                She was gone and I didn’t know a thing about her except her ravishing good looks, but I knew someone who did; the bride and groom.  After consulting them I decided that Whitney was in a relationship, the man not present, and that the nature of that relationship was susceptible to suggestion.  I got one piece of information that I could exploit in another effort to meet Whitney then I let the subject go for the evening.  I saw no need to occupy the happy newlyweds with matchmaking.

                Whitney worked at a restaurant, and I decided to pay here a visit one day.  A lot of thought went into planning when exactly to go.  I chose a Saturday afternoon around four o’clock in the afternoon.  There would be some people there, but not enough that I would burden her, or that she would be too busy to talk.  Little did I know that the ‘family’ restaurant was a popular place for senior citizens and at four o’clock in the afternoon the place was packed!

                I found a seat at the counter where Whitney happened to be working and ordered lemonade.  As Jerry Seinfeld said “I’m not force feeding myself at four o’clock in the afternoon to save a few bucks on the early bird special.” I grabbed Whitney’s attention when she had a minute to stand and look at the television and asked her if I looked familiar.  She answered in the negative.  I told her the story of the wedding, how she left before I could introduce myself, and how her beauty captivated my.

                “Which is what brings me here today.” I continued. “I was wondering if we could talk again sometime, when you’re not busy working?”

                “I’m married.” She replied.  Now,I knew what that answer meant, and forgive me for being a bit of a cad… but it did not answer my question.

                “So, is that a no?” I asked again, a bit deviously.

                Whitney thought for a moment, took a deep breath and then nodded her head one time.  “That’s a no… for now.”  She was interested, and I found out in post operation discussions with the aforementioned groom that they had broken up before. 

                “I can live with that.” I said with a sly, little smile.  I’m not going to ask a married women for her phone number with romantic implications attached, that I feel is wrong.  I did however write my phone number on a piece of paper and slid it across the counter to her where she accepted it.  “It’s there if you want it.”

                “Ok.” She replied as she picked up the folded piece of paper and opened it up to have a look.  I smiled at her, she smiled at me and with one final line we parted.

                “I hope to hear from you again Whitney.”  But I never did.  Let’s hope it’s because she is happily married and living ever after. 

Kerry- The Semantics of Lunch

I recently returned to college after a large hiatus.  I put myself into an environment in which I knew absolutely no one.  My compositions professor said “I chose these topics (for papers) to get the kids out of their comfort zone.”  I excelled at these assignments because as I told him…

            “I have no comfort zone.”

            The first step in his editing process is to have the class divide themselves into small groups and engage in a ‘peer-edit,’ with the groups being limited to three or four students.  A student in my row initiated that our row of four would suffice as a group and we started to exchange papers.  I noticed that two attractive young ladies had convened, and were calling themselves a group, breaking the ‘three or four’ rule. 

            “Nothing personal,” I said to the group as I excused myself, got up from my seat and joined the smaller group consisting of only females.  “I noticed you don’t have three, hi, I’m Joe.” I initiated.

            “Emily.” The first one said with a glance.

            “I’m Kerry.” Said the other and offered her hand in a formal hand-shaking fashion.

 I sat, we exchanged papers, and we read.  We were all a little generous with the reviews as no one wanted to start off a relationship negatively. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt the feelings of the first two names I had learned at that school.  Not to mention I didn’t feel I was any reliable source, at the time, for critiquing anybody’s writing, as the semester went on… that changed.

We got our papers back about a week later, after a few more personal edits and rewrites, and I decided to use this as an opportunity to talk to someone outside of class.  I caught up to Kerry a few meters outside the building; her face buried in her graded paper and asked how she did.  We walked and talked about our grades for a bit, and then I inquired as to her schedule for the day in a very broad, unassuming way.

“I’m done for the day.” She said.

“So now what?” I said a bit prying, but still casual and still walking.

“I usually meet some friends and we have lunch.” She answered.  

“Well maybe sometime we could grab some lunch?” Lunch to me is the most unassuming plan one can make. I offered a question that clearly she wasn’t expecting, but wasted little time in answering.

“Yeah, ok…sure.”

            I kept my reaction very loose and casual.  I left plan decision of when up to her, and she offered next Friday (one week) as the time and place for my socialization at that school to commence. 

