Philip Dampier's Blog

Episode 7: Getting Ready-First Date…

Sally turned her eyes back to mine, “Now, tell me about yourself. I want to know more about southern Alabama, but I also want to know about now. What you’re doing, where you live, and what your plans are for the future since you don’t intend a life of drunkenness.”

“I live in a boarding house about a quarter of a mile from the Albertson’s warehouse. I have a room and I get two meals a day. I missed breakfast today.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“Me too. Anyway, I got a job driving an Albertson’s delivery truck from the warehouse to their three stores in the area. Pays okay until I decide what I really want to do. It beats climbing ladders with roofing materials on my shoulder, that’s for sure. And what do you do when you’re not working at Rays?”

“I’m going to Boise Junior College to get my AA and then, I don’t know what after that. I can’t afford to go to the University of Idaho.”

“Where is the University?”

“Moscow, Idaho. About seven hours or more from here. Just not practical for me.”

Sally’s cherry-coke arrived with a thump. Mine was gently placed in front of me with a slight lean-in from Madeline.

“Can I get you anything else, Jack? Anything at all, like my phone number for instance?”

I low-voiced a “No, thank you,” and quickly turned my attention to Sally. She was biting her lip and trying to tone down the glare. I reached across and took her hand again.

“It’s alright,” I said, and tried a smile of my own. “I’m not interested in your friend Madeline.”

“She is not my friend! Not any longer, anyways.”

I filled the space with information about lower Alabama, or LA as we called it. She slowly relaxed and by the time the cheeseburgers and fries were gone, the ear-to-ear smile had returned. I paid the bill at the register to avoid Madeline and we headed out on the sidewalk to retrieve my car from the hotel parking lot.

We drove the few blocks to Sally’s house with Sally pointing out landmarks as we moved from intersection to intersection. Her house looked typical middle class and was surrounded by similar white wooden structures with small front porches.

I got out of the car and walked around to open the door for her. She seemed to be searching for something to say. I thought I knew what it was, so I brought it up myself. “I would like to see you again. Would you consider going to the movies tonight?”

The smile immediately spread from ear to ear. “Yes, Jack, I would be delighted to go to the movies with you. Tell me when.”

“We have supper at 6:00 at my boarding house, so I’ll pick you up around 6:45. Is that alright?”

“Yes. I’ll be ready and thank you for lunch and the ride home.” She paused, and looked up the street. “Watch out for Chuck. He wasn’t just talking. He’s mean, Jack, really mean. I’d feel terrible if something happened to you.”

“You better worry about Chuck,” I said laughing. “I’ll walk you to the door.” She put her arm through mine as if it were the most natural thing in the world. My heart rate increased with every step on the way to her front door. She hesitated at the door as if to say or do something, but then turned and went inside, closing the door behind her.

I sat down behind the wheel and started the car. I wasn’t sure about my blood pressure, but I know my heart rate was up. For one thing, I couldn’t believe this was happening to me. I had been in Boise for less than two months and had not met any girls to speak of. Today I not only met one who was beautiful, but she appeared to be interested in me, even though she had seen me as drunk as a skunk. I drove away from her house barely touching the car seat.

I made it through supper, both excited and nervous. I had taken a shower, a short nap, and put on my cleanest non-working shirt. There was a small bottle of Old Spice on my bathroom cabinet and I’m sure I used too much. How much is enough? I don’t know. But I did smell spicy. Several of my fellow boarding house diners gave me quizzical looks which made sense since I never dressed up and never used Old Spice before supper.

I had asked Sally to the movies and didn’t even know what was playing. It didn’t make too much difference since my motive had nothing to do with the movie itself. I asked my supper friends if any of them knew what was on. That’s when I learned there were at least two major theaters in Boise. One person had gone to the Ada Theater the night before.

“That new movie with Glenn Ford is playing at the Ada,” he said, “It’s called ‘3:10 to Yuma’.”

“I saw that movie two days ago,” an elderly gentleman added. “It’s the best job Ford has done, I think. Van Heflin is in it too. Two great actors. Great western. Highly recommend it.”

Sounded good to me as I liked Glenn Ford and westerns and they made a great combination as far as I was concerned. To be honest I didn’t really stop to think if Sally liked Ford or westerns, my excitement level was that high. I finished my thin slice of chocolate cake and excused myself from the table and went to brush my teeth. I left early but I wanted to make sure I was on time at Sally’s house.

When I reached Sally’s front door, I rang the bell and waited. The door opened but it wasn’t Sally.

“Yes?” the lady asked.

“I’m Jack Reynolds, ma’am,” I answered.

“Hello, Mr. Reynolds. How may I help you?”

“I’m here to pick up Sally, ma’am,” I said. “You must be Mrs. Day.”

Before she could answer, the door was pulled all the way open and Sally appeared beside her mother. “It’s the young man I told you about, Mom, Jack Reynolds, remember? We’re going to the movies.”

“I think I would like to meet this young man before you run off to the movies with him. You didn’t supply much information about your date, now did you? Would you come inside please, Mr. Reynolds?”

“Yes, ma’am. Please call me Jack, Mrs. Day.”

Sally’s mom held the door open and I stepped inside. Sally’s face was hard to read since she was obviously dealing with several emotions. I was sure she was angry with her mother and worried that I would be upset or worse. She took my arm and guided me to a couch in the well decorated living room. She intended to sit next to me during this interview, for moral support, I guess.