The Ride Home

On the day after the big lake event, we woke up a little bleary eyed and headed home. I don't think I was still under the influence, but maybe a bit distracted. I was following my roomie, Tim, who was pulling the boat, headed toward home. We came to an intersection, he turned right, and then stopped because of a car he hadn't seen. BAM! I hit the back of the boat with my car. Oh crap! The boat was fine. My car wasn't. The hood was crinkled and damaged in front. It was driveable, so we set out for home. I sure didn't want to have to tell my Mom and Tom!
On Thursday of the next week I decided that I needed to take my car home to Griffin so that the damage could be fixed. Partly because I didn't want to ride alone, partly because I wanted to be with her, I asked Susan if she wanted to ride home with me. It was only about an hour and a half home. Susan agreed, and when classes were over on Thursday at noon, I picked Susan up. Then things got more interesting.
We stopped at the local "Taco Casa" for a lunch on the go. We grabbed a few tacos and headed out. As soon as we got out on the open road, the unexpected happened. The hood of my car, damaged from the bump from the boat, suddenly popped up and slammed back against the window shield! Tacos went flying, all over the pretty white dress Susan was wearing. Blinded by the hood of the car that remained on the windshield I nearly whiped out a row of mailboxes. When I finally got the car stopped we howled amidst the cheese, lettuce and taco meat that splattered all over us. I got out and tied the car hood down tighter this time. I knew it must be love if she didn't kill me right there for being so stupid.
I devised a plan the closer we got to my house in Griffin. On the road as you turn to my parents house in Griffin is this huge, gorgeous antebellum home. Now, there was nothing wrong with my parent's house, but the other house was especially eye-catching. As we pulled into the neighborhood, I decided to pull in the driveway of the antebellum. I looked over at Susan's reaction. She nearly fainted! I got a good laugh and pulled on down to my house. I've never forgotten the look on her face.
We had dinner with Mom and Tom. I'll leave for another post the first meeting of my Mom and Susan. Later , we headed back to Auburn, but this time we were driving the old Chevy truck that Tom used to haul garden equipment. It had no air conditioning, no radio, no nothing. We laughed and talked all the way back to Auburn. She even let me sing her a couple of John Denver tunes on the way. For those who know my lack of singing talent, you know she must have really been smitten to endure that! It was amazing how comfortable together we felt so quickly.

A Day on the Lake

Time is of no consequence when you are in love. I look back on the month that Susan and I dated when I was still in school. We met at the first of May and I graduated in early June. That month was a whirlwind of activity in which our lives became increasingly intertwined. One Saturday we headed for the lake. My other roommate had a boat and another friend had access to a "houseboat." We spent the day on the lake with lots of friends, skiiing and swimming and consuming lots of "sodas." It was a wonderful day. We were increasingly comfortable around each other, seamlessly making friends with and combining lives with each other. Even though crazy things happened, we laughed all the way through them. For example, we were flying along in the ski boat when we hit a sand bar and about threw everyone out in the water! When you are young and free, even potentially dangerous situations are an occasion to laugh and howl! There is a picture that I have of that day on the lake. I have my "Ray Ban Aviators" on and Susan has her cool sunglasses on too. She's got her sorority shirt on, and I have my fraternity shirt. There are days that need to be frozen in time and thawed from time to time to be able to experience them again. If I could, I would re-visit this day often. But then again, time is of no consequence when you are in love.