            “That works,” I replied. I took a step in a perpendicular direction as I had to go to my car, stopped and said as I walked “And I have a car so we don’t have to keep it local if you don’t want. I know a lot of really good places to eat.”

            We parted for the weekend, me very happy, her very confused I’m sure.  She didn’t know exactly how old I was, but she knew I was older.  I let that slip inadvertently in class one day, never to be done again.  When class let out on Monday, I walked by Kerry at the foot of the steps leading out of the building.  She was engaged in a conversation with a young man.  Jealousy was not even a twinkle in my eye; I smiled and passed a silent wave good bye never breaking stride.  I ascended the steps and greeted the air outside the hall where class was located.  This time somebody hurriedly snuck up on me. It was Kerry.

            “About our lunch,” this was not good, “I was caught off guard when you asked me to lunch on Friday, and I was hoping that we could keep our relationship… academic.”

            My stomach sank.  I had not attached any romantic assumptions to our lunch; it was merely a jumping off point for socialization, clearly she had.  But I had to be as cool, if not cooler than when I requested lunch in the first place. After all, it was a long semester and we had a lot more of each other’s papers to read. 

            “No worries,” I offered with a single swipe of my hand.  “But hey, let’s consider it an open invitation.  If you change your mind…let me know.”

            “Ok.” She said, and then we parted. 

            I felt this pit in my stomach, because everything had been misconstrued.  I attached only small romantic aspirations to the lunch with Kerry as she was cute, but not assumptions.  I am older, she is young.  I was new at school, she was established.  I just wanted to talk, have a bite, and then who knows, one step at a time.  I felt like I wanted to clarify this to her, but after thinking about her ‘academic’ response I averted.  She obviously spent the weekend planning what to say to get her out of her obligation, so I let it go at ‘no worries.’

            The semester went on, we read each other’s papers like nothing had happened, critiqued each other with a little more bias and both got good grades (as did the third member of our peer edit group).  I have not encountered Kerry since class ended, which I thought was bound to happen at some point on campus, but if I do, I’ll make sure to tell her “the lunch offer still stands.”

Julie & The Tortellini

It was interesting meeting Julie for the first time because I already knew her.  We went to the same school for a brief time and I knew who she was.  I thought she was very pretty, but our activities and friends never put us close enough to associate.  It’s safe to say that when my friend hung up the phone and said “Julie’s comin’ through…” I was a little nervous.

Julie was an athletically built girl; curvy yet fit.  She had black hair past her shoulders, a scar cutting through her right eyebrow which hovered above her big, beautiful, blue eyes.  And a fantastically full lower lip.  She was gorgeous.

The car door shut and Julie joined my friend and I on my front porch, we were awaiting her arrival.  The greetings between us superseded the awkward and she progressed right into the small dramas of her day at work.  We went inside and I fixed us all a drink.

Over the next few hours we all hung out, with no expectations.  Jokes were made, people were picked on and the fact that we all should have known each other better than we did was completely ignored.  No one cared.  Then someone got hungry.

The three of us packed into my car and headed to the convenient store open at the hour to fulfill the need not to be hungry anymore.  I didn’t find anything that looked appetizing, but Julie and Eric barreled about, grabbing one item after another, replacing the one in hand with one that drew the next appeal.  I grew antsy.  I found the two of them staring at beverages.  Julie shoved bottle of water in my face whose description, drawing inference to a famous rapper of the time, got a laugh out of all three of us

“If you want,” I interrupted, “I got an idea for some bangin’ munchies.  But we’re not gonna find it here. “ 

“Oh yeah, what?” Julie asked, intriguingly.

“It’s a recipe I have for tortellini.” I replied.  Julie’s intrigue grew. 

She put her bag of chips down on the first shelf she could find and excitedly but confidently said “let’s go.” 

So the three of us were now wandering the aisles of the all night supermarket.  I had a basket and lead the way. Julie watched my shopping with anticipation as the contents would make up the food she would soon eat.  And Eric, well Eric was looking for a bathroom.  (Whether or not he found one is debatable, but after a while he no longer searched.)

Back at my apartment Eric occupied himself with contraband, Julie occupied us with friendly chatter and I chopped garlic.  Banter went back and forth between Julie and I; light hearted banter about my cooking, the shape of my apartment.  It was a very jovial mood.  The meal, one of my favorites, won them over, and the prosciutto was a big success.  Especially with Julie because as Eric put it in the store, “Be careful with prosciutto, you’re cooking for an Italian girl.”  We ate and watched TV.

The night drew to an end, partly because Eric was asleep, partly because I was getting there, and partly because it was morning.  Julie announced her departure and I walked her out.  I was incredibly attracted to Julie and got the feeling that she felt the same.  On our way out she thanked me again for cooking and reiterated how nice it was of me.  I made an offer to her. 

“You should let me cook for you again sometime.” I said.

“I’d like that.” She replied with a smile.  The only problem, as she drove off, was that she didn’t have my phone number nor I hers.  But I knew someone who did… I couldn’t ask Eric for her number because I think he held out hopes that Julie would be interested in him.  If he did, he didn’t show it, to me or her.  Either way, I just couldn’t ask him.  I could however open his mobile phone as he slept and take it… which I did.

The next day (later on that day) all I could think about was Julie.  She literally worked her way into every aspect of my day by occupying my brain.  I asked some friends, a couple, if it was too soon or too much to call the next day.  The man emphatically said yes and the woman said that it all depends on the girl.  I thought that was the perfect answer.  I felt like talking to Julie, and I felt like she wanted me to call her, so on my way home I did.

Julie didn’t answer initially but called me back within minutes.  We chatted for a bit then decided to get together when she got off work that night.  I was ecstatic.  She began to ramble about what we should do, where to meet, what to drink and things when I cut her off and said “Why don’t we just talk about it when I get there?”

A silent pause came over the phone and surprisingly Julie asked “You’re coming here?”

“If that’s ok?” I added.

“Sure.”

When I got there the smile on Julie’s face was as big as mine.  I think they call it ‘ear to ear.’ Julie got me a drink and I waited off by myself.  We threw glances at each other of different meanings as she passed by me waiting tables.  When we got a chance to talk we both admitted that we’d been thinking about one another all day, and that we’d both been caught by someone else, in a smile.

Julie and I dated for a few weeks, got to the point where we were calling each other ‘boyfriend and girlfriend,’ and were, for the briefest of moments, head over heels in love.  But it did not work out.  Neither of us was ready for what the other had to offer so we went our separate ways.

I saw Julie make a post a few years later on a social network, mutual friend page and requested a connection.  It was denied.  I didn’t let that bother me, but a few months later when the same thing happened I sent another request, this time with a message…

“I understand if you don’t want to be ‘friends’ with me but know this… I think about you from time to time.”

She accepted this request and has since grown into one of my favorite connections.  We interact on a personal level and it is always in good fun, even at times one on one.  Julie has proved my theory that I adopted from a quote (the name of the movie or TV show eludes me),

“When you truly love someone, a part of you always will.”

p.s. On the first night we hung out alone after her work, Julie shocked me, hours, days, even weeks before I expected it… she kissed me.  It was an electric kiss that has scarred me to this day.  It is a scar that I brag about.  I offer a quote from a letter I wrote to Julie on her birthday, “I am proud to have, at one point, had you call me your boyfriend.”  Julie… I’m still proud.

The Little Black Dress

Roland Park is an interesting place.  It has baseball diamonds, a beach volleyball court, a playground whose size rivals some homes in the area, walking trails, and a full twenty seven hole frisbee golf course.  My friends and I frequent the park for the latter reason. Roland Park also has a gazebo and a manmade lake that sometimes, when the weather is nice, provides a backdrop for the occasional outdoor wedding.  The worlds of weddings and frisbees collide on the final hole of the course when the golfer has to throw across the lake.

We were playing there one summer afternoon and of course found ourselves playing alongside a wedding ceremony.  I, at this point, was topless, wearing my ‘Panama Jack’ Titleist golf hat and throwing my frisbee  across nervously across the lake.  Nervous because after the throw, we had to walk dangerously close to the wedding pictures that were being taken no more than twenty yards away and we would be in the background.  They would most certainly stop, notice us, share an uncomfortable moment with us and let us, nay endure us crossing.  To quell the awkwardness I spoke.

“Congratulations!” I exclaimed when the bride caught sight of me.  I found the groom amongst the crowd, pointed at him and offered him “my condolences.” This was followed by some chortle from the crowd.  One of the amused was this fantastic young lady who was one of the bridesmaids, and wearing a little black dress, a young lady whose pheromones were swept up in a breeze and shoved in my face. She was what I like to call “smokin’ hot.”

They went back to the photographs, and we played on, but I made sure to keep an eye on my little black dress.  They had progressed into the ‘candid’ picture part of the chore, and the photographer was asking them to jump and flail their arms in a jubilant fashion to show extreme enjoyment.  I watched them do this twice and after the second I hoped, maybe one could call it a prayer either way I thought in my mind a devious little thought of how nice it would be if, even just for a moment, that little black dress would lose control of itself and give me a little peek.  And on jump number three, my dream had came true and that bridesmaid gave me a beautiful mental photograph of just how exquisite  a healthy young lady is supposed to look.  It is an image that is with me to this day.  I alerted my friends to the possibility of it happening again, but jump number four was just like the first two.  That picture was mine, and mine only.

The three of us had finished playing and were back at our cars rambling about the game we just played; who won, who did what well, who did what wrong, etc. but all I could do was look in the direction of the wedding which was now starting to disperse.  I gave myself two options; let them disperse and never see the little black dress again, or I could go discuss it with somebody.  I marched across the open field watching the last group of stragglers watch me approach.    

“Excuse me, Hi.” I initiated.  The four people I found trying to get in their vehicle looked perturbed.  The women didn’t want to be approached, and the men did not want their women approached, but I pursued.  “Does anyone know the bridesmaids?”

“Which one?” I got an answer when they realized it was not them I was after.  The bridesmaids all had different hairstyles which made pointing out my little black dress easy.

“Kind of, why?” the woman inquired.

“Well I was wondering if she…” I was interrupted.

“Has a boyfriend?”  The group began to get restless and the background noise picked up. 

“Well, is she accepting applications?”  I countered.  The women began to take an interest in playing matchmaker, and the men grew jealous.  One of them chimed in with something irrelevant in hopes of admonishing my attempt.

“I think she’s bisexual.” He said.

“I pass no judgments on anyone before I meet them.”  I was not deterred.

One of the women took control of the situation as the time for them to depart was passing. “We’re all going to dinner right now, she’ll be there.  I can talk to her her.”   The car engine sounded and all but one of the car doors shut.

“But how…” I was interrupted again.

“Here’s my card (realtor).  Call me in a few days and I’ll let you know what I come up with.” My hope was now a possibility. 

I thanked her, bid them all a fond farewell and walked back to my car, ecstatic and totally over-hopeful.  I was overcome with a feeling, one that I feel a lot of in these situations; accomplishment.  I brushed fear aside, put myself in a very vulnerable position walked away with a hope, a hope of more romantic accomplishments to come.

I called the realtor a few days later and left a message.  After a few more days I realized that my theme had reared its ugly head and I never heard from her or the little black dress again.

Operation Pridefest

     After the admission fee was paid, I thanked the gentleman for the ticket and proceeded towards the festivities.  The sun had turned the late afternoon in the park golden, but had not been out long enough to dry up the puddles from the showers earlier that morning.
     Here was a man walking alone, not knowing a soul around him. Walking confident, yet nervous, confident in his dress, confident in his sexuality, confident as he always was... in life.  Nervous, not because he was walking into a gay pride festival, but because he hardly knew the person he was looking for.  What if he didn't find him? What if he did?  All the questions he had prior to entering the festival, not to mention all the questions that get aroused at a gay pride festival paled in comparison to the question that occupied him now, 'who was that gorgeous girl in that booth over there?'
     I walked a few laps around the mud soaked park, genuinely trying to find my friends brother, who had said he would "be around."  After the first lap I expanded my search to include any familiar face to no avail.  So I took in the happenings.  I looked at the booths people had set up; crafts and jewelry and such.  I signed a petition or two then decided, as evening drew near that it was time to go.  But first, it was time to get dangerously close to the woman that had caught my attention.  It was time for an investigation.
     "Wet Basement?" the sign proclaimed.  "Sign up and enter to win a $25,000 basement refinishing."  If fate were to bring about such good fortune as to place an attractive, thin, yet curvy female with long, semi-wavy black hair who could solve my wet basement problem I would be indebted. 
     She stood in the doorway of the trailer/booth that the company had established on the outskirts of the festivities.  She watched the crowd, waiting to see if anyone needed welcomed.  Waited but didn't solicit which gave me my first bit of information... she's not gay.  And so I approached the booth.
     The chatter started about basements naturally.  She was not alone in the trailer.  There was a male co-worker sitting on a chair tucked in the back of the trailers interior, possibly on break, possibly bored.  I alerted her to my query of not finding the person I was looking for and then was handed a clipboard with an application for the 'wet basement contest.'  I bowed my head and began to fill it out.  I racked my brain thinking of something to say.  But first a clarification, as I feel the situation warranted.
     "I support the cause; I am not a part of the cause."  I picked my head up just enough to see if she picked up on this subtle admission of my heterosexuality.  I don't think she got it.  I put the pen down and handed it along with the application back to this incredibly cute girl whose name escapes me and asked "So, if I win, are you gonna be the one who calls me?"
     Obliviously she answered "Yeah, me or somebody else will call you."
     "Well my number is there, you can just call me if you want."
     She opened her mouth to say something and then what had just happened hit her.  Her mouth stayed open in standard gasp form for a moment but no words came out.  The curves of her lips then stretched into a smile as her mouth closed.  She looked at the man in the chair who was speechless.  She started to breathe again, looked back at me and engaged me in a stare.  Still smiling she said "Um, yeah ok...maybe."  I joined her in a smile.
     I walked around the festival in one last attempt to find my friend, but did not.  The summer afternoon had turned orange with beginning of sunset and it was time to go.  I walked past the booth again but kept my distance.  I looked and waved, she looked and waved.
    I never heard from her again.  I did however get a call from someone about a week later, wanting to give me an estimate on my basement.

Amy- Aren't We Cousins?

     I decided to join two friends at a bar to watch a basketball game.  My two friends also had two friends, neither of whom I knew. We all sat in a line at the bar.  One of them was a 'bookie' and really soured the mood.  The game we were watching was causing him to hemmorage money to most of his betters, except one; my friend.  Time and time again he would remind all of us that my friend was losing; it was very distracting and immature.  It was not so distracting that I didn't notice the group next them that consisted of a few attractive young ladies. 
     The night progressed, the drinks continued and the socialization got less basketball oriented.  Something I couldn't have been happier about because without basketball there was no need to talk about betting on basketball.  I had pulled my two friends dangerously close to the group that had grabbed my attention earlier.  So close that some random interactions were being had.  Connections were vague, and acquaintances were sparse until one of the young ladies looked at my friend and exclaimed "This may sound weird but aren't we cousins?" The conversation was now personal. 
     After the game was over my two friends packed their bags and left, but I had a hankerin' to stick around.  I realize of course that it is dangerous to initiate a conversation with a woman in a group, when you are alone and have no one to fall back on.  If she dosen't want to talk to you, then you are just out there.  But I like to live on the edge from time to time, so I stayed. 
    I prepared a question or two for my friends' second or third cousin twice removed or something like that, they weren't closely related.  The questions assured my being invited into the conversation.  I can't quote them but they were designed to provoke her in reference to what she was going to school for.  At some point in the conversation the word 'boyfriend' came up, followed by some dismay on my part.  That’s when the cousin said to me in a tone not to far from annoyance "Why don't you go talk to Amy." So I did.
     Amy was a little more intoxicated than the rest, and didn't notice that my attention up to this point had been solely on the cousin.  Amy and I talked for a while, we laughed, I bought her a drink or two.  Her male friends would pop in and out of conversations and I embraced them.  We were hitting it off.  After a bit, I asked and Amy made it clear that she was "completely single."  In hind sight, the addition and emphasis on 'completely' played a huge role.  It was a clear indication that she had not been single all that long...
    Amy and I agreed to meet again, and exchanged phone numbers.  Soon after that I decided rather than being 'some guy hanging around' I would get the heck out of there.  So I retired to my home, happy to have met Amy. I was happy to have had a successful launch, happy to be, at some point, talking to Amy again. 
     I called Amy once or twice in the next week, and left a message.  As I was leaving the gay pride festival a week or so later (you will be reading about the festival soon) I received a call from Amy.  She told me that she had an on-again-off-again boyfriend and they were now on.  When we talked they were off.  She apologized and so did I.  I thought it was nice of her to call me, in person and tell me this.  I left her with these words, "You have my number, keep it.  If things change, or you ever want to have a drink... give me a call."
     I never heard from her again.

Holly and the Cop Block

     I call this town a 'small town trying to be a big city.'  I call it this for a number of reasons, one of which being nightlife.  If you're in a part of town where there are no bars it gets awfully quiet at night.  The cars disappear, and the people retire from there poarch stoops to there houses.  Which is why when I left the parking lot of my friends house to drive home, the car sitting there in the middle of the street with it's four-way flashers on was such a supprise.  A welcomed suprise was the girl leaning on the car talking on her mobile phone... Holly.
     At closer inspection, the front of her car was mangled.  She had been in an accident and the person on the other end of the phone was the police.  I parked my car in the middle of the street to draw other vehicular attention to the scene so people would be careful, put on my four-way flashers and exited my car to see if anyone was hurt, to help. 
     Holly was visibly shaken.  After ascertaining that she was in decent shape, medically speaking, I inquired what happened.  She proceeded to tell me about the accident, and how the other driver took off, leaving her there stranded. 
     "Did you call the police?" I asked.
     "Yeah I was just talking to them, they're on there way." She replied.
      I was there to be of assistance because that's my nature.  But as we waited for the police to show up the conversation gradually progressed from the accident to more personal things, with an intermitant profanity on her part.  I wasn't hitting on her by any means, but I adopted some expectations for myself as Holly was quite attractive.  She was short with curly, dirty blonde hair peeking out from under her wool knit cap.
      Out of concern for her well being after police showed up I asked if she had been drinking.
     "A little bit." She said.  She put her head down in a bashville manner, a little nervous now thanks to me.
     "Are you twenty one?" I asked.
      She picked her head up and it was smiling.  A calm smile, no teeth were exposed.  But it was an honest and genuine smile from joy which accompanied her response of  "I'm twenty seven." Which accompanied a hug from her to me.  Holly was grateful for my help, she was grateful for my concern and was grateful for my compliments, all of which were followed by hugs.  We were definately in line for a continuance of contact.  She knew it, and I knew it.
     When the police showed up, the concern dropped off, ironically.  Holly loosely explained the situation.  The officer pointed at my car, still in the middle of the street.
     "Who's car is that?"
     "Mine," I replied. "should I move it?"
     "Yeah you better move it before I give you a ticket."  A rude way to make his authority known to both  someone in trouble, and someone trying to help. 
      I moved my car, and when I got out he was taking Holly to his car to fill out the report.  I waited against the wall on the other side of the sidewalk.  I waited for two reasons, concern for Holly's well being, and the hug.  I wanted another. 
     The officer opened up the passenger door and Holly got in.  She looked at me and waved. The door closed.  The office looked at me but I got no wave from him.
      "You can go now, she'll be fine."
      I felt her slipping away from me.  My heart raced, searching for a way to continue contact with Holly.  But how, she's basically in custody? 
      "I'll wait." I said figuring a free country would allow such an action.  The officer did not like my choice for whatever reason and with a little more 'stern' in his voice basically told me there'd be trouble if I didn't go.  Plus he was taking Holly to the station to fill out a report after her car was towed. 
     I pulled around to the parking lot which I initially exited from, kicked down my friends door and told him I needed to wait.  I don't know what I was waiting for, I just knew I couldn't go home.  If I'd went home, she'd be gone forever. The problem was I had no view of the police car.  I had to guess when they'd be leaving.  I think I was hoping that I'd be the one giving Holly a ride home.  So every few minutes I walked down to see.  Sitting there, sitting there, sitting there, then poof... they were gone.  Holly's car, the police car, gone and the street was back to being awfully quiet.  With not a car around, nor a soul on their stoop. 
     While we were waiting Holly did tell me approxomitally where she lived, the neighborhood anyway.  In the week or two following that night I did some scouting in the neighboorhood, hoping to catch a glimpse of Holly or even her car which ultimately proved futile.  And I was left with the picture of her smile, and the feel of that hug and nothing more.